Suzy Says

Today is my only nephew Ben’s 17th birthday, and also my friend Reidun’s birthday, but it hasn’t been a day for celebrating. My father is in intensive care for a severe blood infection caused by a gallstone which blocked the major bile duct of his liver. He’s on serious intravenous antibiotics and is sedated and on a ventilator. My older sister Beth is with our stepmother Margaret and calling me with progress reports. The doctors say Dad is doing wonderfully well, but it’s hard not to worry when you live on the other side of the planet (I live in California and he lives in England). Somehow I think I would feel better if I could see him and hold his hand. I bet Beth felt the same way when Dad had his stroke here last November.

I will know more tomorrow after Beth calls. Whatever your beliefs are, please pray for him, light a candle, or hold him in your thoughts, or whatever it is. We need all the help we can get.

Sorry, Ted, I ain’t buying it. Ted Hughes, the late Poet Laureate and former husband of the still-fascinating poet, Sylvia Plath, is still trying to justify his swinish behavior from beyond the grave. In a letter to a friend, Hughes claims that Plath killed herself due to a bad reaction to anti-depressants. Now, no-one is saying that Sylvia was the most stable person in the world. She had attempted suicide before even meeting Hughes, and like many geniuses, was haunted by demons. But let’s face it — it was Ted’s abandoning Sylvia and her two young children in a strange country for another woman that led her to put herself out of her misery on that cold February day at the age of 30.

Since Ted and Sylvia were still married at the time of her suicide, he inherited all her copyrights, thus gaining from the death he had caused. Oddly, the woman with whom he was having the affair which precipitated Sylvia’s suicide killed herself and her child in the very same way as Sylvia had only a few years before: by putting their heads in the gas oven.

It’s Jo Day today. On this day nine years ago, we met our Jo, and life has never been the same. Ever since Jo died in January, 1999, we have made a donation in her memory to Animal Care and Control, also known as “the pound”, on the day we met her. We hope that our little gift will help other stray cats like our Jo to find a happy and loving home. And I hope that remembering the day we met her and changed our lives forever will be a little happier than remembering the day she left us — as if we could ever forget that dark day. Maybe 7 years of Jo equals a lifetime with a more ordinary cat, though as Da Vinci observed, “Every feline is a masterpiece.”

Love you, Jo.

Happy birthday to Brian! Hope it’s a great one!!

Took all four cats to the vet for check ups today. I’m glad to report that everyone is in good health, though Hannah has one of her recurring ear infections and will need ear drops for a week and Sophie needs her teeth cleaned sometime during the next 3 months. Sophie is now only 12 & 1/2 pounds! She used to weigh 16. Now she’s perfect. I think Jack being a food demon and chasing everyone around has something to do with that. Cleo is always perfect, but we had a blood panel run on her since she’s 8 years old now and submitted her to the indignity of having her claws clipped, because she won’t let us do it. We aren’t allowed to touch her butt or her claws, and that’s the way it is.

All this for $400. *Gasp* I should have been sitting down when I got that horrifying total. And that’s including $70 worth of coupons and the discount for the healthcare plan. No wonder I don’t have kids — I can hardly afford cats!

My old friend (since high school, and no sex ever) Richard and I live about 8 blocks apart, but for some reason I never see him. Last week we finally caught up with each other and decided to meet for drinks at 5:45 this afternoon. At 6:15 I was wondering where he was. Called home, and Richard hadn’t called (is it weird to ask your husband if your “date” has called?) so I called Richard. He had actually forgotten he was supposed to meet me — guess that’s what happens when neither sex nor money is involved, though he denied it. While I was waiting, I overheard two conversation snippets:

Snippet One: One man to another: “I’m too old to groove.”

Snippet Two: Two guys are walking down the street together, and one says to the other, “Man, when my sister was talking to your parents like that, I really thought you were in trouble.”

I would love to know what that conversation was all about.

Richard and I finally met up and had a great time catching up, drinking Cosmopolitans, and eating jujubes (well, the bar had them right out there in little dishes). Eventually I had to remove the jujubes for Richard’s own good.

Richard has a beautiful new girlfriend, who, oddly, lives in the very same building Rufus and I lived in before we bought this place. He was asking me if I have a G spot, or have ever experienced that. I don’t think I have, but I promised to take an informal survey and let him know. In the interests of science and/or love, any girls (or for that matter, guys who know where it is) reading this blog, email me at suzy @ suzysays.net, or just post your comments and experiences. Inquiring minds want to know.

My brother’s kitten Iggy decided to celebrate turning four months old by catching a big western bluejay and wrestling it into the house. Iggy and the jay are both about the same size, so it was quite a battle until the jay managed to get free and fly outside and as far away from Iggy as he could get. If he’s the same bluejay that’s been stealing food from my brother’s kitchen, I bet he’s snacking somewhere else for a while.

OK, like the Canadians allowing medical marijuana use before us wasn’t bad enough? Now Germany has allowed same sex marriages before we have. I am so embarrassed for this country. I never thought I’d see the day that Canada and Germany would be more enlightened and progressive than we are. I guess I can blame it on the Bush dictatorship with its accompanying nouveau conservatism, but damn. Aren’t we supposed to be the land of the free and the home of the brave?

I find it embarrassing that our neighbors to the north are so far ahead of us in permitting the use of medical marijuana. While some of the states have passed laws permitting the use of marijuana for terminally ill patienets, the Supreme Court under the Bush administration ruled the use illegal. When are we going to get over our puritanical streak and let marijuana be used for medical purposes? If this doesn’t shame us into it, nothing will.

My mother’s mother, Nana, would have been 100 today. How I wish she was still here! She would have had her favorite birthday cake: white cake “iced” with whipped cream and with whipped cream “filling”, garnished with strawberries or raspberries. I would have given her a silly present and a big birthday hug. Those of you who still have your grandparents, go and give them a big hug, whether it’s their birthday or not. You’re lucky, you know.

Congratulations to Becky, who not only successfully completed the 24 hour blogathon, but made it so interesting and amusing. Not to mention the gorgeous Mexican layout. You’re fabulous, girl!

We have new ceiling lights for the kitchen, but the round things that hold them on to the ceiling are smaller than the old ones. So there is a space around the new lights which has to be filled in, sanded, then painted. Rufus filled in the holes today with glop and will sand them tomorrow. For the sanding, we bought a purple sanding sponge called “SandBlaster”. On the back of the package, it states, “The color purple is a trademark of 3M.”

Has anyone alerted Alice Walker and the Crayola corporation?

It’s been two years this week since the world said goodbye to John F. Kennedy Jr., who died in the crash of his private plane along with his wife and sister-in-law. I was in England when it happened and could hardly believe it. As Rufus says, nature abhors a Kennedy. It is amazing that one family should suffer so much tragedy (and notoriety).

Did anyone else catch the original “Four Women and a Funeral ” episode during the second season of “Sex & the City”? Samantha gets caught kissing a socialite’s husband and is summarily placed on the black list of New York society. Finally, she is brought back to social life and acceptance by JFK Jr. — in the original version. In the version shown now and, disappointingly, the version out now on DVD, she is brought back by Leonardo di Caprio. What could be more absurd? The calibre of people Samantha is trying to impress — the Auchinclosses, the Mellons, the Astors — are completely unimpressed by upstart young movie starlets like Leo. They would hardly be impressed by Paul Newman or Gregory Peck. These people care about family history and breeding more than money. The Kennedys are usually referred to as America’s royal family, which is why JFK Jr. was the perfect choice to redeem Samantha. I assume HBO replaced him with Leo because they thought it was an insult to his memory, but I think the real insult to his memory is replacing him at all, let alone with someone whose star shines so much dimmer.

Remember when Nixon was impeached and there were all those “Don’t blame me, I’m from Massachussetts” bumper stickers? For those who are less retro than I am or have forgotten their ancient history, Massachusetts was the only state that didn’t re-elect Tricky Dicky.

Well, now Florida can have their very own “Don’t blame Cocoa” bumper stickers. Palm Beach County, home of the user-unfriendly and unreadable ballots, has registered a lovely little brown poodle named Cocoa to vote. Personally, I would take Cocoa’s vote over Jeb Bush’s any day, but (s)he was only registered to vote this month. Wonder if Cocoa’s Democrat or Republican?

Not going anywhere fun for your summer vacation? Can’t stand to go to work, but have run out of sick days? Convince friends and boss alike that you are in Paris, having a fabulous time (or, in the case of your boss, your plane is having indefinite mechanical problems and/or there’s one of those ad hoc strikes they love so much in France, so you just can’t get home) by sending a postcard from Paris. Link via Becky, who would love it if you’d be her sponsor for the 24 hour blogathon this Saturday. She might even send you a real postcard from Paris!

On my way home from work today, I saw an elderly couple walking along the tree-lined street, hand in hand. They were both very well-dressed in an old-fashioned manner (i.e., they both wore hats, and he was wearing a vest) and were having an animated conversation. As I got closer to them, I saw that the gentleman was walking with the aid of a cane, and the lady was wheeling along his oxygen tank in the hand that wasn’t holding his. I don’t think either of them was really aware of the cane or the oxygen tank, or anything other than the beautiful summer day, their conversation, and each other.

At last, pictures of my brother’s kitten, Iggy!

My sister and her husband just left to go home. It was great having them here last night. This morning, we went out for breakfast to our favorite place on Polk Street, the one you have to get to early or you have to line up forever (which I just will not do). It’s still really good, but it has definitely gotten more expensive.

Leaving the boys to watch Dennis Miller tapes, Megan and I ran a few errands. When we passed one of the many nail places (how do they all stay in business, I wonder?), we saw a woman with a greyhound. We stopped to pet the dog, and it turned out that she had been rescued from the racetrack. The dog’s owner said that 30,000 were killed every year in this country, because they weren’t fast enough or were too old. It was horribly sad, but nice to see this dog had a good home.

While we were petting the first dog, another woman came up walking her greyhound, who was the same age as the first (4 years old) and also rescued from the track. Then a guy came up and said he had just finished running with his own, rescued greyhound! I had no idea we had so many in my neighborhood. And if you’re thinking of getting a dog, maybe you should think about rescuing one yourself. All three owners said they are very affectionate, great with kids and cats, and don’t need to run every day, just normal dog walking. So we learned something new and met some nice dogs.

My sister Megan’s flight left London an hour late today. So I bet she will be pretty grumpy by the time she is decanted from the cramped plane, full of screaming brats, after 11 hours’ flight. She will get back just in time for rush hour, so I think she and her husband will be spending the night chez moi before headng home tomorrow.

I really missed Megan the past two weeks, especially dealing with Mom and all her drama. Maybe because Megan has taught pre-schoolers for years she has much more patience than I do, and I think the histrionics don’t drive her as crazy. I have definitely missed the support! Can’t wait to see her this evening and catch up on her trip.

Our neighbors to the north pick the dumbest times to overcome their national passivity. Legendary bluesman Wilson Pickett, world famous for classic songs like “Mustang Sally” and “Midnight Hour”, was allegedly strip-searched at the Ottawa airport, where customs officials claim they were looking for drugs. Pickett says he may never play Canada again, and I certainly don’t blame him. I have never been strip-searched anywhere (though I came perilously close to it once when returning to Heathrow after a long weekend in Amsterdam), but I have had bad experiences with bureaucratic stupidity at Canadian customs. In fact, I have not been back to Canada since the last incident, in 1994.

We had flown from San Francisco to Toronto, and connected on to Ottawa, scene of Wilson Pickett’s humiliation, spent a few days with my in-laws in Ottawa, and then flew to Boston. Returning home from Boston, we were routed through Toronto, where we had to change planes. We were forced to go through customs in Toronto, even though we were only getting onto a connecting flight home to San Francisco. We damn near missed the flight because the wait in the customs line was so long, and fear of missing our flight and being trapped there led me to make a great big noisy fuss. When we finally got to the front of the line, the stupid customs guy asked us how long we were going to be in Canada. I looked at my watch and said, “Half an hour, unless you make us miss our plane”. After more pointless questioning, we literally ran across the airport and barely made the flight.

Maybe they are worried that people are going to stay there and mooch off their socialized medicine and welfare system, but surely you should not have to go through customs when you have a ticket to the USA in your hand, for a flight leaving that same day, and in our case, within an hour and a half of landing there in the first place. And hey, you go through AMERICAN customs in CANADA, so they know you’re out of there. Time to stop picking on the Yanks, Canadian customs guys, from famous senior citizens to obscure chics like me. You’ll be lucky if Wilson doesn’t sue your sad little asses.