Sometimes good things happen to good people. This time, good news goes to the Bird Whisperers.

When we left the Fish House restaurant after lunch the other day, Charles offered Patricia and me a piece of Altoids mint chewing gum to refresh us on our way to the museum. About 3/4 of the way there, the gum had lost its flavor. Charles doesn't keep a trash receptacle in his pristine car. I had no paper in my little knock-off Dooney & Burke pocketbook.

During the search for a tissue or a receipt or a deposit slip to wrap the tasteless gum in, the logo popped off the front of the pocketbook. It's about the size of a half-dollar coin.

Yes, I did. It seems to be holding very well.

Must say, other things being equal, I like my doctors handsome.

Dr. Whittaker, the optometrist, fills that bill more than adequately - carved jaw, pretty long-lashed brown eyes and deep dimples. He might have a drop or two of Cajun in him.

We have gone from torrential rains to oppressive heat. Lyman's weather station reported yesterday that the high temperature was 97 degrees with a heat index of 113. The heat index at 11:21 a.m. on Thursday is 110 with a real temp of 93.

The white trim of the house is gray with mildew.

The Sweet Potato Puffs at Land of Vos might be a treat for Lucy's hatch day.

Lucy went with me to deposit a check at the bank drive-through. One of the tellers asked how old she is.

Lucy turns three on Saturday! It's party time!

What am I going to cook?

My gosh, that little trip turned into an expensive one.

Let's see:

One set of bocce balls - $89.95 + shipping

One Bradley Smoker - $571.96

Four cookbooks on sausage and smoking foods - about $100

One hamburger press - $19.95 + shipping

Lucy didn't buy those things. I didn't buy those things.

What, you ask, are these "sisterly relations" of which you speak?

They go something like this:

"There are some interesting things in that box in the bathroom."

Patricia gets a starter set of bareMinerals makeup.

"The school teacher who lived in this house wasn't much of a housekeeper. This kitchen sink is terrible."

Patricia's sink sparkles with the help of a couple of products and elbow grease.

"Charles hasn't come to see my new house."

Charles comes smiling to dinner on Sunday.

"I strained my back at the lake. The only thing that helps is Mr. Thumper. Did you ever get another Mr. Thumper? You didn't? You're going to take Mr. Thumper, aren't you?"

Patricia keeps Mr. Thumper.

It sounds one-sided, doesn't it? But that doesn't include stifling teary laughter at the Modern. Patricia has no reverence at all for modern art. She read the description of a molten mass of plastic in one corner, the artist's largest commission to date. "Screwed again!" she said.

Ah, yes. So she is a Russian princess.

Well, now. The gathering fizzled.

There are nine teams in Lyman's fantasy baseball league. Two owners live out of town, in Nashville and Orange, Texas. Another called last night to say that he had a meeting with the man this evening who is going to clear his lake camp of the shoddy old cabin that sits where he wants to build a new one. Then another called today to say that he and another owner need to be present at play-off games for 9-12 boys' baseball. Another is snowed under at work. Lyman is trying to reach the other two.

Not to mind. The house is tidy and clean, and we have fixin's for hamburgers for several weeks.

When we visited the cemetery, we found a sad mystery. There were four stones together for four sons, born in '44, '46, '48, and '50. One died at 10 years old, one at 12, one at 15, and one at 20.

When we discussed it with Charles, he suggested that it might have been a gene for cystic fibrosis or some other such disease. Polio was a thought, but two of the deaths were in the mid to late '60's.

There was a marker for the parents - Bullock was the name - but no death date was engraved for either of them.

No death date was engraved for my mother, either. It's been more than a year.

Hey.

Hey again. I took a nap. Patricia rises early. This morning, wake-up time was 4 a.m. We took our coffee outside and watched the day break. I was on the road at 6:30.

Wonderful driving conditions all the way, with very little traffic. Rather than looping down past Alexandria as I usually do, I turned east at Nachitoches and drove through the Kisatchie National Forest. I can't say how many minutes or miles that detour added to the trip, but it was pretty. I never knew Louisiana had so many hills.

The weekend went much as planned, though we never visited the Nasher. My, but it was hot, and our backs and feet reached their limits with the Kimbell and the Modern. While it was a trip for me, it was also Patricia's rest time.

We enjoyed meeting the Aardvarks. They were the first bloggers I have met in person. Because we know quite a bit about one another through our writings, conversation was easy. Something I learned is that the Aardvarks are babies, too. I regret to say that I didn't ask how many Mrs. A came from, but LittleA is the baby of six. I am the baby of seven. What I didn't ask LittleA was if he could shed some light on why the traffic was so thick on I-30 between Dallas and Ft. Worth at 2:00 on Friday.

We didn't go to Central Market. Saturday evening we walked the block from Patricia's place to one of two Italian restaurants for dinner. The food was good and the prices were cheap. We bypassed the Italian ice shop. I don't expect to do that again, if it survives. Business didn't look good for a warm evening. Those Atkins people are going to ruin it for the rest of us.

We also didn't visit Patricia's son. We called, but he suggested that we do it another time. It was our considered opinion that his apartment was probably a pigsty.

Charles hadn't seen Patricia's new house, so we invited him to sup on Sunday on spinach salad with bacon, tomato, and gorgonzola cheese. The salad went over well with the sibs.

I lived with Charles for most of ten years, but locations and circumstances have prevented Patricia and I from enjoying much in the way of sisterly relations over the years. We like time together. She's planning to come here in October for the balloon race.

Now on to tomorrow's party.

Today is prep day for a trip to Dallas tomorrow. Lyman will stay here with Lucy.

My sister, brother Charles, and I plan to visit the new modern museum in Ft. Worth on Friday, perhaps take a turn through the Kimbell, then meet a couple of aardvarks for dinner downtown.

Saturday, Patricia and I intend to take the light rail (Hey, what is that Taste of Dallas thing?) to downtown Dallas to visit the Nasher and whatever else takes our fancy. We are considering the prepared foods section of Central Market for dinner.

Sunday we will visit the cemetery where our parents are buried, where we'll leave flowers and do a final check of the engraving on the marker. Then perhaps a visit to Patricia's son, who for a month has been nearly incapacitated with a badly broken ankle.

Monday, I'll drive home and immediately start helping Lyman with preparations for the gathering of his fantasy baseball league buddies here on Tuesday to watch the All-Star game.

Looks like fun.

Debra and Craig Johnson of J-Birds have written a brief article here about Eclectus parrots. Lucy is a Solomon Island Eclectus.

The authors do not go into the phenomenon of the bird sitting on the edge of her cage screaming and laughing like a little girl being chased while her housemate is on the telephone.

They also don't talk about how the brats will fake an emergency screaming bout to bring their owners into the room double-quick, only to find the bird preening.

Well, dayum. We made it from 3 on Friday until now without rain. The flotilla on Lake St. John and the festivities and fireworks at the riverside went off without drowning on Saturday.

But those yellow-bellied Doppler gangers have coalesced over us and now in 10 minutes we have .3 inch.

Finish at .45 inch.

Our local McDonald's burned nearly to the ground last night. Reports are that the fire occurred at or about 10 p.m., but I don't remember sirens.

Lucy and I drove by to take a look today after my mother-in-law told us it had happened. Only a scorched shell was left, with smoke rising from the interior.

I'd be surprised if this were some kind of protest. Insurance? An angry employee? An accident? Negligence?

No one was injured, as far as we know. The gossip wheels are turning in this small town. We'll find out more tomorrow.

UPDATE: The fire occurred at 2:40 a.m., according to the local paper.

Happy 4th! J-Birds has a good picture.

Ack! Sunshine! My eyes!

UPDATE: Never mind. I put biscuits in the oven just as the rain started. The biscuits (11 minutes) aren't done yet and we've had half an inch of rain. Rainfall rate at this moment is 4.65 inches per hour.

When the timer went off for the biscuits we had .78 inch of rain.

Up to 1.50 and still pouring.

Lyman's 40 tomato plants need from 1 to 1-1/2 inches a week.

We heard a cropduster flying the Claytons' soybeans this morning. That's money gone.

1.75 after 33 minutes.

We're at a sprinkle now. After 50 minutes we're showing 1.98 inches.

Just a little summer shower in the South.

The Possumblog Thursday Three:

1) I was cast in a small part in a student film having something to do with an art museum. I was about 21 and don't remember a thing about the plot. I hope it was supposed to be set in Texas because we darned sure talked like Texans.

2) I have nevah considered writing a screenplay of any kind.

3) The only actor I would consider for this category is actress Dorothy Lamour. I'm still looking.

Being on the film set was one of the most boring days of my life, and I've had a few.

This story of a man's collection of "things" is uncomfortably familiar.

(Link via Obscure Store)

Oh, for goodness' sake. Even the Religious Policeman in Saudi Arabia is catblogging.

Here's a report on local crops from the Natchez Democrat. So I imagine the local farmers are saying more stridently about the same thing Lyman is, and we won't print that here, either.

Here is the recipe for Lyman's Seafood Gumbo. (Note: This recipe can be halved. As is, it serves about 12 as an entree.)

This is not rocket science, but it helps to have that kind of budget. First go shopping:

Veggies

2 ½ cups chopped onion
1 medium onion quartered
2 cups chopped bell pepper
2 cups chopped celery
4 stalks celery quartered
4 tbs minced garlic
1 pound cut okra
1 can original diced Rotel
2 14 ½ oz. cans diced tomatoes

Seafood

4 pounds headless shrimp, shells on
1 pound crab meat, can use claw meat
4-6 gumbo crabs, usually found frozen in many stores, such as Wal-Mart
2 quarts oysters

Seasonings

6 bay leaves
½ ts white pepper
½ ts black pepper
½ ts red pepper, we use twice as much of these 3 peppers, don’t do it the first time
2 tbs Cajun seasoning, such as Tony Chachere’s

Roux

½ cup flour
½ cup vegetable oil

Other

white rice
gumbo file’

Note: It is important to follow these steps in the order given as some things need to be prepared in advance and available immediately as they are needed.

To make stock: Peel shrimp reserving shells. Refrigerate shrimp until needed. Place shells in 6 qt pot. Strain oyster liquid into the pot with shrimp shells. Refrigerate oysters until needed. Remove legs and all small claws from gumbo crabs and add to shrimp shells. Look at bottom of gumbo crabs for a flap. Remove and discard if present. Refrigerate crabs and any large claws you want in gumbo until needed. Add quartered onion and celery to pot. Add water to cover shells, crab legs, and vegetables by two inches. Simmer stock for 1 hour. Keep warm.

Chop the vegetables: Chop the onions, bell pepper and celery. Mix together, cover and set aside. Mince the garlic (I use store bought minced) and set aside.

To make roux: Heat oil over medium-high heat in heavy pot at least 7 qts in size, preferably cast iron. When oil is hot slowly sprinkle in the flour, stirring constantly with a flat ended spoon, wooden will do. Continue mixing stirring constantly. The mixture will foam slightly for several minutes. Cook stirring constantly until roux is the color of peanut butter. To judge your temperature during cooking, stop stirring and the mixture should start simmering within 2 or 3 seconds. If it doesn’t, increase your heat slightly. Be careful changing your heat, especially with cast iron as it takes several minutes to change.

To assemble gumbo: When roux is ready immediately add chopped onions, bell pepper and celery. Stir until the roux is thoroughly incorporated with the veggies, making sure no roux is stuck to pot. Continue cooking, stirring occasionally, until the veggies are completely wilted. This should be done at a medium-high simmer and will probably take 30-40 minutes. You want most of the water cooked off, but not all.

When veggies are wilted add Rotel tomatoes, diced tomatoes, minced garlic, bay leaves, gumbo crabs and any claws, and 2 cups of the seafood stock. Add white, black, and red peppers. Add Cajun seasoning. Bring to a simmer and simmer 1 hour stirring every 15 minutes or so. Make sure to scrape bottom of pot. It should have the thickness of a hardy soup. If need be, add more stock along.

Take shrimp and oysters out of refrigerator and set aside to warm up some.

Add crab meat and okra. Simmer 30 minutes or until okra is tender. Cook rice.

When okra is tender, add shrimp, bring to a simmer and cook until shrimp are done, about 5 minutes after they start simmering.

When shrimp are done, add oysters, bring to a simmer and cook just until the oysters start to curl around the edges. Turn heat to low and move pot partially off the burner.

To serve: Place a small amount of rice in bottom of a bowl and cover with gumbo. Some like more rice and less gumbo. What ever you like. Have the gumbo file’ available at the table to be sprinkled on top of gumbo. Caution: Some people don’t like the file’. If you have never had it, sprinkle a small amount on the edge of your bowl and give a taste.

To reheat: Slowly warm all or part of gumbo. Do not let it come to a simmer.

Enjoy. If you have questions, email Lyman at lymangore at bellsouth.net.

One more thing before I post Lyman's Seafood Gumbo recipe. How do people whose diets forbid them to eat bacon celebrate the new tomato crop without eating bacon and tomato sandwiches?

J-Birds has a New York Times story up about Peregrine falcons learning to fly in urban environments. And look around the J-Birds site. Craig has several pictures posted for bird-lovers.

We can barely see across the street. According to Lyman's weather station it is raining at the rate of 6.86 inches an hour at this moment. In the last four minutes it has rained .3 inch.

UPDATE: After nine minutes, we're up to .5 inch. At this moment, rainfall rate is 9.29 inches per hour.

There's 1 inch after half an hour. It's slacked off now, with promises for more later.

I wonder what the farmers are saying? I know what Lyman is saying. We won't print that here.

Lucy doesn't intimidate easily. Lyman doesn't give her delicate portions of food to nibble. He brings her half a cantaloupe, a 3-inch wedge of watermelon, half a spaghetti squash. They are often the same size she is. She eats as much or little as she pleases.

We finish up after her. Unlike a cat or dog, we know where she has been.

Lucy is about fed up with the overcast weather. She sits on top of her cage and fusses at the clouds.

Lyman is concerned about the 40 tomato plants and the okra plants in the garden that are doing not a thing without sun. "The grass is growing and the garden is not," he complains.

I have three books from the library.

Summer jobs, huh?

I only had one of any duration. I was a cashier at a True Value hardware store in North Dallas in 1974, saving money for my first year of college.

Completely uneventful except for the day that Ross Perot drove up in a beat-up old Pontiac or somesuch and bought a trap assembly for a sink. My sole brush with great wealth.

Other summers I took classes.

I have just finished Mr. Timothy by Louis Bayard.

A lilting pleasure, it was.

There were a dozen other things I should be doing, but this week has been muffled, dark and rainy. Why break that spell?

Here is a funny parrot story from J-Birds.

When Lucy is tired, she wants us to know it. She opens her beak in a large, loud yawn - sometimes more than one. When she is in the mood to show off, if we remark on each yawn, she'll continue the motions, if not the sounds, until we stop. Funny birds.

Pretty as she is, living with Lucy is better represented by sounds than pictures.

Glenda's son is now engaged to a good-looking nurse from Detroit.

He hid the ring in the grass at a picnic. "Look at what I found!"

Though Edward is not tall, he has always liked and played basketball well. "Mom, she's the first girl I ever met who can beat me at basketball." She played for Wayne State.

Here's my constructive suggestion for a title for Clinton's autobiography:

Interstate 30 to International Diplomacy: My Trip

Seems my post below about feeding Big Daddy at Lake Concordia has brought the watchband vendors up top. Good for the change. Come back.

I seldom wear a watch unless I am traveling. I have owned a Hamilton, a Timex, and two Seikos in the past 20 years. I have lost them all. They all fell off my wrist without my noticing. Two of them were given to me by gentleman friends -- the Hamilton and one Seiko. Time was up, I suppose.

Now I wear $9 watches from Walgreen's or Fred's.

I am going to use profanity in a post. What the hell are editors thinking? I hate these titles. "My Life" for a presidential memoir. His wife's was "Living History". Lucy could have written those books.

UPDATE: Of course, the publishers know that these books will sell on the authors' names. They could have been titled "c" and "v" for all the difference that will make in sales.

Here is a New York Times review of President Clinton's memoir.

Lyman says, "950 pages of Bill Clinton? That would be a good criminal sentence."

I don't hate Bill Clinton, but I do hate sloppy writing. Except my own, of course.

UPDATE: In another NYT review, Larry McMurtry likes it.

The celebration at Lyman's brother's house was as good as could be. He has built a pier that extends onto the lake with a covered 30' by 30' platform. There are requisite ceiling fans and lights, and a cooking center with a small refrigerator -- the best party room you can imagine. Four huge floor fans blew away the heat.

All 12 of us were in good humor and the food was delicious. The ice cream drew raves. I was honest. I followed the recipe for old-fashioned vanilla from the book that came with the Rival electric freezer. Our kids are all too old to sit on a crank model. Besides, they weren't invited.

Happy Father's Day to you, too.

Today I shall make a gallon of vanilla ice cream to take to Lake Concordia.

Lyman's brother lives on the lake. He and his wife have invited us and Lyman's sister and her husband to a fish fry to celebrate Father's Day.

My father died on July 8, 1990. Lyman's father turned 85 on May 30 of this year.

Poor brother. When my sister-in-law called to invite us, she set suppertime at 5:30 or later, when the weather cools down. When my father-in-law stopped in for a barbecued rib yesterday evening, he said "Lyman, you need to help Brent cook the fish." "What time do I need to be there?" "Oh, we'll eat about 4 or 4:30."

So much good food. So little time.

UPDATE: Big Daddy just stopped by. "Oh, I'm going to give Girl time to get dressed. We'll go to Brent's at about 2." Poor Brent.

I often read Jeff Jarvis. In this post he mentions "blogcards". Now, that's an idea that's overdue for the un-anonymous members of the Axis of Weevil.

Lyman installed Norton's Anti-Virus on this machine last night. Now I can't read Haloscan comments on other people's sites, though I can read them on my own. What to do?

Sugarmama, a worthy young man who loves you, and wants to marry you, has been sitting on an engagement ring wondering how best to give it to you. The girl is athletic, like you, and intelligent, like you, and young, like you. What would you want?

Glenda's son is in this place.

My friend Glenda brought me some fresh-picked booloobees!

Lucy is just plain stubborn. She knows how to say "hello". She imitates the ring of the telephone and answers it "Harro?" Drives the boys crazy when they stay the night, thinking the phone is ringing.

Lyman is a top-notch Louisiana cook. I'd set his gumbo and red beans and rice against anyone's. No reason to be, but I was a little surprised at how scrumptious his lima beans and andouille turned out. There are no tricks to the recipe. Here it is:

LIMA BEANS with ANDOUILLE SAUSAGE

2 lbs. large lima beans, washed

Water to cover, plus 2 inches

2 smoked hamhocks

6-7 fresh or 4-5 dried bay leaves

2-1/2 cups onion, minced in food processor

2 cups bell pepper, minced in fp

2 cups celery, minced in fp

Minced garlic, about 4 generous teaspoons

3 lbs. andouille sausage, cut in 1/4 inch slices

1 can diced original recipe Ro-tel tomatoes

Cajun seasoning

Sliced green onions (optional)

Place the beans, hamhocks and bay leaves in a large stockpot. Cover with water plus 2 inches. Bring to boil and reduce to simmer. Add minced vegetables, garlic and Ro-tel tomatoes. Simmer gently until beans are half done. Add sausage. Simmer until beans are done. Check seasoning. Add Cajun seasoning to taste. In this case, we used Tony Chachere's seasoning, adding just enough to salt the dish. Top with sliced or chopped green onions, if desired.

An afternoon at the Gore household is as likely to be like this as anything:

Big Daddy taps on the carport door and lets himself in. Janis is mopping the enclosed porch. Lyman is at the grocery store.

"Yoo-hoo. Is anybody home? Is anybody home?"

"Janis is home. Lucy is home."

"What's for supper? Am I too early or too late?"

"You're in luck. Lyman made lima beans with andouille sausage."

"Hey, Lucy. Will you say hello?"

Lucy won't talk.

"I'll get some of this later."

"There's plenty. Eat some now."

"Is that all right?"

"Yes, it's all right. Get a bowl."

"The juice in these beans is delicious. Lucy, can you say hello?"

Lucy doesn't talk.

Janis finishes the floor and the phone rings.

It's Girl. "Janis, is Travis there? I just got back after two hours at the dentist's. He didn't leave a note or anything."

"He's here. He is eating Lyman's beans with sausage."

"What is he doing eating there? I want him to take me somewhere to eat."

"Here, I'll let you talk to Travis."

"Come over here and have a bowl of beans. The juice is delicious."

He hands me the phone. "She's coming."

If anyone questions why I have fallen so far behind in housekeeping, it's just that things haven't been the same since Martha was indicted.

Oh, shoot, why not admit it all?

If I have told about my neglected iron, and the Redneck Outfitters t-shirt, I might as well tell you how thrilled I was to run across a "3 for $10" deal at the Super 10 yesterday.

In the summer, I like to wear long, loose sleeveless shifts rather than shorts, unless I'm on my knees in the yard. They're cooler and less ... confining.

I drove up to the store in hopes of finding an inexpensive but decent frame to replace the one I knocked off the wall while I was working in the pantry. On a rack in front of the store, there they were, 3 shifts for $10. I bought every one in my size -- small, if you please -- which came to three. I am delighted!

It was a drive-by assault.

I was in our bedroom, assessing Montez's trouble in Elmore Leonard's Mr. Paradise. I heard the carport door open and a deep masculine voice say "Hey".

Lyman failed to tell me that Jason, our younger boy, had called last night to say that he would be coming in this afternoon, on his way home to Baton Rouge after seeing the artist formerly known as Prince in Shreveport last night. He was accompanied by a young woman, Neysha.

What happened to Nicole, you ask? I don't ask. Jason is 29. His private life is just that.

He poured himself a glass of milk and ice-water for Neysha, exchanged pleasantries for a while, then asked "What's heatable?" Before I had time to answer, he had brought chips out of the pantry and found cucumbers in vinegar, pico de gallo and and a sauce I couldn't identify from the refrigerator. "This is good. What is it?" "Hold off a minute while I think if it's safe. Ah, that's remoulade sauce. They serve it in New Orleans with shrimp." "It's good with chips."

Luckily there was some of the squash dish left from the other day, and Girl had sent some butterbeans yesterday. I cooked a little pasta. The kids ate both. Not a menu I would have chosen.

Neysha picked up the dishes and put them in the sink and returned uneaten food to the refrigerator.

They spent a few more minutes socializing while Lyman packed a cooler with catfish, pork loin, and chicken tenders from the freezer.

They gave us hugs, and then were gone.

Hmmm, Mr. Schranck, that has possibilities. I think I'd prefer parmesan cheese, and pasta rather than rice.

What I dread most in my list of things to do is the trip to the laundromat. Funny thing is, I've only been once in this area, and it was no problem at all. I took a book, watched traffic, and talked to an older (older than 43) black woman who was washing just about everything because she'd been caring for a sick grandchild.

The memory that grates on me is from Lemmon Ave. in Dallas. That part of town was full of singles in apartments. I lived in a garage apartment a few blocks away. I tried to time washing for night, but it was necessary to go that afternoon. The place was crammed. Every machine was going.

Some cracker family bought lunch at a fast food shop and used one of the folding tables as a lunch counter. There were three children, as I recall, and a mess of salt, pepper, mustard, ketchup and coke.

When they finally got out of there, I wiped that table down myself.

Oh, so that's where the razor was.

Something needs to be done with the boxwoods. They line our broad front porch that is unusable because of mosquitos. They were planted as part of the original landscape plan for this house in 1962, before that live oak became a lovely towering shade tree. The poor little guys are not thriving.

This lot is 130' wide by 300' deep, pure cotton plantation. Our elevation is 60'. No feature of our landscape is natural. I'm thinking of calling in professional help. Jordana's "plant whore" strategy is not effective here.

I spent my adult life before coming here in apartments. My mother had a pretty yard. It was half this size.

Egads, I need a trip to Dallas. I just did a book exchange at the library (4 blocks up the street) wearing a Redneck Outfitters t-shirt.

I'd like to see the Nasher Sculpture Center downtown.

I'd also like to see the new Modern in Fort Worth.

I'm not a redneck! I'm not a redneck! At least not until I finish this yard work.

(And I am rube enough to want to take a train in Dallas. I read about that project most of my life.)

Kids, it is hot out there. And I've concluded that English ivy ain't nothin' but kudzu with an accent.

UPDATE: That's done. At least the trimming. I wonder what the painter is doing next week?

Ahem.

I replaced the steam iron when we reorganized the pantry. I had not emptied the water from it the last time I used it. When I looked closely at the tubes that indicate the water level, I saw organic matter floating. Closer examination showed that matter to be drowned sugar ants.

We had an infestation last year that culminated in a visit from Bug Busters while we were at the coast in November.

Ahem.

It is probably not to my advantage to report that I discovered this on June 5 this year.

I didn't bother to consult Heloise.

What to do? What to do? Onerous tasks ahead:

Hacking away the English ivy that threatens to pull the eaves off the house and touching up the paint

Trimming all shrubs

Driving across town to a laundromat with super-capacity machines to wash bedcovers currently in use and two or three bedspreads that need to be stored

Overhauling the back bedroom, which has become a repository for unneedful things

Dragging all items off bookshelves and scrubbing/dusting them

Replacing shelf paper in kitchen cabinets where needed

I suppose the outdoor work should come first. The dust inside isn't going anywhere.

That chore is complete. Six bags of about ten ears each are in the freezer. I used a sharp paring knife for the work. I have tried one of these but find it just makes a mess. You might have better results, but I doubt it.

Lyman shucked the corn and helped monitor the blanching. Big Daddy dropped by a few minutes ago and is delighted with our progress.

Peg Britton in Ellsworth, Kansas, is looking for a drum shade for a lamp. If you have any suggestions pop over to her site where her e-mail is posted and let her have them or leave them in comments here. I can tell her that the discount stores, including Target, will not have them. They are not the style now. Perhaps shops that specialize in retro styles would be helpful. Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore had drum shades on their lamps, if I remember correctly.

I can be of no help today. My project this day is to blanch, cut off and freeze a bushel of corn. Big Daddy delivered it yesterday afternoon. He doesn't care if he ever eats the corn, but it offends his senses of economy and tradition if none of the women in the family puts it up for winter.

Girl can't do it because of arthritis, and wouldn't if she could. She decided a long time ago that she didn't have to do the things her mother did. Lyman's sister won't because she is a queen. Lyman's brother's wife? Nah, she is not much of a hand in the kitchen and says so herself. That leaves me. I won't regret it in January.

The most tender thing I have read regarding Ronald Reagan's death comes from John Kerry's statement:

“Our prayers are with his family, and the wife he loved in a way all the world could see. And to the end, she loved him with courage and complete devotion ..."

Tsk, tsk. Another reason to make the recipe below tonight is that Lyman bought basil at the grocery for a recipe last night: Pork Scaloppine with Tomato Basil Sauce.

Herbs in our grocery stores come from Melissa's. A one-ounce pack costs $1.99. I have grown basil before. In this climate, the only problem is keeping it trimmed. For the same money in seeds, I could grow enough basil to supply every household from here to Baton Rouge. Worse yet, a packet of seeds is in my kitchen drawer.

We've turned up with gifts of garden zucchini and yellow squash. Tonight we'll prepare this recipe: squash with linguine. I found it years ago in a Contadina ad in Southern Living Magazine. Oddly enough, I can't find it at Contadina's large recipe site.

We have made changes. We use double the squash called for. We like a little kick with our meals, so we use Ro-tel tomatoes in place of the milder canned varieties. We also prefer fettuccine rather than linguine.

The dish could stand alone as a summer entree, but also goes well with about any type of simple meat, chicken or fish dish.

Natalie Solent highlights this sweet post from England.

After a less than brutal cull, we have arrived at a clean, tidy pantry, with nearly 24 feet of empty shelf space.

Lyman took over the arrangement of foodstuffs. He cooks as much or more than I do and I adjust to change better than he does. I don't think much of horoscopes, but he is a Virgo and I am an Aquarian -- when it comes to organizing things, he takes the lead. He can also become testy when things are out of place.

It was an interesting way to mark the 11 years that I have lived in this part of the country. I drove to Natchez, MS, from Dallas, TX, with the intention of living and working here on this day in 1993.

Birdstone wins the Belmont. No Triple Crown this year. Back to the pantry.

Lucy has a low spell at about 4 in the afternoon. She becomes drowsy and often can hardly keep her eyes open. She will not nap, but will draw one foot up close to her breast, and go quiet and still.

When she is in this mood, I like to draw close, look into her eyes, and softly, soothingly say "Poor Lucy. She's a sleepy girl. Sleepy, sleepy Lucy." Her eyes will close, and open, close and open, and close, then she'll shake her head to rouse herself, just as a busy daddy I've heard of does in church on Sunday morning.

It's a gesture I hadn't expected from a bird.

Seared Ahi Tuna Tacos with Avocado Salsa made a light, easy and tasty dinner last night. See, it's not all chicken-fried steak and gravy in the south.

I do wonder how far the food reformers would like to intrude. Do they plan to take cooking oil off grocery store shelves? Will they confiscate the turkey fryer? What about potatoes? People do vile things with potatoes, such as frying them, or God forbid, baking them and piling them with sour cream and cheese and bacon.

Believe me, I know how to load up on calories without going within a block of McDonald's, and so does every other resident of this town.

Where is my mother's coconut cream pie recipe?

Seven is a mystical number. I have seven cake plates and seven pie pans. I rarely bake desserts.

I am cleaning the cleaner bottles and cans, to give you an idea of what's ahead.

I tossed an extra mop, an extra broom, a very nice little hardwood floor cleaner that a party guest gave us that I have used once, and a Swiffer dry thingy. Hah, we laugh at Swiffers in this house. Nothing less than a Shop-Vac garners our respect.

UPDATE: All these doubled things would make you think that Lyman and I clean together. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

I won't say the bathroom is finished. The painting is completed, the new light fixture is up and Lyman changed out the plugs and switches. It is clean. There are new towels and a new bathmat.

I am not happy with the color. Too green. And the room looks too hard. There are half a dozen ways to handle this and I am ruminating.

Today I bought shelf liner for the pantry -- one hundred and six feet and a few inches. I spent more than $45 on the cheapest serviceable product at Wal-mart. Tomorrow begins the tedium of cleaning things and positioning them conveniently. We will cull again. We might have differences.

And I can't find my razor.

UPDATE: Finally got rid of the verb in that sentence. Nothing looked right.

I would not have traded last night's dinner for the most exquisite dish from the kitchens of France: juicy fried pork chops, fresh okra and tomatoes with onions, and boiled fresh corn, sweet, crisp and tender.

Now there's another question. It rained 1.7 inches this morning before I rose at 10. What happened to the parade?

UPDATE: My answer is in this story:

The memorial began Monday morning, through the heavy morning downpour, as residents marched across the Mississippi River Bridge from Vidalia.

Vidalia mayor Hyram Copeland said many of the marchers told him, "regardless of how hard it rains, it will not dampen our spirit."

Our flag became tattered by the wind several months ago. We took it down. Today we replaced it.

The young black drummers in the neighborhood behind us have been practicing for days. They will pace the parade across the bridge, where cars will pick up paraders for the trip to Natchez National Cemetery tomorrow morning. I don't know the history of this parade, but it has been a tradition in the black community here for at least 40 years, which is as long as Lyman can remember.

Nadine Crutchfield says it dates from World War II. Mr. Frank Williams, black veteran of World War II, says he marched in 1946, and the tradition was strong before that.

He tells me the veterans used to meet at the black veterans hall, then parade to the ferry landing before there was a bridge, march the four miles to the cemetery, partake in the ceremonies, then march the four miles back to the landing.

There's more to find out here.

UPDATE: Ask and ye shall receive. Here is a story in the May 31, 2004, Natchez Democrat that dates the tradition to Civil War veterans in 1868. Because the Natchez Democrat employs such young reporters, there is a glaring error in this story. The bridge linking Vidalia to Natchez was opened in September of 1940. There was only ferry service prior to that date.

It's taped up and cut in. Lyman is rolling the first coat now.

Painter's tape is wondrous stuff. Thank you, 3M.

The painting is done.

Why, you ask, did you paint when you hired a painter last week? First, because the painter had more important chores; second, I hadn't chosen a color; and third, I like to keep my hand in. When we created the great room I painted the cabinets in the office and those in the kitchen. We are talking on the order of 60+ paneled doors and drawer fronts, four separate coats, with sanding in between. I like the work.

One year ago today my mother died. She would be pleased with the household improvements. She kept an immaculate house with seven children and without money.

Lucy's pal, Mr. Rushing, delivered to us a bright, white, clean pantry and a well-primed bathroom while we were gone. We figure the pantry was last painted in 1979 when Lyman moved into this house.

This afternoon I am studying the color wheel to decide what color to paint the bathroom walls. The tile is beige and the cabinetry a blue. The paint has to complement the menacing ceramic lizard that Lyman brought from the coast last trip. He will crawl down the wall.

It's a small space with a window at the back of the house far from Lucy. A coat or two of latex shouldn't bother her.

UPDATE: Iced Teal it is.

UPDATE: I complain sometimes about living in a small town -- lack of entertainment, poor grocery choices -- then I receive the bill from Mr. Rushing. In the bathroom, he took down the light fixture that has been up since 1962, repaired some moisture damage in the corner above the shower and prepped the walls for the final coats. In the pantry he repaired the dryer vent, Kilzed all surfaces, painted the walls and ceiling with latex, and painted three large shelf units and one smaller shelf unit with oil. His bill, including supplies, is $275. And we didn't need to supervise the work. In fact, he keeps a house key.

We took the SUV to the coast. Well, it's owned by the family. Since September I have driven the little '97 Escort wagon that we bought as a second car. Lyman has taken over the Tahoe. He doesn't care for me to drive it anymore because I adjust the seat and mirrors, etc., for comfortable and safe driving.

We stopped on our way in at Mr. Ike Byrd's produce stand in Loxley to order six 50 lb. sacks of new potatoes and three bushels of Silver Queen corn to bring home for family and friends. Fifty pounds of new potatoes cost $8.00. A bushel of corn sells for $13.00. Mr. Byrd was happy to meet Lucy. "We're cousins!" he said. We've been to the stand before, but didn't meet Mr. Ike.

On our way out we picked up our order. The potatoes were dug and the corn picked yesterday morning. While we were there I spotted gorgeous green beans that had been picked yesterday, too. Four messes of those, and the okra looked good enough to pick up a couple of boxes for okra and tomatoes and a fry.

With Lucy's gear we had a full load. (Lyman and I shared a canvas carry-all. Lucy had a small bag, her acrylic travel cage and her playtree.)

That's why we own an SUV.

One of the most interesting bits of the trip was the stop at the Waffle House in Loxley for a burger on the way home. We sat in one of the booths near the griddle.

A young man, probably a high school kid, was training as the prep cook, and it didn't look easy.

The cooks don't use tickets. They depend on coded calls from the waitresses, and they can be complicated. As it says on the menu, there are hundreds of ways to have the hash browns, since they can be topped with any combination of cheese, chili, onions, etc. and each ingredient is called with a verb -- "covered", "smothered", "dashed", etc. (Not verb. What is that part of speech? Adverb?) You can order any number of eggs in all familiar ways. Toast can be white, wheat or Texas. Burgers can be single, double, with cheese, or bacon. On and on.

The kid was responsible for setting up the plates, preparing toast and waffles, and adding garnishes. At the time of day we were there a middle-aged waitress was patiently working with him. It was going to be a long day for both of them.

I worked as a waitress in my younger days and have a lot of respect for both waitresses and kitchen staffs. Even with experience I would have been intimidated in the boy's place.

That was a quick trip to the beach, complicated by a brake caliper freezing in Hattiesburg. We fortunately made our way easily to a mechanic who righted the problem in a couple of hours.

We only had two full days, so didn't even pack swim suits.

In the shopping capital of Alabama I purchased these glamorous items: a new toilet seat (through maintenance), two king-sized pillows, two oven mitts, four pot holders, a mat for the patio door, a set of flatware and a key rack.

The key rack is a brass affair with five dolphins standing on their tails. The tails hold the keys. Will guests figure out what it is? Maybe I should have bought the raw piece at Wal-mart that was a wooden cut-out of the word 'keys' and spray painted it. We'll see.

There was some wicker unweaving at the foot of one of the dining chairs. I worked on that.

On Wednesday night we ate at Grazzi, an Italian restaurant. They serve a spinach salad with bacon, tomato, gorgonzola cheese and balsamic vinaigrette that I want to replicate at home. It was delicious, or I was hungry, or both.

The drive home was easy. I tried to teach Lucy to say "Lyman, are we there yet?", but she was having none of it.

Here's an interesting note from the Food Channel tonight: Rona Barrett, the gossip columnist, left Hollywood to become a lavender farmer in Santa Barbara. She has a line of lavender flavored foods and skin products.

My, my. How did all that stuff fit in the pantry in the first place?

What a chore cleaning this pantry is. I feel as though I am moving.

Mr. Rushing is my painter. He is a retired school principal. Choosy as Lucy is, she picked up his finger when he was last here.

When he painted the outside of the house a few years ago he whistled a lot, and talked to the frogs and lizards and birds and plants, even the mosquitos.

I am not a packrat. I am not a packrat.

I've done my work on the bathroom, and have moved to the pantry/utility room. No wallpaper there.

We are prepping these rooms to be painted while we are at the coast next week. I am not running from the work. I like picky little home improvement projects. But Kilz is coming into the picture, and Kilz and Lucy are not compatible.

So rather than killing one little bird with a surfeit of fumes, we'll attend to inventory there, so our renters this summer will have sturdy oven mitts, and better flatware, and such luxuries as should be awarded people who spend $1100 a week on rentals.

But what a mess in the pantry. For some reason, I have at one time held onto every tattered dishtowel and washcloth. I know we need rags. Old towels are necessary so the boys won't use current handtowels to wash their cars. But, really, Janis.

Then there is the collection of cheap bud vases, and every piece of Tupperware that Girl brought over here that belonged to her mother. Then there are excess party dishes. And the handsome '62 chrome Hamilton-Beach stand mixer needs to go to the attic. It wants replacing with a fat machine that is strong enough to knead dough. The little yoghurt maker that Daddy picked up at the flea market when I was in my healthful twenties needs to be trashed, much as I hate to do it, and we just don't have room for the toaster oven. I will keep the Panasonic juicer that I bought in the eighties that hasn't been fired for 20 years -- or maybe I'll try it first. And that stupid, stupid what?

Every other room in the house has been redone in the past ten years. These are past due.

I am not a packrat.

I don't want to hold a garage sale. I want a giveaway. But we know that someone would come snap all that crap up to sell to someone else.

And I need more garbage bags.

Being edgy can be of benefit. Particularly when you are taking care of wallpaper. We took down, this weekend, wallpaper that had been on the wall of the bathroom for 14 years. Lyman languished when his application of cold water to edges wouldn't take the stuff down. On instruction, from HGTV, we were to spray the paper with warm water and work from the edges. After our original assault, Lyman lost faith. He thought we should rent a steamer. What a child.

A mild application of warm water at the edges, with an assiduous application of a scraper took down the wallpaper within an hour. I worked from the edges, patiently, as they softened.

As an aside: I want to establish an organization called "Decorators Without Borders at 8 Feet or Less".

Here's a cute cartoon from Craig Johnson at J-Birds.

Yes, free market and all that, but I can sympathize with the temple in its wish that the sellers of Great Buddha Boogers would change the product's name.

Sorry, that link is gone.

I like turtles, too.

(Link via Obscure Store)

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.