kandas-adventures

Canoe Training

For part of my Master Naturalist training with the city I learned to lead canoe trips.  Two park rangers and three lifeguards ran us through the paces.

On our first training day it was too windy to go out on the lake, so the rangers sat in a boat on the dock and demonstrated as best they could, while also going over the safety points.  We also had to take an online paddlesport safety certification course prior to going out on the water.

In the afternoon we gathered at the city pool to do our rescue training.  I was really nervous about the flipping, scared I'd hit my head on the side of the canoe as it flipped and be knocked out, causing a big scene.  Hey, it wasn't like I didn't want those hot young lifeguards and park rangers coming to my rescue, I just didn't want to be embarrassed. 

When it was time to practice flipping I knew that standing on the edge of the pool waiting my turn would just get me more and more nervous, so I was the first one to volunteer for a flipping.  I was given the choice to jump away from the canoe as it flipped, or tuck my head in and wind up stuck underneath the canoe.  I was scared of both options but ended up opting for the most scary to prove to myself I could do it: I tucked in and went under.  

I thought I was prepared, but the force of the flip sent water up my nose.  Finding myself alone with my head in the empty space under the overturned canoe was eerie.  What now?  A lifeguard swam under and joined me, coaching me in grabbing the sides of the canoe, and pushing myself under and out.  It was important not to attempt to flip the canoe when emerging from beneath it because a vacuum seal had been created which would have made it difficult, as well as the fact that it was heavy and likely to slip and hit me on the head (my worst fear!).

 

Bodies trapped beneath an overturned canoe.

Once people were clear of the overturned canoe, another canoe could come and right it.  That's me flipping an overturned canoe.  It was a bit wobbly but an otherwise simple endeavor.

OK, I faced my fears and learned proper technique, I think I'm ready!

The next weekend the weather was much improved: 70 degrees and sunny!  The water was calm, the conditions were perfect.  I've been canoeing about a dozen times in my life but it turned out I was a little rusty.  I started out in the back, the steering position, and within the first few strokes I splashed my partner with my sloppy paddling.  Thankfully she was raised on a lake and an expert paddler who kindly educated me in my errors.  She was also very forgiving of the soaking I gave her!

Rafting up to listen to the ranger at an interpretive stop.  

In the slough.  Up ahead are the downtown skyscrapers.  What a treasure to have such natural beauty within city limits.

Out on the lake the ranger talks to us about previous years "incidents" including unruly passengers, misbehaving children, and a family with two toddlers that flipped and needed rescue.  We were also warned about drunken speedboaters who like to kick up a wake and harass paddlers in an attempt to flip them.

 

I'm going out of my comfort zone on this, but I hope I'll be a good guide.  My first trip with the paying public is coming up soon.  Wish me luck!

I'm a Feline Doula

On Easter Sunday we got an email that the shelter had a pregnant cat in need of a foster home in which to give birth.  That very afternoon we retrieved her, and the wait began.

She was a very petite little kitty with a belly full of kittens.  Because she was such a tiny thing, we named her "Mini-mum."  It was hard to know how long it would be before she gave birth, and every night I got up multiple times to "check."  Every time I had to leave the house for more than an hour at a time, I wondered, "will there be kittens when I return home?"

She got wider and wider as the days passed.  About a week after she came to live with us she began coughing.  She developed a full-blown URI and her coughing fits were quite violent, as if she'd just smoked a pack of cigarettes.  She started weeping fluid out her back end, which is a normal sign of impending birth, but then after a few days it changed color, which was not a good sign.  I took her to the clinic and they sent us home with antibiotics and said if she didn't give birth within 36 hours they'd get her in to surgery.  I think they may have done it sooner, but they were slammed with surgical cases and couldn't get to her right away.

When we got back from the clinic it was past the dinner hour, so I left Mini-mum alone and made dinner.  Just before 9pm I went back to our bathroom, where we kept her separated from our other cats, and found her pacing.  I sat down on the floor and she immediately curled up in my lap and started kneading, purring, and contracting.  She kept looking up at me with her green eyes and was so content that I didn't dare move her, even though my legs were falling asleep.

Her contractions soon became earnest pushing, and I lifted up her back end to take a look and saw a tiny triangle nose and whisker pads bulging out.  I was relieved when she hopped out of my lap and made a beeline toward the assortment of cardboard boxes I had laid out for her to choose from.   I ran downstairs and put the heat pad in the microwave and boiled some water.  

Four minutes later I arrived back in the bathroom just in time to watch "Little Buff" slide out.  Mini-mum had chosen the smallest box, the one I had planned to use as the "warming box" where I'd place the kittens temporarily while she attended to the next kitten born.  "Little Buff" was born at 10:40pm on Friday, April 12th, and Mini-mum had barely licked the sac from his face and gulped down the placenta when she began pushing and popped out "Ginger" at 10:50pm.  Above is 11 minute old "Little Buff" on the warming pad while Mini-mum is busy licking newborn "Ginger."

Mini-mum had obviously gone through the birth process before and knew just what to do, and those kittens slid out almost effortlessly.  She never cried out or even panted.  So different from the birth of my two daughters!

Speaking of daughters, I called the girls in shortly after 11pm and asked if they wanted to hang around to watch the next kitten born.  Just then kitten #2's placenta slid out and Mini-mum immediately began chewing it.  Both of my daughters backed out of the bathroom retching and gagging, saying they'd seen enough and had no interest in seeing anymore.  I'd warned them ahead of time about the placenta-eating, but must admit it was pretty jarring to witness.

At 11:50pm a dark gray tabby was born with a tail that turned back on itself, so I named her "U-Turn."  By 12:50pm when "Big Buff" was born weighing 15 grams more than his siblings, poor Mini-mum was exhausted.  She barely lifted her head to look at him.  I took the other 3 kittens away quickly and pushed "Big Buff" toward her head, hoping she'd start licking him dry.  She gave a few licks and I finished the job, rubbing him with a towel.  The placenta came but she made no effort to deal with it, so after awhile I cut the cord and picked up the bloody glob and flushed it down the toilet.  Above you can see Mini-mum just before I picked her up to replace the bedding with fresh, dry padding.  Her mouth is open and she is struggling to breathe, since she is still congested with the URI.  At 3am I headed to bed, wondering if there would be any more kittens coming.

The next morning there were still only four kittens and I was pretty sure that Mini-mum was finished.  In the photo above, L to R: Little Buff, U-Turn, Ginger, and Big Buff.  This was my first litter of newborn foster kittens WITH a mama cat, so it was a relief for me not to have to be bottle feeding every 2 hours.  All I'd have to do was weigh them every 12 hours and make sure they were gaining weight, and change the bedding frequently.  As it turned out, Mini-mum didn't groom them for almost a week because she couldn't breathe well, so for the first week I had to clean the poop off of them every few hours.

Mini-mum continued to have violent coughing episodes, and every time she coughed she's expel post-natal blood out the back end, which was particularly icky when she was sitting in my lap.  I quickly learned to grab a towel before sitting down.  Every time I went into the bathroom to check on things I'd find splatters of blood all over the floor, which was alarming until I remembered why.

More kitten pictures in the weeks ahead for you to look forward to!

 

The Last Farm

For years I've admired the last 5 acre farm in our area.  Just 20 years ago there were still a dozen or so parcels of acreage sandwiched between subdivisions.  Each new development that went in grew denser and denser, from 4 houses per acre, to 6 houses per acre (including infrastructure and roads), and then came the apartments and townhouses, followed by a shopping center, gas station, car wash, and fast food joints.  Our once rural area is swallowed up by cul-de-sacs and drive-thrus.

The farm is next door to the local elementary school, so I looked longingly at it each day that I walked the kids to school during the past 8 years.  I dreamed of buying the farm myself one day, and planting an orchard, having a farm stand, pea-patch plots for the apartment dwellers down the road, and a giant pumpkin patch which the school children could visit in October. 

The area was logged and cleared in the early 1900's, and then became farmland.  Above is the barn on this property in 1938.

Here's the original farm house, built in 1934, ad photographed in 1938.  There are a lot of natural springs and wetlands in our area, so that is probably why the house is up on stilts.  That might be the outhouse out back to the left.

By 1948 the house had a proper foundation and basement.  

An addition and metal-clad windows made the house more modern by 1963.

By 1986 a new house was constructed increasing the size to 4170 square feet.

The new house was built to stand for hundreds of years, incorporatating massive old growth timber in a post-and-beam construction, and thickly insulated walls.  The owner built the house himself, as he was a master woodworker and structural engineer.

I'd said a few friendly 'hellos" to the old couple through the years, but last spring when I saw the "Proposed Land Use Action" sign go up, I finally got up the nerve to knock on their door.  The old woman invited us in, and the girls and I sat on the couch facing a beautiful stone fireplace while their cats circled us and we made small talk.  The property was for sale, and they were actively courting developers.  They'd gone through the process to get the 4.85 acre property rezoned to accommodate 29 houses.  

Eventually I cut to the chase and expressed my interest in the property, said I knew a few other families who might be interested in coming together to keep the property as farmland, and I raved about the magnificently crafted house, hoping it could be preserved.   The house would probably be torn down to maximize the potential for development.  

Her husband arrived home and introduced himself, and shortly after the girls and I left.  The visit hadn't gone as I had hoped.  The couple didn't seem to have any interest in selling to a non-developer, and I think I made them both feel sad about the reality of their decision -- that their beautiful home that they had designed and built, and lived in for decades, was going to be torn down.

A few weeks later when I was walking K home from school I saw the old man and some people on the back property line near the trail to the school.  I said hello, and a woman came forward and extended her hand.  She was the daughter of the older couple, and was a realtor.  The other people in the group were developers, and she was in the middle of a sales pitch.  Her dad was busy chatting with the developers, so I told her I was interested in the property, not for intensive development, but as a 4 to 6 family co-housing farming operation, and she handed me her card.  It was awkward, but I couldn't let my dream die without one last try.

Later I went to her realtor website and discovered that the property was listed for several million dollars.  My heart sank.  I might have been able to get a few friends together and offer a little over a million, but several million was out of the question. 

The property tax the old couple had to pay in 2012 was nearly $17,000.  Like many old timers, their property taxes had become unbearable due to the rezoning and encroaching subdivisions surrounding them.  They didn't like how their community had become infested with "garage-mahal" megahouses, how SUVs sped constantly by on what had once been a quiet country road, but most of all how they had to pay so much tax when nothing had changed on their property.  They were trapped.  Go into debt paying increasing taxes, or sell out to developers, that was what most of the old property owners had to do. 

 Thirty years ago their property (including house and barn) was valued at $122,00., and their tax bill just a few hundred dollars.  In 2012 the tax assessor valued the property and buildings (barn, garage, house) at $1,241,000.  They ended up selling it to a developer for $3,789,000.

They bought a new property further out toward the country for about 1/4 of the price they sold this property for.  They moved over the winter, and then in March I noticed the windows disappearing from the house and the barn.  For a couple of weeks I watched as the structures were stripped, and finally I stopped by to ask if I might dig some of the flowers and shrubs before the bulldozers arrived.  

I thought I would find the developer's wrecking crew, but instead I came upon a different elderly couple scooping up paving stones and tossing them into the back of their Subaru.  They were friends of the old couple, and said they'd helped build the house years ago, and were very sad that it was going to be torn down.  They said they had a smaller property further down the road, totally locked in by subdivisions, and that their home would likely suffer the same fate.  They seemed bitter, and I felt bad for them.

Soon the old man pulled up in his truck.  I asked if I could dig a few plants, and he said, "yes, help yourself."  

I dug some snowdrops and daffodils, took them home, and when I came back for some more, the old man's tone had changed.  He said this whole moving process was very difficult for him and he needed privacy, so he asked that I leave and not come back.  He looked as though he'd been crying.  I wished him well and left quickly.  

The next few weeks as I'd pass by on evening walks I'd see him laboring away well after dark, pulling up the flooring from the house, removing copper pipes, loading his truck with anything he could carry.

In the photo above you can see him carrying cabinet doors from the house.  It was sad to witness his struggle to leave, and yet he and his wife are now millionaires and their new property and home is even nicer than this one.  They'll be fine.  

I'm heartbroken over the loss of this "last farm."  K only has a few more months of school left, and then next year she'll ride the bus to middle school, so I won't have to walk the path to school past this property anymore.  It's the end of an era, the end of a dream.  

 

Easter 2013 -- the Teenager edition

The girls are 11 and 13 now and I won't let them participate in our neighborhood egg hunt (which I run) because they need to leave eggs for the little kids.  Luckily some local towns have begun hosting "teen flashlight egg hunts" the Friday or Saturday night before Easter.  We'd never been to one, so it seemed the perfect time to begin a new tradition.

The most convenient one for us was in a small town toward the mountains.  Teens were dropped off at 8:30 pm and were to be picked up by 9:30 pm.  I decided to stay and see how it was run, given that I might end up volunteering to help run one someday (don't tell my husband -- I do enough volunteering already).

At 8:29 a line up of about 60 teens with flashlights and headlamps pressed against ribbon, waiting to dash into a ball field that was littered with wrapped candy bars, cans of soda, and less than a dozen "prize eggs."

The fact that not everything had to fit into a plastic egg was an inspiration for me.  For years I've always struggled to find individually wrapped candies small enough to fit in eggs and that aren't hard candy (choking hazard for little kids running), gum, candy made in China, or chocolate with nuts.  I've often thought it would be great to offer little packets of goldfish crackers or pretzels, but they don't fit in the plastic eggs.  Going to this hunt showed me that kids are just as excited to find loose goodies in the field as they are to find eggs.

Little K somehow got lucky enough to find one of the few prize eggs, and turning it in netted her a $10 gift card from the Apple App Store, which she was thrilled with.

The field was scoured clean in about 5 minutes, and the next 55 minutes the kids were able to eat from a buffet of submarine sandwiches at a picnic shelter, and play video games at one of the "mobile gaming trucks" that are wildly popular in our area.  While the girls played Wii tennis and Dance Dance Revolution, I chatted with the woman from the town's parks department which was running the event.  I congratulated her on an event well run, and complemented her on rustling up YMCA volunteers to help man the buffet table and keep the peace.

The next morning it was my turn to run the show and I woke the girls early and dragged them to the park to help me pick up dog poop and hide 3000+ eggs.  It was such a gorgeous day that we could even see the mountains on the Olympic Peninsula in the distance!  Later as I was cleaning up I heard an odd screeching sound in the sky above and looked up to see 4 bald eagles circling.  

We spent Saturday afternoon working in the garden and I started the big job of cleaning and sorting the plastic eggs for storage to use again next year.  I have to go through each one to make sure there is no candy left inside, otherwise rats and mice will find them when I store them in the garage.  Little K spent the afternoon assembling a home-made pinball machine from things she found in the recycling bin and garage.

On Easter Sunday my mom came to spend the day with us.  The girls insisted on wearing their duck and goose hats we picked up at the Seattle Musical Theater's costume sale last year.  They had been used in "Honk," the musical production of the Ugly Duckling.

Easter was early this year so there wasn't as much foliage and flowers to hide the eggs in.  I made it extra hard this year, and was also glad that I switched to tiny eggs instead of standard size for our home hunt.

 

Do YOU see the light pink egg peeking out from under the clam shells in the photo above?

The girls knew that Mommy was E.B. and I'd warned them that I was really tired and busy this year, so they shouldn't expect baskets.  Somehow in the days leading up to Easter I actually found a little time to throw something together for them, and they were so excited to get "one more year" to unscramble the clues to find their baskets.

This was A's take this year (the purse/basket is from last year, as is Little K's below).

And Little K's goodies... the marshmallow chicks are from a local bakery and are "all natural" -- the pink colored sugar was made with beet juice!

While the girls and Grammy and I were outside hunting eggs in the sunshine Daddy was catching a nap on the couch.  The Easter Bunny knew daddy didn't have the energy for hunting down a basket, so one was left on his lap to discover when he awoke.  (He got a jar of jam and two dark chocolate salmon).

This was our lunch spread. My mom took the newspapers out of her oven (!) long enough to bake a pineapple upside-down cake.  My mom has never been much of a cook, so she often uses appliances for storage.  She has a refrigerator in her basement that she uses as an upright tool chest filled with screwdrivers and sandpaper.  She's the ultimate repurposer!  

Speaking of re-purposing, mom is always offering us stuff she has found.  This black lace teddy was left behind by her basement tenants and she wondered if the girls would like it for "dress up."  A actually tried it on (after I washed it thoroughly, of course!), but alas it didn't fit, so I sent it off to the thrift shop.  Look for it in the next Macklemore video...

Our happy Easter 2013!


But the day didn't end there.  The Humane Society was open and since I'm on call as a foster parent, the call came for me to take a pregnant cat, and we piled in the car and went to pick up our newest kitty.  I'd never had a pregnant foster cat before and the prospect of letting my kids watch the birthing process was exciting.  We'll see what happens...

 

 

Girl Scouts Update

My days of standing outside the local grocery store in the driving rain and snow with whining little girls are over.  That doesn't mean I'm sitting at home, though.  My daughters and I decided to leave the selling to the cute little Brownies, Daisies, and Juniors while we do the heavy work of unloading the semi trucks, sorting, and packing up backs of minivans and pickup trucks with troop orders.

It's a day of heavy labor, but we enjoy it.  It is incredibly satisfying to assist in moving tens of thousands of boxes of cookies out of the rented storage staging area in a matter of hours.

Neither of my daughters are in troops anymore.  It gets difficult as they get older and the demands of homework, extracurriculars, and emerging social pressures call them away.  After leading troops for years, I'm actually relieved to no longer be planning meetings, crafts, skill building exercises, and campouts.   I'm no longer a troop leader, but I'm still an active volunteer at the Service Unit (citywide and regional) level.  I single-handedly created and maintain the teen and leader websites.  I run the wild bird program, which includes scheduling, sourcing materials, and meeting with troops.  I'm liaison for Girl Scout programs at the local nursing home, which includes getting girls in there to sing to and visit the elderly.  It keeps me busy.

Each year when registration comes around I pause and wonder if I should sign on again.  I used to do it automatically without a second thought, but after a few years of  fiascoes with the regional office, I tread carefully and think about what I volunteer for.  I believe in what Girl Scouts has to offer, and want to support the organization.  For my daughters and me, Girl Scouts is now basically an avenue for doing more community service.   We've mastered the outdoor skills, gone camping multiple times, earned dozens of badges through the years, done far too many crafts, and served our time selling cookies in the rain.  We even visited the Girl Scout Chalet in Switzerland, which felt somewhat like a good culmination of our Girl Scout experience.

So that is where we are.  I'm not sure if we'll continue with Girl Scouts, but either way, you won't find me at a card table in the rain selling cookies anymore.

The Evil Within

Here is the story of why my mom moved in with us in February.  Due to the sensitive nature of this post, it is for family and close friends only.  Another more cheerful, public post will be coming soon.  

Green Elephant Plant Swap

I was mucking about in the garden, removing maple leaf mulch and checking for the emergence of bulbs and perennials, when I noticed my raspberry canes seemed to have decreased in number from when I put them to bed last fall.  Turns out my husband had tried to be "helpful" and cut them back to the ground, not realizing that the variety we have produces fruit on the 2nd year floricanes, not the new growth primocanes.   This meant no raspberries this coming summer unless I got more canes.  Thankfully the Green Elephant Plant Swap was coming up.

This year I brought strawberry runners, bucket loads of mature sage, bird feeders, and blue columbine.  Although it's a "swap," and trading and bartering is suggested, most people, including me, just lay everything out for the taking, and leave to walk around to see all the other offerings.  I think there is no score-keeping over who brings vs takes.  Some people with no plants to give were walking around with plates of cookies and muffins to share.  Others were downsizing and wanted nothing in return, just hoping all their plants would be taken and they wouldn't have to haul any of it back home.   It was a generous atmosphere of sharing, asking planting advice of each other, and comparing tales of challenges with voracious slugs and pesky rabbits.

 

Because it was early spring and this was an informal exchange, pots were optional, and most plants were offered bare-root, pulled from the ground just hours before.

I came looking for raspberries, and I scored two, but also went home with a few of these prickly marionberry canes.

The girls were excited to see Chinese Lantern up for grabs, so we took a few roots and we'll see how they do for us.

Some people couldn't stay, or didn't want to do any trading, so they dropped their plants in an area marked "Free Stuff."  Really, everything at the event was free or trade, and no money was to be exchanged.

 

It was a successful visit to the Green Elephant Plant Swap for us.  We went home with raspberries, marionberries, ornamental grasses, ferns, forget-me-nots, Chinese lantern, various seeds, and four fresh chicken eggs!

 

Vaccinations and a Tragic Death

I believe in vaccinations, but many of my friends and some of my family members are deeply opposed to them.  I vaccinate not because I'm a slave to big pharma, or brainwashed by the government.  I vaccinate to protect those who can't be vaccinated and are vulnerable, like my mother who has cancer, and newborn babies who are too young to build immunity.  It's called "Herd Immunity," where the more people in a community who are vaccinated, the less chance an epidemic will start and the medically fragile will be exposed.  I've never been one to follow the crowd, but in this case, count me in.

Like most Americans, our health insurance doesn't cover flu vaccines for children, or adult vaccines of any kind.  Sure, you could get vaccines at most any pharmacy now, but they cost about $50.00 a piece.  That's $150.00 too much for me.  (My husband gets a free flu shot through his employer).   Each year I end up waiting until the State Governor appears on TV urging citizens to get vaccinated because there is an epidemic and people are dying, and the County Health Departments respond by setting up free vaccine clinics.  I gather up the girls and we take a number and sometimes stand in line for an hour or more, waiting with the masses.

This year the girls were able to avoid the needle and try the nasal spray for the first time.  They had none of the possible side-effects in the week following.  I had a trans-dermal instead of an intramuscular shot.  I hardly felt it at the time, but I developed a painful rash in the days after.  Still, I will do again.

The cost of non-vaccination was brought home to us this week when a dear friend died at age 56 of Pneumonia.  Jeffrey, above with the girls at a Christmas gathering a few years back, had diabetes, but otherwise appeared in robust health.  He ate well, maintained a healthy weight, exercised... but he had an undiagnosed heart condition, and together with his diabetes, when he was exposed to pneumonia while visiting his mother in the hospital, he couldn't fight it off.  Had he received the pneumococcal vaccine he'd might still be alive.  What a tragedy that this caring, vibrant man had to die so young of an illness that might have been prevented with a simple vaccination.

My dad and I argue this topic regularly.  He's completely committed to alternative medicine, and has full faith in herbal remedies, acupuncture, and an assortment of vibrating little devices.  The thing I don't get is how one can be against vaccines when they are so similar to the theory of homeopathic medicine, where exposure to a dilute, minute amount of an illness causing substance triggers the body to build defenses against it.

I guess everyone is responsible for their own views and choices, but as a parent and a member of the community, I feel compelled to do my part to prevent the spread of disease and do everything in my power to prevent needless death.

Happy Birthday Grammy

My mother got to celebrate her birthday at our house this year, because she is now living with us.  Her move into our home was sudden and unexpected, and the circumstances terrifying (more details in a later post).  

We celebrated both Chinese New Year and Grammy's birthday at a Chinese buffet restaurant.  Grammy LOVES to eat out, and we all love a buffet, so it was a great choice.

We've enjoyed having her with us, but have been staying up entirely too late at night playing cards and board games and watching TV.  We're used to spending long, leisurely hours with Grammy on weekends and holidays, so having to watch the clock on school nights with Grammy here is new for us.

Having Grammy live with us has made me more grateful than ever to have my mother in my life.  We didn't get along well when I was a child and teenager (I was a difficult child to parent, to put it mildly), but you'd never guess that by how close we are today.  We've both mellowed and forgiven, and for me, it has been such a joy watching my daughters revel in their special bond with a Grammy who adores them.

Happy Birthday Dad

My dad recently celebrated his 75th Birthday.  He arranged his own party, at a local Indian restaurant.  My husband suggested we get him this t-shirt from a local brewpub, featuring "Bhagwan's Best" pale ale.  If you've been following my blog for a while, you may recall that my dad was a pioneer on the controversial Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh commune in Oregon in the early 1980's.  Even though that ended badly, and my dad has obviously moved on, he still looks back fondly on his time there, and will always have a soft spot in his heart for Bhagwan.  If you want to read more about those crazy times, click here.

Anyhow, about a dozen of us joined Dad for his birthday celebration.  Pictured above from left to right is his 5th ex-wife's boyfriend, his French girlfriend looking on, on old friend from the commune (obscured by the shirt), and of course my dad in his orange paisley shirt.

Here's my dad with some of his hippie friends.

Before the party my dad told me he had a big announcement to make.  What could it be?  A 4th half sibling that my dad never told me about?  He's getting married for the 6th time?  He's starting his own commune?  He's finally reached enlightenment and will be moving to India?  Nope, nothing that exciting.  He just bought himself a used car, an old diesel Mercedes that he hopped a plane to Vegas to purchase off a Craigslist posting.  It could be a Katrina car -- the history is sketchy -- but he's always wanted a car like this, and figured it will be the last car he buys in his life, so here it is.  

My dad is very proud of the fact that he is healthy and takes no pharmaceuticals, but one never knows what the future holds.  Both of his brothers are gone -- one dropped dead of a heart attack at age 65, and the other died at age 60 of cancer.

His sister is still going strong at 80.  You can see just how strong here:

 

 

Happy Birthday, Dad.  You better start practicing your headstand now, so you can celebrate 80 the way your sister does.