My daughter borrowed one of these from her father and step-mother this week. It's nice.

I'd like this, in a delft blue, please. My old one is broken.

WARNING: RANT

I've had to deal with both of my sisters in the last week: one in person, and one on the phone. I'll readily admit, I'm the baby of the family. I was an after thought, an accident, even. My oldest sister was born the same year my parents were married. My second sister was born a little more than four years later. More than ten years later, I came along. My mother always said that I was proof that certain types of over-the-counter contraceptives didn't work.

My oldest sister lives in Santa Maria. My middle sister lives in Washington State, and is, additionally, bedridden. They are not really any help in taking care of my father, who is 88 years old. For the most part, this is because they live too far away.

When my mother first passed away, nearly ten years ago, now, and I was just beginning my PhD work, my oldest sister promised me that any time I needed her, she would be down from Santa Maria to help take care of Dad. This lasted about two months, and she was angry about it, even then.

My middle sister is unable to travel.

These days, I am fortunate, and so is my father, if my oldest sister visits my father twice a year. And while she is down, she still expects that I will do his grocery shopping those weeks. She doesn't see why she should actually help me while she is down here. I know I'm not in grad school anymore. I'm not even working full time anymore, since I can't. I do, however, have work to do at home, and can frequently have difficulty doing Dad's shopping without Lee's help.

When my middle sister calls me, she does nothing but complain. Okay, I can complain with the best of them. My middle sister turns it into a competition. She has to have the last word, the worst problem, the most pain. Okay, she can have it. Do I have to listen to it, always? Her dogs have to be the sickest, she has to know the most dirt about the relatives. And she won't shut up. She goes on and on and on and on and on.

Even my children can't stand to listen to her. My daughter cuts the middle sister off when the she begins to complain about how I take care of my father.

I do the best I can for Dad. I don't really do this for my sisters. I do it for Dad. He can't drive to get his own groceries, so I get them. He doesn't see well, anymore, so I try to help him with other things that need doing. Lee's been a huge help in taking care of things around his house, fixing his television, and carrying things. I've learned to cut Dad's hair, remove slivers that have waited too long because Dad can't see them, and change the sheets and vacuum the mattress because the doctor misdiagnosed Dad's eczema as scabies THREE TIMES a couple of years ago. (Practicing medicine, I tell you!) We put his mattress and pillows in plastic, finally, and bought brand new sheets.

We finally got him in to see a dermatologist. She took one look and knew he had acute allergies to something plus eczema. He was allergic to the laundry soap we'd been rewashing all of his sheets in all those times. He now uses "Free and Clear" laundry soap, uses large quantities of heavy cream on a daily basis for the eczema, along with oatmeal soap for sensitive skin, and isn't always miserable.

My sisters do nothing but criticize through all of this. Anything that goes wrong is my fault. They forget how stubborn the man that helped to raise us is and always has been. They forget that his mind is still perfectly strong when it comes to making decisions about where to live, whether or not to have a cleaning service, and what he is going to eat. And they don't have to see the tears in his eyes or listen to the note of pleading in his voice when he says he would rather die than live anywhere than in his own home, by himself.

He was a Screaming Eagle in WWII. He survived through sheer will power and stubbornness; we're certain of it. That same will power and stubbornness live on, and my sisters would do well to remember it before they criticize me for his decisions. He may be 88, but there is still no way to argue with the man.

Since Lee feels free to look at overpriced phones, I'd like one of these, someday.