Qusay Hussein was, I think, poised to become the most dangerous man in the known world. He had the UN in his pocket. He, I think, was our imminent threat.

I just can't generate a large enough head of steam to put Martha Stewart in horizontal stripes. She was growing stout, and those stripes are so unflattering. I like this idea. From what I know of her, which is what you know, using her expertise for free would be enough punishment.

Happy Mother's Day. I received an e-mail from my sister yesterday. Her son, 25, took a fall on some stairs last week. He broke his leg. The tibia and the fibula. At an angle. I called her last night.

After nine calls to doctors in the region they wound up with one of the sports doctors to the Dallas soccer franchise. He asked for a second opinion. Patricia is satisfied with the doctor he recommended.

My nephew will go into surgery on Wednesday to have a plate inserted to stabilize the bones. He will be on crutches for 8 weeks.

The injury is not rare. The doctor says it's common in skate-boarders and roller-bladers, motorcycle accidents, but not everyone knows how to treat it.

Mamas do have hard times.

How far we have fallen. There is sometimes an ad at the top of this page for a "Tom Jones Tribute" website. Even the boys don't think I'm that dated.

Just testing this spanking new interface.

Why am I interested in Donna Brazile? She was born two years younger than me, 1959. My, when we hit about 10, it was a tumultuous time. She lived on the edge of New Orleans in Kenner, where the airport is now. I lived on the edge of Dallas, what is South Oak Cliff now. Her father was a janitor and her mother was a "domestic worker". Coulda been a maid, coulda been a cook. My father was a carpenter, my mother a housewife.

I guess she grew up with the same sort of dignified black teachers I grew up with.

For the Thursday three:

I haven't heard a bad word about our mayor, Hiram Copeland, in any sense that he has used the office for his benefit

no, I don't hold an office and don't plan to,

and three, I would decree that bicycle racks go back up. You can't park a bike in this town, and many Afro-Americans use them for transportation.

Is there a good profile of Donna Brazile? An interview? A thought of what she wants?

I have no affection for John Kerry, but I don't want to see him rail-roaded and the press, liberal and conservative alike, is doing it.

I want Harold Ford to grow into a Democrat I like.

You are welcome to tell me what this means (from Craig Johnson at J-Birds):

How can you tell your bird has broken something? Often the affected wing will droop - but not always. A leg may appear to be very weak or won't be used at all. Sometimes these are symptoms of different problems altogether. The only way to tell for sure is x-rays, so if you have doubts, always follow up any first-aid with your avian veterinarian.

The basic orthopedic principle in treating fractures is to stabilize the joint above and below the site. Here's how you would do that for a broken wing.

For parrots, which resist their bandages, an especially secure type of splint called the Figure 8 is your best bet.

Place the injured wing in the normal resting position near the body. Using vet wrap or an Ace bandage with Velcro, start the bandage inside the top of the wing. Roll it over the top of the wing and diagonally to the bottom edge of the wing.

Continue behind the wing back up to the top in a straight line. Now bring the bandage over the top of the wing again but this time roll it diagonally the other way to the lower edge directly below the starting point. Roll it behind the wing in a straight line back to where you started. The bandage should now cross in an X pattern on top of the wing and run parallel underneath it. Repeat one or two more times, keeping the wrap firm but not too tight.

To finish up, roll the bandage over the bird's back, under the opposite wing, around the body and back to the injured wing. This part also needs to be firm but not too tight! You want your bird's chest to be able to expand so he can breathe.

When the bandage is in place, and before you place the self-adhesive layer, check to ensure the bandaged wing is level with the unbandaged wing when folded. This simple check is quick assurance the bandaged wing is in proper position.

The finished figure 8 completely immobilizes the injured wing.

If the wings are unclipped, the tips of the primaries (the longest wing feathers) should lie on top of the secondary feathers. If they are under the secondary feathers, the top of the wing is flexed too much and the bandage needs to be loosened.

Technical writing is not elegant.

I woke this morning to Lucy stamping back and forth about her cage. She didn't call. Good girl.

A construction mistake:

Two? Three? years ago we redid our kitchen. Part of construction was an island. We included a trash bin in the island nearest the sink. It's a good plan. It was originally built with hinges on the bottom to be a tilt-out bin, with chains to hold the upper edge. We found that the hinges break down with use.

We asked the carpenter to change the configuration to a pull-out bin. He installed heavy-duty drawer glides and it is working well.

But we have knob handles, and knob handles loosen with use. In our current configuration, we have no way to tighten the knob on the pull-out drawer, as the trash box proper is attached to the panel front. On the other hand, the screw will never loosen so much as to drop the knob. It's just an irritation. Avoid it if you can.

I watched the posts this week at J-Birds (start there and scroll up) about Eddgar's journey from New Orleans to Lansing, Michigan. I met little Eddgar, a male Solomon Island Eclectus, when we dropped Lucy with the Johnsons during our vacation.

Debra and Craig invest a lot of time and care and emotion in the birds they raise, and shipping them off must be a worry.

Lucy listening to reading deserves a picture. It is something to see. It reminds Lyman of the time he spent reading the encyclopedia to his two-year-old sister in the glider on the front porch. As long as he would read, he says, she would sit quietly, with a questioning look every once in a while.

Our technical problems with pictures, and other issues, can be traced to the router. Apparently the one we have has made something of a mess, and Lyman is deciding whether he wants to pay 35 bucks a call to the manufacturer or buy a new one. Advice is welcome.

I read the Sneetches story to Lucy today. She sat down on her tail on the edge of her cage and listened as though Dr. Seuss were a sage.

(Now you know why I am not blogging more, this constant rhyming can be quite a bore.)

Am I ever bored with cooking the same old things. Tonight I am trying the recipe for Goan Pork from one of Madhur Jaffrey's cookbooks. Mustard seeds, coriander seeds, cumin seeds, onion, ginger, garlic, cayenne, cider vinegar da da, da da. Bam.

Lucy likes rhythmic language. When I visited the library yesterday for this week's reading, I picked up several Dr. Seuss books for Lucy. You can drop in now and find me standing beside Lucy's cage reading "One Fish, Two Fish".

From James Joyner: Pat Tillman was killed in Afghanistan.

Now that Possum has separated spurting blood from food, I'll try the Thursday Three:

Three other places I might live in the South: Baton Rouge, LA, a college town; Lafayette, LA, a Cajun town; or Gulf Shores, AL, where there is low maintenance.

Three places that I've set foot in that I would never visit again: None. I haven't been to a great many places in the South, proper. But like godforsaken Gunter and other sites in north Texas, I am interested to see what has happened. I haven't been anywhere that someone has threatened me with a shotgun.

Three tourist traps in the South: The French Market in New Orleans, the city of Pensacola, FL (you read the map next time), and I'll agree with the Alamo. San Jacinto is a better monument.

The thing I have not seen talked about in the media is what would have happened if Uday or Qusay had ascended. For all his faults, Saddam is a political man. The children were spoiled.

I need a kick. I think that I'll drive to Afton Villa soon. Alone. Lyman's notions about a yard come from mowing. Best for it to be up and down, cross and sideways, for the most efficient run. Beds and trees are obstructions. Let it be known that it's been several years since Lyman mowed this lawn, though he did start in 1962.

Somewhere on that acreage there is a kitchen garden and a private lawn. There remains a caretaker's house. I don't have "column fever", but it wouldn't hurt this house in resale to carry tradition. (Even in 25 years.)

Lucy has one of these. This morning at about 10 I put five almonds in it and hung it from a branch of her Parrot Tower. The first three almonds were easy for her. The last two were too plump to pass through the bars. At 4:30 she was fussing and struggling with those two. So I moved the carousel from the branch to the tray of the tower. Lucy took the quick link off the chain, the chain off the lid, threw the chain and the lid on the floor, and got hold of the last two almonds.

Now we can't find the lid.

Took a tour with Lucy around the property today. The satsumas will bear, but I can't tell about the plums or the pear. The fig has come on another foot since I last looked at it. Lyman has let the poor cucumbers die, but the tomatoes look fine, if they have water tomorrow.

There are four days of work for me until the yard is ready for improvements, and I don't have a clue as to what they will be.

The ugly and expensive swimming pool is gone this year, so the architecture of the yard has changed on that score, and we expanded and covered a part of the patio a year or so ago, so that's changed, too. Now's the time for planning and enough execution to have some flowers this year.

I look at the set with some trepidation. I have literally busted a gut out there in the past.

LATER: Big Daddy tells us there will be lots of pears. I didn't look closely. Irrelevant, really, because the squirrels will take them all.

Michael Totten brought up a picture of Sadr. By my sights, he could have used the benefit of a strong mother.

My gosh. We joke about double wides here.

(Link via Obscure Store)

It has been a dreary and rainy Easter Sunday hereabouts, which brought to mind the ladies' Easter finery. It wasn't a good day for new dress shoes and pretty hats. So I think I'll buy this book, recommended by Virginia Postrel, to celebrate the ladies who celebrate Easter in great style.

Possumblog's Thursday Three:

Favorite Southern food: raw Gulf oysters with lemon, horseradish and ketchup

Least favorite Southern food: chitlins

Best Southern dish from my kitchen: breaded fried pork chops

True things are the most ridiculous.

Last time I vacuumed, I bumped the glass duck with the wounded beak. The glued end popped off and was immediately sucked into the Shop-Vac. On our hard floors, with Lucy and Lyman as permanent residents, a high-powered vacuum is a must.

We are adrift in dust in this house, and the vac needs to come out again. I need to remove the full bag, cut it in four directions, and sift through the cornbread crumbs, dried fruit and vegetable bits, seeds, leaves, dirt and everything else to find a bit of golden glass 1/2 inch long x 1/4 wide.

Done! 6 minutes max.

Ewww, dirt! My big project this year is the back yard.

The ads for diamonds seem early this year. I guess they're ramping up for Mother's Day. I prefer colored stones and pearls, but my lover tells me it wouldn't matter much.

"What would you do with diamonds? Diamonds are forever, and you're good for what, thirty or forty years?"

Egads!

"Speaking of supper, what are we going to have tonight?"

I don't know, Lyman. How about some cottage cheese and canned pineapple? Or what about tuna from the can with saltines? If you're feeling slim, what about a banana split from Dairy Queen? A crisp romaine salad with grape tomatoes and sliced cucumber with plain yogurt on the side? Wouldn't that be light and lovely?

No, you say. OK, then. You tell me.

What are these ads for "Real California Cheese"?

Full moon on a Louisiana Saturday night. The beer was icy cold and the crawfish were of a good size and tasty. Michael brought Sarah from Baton Rouge. Glenda's two boys and daughter were there with their others, along with about 20 more -- couples, widows, grandkids. 140 pounds of crawfish cooked and consumed around an outdoor fire.

Best of all, it wasn't at my house!

Stubborn, stubborn Lucy.

Lyman left for the grocery store this afternoon while I was napping in our bedroom. I woke to hear Lucy repeating "bye" and "bye bye" over and over again, clear as a bell, and with the cheeriest intonation.

She hasn't said it in our presence yet.

Lucy went today for a wing clip. It took just a few minutes and wasn't too traumatic.

Sunday, I perched her on my shoulder and took her outside to see the blooming azaleas and the newly planted tomato seedlings. As we were heading toward the cucumber seedlings she lifted off my shoulder and flew about 200 feet down the lot. She landed in the front yard under a live oak. She didn't have a clue where she was. She could have as easily landed in the street or slammed into a passing vehicle. When I reached to pick her up, she was just looking around. Da dum dum dum.

The street was quiet Sunday, but it isn't always so.

Oh, NO!

I posted here about Stuart Buck and his family on June 11 of last year.

LATER: Here is an update from his wife. Impatience seems to be Mr. Buck's biggest problem right now.

John Ellis posts an interesting side note to the Richard Clarke controversy.

Oh, for goodness' sake. Now we have teenage angst.

When Lucy was a baby, we bought her a short perch and a personal fan heater to dry her after baths. For months now she has jumped down repeatedly during every drying session. I've retrieved her and put her back on the perch, exhorting her to "work" and "stay warm" (paying attention to the temperature so she wasn't overheated).

It was a warm day today, and the house remains warm this evening. Since she was having such an issue with the fan, I just plopped her on a playtree branch to dry.

For half an hour she didn't move. No fluffing, no preening, nothing. So I brought a piece of newspaper and laid it on the counter in the office, as usual, and set up the perch, as usual, and turned the fan to low. Now she's working and preening and doing fine. Hasn't made an effort to jump at all.

I'm with my mother-in-law. It wouldn't have done for me to have a human child.

This post at Possum's leads me to an update on my mother-in-law.

At last writing, she was feeble and incoherent. She underwent a full battery of tests that showed no evidence of a brain tumor or stroke that might account for her condition. Her doctor forbade her to take any more of the sleeping pills that she has used for whatever reason for many past years.

Now she seems to have recovered. We don't have a clue as to what caused such a sharp decline then. She's a little dotty, but from Lyman's reports and my observations that's been true for decades. So our family is off the skids for now.

The window frame-chewing yesterday was of a piece with the strawberry-tossing.

Lyman brought in a half-flat (6 pints) of luscious Louisiana strawberries a couple of days ago. That night I offered Lucy one, and she ate it with gusto. Yesterday I offered her another in the dish of her Parrot Tower. I heard it hit the floor. When I reached up to return it to the dish, she bit my finger and threw it off again.

She didn't do these things as a baby.

Living with a parrot, even if she is the prettiest girl in town, has its drawbacks. Yesterday I turned around to see her chewing on the wooden window frame for the first time. She has lived in the same area for two years and three months without doing that. "No," I said. She took a defensive posture and glared at me, her pupils dilating and retracting, dilating and retracting. She doesn't like to be told "no".

I offered her a popsicle stick as an alternative chew treat. She took it and threw it off the cage, then returned to chewing the window frame. I finally had to move the cage over so she couldn't reach it.

The damage isn't so bad that it can't be handled with a little sandpaper and paint. Lyman gave her a short lecture on not chewing her house down, and we all seem to be on good terms now.

But you should have seen the look in her eye when she heard "No".

I have a strong penchant for Indian food that grew from my stay in New York years ago, where it served as a spicy substitute for the Mexican food I loved in Texas. That yearning has been seldom satisfied since I moved to Vidalia.

So it was a fine treat last night to eat Jordana Adams' recipe for Chicken Tikka Masala. It was rich and richly seasoned, and should lay my grumblings to rest for some while. Thank you, Miss Jordana.

Rough talk from Jack Shafer at Slate about Howell Raines' autobiography:

There's enough self-love in Raines' autobiography to earn it a place in the autoerotica section. By the time Raines stops romancing himself in the public mirror, conjures the last mirage of the glory that could have been, and settles his final grudge, you can only conclude that Arthur O. Sulzberger Jr. did readers and Times staffers a service by terminating this vain and cockeyed beast.

(Link via Glenn Reynolds)

I am posting this gift again because it went over so well with Debra Johnson in Mandeville. Her visitors want one, too.

Funny, the things that set you off. I am reading Anne Tyler's The Amateur Marriage. Early in, she mentions a roll of cotton wrapped in blue paper. The setting for the beginning of the novel is WWII, but I remember a roll of cotton in 1960. It was in a box with a red cross, about the size of a pound of butter. Johnson & Johnson, I think. I have cotton and synthetic balls in my bathroom vanity. Can you buy a roll of cotton now? I'll have to visit Reed's Pharmacy to find out.

Coffee Achiever has a succinct post here about Virgin Atlantic Airways' kibosh on a plan to put "arty" urinals in their lounge at JFK.

Here is a picture of the urinal under consideration.

Dave Barry and the Gores have something in common.

Sorry for not posting. Reassure me here. Brain matter is gray, not green, right?

Happy anniversary, Peg! 53 years and counting.

Sugar, the red mare, is swiftly becoming a memory. That only took three days -- not so bad, since I'm not nearly as young as Mac Thomason.

I am, ah, still feeling the horseback ride. When I first stepped onto the ground in the stable yard after dismounting I could not walk. I looked down at the steaming urine and muck on the ground and told myself "Janis, do not fall. It's a long ride back to town. Stand up straight." After a few minutes in place I was able to step gingerly out of the enclosure. Yard work here can wait a day or two.

Like so many travelers, I must have picked some sinus thing or cold up on an airplane.

News from the Iditarod trail.

On Saturday we went horseback riding. I'd like to tell you we have pictures, but I was too busy trying to sit Sugar's saddle.

Sunday. 6:20 am pickup for the airport.

"Hike up."

That's the "go" commmand for a team of sled dogs. "Mush" is for the movies.

Chris at the Grizzle-T let loose seven eight-dog teams yesterday, to follow a 13.5 mile trail through the countryside. Each sled left with a passenger and a driver standing behind. At midpoint on the trail, passengers and drivers could switch places if they wanted. The dogs were paired along a line that drivers were to keep taut with the use of foot brakes of two kinds -- a sort of rubber mat that would create slight drag, and a bar brake that the driver would stand on to create strong drag on steep slopes.

Lyman drove the first half of the trail, and I drove the second.

These sled dogs are much smaller than I thought. Our team averaged about 40 pounds apiece. But even the largest were only 55 pounds. Chris compared them to marathon runners. Sure, the lead dog knows where he is going, but the most interesting to me was the pair of "wheel dogs" linked closest to the sled. They constantly looked back to see how the sled was traveling, then might jump to one side or the other of the line to guide the sled itself along the trail.

Once they are hitched up, these dogs are on "go". We had some stops along the line as drivers had difficulties. It was everything I could do to bring them to a halt. We had no command to make them "heel". It was done strictly with the brakes.

At one point in the trail we got just slightly bogged where the snow at the edge of the trail had melted and the team stopped. Chris had told us to give sled a little nudge onto the track and tell the dogs to "hike up". That's what I did, and they were going in a flash.

At the stops along the trail, the dogs complained loudly. They are bred to run.

Lyman and I both think dog-sledding is the most interesting thing we've ever done. What smart athletes the dogs are. What pristine countryside we went through. Worth the price of the trip. More on the dogs later.

I received an e-mail yesterday from Craig, headed "The parrot formerly known as Lucy":

Hi Janis,

Tippi is doing great. She eats crawfish and I'm teaching her to say all sorts of vulgarities. Tonight we tried finger foods...she loved the popcorn but the beer made her sneeze. I've attached a couple of photos. Just ignore those circles under her eyes and her beer belly. - Craig

The weather continues to be warm and the snow is getting icier or slushier, take your pick. The avid skiers who can afford it are traveling north. Good skiers say even the upper slopes are becoming hard on the knees. We spent a short time out yesterday. I think I'll just retire my boots this trip. It is miserable and hot out there at 42 degrees. I didn't come this far to be hot. I can do that at home.

But that doesn't mean we'll be doing nothing. Tonight we take the gondola and a sleigh ride to Ragnar's restaurant up the mountain for dinner. Tomorrow we go dog-sledding and tubing. Saturday we have a horseback ride and dinner again up the mountain at Hazie's.

I might just trot down the hill today and watch the children ski. They are so much fun to watch, and some of them are good, fearless little critters that they are. People here start them early. David's baby started at 18 months.

Lyman was fool enough to go up the mountain Monday after 20-25 years without much practice. He had a rough time Monday, though he didn't fall. He wound up in some flat places where he wore himself out poling along. Whatever run he took, it took him four hours to come down. At points he thought about asking the ski patrol to bring him down. David said he would have been welcome to come along with me for a while, but Lyman went out later than I did,and didn't know where to find us.

We were both so tired that we took Tuesday off and went into town. It's a pretty little place. Clean as a whistle. And I know it's a service town where people make money by being friendly, but doesn't anyone ever have a bad day? And the guests are courteous. Everyone who got off the buses yesterday thanked the drivers.

One of the places we visited was the Tread of Pioneers Museum. There were lots of interesting things to look at there, but I was most interested in the part devoted to the history of skiing. The fellow who started this place's ski industry was a Norwegian named Carl Howelsen, also known as "The Flying Norwegian". He built the first ski jump here. You should see the early skis he wore, much like a two-by-four with the front end planed upward with a single leather binding laced over the instep. He must have been some kind of skier.

We also went to a funky little second-hand bookstore that occupied three rooms up a steep flight of stairs. Lyman and I found a couple of novels and a book of lullabyes for Lucy. The store was a great little place, but I can't imagine that it makes much money.

An interesting thing about the crossing lights in town -- they display a countdown of the seconds available when pedestrians cross the street, which I found helpful as we eased our sore selves through town.

It's time to put some of that expensive instruction to use. How I dread putting those boots on. Later.

David told me a charming story Monday. He and his wife delayed having children until he was 35 and she was 36. They had an active life together, and didn't want the responsibility of a child. "We were selfish," he said. Finally, they decided that they'd best not wait any longer. Thus the little girl. He adores her.

He said that a few days ago she came into their bedroom and woke him up. He opened his eyes to see a little face staring at him. "Daddy," she said, "would you like to come up to my room and play with me for a while?" David said to me, "And I really did want to. And I did."

David Moon was everything I could have wanted in a teacher: cordial, handsome (my, was he handsome), patient, smart, kind, and able. Able. He skied backwards a lot today. He is a married man and proud father of a three-year-old baby girl.

I am not a natural at this sport. I'm not sure that I'll get off the baby slopes this trip. I need balance and relaxation on skis. Both will take practice.

The snow is yucky. It's warm enough in the afternoon to melt the top layer into slush, which freezes overnight to make ice. The place is slick as glass and no place for a beginner like me. I was burning up in my clothes today.

The people here are warm and friendly. Everyone is concerned that visitors to the town have a good time. Genuine smiles everywhere.

Many, many children come here, and the little buggers are keen on the slopes. When I was holding on to David, little boys and girls were confidently bypassing me on every side, and I mean six-year-olds.

Tonight I am whipped. Maybe Nate can tell me how much the boots and skis for a 116 pound woman weigh. I'm guessing about a third of my weight. Believe me, wearing that stuff around all day is tiring. I should have stood for two morning lessons separated by a day or two. I was out from 9 until three, and that was a bit much for this Louisiana girl.

Lucy seems to be doing well with Debra and Craig Johnson at J-Birds. Craig will post when he can.

Hey, from beautiful Colorado. We have a proper computer terminal in our room, so I can post from here. We arrived at about 4 o'clock yesterday, what with transferring planes in Houston and taking a shuttle to the hotel.

I check in for ski instruction at 9 am. This will be a day to remember, whatever happens.

Last night we spent time talking to the waiters in the restaurant. They are all skiers. One chipper and handsome young man with a dislocated shoulder, a teacher himself, recommended that I relax, obey my instructor, and have fun. He fell on a set of stairs, not the slopes, to cause his injury.

My, oh my, I have a lot to learn this week.

Today we leave. Off to Mandeville and New Orleans, flying out of New Orleans tomorrow morning. Best to you.

Funny, these birds. We work with Lucy day-in, day-out on saying names of things: corn, pepper, nut, apple, kiwi, pear. We work on phrases like "pretty girl" and "good girl". We work on greetings-- "Hey, Big Daddy" or "Hey, Girl" -- and bye-byes. She has picked up "apple" out of those words, but few of the others.

So tell me why, when Lucy interjected a sound into a conversation last night, and I replied "Absolutely right, Lucy", she repeated that immediately. It wasn't perfectly clear, but the number of syllables, rhythm and intonation were absolutely right.

Now that was frightening.

I accompanied Lyman on his first trip to an optometrist. He has been complaining for a few months of not being able to see as well as he once did. Fair enough, we're all getting older.

When the assistant asked him to identify the characters on the projected chart, he could not identify a thing smaller than the huge "E" lying on its back. He sees worse than I do.

I have been riding with this guy.

The "Hobbit" generation has now been validated. Past Viet Nam and pre-punk. My brother, yes "that" one, gave me the Trilogy for Christmas when I was twelve. I read them, and moved on to Jerzy Kosinski, Tolstoy, and my great favorite, Cervantes. (In translation.) Lord of the Rings isn't a lifestyle.

It has been many years since I've sat through the Academy Awards. Any of the songs was better than Annie Lennox's. And I have always liked Annie Lennox. Those from "Cold Mountain" were lovely. Lucy seems to like Alison Krauss.

LATER: Just another note, doesn't look like there's any love lost in Hollywood for Sean Penn. That's not a political opinion. He looks like an insufferable little jerk.

I have received two vile e-mails today advertising teen sex sites FROM my e-mail address. I don't know what to do. If you have received any such thing from my e-mail address, be assured that I am not generating it.

I am going west! Haven't been west of Lubbock, Texas, for 27 years.

LATER: Lyman reminds me that this is a lie. We went to Oregon several years ago to attend a nephew's wedding and cook the rehearsal dinner for the wedding party. It slipped my mind because it was a busy family visit, rather than one focused on place.

We did something Friday night that we don't do enough. We invited friends for a family-style supper. Nothing fancy. We gathered around the bar and lit into barbecued country ribs, baked beans and potato salad. Maurice and Glenda brought their son, Seth, a first-year law student, and his girlfriend from Baltimore.

Lucy was our entertainment. Geez, what a flirt! She played with Seth for a few minutes, then crawled up his arm to settle on his shoulder. She fluffed, she stretched to show her beautiful wings, she preened, she preened Seth's hair, reached around to kiss his lips, repeatedly, and carried on like a common harlot.

Seth talked about it the next day. His girlfriend was a tiny bit jealous.

Craig Johnson of J-Birds has written more. This entry has some interesting notes about breeder females "decorating" their nest boxes for the coming season.

I have lost my comfy old blue Keds. Last Saturday, there was much to do before the party. I was running about straightening the house, and I whisked the tennies out from under the desk and put them -- somewhere. Not under the beds, not in a closet, not in the file cabinet. Where can they be? And no, they can't be tracked by smell.

LATER: Aha! I found them! They were in a milk crate on the floor of Lyman's closet. What was I thinking? Why didn't I just shove them under the bed?

I would like to thank Papa Possum for suggesting that Donatella Versace (on the left) appear in my dreams last night.

This is by no means a political blog. But I will weigh in on the current issue of gay marriage. I'm for it. I have seen a "death do us part" scenario.

It is no secret that I have a gay brother. I have not emphasized it because he doesn't either.

For ten years in Dallas I shared space with my brother and his partner. When I became unhappy there, they brought me here, and delivered me to happiness. My brother's partner died ten years ago of lymph cancer. Nothing has been right with him since.

My brother, one of five, tried to commit suicide when he accepted that he was gay after he came home from Viet Nam. Now, he is nearly sixty (one of the lucky ones), and comfortable with himself. Lonely, maybe, but not self-destructive. When I asked him about gay marriage, he said that about 98 percent of his acquaintance flees from the idea. He is indifferent to the issue.

He and his partner had done necessary legal work -- wills, affidavits, ect. -- when his partner died. I remember him feeding his partner cream soups and high-calorie anything to keep him alive.

I can't deny that.

Mr. Craig Johnson of J-Birds has updated.

In his entry for February 14, an owner writes that the first full sentence her young bird said was "Stop that right now!" Wonder where he learned that?

Taking recommendations on wheeled luggage. We don't often travel by plane, only perhaps once a year. We do make at least one trip to Dallas a year and two to the Gulf Coast, both by car. We don't need the sturdy stuff of a business traveler, but something that will last for a good while. Suggestions on brands to look at?

Mr. Greg Hlatky's A Dog's Life has long been a favorite read of mine. Go there to read how Lacey, the champion Borzoi, took Best of Breed at the Westminster dog show this year. Congratulations to your household, sir!

Start here and scroll down.

The party went well. Guests liked the food, but given the nature of the crowd, a half dozen bags of chips and some dips would have been adequate to keep it going for a few hours. It's a group of people who once gathered often, but now are busy with grandchildren and sports schedules and such, and just don't see each other much. Gales of laughter, and no, Peg, nothing near a gunshot.

Our boys came up from Baton Rouge, with their young lady friends. The boys enjoyed spending time with familiar elders and the girls seemed to be not bored.

As we get older, this party becomes shorter and shorter. It started at seven and the house was clear by 11:30. Next year, I think we'll move it back to 6:30, so people can be home by 10 or 10:30.

Of course, I picked up something, and have been shivering in double socks for two days in 55 degree weather. It seems to be passing. Lyman's been under the weather since, too.

If, I repeat "if", John Kerry cheated on a jealous woman with half a billion dollars, he is too dumb to be my president.

LATER: Here's a firm denial from the woman allegedly involved. Time to put this rumor to rest. (Link via Instapundit.)

Oh, my. Friends sent me flowers.

My biggest of all brothers (there are five) called to wish me a happy birthday this morning, from Oregon.

Here are the lyrics to "All Night Long". Can you find the music?

The menu for Saturday includes Lyman's scrumptious red beans and rice, his mother's terrific recipe for chicken and dumplings (my big job), Lyman's rabbit sauce piquant, crawfish pies, and assorted finger foods. I wish you all could come.

I found 15 little pots of healthy Gerbera daisies for $2.47 apiece at Wal-Mart today. What a cheerful sight. They'll make dandy decorations, and the ladies will have a flower to take home that they can even plant in the yard if they like.

Today is my birthday. I am 47. At this glamorous age, I am celebrating by cleaning the refrigerator and breaking down the Viking rangetop in preparation for the party Saturday.

I really needed a nap at about noon today after waking at 4:30 this morning.

I take such naps on the sofa in the great room because the sofa is comfy and I have interesting dreams there, and so Lucy will be quiet and not squawk for attention. I returned Lucy to her cage, settled into position with pillow and lap blanket, and said "Lucy, let's be quiet. Janis is taking nap."

I closed my eyes and began to drift.

Soon I heard a little child's voice softly calling "Janis ... Janis."

"Hey, Lucy, what is it?"

"Janis, what you doing?"

"I'm resting, Lucy. Let's be quiet."

Time passes and again a little voice says "Janis ...."

"Yes, Lucy."

"What you doing?"

"Taking nap, Lucy."

"Janis take nap?"

"Yes, Lucy. You should, too."

A little spurt of childish laughter.

A little while later, it's "Janis, what you doing?" then "What you doing, Lucy?"

Then "What you doing, Lucy?" Then a little laugh.

On and on.

My little one needs to learn more words. But she didn't squawk. And I did manage the nap.

We are entering the week of the battle of the sexes. We're expecting more than 20 on Saturday evening for a party.

All Lyman cares about is the food. I am expected to help with shopping lists and such. I have a few dishes to cook, and I am in charge of the cleaning, and believe me, Lyman won't lift a finger with that.

We'll be going head against head this week, because that is the way he likes it (he is a lawyer, after all), and by Valentine's Day I'll be looking for a Saturday Night Special. I know because it's always this way.

Debra and Craig Johnson of J-Birds will take Lucy for our holiday. Yippee! She'll be in expert hands.

Debra told me a funny story today. She met a couple with a very handsome Grey. Debra knew the bird, but did not recognize the people. "Where did you get this bird?," she asked. "From J-Birds," they said. "Oh, that's me," she replied.

They will update as time allows. Craig does the blogging, and has a large work project going on now.

Nate would be interested to know that we met a man from Alexandria in Baton Rouge yesterday at Backpacker who is taking his family to Deer Valley soon. Last year he outfitted his children and took them to Steamboat Springs. He said the family has to go again before the kids outgrow their stuff.

Fun sign sighting yesterday in St. Francisville: Happy Tails (in an Old West font), Professional Dog Grooming.

Peg has some wordplay up that is amusing.

We took the 80-mile drive today to Red Stick. There we bought ski togs and seafood.

I can't tell you how ridiculous and wasteful it feels to be trying on thick gloves and jackets when a light cotton cardigan over a sleeveless t-shirt is burning me up. But most of these items we bought will have some use over the years, even if we never ski again, and don't gain a lot of weight.

I can say with confidence that if I break my neck on the slopes I will be wearing my most expensive outfit. I'm not a clothes horse.

More interesting to me as always was Tony's Seafood. It is a whopping business run by an Italian family of five or six brothers and sisters. On this Friday afternoon there were three people directing traffic in the parking lot.

They carry live catfish which they electrocute then clean on order, oysters, shrimp, crab, turtle, alligator, rabbit and more. No nutria. We had to downgrade from nutria to rabbit for the sauce piquant next weekend, to the relief of our guests.

We bought rabbit, Louisiana Fish Fry and two sacks of oysters in the shell, one for us and one for a friend. For $16.99 you buy close to a hundred oysters, give or take one or two. It is an "R" month and we are celebrating our anniversary. It will be a busy week at our house. If you hear the radio playing, don't knock.

And, of course, we forgot "The Rule of Three", which means that if you have more than three items to buy somewhere you'd best take a list. So, in the crowd, and our haste to drive home before dark, we forgot the crab for crab-stuffed mushrooms for the party next Saturday. Now we'll have to scrounge around here to see what we can find.

Sure, 80 miles is not a far drive, but we'll be busy.

Today would have been my mother's birthday. She would have been 85.

Lyman read that LSU has signed a boy from junior college who is 6' 7" tall and weighs 380 pounds as an offensive lineman. Nick Saban is looking smaller and smaller.

This was Karen's daddy. You should have seen the crowd at the visitation last night. And the flowers. What flowers!

Poor Big Daddy. His unmentionables are all washed and folded and returned to the bag he brought them in. Now he tells us he'll have to sneak them into the house and put them away when Girl is napping. She insists that she can do laundry herself. Maybe a little later, Girl, but not right now.

So, what is it with you guys? Big Daddy has earned millions and at 85 his drawers are threadbare. I threw a pair away because the seat was worn out of them -- not two strands of fiber holding the shebang together. I'm not a Victoria's Secret shopper, but I do a little better than this. No wonder he wanted Lyman to do his laundry.

Girl hasn't done laundry. So I asked the classic question this morning, "What is it, Big Daddy, briefs or boxers?"

Stay with me, kids. It's the harvest season in Vidalia, and it won't take long to hit home. Karen Biglane up the street just lost her daddy to colon cancer yesterday, Bo Weatherly, Belinda's daddy, just across the street, is not looking good, and Jimmy Gardner, up a block or two isn't looking good at all.

In our case, it's my mother-in-law, Girl. She is pretty swiftly losing her mind. Not Alzheimer's, I think, but something more akin to senile dementia. It's tough on Lyman's father. He has loved that tiny girl with the clicking heels for 62 years and counting.

Last night's Super Bowl was one of those occasions when we Louisianans couldn't lose. Rohan Davies, past quarterback at LSU, and running back Kevin Faulk play for the Patriots now. Jake Delhomme of the Panthers is a boy from Breaux Bridge, crawfish capitol of the world. Nothing for us to do but smile.

"Wardrobe malfunction?"

News doesn't get better than that coming from Dallas these days. When I talked to my sister last week she told me she had sold our mother's house to a young Hispanic couple expecting their first child. Good for Patricia and good for the couple. They'll have a tight little house for their young family, and a big fenced back yard for the baby and his or her friends. Great luck to them.

This week Patricia has put in a bid for a 1600+ square foot duplex which she considers perfect for her needs. Just down the street from Central Market, Peg, and a seven minute drive from work. I can't wait to visit.

Plus, that cute man Dave (I met him in August), has invited her to Las Vegas on April 1.

UPDATE: She has it!