Neat-o Neti November 6, 2009
Posted by millyonair in health.Tags: allergies, health, Life, neti, TMI
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For the first time in years, I am suffering TERRIBLE hay-fever allergies. Since the onset, my waking hours have been largely defined by a battle between my sinuses, which have been on strike, and the rest of my body, which needs oxygen. You know that horrible thing that happens when you have a cold, where your sinuses declare a lock-down, and you can neither sniff, blow, or breathe? And yet your nose is still, somehow, running? So all you can do is dab? Yeah. That’s been my life for the past few weeks.
All you need for nasal bliss....
I’ve known about the neti pot for years, and always thought it was kind of a cool idea–like a facial douche–even though putting water inside your breathing parts seems counter-intuitive for a land mammal. I never actually tried it because I’m the kind of person that, if I have to go and buy some special equipment, then count me out. I’m too lazy and too cheap. I wanted to try it, but I was never going to actually go and buy a neti-pot. The magic of the neti was destined to be a sinus fantasy.
Until this morning, when I happened across a suggestion in my New Choices in Natural Healing book (the best dollar I ever spent, by the way–I got it at the thrift store). In the section about allergies, the book says you can use a paper cup as a make-shift neti pot by simply pinching the rim into a spout. I’m all about make-shift. Five minutes later I was mixing sea salt and warm water into a Dixie cup with all the concentration of a chemist.
Before trying the neti-Dixie-pot, I assumed that the sensation would be something akin to that feeling you get when you accidentally get water up your snoot while swimming; I expected it to be distinctly uncomfortable. In addition, I kind of thought there was the possibility I would do it wrong and drown myself over the bathroom sink. Also, I thought that if I didn’t drown, it would at least be disgusting, in the way that an enema is disgusting, with torrents of foul goo rushing out of my face*.
BUT BOY, WAS I WRONG. It was AWESOME and not uncomfortable at all. In fact, all the sensations were very mild, and nothing like getting water in your nose while swimming. My face LOVED it. And, the rest of my body loved it too, because now I can BREATHE! Out of both nostrils! And, obviously, I didn’t drown. I didn’t even have to hold my breath, because you can breathe out of your mouth while neti-ing, without having to be a yogi or posess some other specialized breathing skills.
So, if you learn nothing else today, folks, then take this home: Rinsing out your sinuses isn’t hard or scary, it’s THE BEST THING EVER. If you have a cold or allergies, go for it. All you need is some salt and a paper cup. Your face will thank you, and so will anyone you sleep with, because you won’t be mouth-breathing on them all night long.
*It might be like this if you had a cold or a sinus infection, but I don’t, so the goo was clear and I couldn’t distinguish it from the salt-water.
Oh By the Way… November 3, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Uncategorized.add a comment
…I kicked ass on the GRE. Thanks for all the good vibes, y’all!
Deep Thoughts November 2, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Musings, chickens.Tags: chickens, deep thoughts, pecking order, poultry
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Have you ever Neosporin-ed a chicken’s comb? I have, for the second time in as many days.
There are myriad things to love about chickens, but this is not (for once) going to be a post about those things. Instead, this will be about the one (the only) thing I hate about my chickens, and that is the Pecking Order. For those who are dubiously familiar with this concept, it refers to a ranking system within a group of chickens (or other birds) whereby competition for dominance and position within the social group is expressed by viciously pecking and biting other members of that group. It was actually discovered (according to Wikipedia) by observing the behavior of poultry. If you’ve ever been bitten or pecked by a chicken, then you know what I know: it hurts. Especially when it’s your face.
Petunia is excluded from Fat Eunice and Goldie's egg-laying snugglefest.
Several days ago I noticed that Fat Eunice’s once-enviable comb was scabby and gouged. I doctored it up and wrote it off as a hazard of free-ranging. But this morning, the mystery was solved: Petunia, my long-time underdog and lowest-ranking hen, is jockeying for Fat Eunice’s spot; right before my eyes, she jumped on top of Eunice and gave her earlobe a ferocious chomp! I know they’re just animals doing animal things. I know that, to whatever extent chickens have been allowed to evolve, this behavior exists for a purpose. Still, I absolutely hate to see them being mean to each other! When I saw it happen, I screamed and waved my arms around, flapping and squawking just like they were. It really, really bothered me. (I’m the kid that cried during nature programs– and then begged my mom not to change the channel.)
No matter how many times I try to explain to the chickens that they really can all get along, that there’s plenty to eat, that I will always love and care for them equally, they don’t get it. They don’t see that they can abandon their silly system and live in fat, feathered, egalitarian bliss atop my compost pile for all of their days. They don’t see that perpetuating oppression puts them all at risk for becoming oppressed.
And then I thought: That must be how God feels about us.
If Words Were Dollars, I’d Only Be Middle-Class October 13, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Books and Writing, Life, Musings.Tags: GRE, Life, school, Thoughts, vocabulary, woe
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I thought I’d take a moment to update this all-but-forsaken blog so that my readers- those faithful few who haven’t abandoned me for my infrequent posting- might be enlightened as to the reason for my delinquency: I’m trying to get into grad school. And that means I have to have an awe-inspiring, lyrical, genius and thrilling-on-the-molecular-level 30-page writing sample. Naturally, all my creative energy is being funneled into it.
On top of that, I’m taking the GRE next week.
And I didn’t start studying until today.
This dictionary is big enough to kill somebody: Me
I know, I know. That’s what I get for being arrogant and self-assured. Hubris, I think they call it. Anyway, I’m not even bothering with the math part because I’m trying to get in for creative writing and they are only going to look at my essays and verbal scores. Words, schmords, I thought. Words are my thing. Rapacious. Salacious. Dearth. I got it covered. Up until today I thought I was a human dictionary. Or a thesaurus at least. I was even going to include something about it in the “Personal Statement” portion of my application materials. Some people collect Beanie Babies, it was going to say. I collect words.
But this afternoon when I slid the GRE prep disc into the computer, I learned that my prized collection is woefully incomplete. The most troubling thing is that the words I lack are words I’ve heard before: Divestiture (which the dictionary helpfully defined for me as “the act of divesting”). Sedulous. Craven. Words I should know, but don’t. Words I’ve read before but was too lazy to look up in the dictionary. (I have one of those enormous pedestal dictionaries, but no pedestal. I balance it on top of a speaker.) And now, that laziness is costing me.
On top of forgetting to eat- which happens when I’m stressed- (In fact, right before I wrote this post I realized all I had eaten for the entire day was a doughnut. So then I had two bowls of soup. And another doughnut.) I may have developed a new compulsion (or obsession) of looking up every single word I come across whose definition I don’t know. I’m either punishing myself or hoarding. Only time will tell.
So, dear readers, if you don’t hear from me for a while, know that I have only divested myself of blogging duties for a brief time while I sedulously forge ahead with my preparations, however bad they make me feel about my penurious vocabulary. To do otherwise would be craven as well as unwise.
A Second Open Letter to President Obama, Congress, Policymakers, and Whoever Else is Getting a Say in the So-Called Health Care Debate September 7, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Polictics, Rants.Tags: congress, health, health care, insurance, Life, Obama, Politics, Thoughts
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Dear Sirs, Madams, Misguided Megalomaniacs, and Robots:
This is the second letter I have addressed to you. In the first letter, I was kind enough to clarify for you the task at hand, since you all seem so confused about what it is, exactly, that you are supposed to be doing. And since I am, after all, your employer (with the exception, maybe, of the Robots), I was trying to be fair, to give my “slow” employees a chance to catch up and discern what it is I am asking of you. But you still don’t seem to get it.
So pour yourself a cup of coffee, have a seat, and let me break it down for you again.
Needless to say, I am less-than-impressed with your work performance. You were hired to be problem-solvers. You all went to fine schools, you all play golf with the people you need to be tee-ing up with in order to affect real change in America. And yet this morning I switched on NPR and learned that all of you are still (still!) dickering about the particulars of the “reform” you claim to be attempting. This isn’t reform, guys. It’s business as usual, and I’m still not fooled.
The radio broadcaster was doing her best to try and explain what it is you are all hung up on- something about preventing health insurance companies from denying coverage to people with pre-existing conditions, and making health-care coverage affordable for all Americans. All that sounds very altruistic (albeit fustian)- and maybe some of your other bosses are tricked into thinking you are actually accomplishing something by decorating it with big words- but not this one.
Americans don’t need affordable health-care coverage. We need affordable health care. Period. Health insurance is supposed to be for those “what-do-you-mean-I-need-a-liver-transplant?” moments, not for routine bodily maintenance. It should not cost a person hundreds of dollars to have a bone re-set, to get a mole removed, to treat their acne, to diagnose their phlegm-y cough. This is the problem: that the cost of health care is so high that the merest ailment can send working Americans into a financial Vortex of Despair. It’s not just absurd, it’s wrong. That’s the problem. Fix that.
Here’s how it’s supposed to work: Anyone who wants to can buy health insurance on the off-chance that they will someday suffer a serious disease or injury. Because the chances of such a thing are relatively slim, the insurance company profits, in essence, off that person’s continued good health. In the meantime, when that person gets a cold or accidentally puts his arm through a window while installing his mini-blinds, he can go to the doctor and pay for the patch-up in full. Maybe- if his budget is tight- he forgoes his chicken dinner on Friday, or waits until payday to replace the glass, to compensate for the unexpected expense of stitches. But he never, never has to deliberate whether or not the injury justifies the expense while his arm bleeds all over the carpet.
Sirs and Madams, you are supposed to be the good guys. You were hired to protect our interests in the face of predatory greed, among other things. What is going on? Why aren’t you doing that? It really isn’t as complicated as you’re making it seem.
Next time you’re playing golf with one of those insurance company CEOs, just tell them straight. Tell them they’re going about it all wrong. Tell them you’re very sorry, but things are going to be drastically different, and it may mean their third vacation home in Tobago will get foreclosed on. Tell them you have to do the right thing, tell them your boss told you so.
And then tell the doctors.
Unhappily Yours,
The Boss
This Just In! (Or Out, Rather) August 23, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Life, chickens.Tags: animals, chickens, Food, Life, news, Pets, Thoughts
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The girls' first efforts....
Yesterday morning I woke after having the same dream three times in a row. In the dream, I went out to the chicken house to discover the nest boxes filled with eggs. I exclaimed with wonder and delight as I gathered the eggs into my hands. They were warm and heavy in my palms- different from the hollow “decoy” eggs we placed in the boxes to suggest where such feats of chickenhood might be performed. I arose from my my bed upon waking and ran to the coop still tying my bathrobe, certain that the clarity and portentous number of the dreams was a sign. But alas- there were no eggs and my omelet fantasy evaporated into the early morning heat. “No eggs,” I reported sadly to my husband, who nodded patiently over his breakfast cereal.
But this afternoon- only moments ago- I was alarmed when I couldn’t find one of my hens. It was Petunia, the one my husband says is a bit dim. Sweating in the blinding heat, I circled the house, searching for her. Finally, I went to the chicken coop, wondering maybe…maybe…
Petunia was laying in one of the nest boxes, dusky breast feathers heaving in the heat. I ran inside to tell my husband the news and fill the chickens’ drinking fountain with fresh icewater. By the time I returned with refreshment for the poor, piqued bird, Jim was standing by the coop, grinning from ear to ear.
I knew his smile meant we had our first egg, and I smiled extra-wide, thinking I had won the bet. After all, Petunia is an Aracauna, a breed of hen prized for their charming blue-shelled eggs.
“I don’t know who gets the foot massage,” Jim said, laughing.
I looked in the coop, and to my surprise there was a speckled brown egg already in the nest box where Petunia had deposited her dainty blue one! The eggs in my hands felt just like they had in the dream: Small and perfect as pearls; painted-porcelain shells encapsulating the viscous miracle of egg and the warmth of the bodies that had made them.
It seems obvious that the brown egg was laid first, making Jim the clear winner of the Egg Bet, with the prize of one foot massage. But since the events were accomplished so close together we declared a tie, and both of us the winners.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an ommelet to make….
A New Orleans Memory August 22, 2009
Posted by millyonair in New Orleans, Uncategorized.Tags: architecture, Art, Culture, Life, New Orleans, Thoughts
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The Blue Plate Mayonnaise factory in New Orleans
This Friday will the be the fourth anniversary of the day I fled my home in balmy, beautiful New Orleans- just hours ahead of Katrina’s devastating assault. In honor of this day and the city that I love, I offer my fellow New Orleanians (and the world) a remembrance, a thin sliver of life before the storm. A landmark that is no more: The Blue Plate Mayonnaise sign.
The Blue Plate Mayonnaise factory was located on Jefferson Davis Parkway in a neighborhood called Gert Town (according Wikipedia, where I also got this picture). I never knew anything about Gert Town, or that when I passed the factory at night, spellbound by the towering blue-bulbed letters, I was passing through such a place. All I could do was marvel at the beauty of that sign.
Why was the sign so beautiful? The answer to that question is a bit of a mystery. Even though I buy Blue Plate mayonnaise (they still make it – in Tennessee) and wouldn’t dress a sandwich in anything less, the sign’s power wasn’t as an icon of quality. It was more than that- a little twinkle in the city’s eye.
It was old-fashioned looking, proud and industrial in that first-half-of-the-twentieth-century kind of way. The letters complimented the building’s art-deco architecture, but the sign’s appeal transcended merely being retro or quaint; there was something downright magical about it. If I passed it during the day, I regretted the very sun in the heavens for darkening the letters and revealing the scaffold to which they were secured. Sometimes, I felt myself drawn down the parkway at night, just to see it. Against the heavy, wet-velvet sky, the letters hovered, luminous, beaming down benevolent blue light onto the dark city streets. In a car full of people, all conversation would suddenly come to a stop as the car passed the sign, and invariably there was at least one wistful sigh as each passenger was momentarily enchanted. It was a New Orleans icon, just as sacred to us as any grottoed Virgin or Joan of Arc.
After the storm, the sign went dark. Even after power was restored and the city began flickering back to life, The Blue Plate Mayonnaise plant stayed closed and the benign blue beacon abandoned us. The hurricane left the sign intact, but the letters were like bones hoisted into the sky on pickets. I asked the friends who moved back home for updates- for any news about the sign- but there were no reports of illumination. I have searched online and can not find a single image of the sign at night. Maybe the divine cannot be digitized. I have read that there are plans to build an apartment complex in the old factory, thereby preserving “the historic Art Deco landmark and its neon Blue Plate sign.” The blurb doesn’t say whether the building’s new owners plan to kindle the gasses within the bulbs and set the sign ablaze once more, but I really hope that one day it glows again.
Six Hens A-Leaping August 18, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Life, chickens.Tags: animals, chickens, circus, dogs, Life, Pets, Thoughts
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Fat Eunice gets a snuggle
Poor readers! I haven’t been keeping y’all supplied with my riveting chicken updates, mostly because the hens haven’t been doing anything noteworthy except getting fatter and fluffier. But look at their lovely combs and wattles!
Recently, they’ve started jumping into the trees, which I didn’t think they’d ever learn to do. I’m glad, because our *%$#@! down-the-street neighbors refuse to fence or chain their bad, bad, chicken-chasin’ doggie (even though we asked them in a nice, neighborly way). (Also: Neighbor-man, you done got warned. Animal Control has now installed a doggie-trap in our yard.) Someone told me that chickens start acting crazy and jumping up into trees and onto rooftops when they’re about to begin laying, but so far no eggs. My husband and I have a bet about what color the first egg will be: blue or brown? The odds favor brown because we have more brown-egg layers, but I prefer the high stakes of a long shot and bet two foot massages against one that the first egg will be blue.
In the meantime, I’ve been considering joining the circus with my hens. Check out this video and just try to remain unimpressed by their gravity-defying leaps.
An Open Letter to President Obama, Congress, and Corprorate Leadership August 10, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Polictics, Rants.7 comments
Dear Abovementioned Sirs, Madams and Conglomerates,
None of that stuff y’all are doing right now is going to make an iota of difference, and I, for one, am not fooled. Quit wasting time rearranging words on paper! It’s time someone stood up and had the courage to address the real problem with the American medical system: Greed. Which of you will be first to speak the truth- that to profit outrageously from the application of medical care to sick or injured people is fundamentally wrong. Naturally, I recognize that doctors and hospital administrators need to feed their families and pay their mortgages, just like everyone else. But why should their ability to facilitate physical healing command such a price? Is it more essential than, say, farming? But real farmers and ranchers can barely eke out a living in this country.
I admire the example set by the curanderos and curanderas of Mexico, healers who take whatever payment people can afford to give them, and render treatment regardless of a person’s ability to pay. Whatever you may think of their methods, my point is that they are not wealthy people; they view their talent as a divine gift. But I’m not really trying to pick on the doctors. Most of the doctors I’ve known have been generous, kind-hearted people, and have charged me modestly, if at all. It’s the combined cost of health and malpractice insurance, hospital visits, labwork, litigators and pharmaceuticals that make this problem impossible to solve without someone willing to stand up and say, “HEY! WE NEED TO GET A GRIP! THIS IS ABSURD! WE’RE BEING GREEDY JERKS!” I know, I know. Everyone wants a piece of the pie. Or pork. Whichever you prefer.
But all I want is to be able to afford my migraine medication. That’s all. I’m a healthy person. I go to the doctor one or two times a year at the most. The migraine pills are the only medication I take, and it isn’t even a daily medication. And I have health insurance. So how come it costs me sixty five dollars for four itty-bitty pills? Don’t you think you’re all being a little ridiculous? And there are people with much, much worse problems than that. Forget a pair of balls- grow a freakin’ heart!
Sincerely,
Your Boss
Awards, Political Statements, and TMI November 10, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Life, Rants/Diatribes, Social Commentary, health.Tags: Life, Thoughts, health, awards, Musings
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Yippee! I am the proud recipient of a blogging award, my first. The award was given to me by my muse of French-ness: Mo, of Me, Mo and Myself.
1. I do not have health insurance.
2. This is because good health insurance is too expensive. And even paying for the so-called “good” health insurance doesn’t guarantee that the insurance company will actually pay for the procedures recommended by your physician, as my mother has recently discovered.
3. Since I don’t have health insurance, I seldom visit the doctor, and have a general, vague distrust of the entire medical system. Fortunately, I am a very healthy person.
4. Unfortunately, it also means that I am occasionally compelled to perform my own feats of dermatology, e.g. removing suspicious-looking moles with nail scissors.
5. Sometimes I try to diagnose my occasional health concerns by google-ing my symptoms. This is a very, very bad idea that usually results in hypochondriacal fantasies of cancer, renal failure, or early-onset Ebola.
6. I don’t really like to take medicine. My cures for most problems are:
7. I do believe that our government should do something about the current health-care situation in our country, because unless you’re either a gozillionaire or on Medicare/Medicaid, it sucks. I DO NOT, however, like the current plan being bandied about in Congress. I am particularly displeased with the idea that I will be REQUIRED to BUY insurance from the government or other provider, lest I face a fine or some other punitive action when and if I have to go to the doctor. Please, Congressmen. That is SO not what we were asking for.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go sit in a hot bath with a bowl of chocolate ice cream and a book. For my health, yo?