CELEBRITY CRAYFISH
MEETS HIS MAKER
ALONG WITH MICHAEL, FARRAH, ED & NOW KARL

Sheesh. A lot of celebrities have died in recent days. Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, Karl Malden . . . and now we learn of the peaceful yet tragic demise of Bob the Crayfish.

He was the classroom superstar for some west Omaha kids this past year. They observed him, they cut worms for him, they wrote stories about him, they learned about habitats and the environment through him, and most of all, they brought hats for him to wear. LOTS OF HATS!!!

My teacher friend, who's more than a little creative and wacky, made this memorial video in tribute before she laid him to eternal rest:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bMehTFPPWlE

OUT OF THE MOUTHS
OF HUSBANDS . . .

I've been enjoying an email exchange with an old friend of my mother-in-law. She is a darn good writer and has made me laugh out loud several times.

She writes about a tact-free moment between a husband and a wife to which many of us can relate:

"I celebrated my 75th birthday several years ago. Friends and family showered me with appropriate hugs and high praise. Jim took it all in, and then inquired, "Sheila, aren't you the same age as your mother was when she died?"

FEELING A BIT . . .
SLUGGISH?

Over the weekend, one of the soccer moms on the sidelines was telling me an interesting anecdote from her childhood. It seems her parents were close friends with a couple who were Christian missionaries down in the Amazon River area of South America. They would visit every other year or so, traveling by canoe into the jungle, to spend a few days with their friends.

They told amazing stories, such as the fact that the Americans ate whatever the natives ate, to fit in, and that included SLUGS.

Gulp. (Not literally.)

I was telling our daughter Eden about that, and she beamed. "Of course, the natives were only KIDDING," she razzed me. "They would only PRETEND to eat the slugs. Then they'd wait 'til the missionaries ate them, and then go, 'Ewwwwww!!!!! How could you EAT those?!?!'"

She could be right . . . and the worst part is that a true Christian missionary couldn't even SLUG a native for a trick like that.

DAIRY DISNEYLAND
IS FANT-AG-STIC

There are a lot of controversies in agriculture today. But here's an agribusiness that's doing a great job using entertaining agritourism to bridge the urban-rural divide. This dairy farm is able to teach farming's fans and critics alike what a well-run 21st Century food production operation should be like. Moooooooove over, Hollywood:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJRy82i8e5Q

BUT MOM ALWAYS TOLD YOU
NOT
TO THROW STUFF IN THE TOILET!

I was going through some old news clippings and story ideas when I came across a Wall Street Journal travel article about a historic hotel in Italy. Since one of our daughters is leaving on a trip there in a few days, I looked it over to see if it might be worth recommending as a side trip.

Mama mia! A bit too swank for our taste. Here's the first paragraph:

"The Grand Hotel, a Vila Feltrinelli on Italy's Lake Garda, spares no detail to make hotel guests feel like they're living La Dolce Vita. Waiters uncork a bottle of Champagne with a ceremonial sword, an attendant stands by at the pool should anyone want an outdoor massage, and rose petals are sprinkled in the toilet."

Note the price: $1,700 -- and that's not per year or even per month. Per NIGHT! The lake on which the beautiful hotel stands was in the recent James Bond movie, Quantum of Solace. There are 82 staffers for 21 hotel rooms. Eek, eek, eek.

The only redeeming factor was that there is a hotel cat, Winston. Wonder if they sprinkle rose petals in his litter box?!?

TYPHOON BUFFOON
OR KNOW-IT-ALL MOM?

I asked Eden, our college-aged daughter, if she would please open the boxes of the hurricane glass centerpieces I ordered for her eldest sister's upcoming wedding, and check the glass for cracks and crookedness while there's still time to exchange them.

On my way out the door on errands, I hurriedly told her that we got two sizes, so some boxes will have two, and some will have just one.

Now imagine the pages of the calendar flying off. I completely forgot about the assigned task.

Days later, we were lounging at the kitchen table, and out of the clear blue sky, she asked:

"Mom, how many hurricanes are there?"

Wish I had a photo of my face. I thought she meant great, big ocean storms. I thought she was asking me how many of them there have ever been, throughout the world, for as long as time, which, of course, I hadn't the slightest molecule of an idea how many.

Gee! My daughter thinks I'm THAT smart! That's a switch!

But nooooooo. She didn't mean storms. She meant that she hadn't yet scrutinized those hurricane-glass centerpieces downstairs and was wondering if the task was going to cut into her busy schedule of lounging, snacking and watching T . . . I mean, if she could fit it in around all her intensive studying for finals.

THAT's all.

Come to think of it, I didn't remember how many of the centerpieces we had, either, but at least I think my guess could come a lot closer.

YOU KNOW IT'S MONDAY MORNING
WHEN YOU HEAR AN EXCUSE LIKE THIS

As the school year winds down to a close, the social and sports schedule of our 9-year-old heats up to a fever pitch.

Maddy had a busy weekend with soccer practice, tae kwon do, a birthday party, horseback riding with her fun new babysitter, church, a little neighborhood clean-up participation . . . so she was sleepy at breakfast this morning.

I leaned across the kitchen island, trying to establish eye contact in order to list her scheduled activities after school today: tae kwon do, shagging balls at the high school soccer game, piano practice. . . .

Rubbing her eyes, she interrupted me:

"Slow down, Mom! My FRECKLES aren't even awake yet."