Well, now. That was fun, even if I did want to drop a mickey in everyone's drink and cart 'em home at 7. Lyman says his ears are still ringing.

Nicole is a a cute little girl with a Polish last name (that I haven't fully gotten yet) from Ponchatoula, LA, home of the state's big strawberry festival. Ponchatoula is a town about 40 miles due east of Baton Rouge. She's going into her second year of college next semester at 21. I think she is too young for Jason at 28, but my parents married at 19 and 27 and lasted for 50-odd years. I guess it's not for me to say. She wears little to no make-up, as Jason likes, and has an easy smile. A tidy little figure, too. We'll see.

I was too busy to pay a whole lot of attention to her or Jason, either.

Both these boys stay away long enough that all they want to do when they come home is talk. When they leave, Lyman and and I lay slumped in our chairs, fumbling for the keys to the liquor cabinet and motioning each other to hush.

Girl, 83, 4'10", 115 pounds, was fresh from the beauty shop and raring to go. She talks up a storm.

I forget my in-laws' wedding anniversary, mainly because they think nothing of it. This dinner, though casual, fell in nicely. Tomorrow, Girl and Big Daddy will have been married 62 years. She says she can't understand how that can be, since she's only 65. I suggested that it was an arranged marriage. She thinks that must be the case. "Married 62 years to the wrong man," she said.