So white azaleas are in a pint Mason jar in the guest room. E., the young lady from Baton Rouge, is staying the weekend.

Tomorrow we have the season's first crawfish boil for our house. We've invited some lady friends (bless'em, they're widows now), and Michael, the cook, has invited a few friends.

How is that guest room coming, Janis? Well, it's stalled. The woodworker we've asked to build the furniture is having terrible trouble with his artificial knees, and spends a lot of time in pain. Guests have a bed, though, and a lamp, and a chair. The lamp stands on the flipped seat of the vanity bench that was part of Girl's bedroom suit bought when she was 11.

M. the woodworker has begun work on the headboard, but is going no faster than he can manage without harm.

As for the quilt. Ah, well, the ten-year-old quilt top might be 11 or 12 before it's done.

I can say, though, that the laminate floor is a pleasure to take care of. A flick with a dust mop, maybe a swish of a damp cloth, and it's good as new. I can barely wait to do our bedroom.

If I had any sense at all, the whole house would be done in industrial linoleum.