Hike up.

I've said we watch HGTV.

Tonight there was a feature of a designer redoing a couple's outdated bathroom. The designer removed the tub, put in a luxurious shower with expensively tiled walls and custom glass accents, Venetian plaster walls, granite-topped cherrywood vanities with brushed chrome fixtures, a lovely freestanding cherrywood linen closet, and left a plain white toilet fully exposed in the middle of one wall.

Even our modest bathrooms offer a little privacy.

I find it almost impossible to imagine how a creature can grow from this to one of these.

(Sorry about the pics from another site, Craig.)

Hmmm. I cooked the dried fruit compote I mentioned in another post, and added a bit of rum as recommended by a reader(!). I'll serve a small portion in a small ice cream dish, over Blue Bell natural vanilla, with sweetened whipped cream, garnished with a maraschino cherry or a twist of fresh satsuma from the tree and such safe fresh leaves as I can gather on the property, probably bay.

The effort is a waste. Everyone is going to stuff themselves with shrimp and fried oysters. I know the crowd.

Lorraine Stalians has had a bad run.

She was the franchisee of the McDonald's that burned. Investigators could not find a definite cause for the fire.

Now she is closing the restaurant she built on the Riverwalk a year or so ago. To her credit, she took a big chance.

However, you didn't need to be an accountant or a restaurateur to know that a half-million dollar investment in an upscale restaurant with a base of, say, 35,000 mainly working-class people was going to be a near impossible run in the short term.

In the long term, once the four-lane is complete from Natchez through St. Francisville to Baton Rouge, there's a good chance that Natchez may become a bedroom community for Baton Rouge. The commute would be a little over an hour. There is plenty of pretty land south of town where an upscale community has been developing for the past decade.

There's some serious money in these parts. A Lear jet is parked at the Natchez community airport. But those people are relatively few now, and Lorraine's was not the only restaurant in town.

We seldom dine out locally. We simply eat better and more cheaply at home.

The article reports that Ms. Stalians will be moving to Las Vegas. Best of luck to her.

UPDATE: In the interest of full disclosure, Lyman lost his shirt on the southern development around 1984.

I have been looking at this nearly empty mantel for four years, since I finished the linseed on the panels behind it. A mirror was out of the question. It had nothing pretty to reflect. Ah, but this picture will do very well. Very well.

Cleaning today.

I don't mind cleaning, and sometimes like to clean. It's a cheap, convenient method of immediate gratification. In a world of possibilities, that's a good thing in this house, since my roomies are militant anti-clean activists. To give Lyman credit, he is tidy. We joke that he needs to carry a Dustbuster in a holster, though. Lucy is tidy, too, regarding her cage proper. Is that nutshell empty? Out with it!

Lucy makes cleaning a little harder because certain products are not good for her. Ammonia is one. Bleach is another.

A break comes this afternoon when we have an appointment to look at paintings. (Ain't that an uptown sentence?) The artist whose work I saw at the art show in Natchez was out of town until last Friday. We'll see what Kevin Brodeur has left today.

Christmas cards are done.

Seafood for Friday has been laid in from Tony's Seafood. What an operation these people have. Lyman's dad was off to Baton Rouge on Saturday morning for another purpose. We called on Friday and placed an order. Big Daddy walked in on Saturday morning with an ice chest and was fixed up in minutes.

Somewhere on that site, they report that they have sold 50,000 pounds of crawfish in one day.

We have 1-1/2 gallons of oysters, a pound of backfin crab and 8 pounds of shrimp for cocktail.

Dessert, now. **** dessert.

UPDATE: Why aren't you bringing that food in fresher, you ask? I don't want to spend half a day in Baton Rouge, and the food is stored in the super-cold beer refrigerator, not the one inside.

Here's a clue, barette-makers for baby girls: At Wal-Mart there was a tiny black girl, about three, with at least two dozen small white and clear barettes in her hair. They were small flowers. She looked like her own little snow shower.

You could do simple snowflakes.

After slitting open the bag to the shop-vac and sorting through every tuft of dust, the puzzle piece was not found.

So we fired up a paint program, found some cardboard, and screwed the blade into the Exacto knife. The piece is a little off color, but it will do. (The coloring should have been my job. My patience is stronger than Lyman's, and my sense of color is better, too, but my computer is not printing right now.)

We'll call that our piece of the New York puzzle.

Every picture tells a story, don't it?

AAAAAARRGGGGGHHHHHH!

We finished the puzzle and we're missing a piece!!!

Jeez. What a letdown.

Frank Myers in Iraq is having a depressing holiday. There are thousands like him. Perhaps you can help. There are half a dozen ways to help here.

I carried three calling cards for a unit to an undisclosed location the other day. You can also send them to "any service member".

Lucy thinks this puzzle is funny.

When I was talking to my sister the other night, I was reminded that I haven't worked one of these things since before I was 12. Trust me, that was a long time ago.

Last night at about 8 o'clock Lucy settled on the playtree branch where she usually spends her last hour of the waking day. I was at the dinner table across the room.

We set up a call and response. She makes a noise, I make a noise. Then she started ringing the phone. "Hello," I said. "Who is this? Is it Lucy?"

Then she would laugh and laugh. I haven't heard her laugh in a while. What's Christmas without a laughing bird?

I was tucking into a nap the other afternoon. Lyman was in the house. The phone started to ring. In my doze, I was thinking "Lyman, why won't you answer the ****** phone?" After several rings, a little voice said "Harro".

It was Lucy all along. I understand the boys better.

"... And my jobless child shall dwell in my basement forever."

Can I rethink my vote?
---

Last night I changed the regular incandescent bulb in the lamp over the puzzle to a GE Reveal which helps to distinguish the evening shades of purple.

I sorted the types of pieces. You got your 2 knobs parallel, 2 knobs perpendicular, 3 knobs u-shape, all knobs, no knobs.

Lucy has expressed great interest in helping to finish it. If it goes on much longer, I might just let her help. She'll make those pieces fit.

Ah, but the boys want us to glue it down and give it to them. "What!?" I said. "What do you want that for?"

Lyman ordered puzzle glue from Jigsaw Jungle.

So when did John Cougar start looking like an insurance salesman?

Roy Orbison could get away with it.

I have to set to and finish this jigsaw puzzle on the dining table. The table needs to be cleared before 8 December.

Every remaining piece is some shade of purple and there are about 200 left. I managed to place 6 pieces a day or two ago.

O, lucky day!

I stopped into the art show in the Natchez Convention Center and found a painter whose work is right up my alley. He wasn't present, but his nearly abstract landscapes are just what I had in mind to go over the fireplace.

He's local.

The kids are sharing a house in Baton Rouge.

Michael told me today that they have a lot of empty wall space. We walked around the house and found three small framed things that they can have right now.

When I was about 25 I worked in downtown Dallas. To amuse myself I took art classes at El Centro Junior College. I kept my portfolio, and dragged some things out that they could use. I never had any talent, but I have always liked color and line. My favorite boy is Matisse. I'm right fond of David Hockney.

I came across a charcoal that I did in second year drawing. It made me laugh.

I shared that Saturday morning class with at least two skilled draftspersons. One woman had been drawing for about six years. A 55-year-old man had been drawing since he was nine. The teacher announced that he was making a change in his approach that year. He would assign each of his students a theme. The woman's theme was "kitchen utensils". The man's theme was "trees". Others in the class had mailboxes, or public transportation, or some other mundane thing.

He turned to me and said, "Your theme is the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse."

I eventually withdrew from the class, but not before I'd done a piece or two.

As I told Jason, that's the sort of thing you can't make up.

The boys and their grandfather are watching LSU play Arkansas.

At halftime they flipped channels to see what's happening between Texas and A&M. Within a second or two the announcer said, "When it comes time for nut cuttin' ..."

Michael said, "Nut cuttin'? Did he just say nut cuttin' on national TV?"

That's timely. The temperature finally dropped to 50. The boys will have a crackling fire to greet them when they come in.

I know one thing to be thankful for this holiday. Our power is on.

A large neighborhood in Natchez is without power and it includes Lyman's sister's house.

Tornados hit Jena and Olla, about an hour from here, ripping up a high school and other buildings, and killing several people one. ("Several" came from my father-in-law.)

Time to count blessings. Many to you.

UPDATE: Details here and here.

Lucy's sleep was disturbed last night, and she is letting us know with huge, noisy yawns. Some of them are real and some are for show.

Perks you up a little to hear the tornado siren go off. Lucy is in the hall and she ain't pleased none.

There's another one.

12:40 a.m. Lucy is back in place. No further problems expected. Night, y'all.

Silly marketers.

A very pretty card on good cream-colored paper with calligraphic typography arrived today. It was addressed to me, in my maiden name, which is the dead giveaway that it came from Cingular Wireless.

The lovely card inside, with an onionskin overleaf, announces that Cingular Wireless and AT&T Wireless are joining together. Cute, kids.

So why didn't you send me a postcard and save me some money?

The woman who cut my hair yesterday asked if we had a Christmas tree up yet.

Thanksgiving hasn't passed. Why would I have a tree decorated already?

It rained all day in Dallas yesterday. Reporters at the weather channel said that there were 300 auto accidents reported.

One of those was a silver car that plowed into an SUV on Campbell Road. The female driver was taken to the hospital. My sister has a silver car and drives on Campbell Road. No, it wasn't her.

"They don't slow down at all," she said.

This one might be nice.

This dessert might be nice. Worth a try?

The son of our friend who lived up the street and died on the 9th worked on one of the Queens as a bartender. Six weeks on and two off, 12 hours a day. I think "Stairway to Heaven" was a tribute from his boat.

Maybe we're not greatly progressive, but the South can be sweet.

Go to kitchen hand's site to read a happy story of recovery of a lost bird.

The calliope player on one of the steamboat Queens has added "Stairway to Heaven" to the repertoire, tucked in between "Camptown Races" and "Dixie".

So, once you've retrieved the money from the beavers, how do you dry it?

If I had a girl to buy for of make-up age, I'd give her a starter set of bareMinerals cosmetics for Christmas.

They are light, comfortable and natural-looking. I gave my sister the foundation and veil when I went to Dallas. She is hooked, too.

Beavers weave stolen cash into a dam near Baton Rouge.

That's a provocative headline from nola.com.

What to do? What to do?

We've decided the menu for the family, adults only, Christmas luncheon on December 10: shrimp cocktail, fried oysters, crab-stuffed mushrooms, and a salad of mixed greens with blanched carrots, green beans, asparagus, sliced radishes and balsamic vinaigrette. Garlic bread.

But so far, no dessert. In recent years, we have served apple-cranberry pie, chocolate mousse, and sweet potato flan. I prefer something light.

Do you cooks have suggestions?

UPDATE: I'm not crazy about desserts. If it were left to me, we'd have a bottle or two of sparkling vouvray with fruit sliced for dipping. This is, however, a non-alcoholic crowd, a couple of whom will return to work in the afternoon.

I told my sister that Lucy has been quiet the past few days. I think it's a combination of cooler weather, gray skies, and exhaustion from watching and hearing the boys come and go in the yard while framing the greenhouse.

I also told her that the Johnsons' African grey, Olivia, died Friday.

She said, "You didn't tell Lucy, did you? She knew her, you know."

No, we didn't tell Lucy.

How about a health tip from Dallas?

I called my sister today. She is recovering well from surgery earlier this year, but she still has complaints about stomach upsets when she tries foods heavier than soups and yoghurt.

She reports that 3-4 ounces of aloe vera juice mixed with fruit juice settles her better than any medication.

When I was there, I bought a gallon of 95% aloe vera from the pharmacy at Albertson's for about $12.

After looking more closely at the greenhouse frame, we've decided to leave the metal studs raw. It is not unsightly, and will be covered by trim on the outside.

My biggest concern is mildew, which is an ongoing problem with the white paint on our house. The trim on this house was washed down with bleach in August and is already graying.

And while the first paint job would be easy enough, if costly, others down the years would be tedious.

Best to leave it alone.

Finally, a little Fall. 56 degrees outside. Lyman has had a fire laid for a month. Maybe he gets to light it today. The bright-line rule here is 50 degrees.

I just came up with this really cool new slogan for the Democratic party: "I have a dream, that one day ..."

Hmmmm. "Highbrow hussy." Southerners can turn a phrase.

Lucy carries on that way sometimes.

Smart aleck kids.

Most of the framing for the greenhouse is done. The young carpenters used metal studs for squareness and sturdiness. They need to be painted white.

A young man came by this morning to estimate the paint job.

"What kind of job do you want? You can slap a coat of paint on anything."

"We were thinking a primer coat and two coats of latex enamel."

"We'll have to wipe it down with vinegar to neutralize the surface and ..."

"Yeah, yeah. I know a little about painting. I painted our kitchen cabinets. By rights, this should be my job."

"Jesse would be gray before you could finish this job by yourself."

Punk.

He's right.

Let's clear a little something up here. My "reality based" view is not equivalent to yours.

I was the last and accidental child in a family of seven, who came out of the north Texas tenant farms. My daddy was a carpenter, and a good one. My mother was a housewife and mother. She worked from dawn into the night, and none of her children saw "want" in that they missed shoes or coats or good meals.

I went to school in the tempestuous years of the sixties in Dallas, and I have excellent recollections of years under black authority figures aka teachers: Mrs. Bradford, Miss Gibson, Mrs. Woods, Mrs. Waterhouse, Mr. Williams, Miss Eva (she was an art teacher, and asked us to call her that. She taught me about Picasso's blue and rose periods).

In 1966, I was a white Cinderella to a black Prince Charming. It has always disappointed me that the boy couldn't dance. Didn't have a lick of rhythm. We had to forego the waltz.

We rolled and roiled in all that time. I went to Dallas public schools, graduated a year early, and still have better SAT scores than the last three presidential candidates.

I resent being called ignorant, racist and homophobic.

P.S. Taken from Mr. Scott Chaffin: Kids, get off my lawn.

One son of the wonderful gentleman who taught me how to can tomatoes died today. He successfully fought HIV for several years and finally died of stomach cancer.

Lyman is 58, I'm 47, Michael is 36 and Jason is 29. We're all pretty clear in our family who Santa is.

So I ordered my Christmas gift from Amazon today. The Best of the Staples Singers and the Ultimate Collection of the Temptations are coming my way.

Respect yourself.

Let's try it this way: Say it with me now. "Janis, the southerner, will not vote for John Edwards for president."

It's not personal (not in the sense that I'm in debt to the guy). He's a real cute boy. But I'm not anywhere up to all that fighting on this side of the water.

And wish his wife well.

Christmas gifts!

If you have a cook on your list, you could do worse than this one.

We received a copy two days ago along with another for a friend. One of the best things about this book is that the writers describe testing processes for recipes. Why, for instance, did a group of gourmet cooks choose potato chips to coat baked salmon?

Now, moving right along.

There is a lovely new young'un among us, name of Beatrix.

I was watering the concrete this weekend to help cure the foundation of a new greenhouse, since we don't have enough greenhouse gases here. 16' x 24'. It looks a little small, but will have to serve.

Much to Mr. Wolcott's satisfaction, I have sent a check for $4000 to the condo association to pay for repairs at the beach, and am not likely to see any income until August of next year. That should account for about another $10,000. As I said before, we love you, too.

Peg, the damn sky is not going to fall. Your own friend Jesse voted for Bush. Does your candidate Josh have national aspirations? We're waiting.

Lucy, aka Garbanzo Girl, is just fine.

I was in New York, and attended the ticker-tape parade (which was by then rolls of computer paper) downtown, when the hostages came home.

By way of Glenn Reynolds, I came upon this column by Richard Cohen.

There plainly ain't nothin' like a Northerner trying to come up with a person for a Southerner to vote for.

He suggests Al Gore or John Edwards as models, who are Democrats I could not pull a lever for. Mr. Gore was a sincere enough guy, I suppose, but I always thought he was a little edgy, and not in a good way. Edwards, for all his narrative and brilliant smile, makes my cream curdle.

I rather liked Senator Kerry. He was distinguished, not as wooden as Gore, and might in fact prove to be an interesting man in conversation. I ignored all the laughable photos. But, as he presented himself, his resume was thin and his positions were hard to pin.

Not that President Bush is better. I am no fan girl.

Democratic candidates from other parts of the country are fine with me, if not with Bubba. They don't have to be redneck gun-toters to get my vote.

Send me somebody interesting who is not Senator Clinton. I can't bear her either. You don't have to be a southerner to have a little charm.

And believe me, if the girl with the 8 mil book advance in Chappaqua starts talking about two Americas, I'll load a shotgun with rock salt.

Oh, for goodness' sake. New Yorkers wouldn't want it any other way.

I lived there from '79 to '82 '83 and not a thing has changed.

No, Mr. Sullivan, gay activists thought this would be the perfect year to push for a new initiative. Talk about blowback. I suspect they've put rights back at least ten years.

UPDATE: And I don't necessarily think that all these marriage amendments really signal hatred of homosexuals. Certainly, there are some who are vicious, but I think the vote partly comes down to a basic embarrassment about a public discussion of sex, period. For all the Cosmo covers, Playboys, Screw magazines, and Jerry Springer shows, most Americans maintain a sort of prudish discretion about sex.

Good or bad? I don't know. But the network suffered mightily when the halftime show for the Superbowl revealed Janet Jackson's breast.

UPDATE: I asked Mr. Kinsell his take on the topic. His response is here.

It would be very poor manners for the Bush campaign to declare victory now. Don't do it. Don't think of it. If he does, it will be the total abrogation of propriety, and the influence of the crazy idiots who run these campaigns. Don't go there.

D'oh, the 18-29 youth vote didn't turn up.

I've called the boys for years to tell them to call their mother on Mother's Day.

2000 lawyer David Boies, looking older and considerably cleaner than 4 years ago, made an excellent point about needing to reduce long lines at polling places.

How would they solve that problem without getting into large expense? I was reading in The Baton Rouge Advocate that turnout in the last two elections was not more than 62 percent statewide. Yet to see what it is this year, but as I said earlier, they were predicting above 70 percent.

So what is this extended advertisement-interview with Vanessa Kerry on MSNBC before the polls have closed in the west? Will there be a balance?

Mike McCurry now urging people to go vote. Balance anyone?

Among the reasons that I added Radley Balko to the blogroll is this post.

Here's an interesting note: Election Day Blog from The Baton Rouge Advocate

UPDATE: Five posts. She's a young thing, with other responsibilities. Did she vote?

It is rainy here today, though not cold, a nasty day for the octagenarian parents to be in the weather. Luckily, mother-in-law has a standing hair appointment for Wednesdays.

I don't have a clue as to how that will affect turnout here. A week or so ago, the secretary of state said it appeared that turnout would be well above 70 percent.

After long consideration, I finally pulled the lever for Bush. Had the state been in contention, I might have gone the other way. I do hate the Federal Marriage Amendment, and I do think government should be as transparent as possible. I don't think the Bush administration thought out the Iraq situation well enough. It could be that Kerry's election could calm the world.

The endorsement that put me into the Bush column is this one.

So there you are.

I was sitting here with a cup of coffee before I realized that I didn't vote on whether to continue a particular tax for schools. That would have been a "yes". I just forgot to. I imagine it will pass without me.

I just received the funniest spam e-mail from a guy who "learned from the Internet that you are interested in tents".

Don't be silly, honey. I'm interested in a foie gras dinner at the Windsor Court Hotel in New Orleans.

Why, yes, that was me watering the concrete in the backyard Saturday. Why do you ask?

You can disagree with the facts, but only a man named Radley could write this so well.

That's Radley Balko, libertarian blogger.

I have eaten at The Hummingbird. My mother-in-law hasn't.

Read the first comment here.

You don't know much about my daddy. Daddy was Joseph the carpenter. Though we didn't have much, on Sunday mornings we would drive downtown in the Ford to the Commerce Street Newsstand so he could buy the London Observer. I stood between them on the seats. Must say, wasn't hurt there. Onionskin and 50 cents.

UPDATE: Right down from the Kirby Building and A. Harris.

When I'm done kicking Craig Johnson in the shins for taking photos at night, go to J-Birds for a look at truly lovely craftsmanship.

The light is right, but the weather is too warm.

When I was a little girl, before going to school, this is the season that Mrs. Green, who lived next door, and my mother would go shopping.

Mother had hardly a cent to spend, but after coffee in the morning the girls would pack me up and set out in Mrs. Green's finned Chrysler.

Mrs. Green was a craftswoman. If you've ever seen a felt Christmas tree skirt with sequinned and beaded figures, or a cheap bird cage bronzed and filled with plastic greenery and not-very-authentic fake birds, or a Barbie dressed in a pyramidal pile of gathered net, you have a window into my young world.

Her house was cluttered with stuff.

I loved it, and I loved shopping with them.

I don't know where she picked up her ideas, maybe Good Housekeeping or some other magazine, but we would search through piles of fripperies and bolts of fabric.

Mother didn't have a car. Mrs. Green would take us to what they called the A. Harris shopping center which was down around Polk St., so Mother could trade stamps in at the S&H Green Stamp store.

When Patricia and I broke down our Mother's house in Dallas, the tacky fake brass umbrella stand that we sold came from there.

A. Harris? Who was A. Harris? Many Dallasites grew up with Sanger-Harris, and I miss it still, but who was A. Harris?

I did a little research, and the best I can do in a short time is this.

Elvis and Prescilla, at it again.

Good grief!

We watch HGTV, and the imagination of the designers is getting more fun by the day. Here are designations:

Mediterranean Revival
Old World Eclectic
International Eclectic
Contemporary Traditional

You can play, too! What was the last composite you heard?

UPDATE: In comments, Kim Crawford adds

Trailerpark Egalitarian

UPDATE II: Heard last night

Global Exotic

His heritage? Who cares? Is he a good dog or a bad dog?

Reason #2477 for us not to have cell phones:

Early on today, Lyman and I decided to try a recipe that called for a 2-1/4 pound pork loin to be rubbed with a selection of dry herbs.

When he came in from the grocery, he said he wished he'd had his cell phone. He would have called.

Our conversation:

"Why?"

"When I got there, all they had near that size were seasoned pork loins, like barbecue, or lemon and garlic. They had a John Morrell that only had onion, but we've bought that before and it was tough."

"So, what did you do?"

"I bought one of these big ones. We can cut it into three or four pieces and one will be just right."

"That's what I would have done."

"I wish I'd had my cell phone with me."

"Why?"

"I need to use it sometime."

Here is a happy confluence of research and luck at Chateau Plumage.

Results!

I guess there are women or men so motherly that any old animal will fall into their lap and let them pare their toenails. My old black cat Shadow took it very well.

I am not one.

For three years I have worked with Lucy, making much of her toes and showing her my own manicure. She's always watched, but never cared much for such attention to her toes.

Breakthrough!

This weekend when I cut and filed my nails she was ready for it herself. I could pick up individual toes and use a rough emery on each of them.

This could save both of us a lot of anxiety.

Dr. Joyner notes this article about the death of journalist Pierre Salinger. I grew up hearing that name.

Interesting to me, though, is this bit:

Mrs. Salinger, spoke from Le Thon, near Avignon in the Provence region, where the couple moved four years ago to run a bed-and-breakfast inn. She said her husband decided to move to France because he was so deeply opposed to the presidency of George W. Bush. "He was very upset because he thought Bush was not fit to be president. He said he would leave if Bush became president and he did," Mrs. Salinger said.

No doubt Mr. Salinger did not like Mr. Bush as president, but a bed and breakfast inn in southern France sounds more like a retirement destination than a political refuge to me.

Does this girl look as flirty to you as she does to me?

That's Jesse Manning of Shooting from the Lip beside her.

(That silly link won't work. Scroll down to the October 9 post.)

The Great Mississippi Balloon Race weekend starts today.

The weather looks good this year.

Just a note on the Dem's use of Mary Cheney in these debates. I have never printed anything here about my gay brother that I didn't vet with him in advance.

UPDATE: I've been reading an awful lot about this business around the internet. I don't mean to imply that the Democrats are shameless or the Republicans are shameful, and yak, yak, yak in this context.

The point I'd like to make is that the mere fact of my brother's homosexuality is not much of a predictor as to how he thinks about any topic, political or other. I don't think he'd care for his name to be brought into any debate where he wasn't asked about the topic himself. Unless I question him specifically, I don't have a clue to what he thinks.

He does like vodka martinis and he does think that most call vodka, like Gray Goose, is overpriced. I might just drive over and spend election night with him.

Must say, I was so terribly thrown by the first question in this debate that I didn't hear much else.

The illegal immigration problem is a tough one.

I live among African-Americans. The woman who didn't very well take care of my mother in Dallas was more interested in having a data-entry job that paid $7 an hour than a house-cleaning job that can pay $10 an hour.

It gets back to Camille Paglia's notion of "revalorizing" trades. On an everyday basis, does the average American need a lawyer or a plumber? A surgeon or a dependable and honest car mechanic?

Immigrants doing dry-wall work in Dallas during the building boom were making $50,000 a year, which I, as a small-town journalist on my best day could never sneeze at.

WTF? Will our children grow up in a world as safe as ours?

My poor parents bought metal ID tags for me and we had regular duck-and-cover drills at school.

A president was assassinated, a presidential contender was assassinated, and a major civil rights leader was assassinated before I was out of elementary school.

I'd hope we can do a little better.

You know what I think about this election?

Me and mine are out of the fire zone. If James Wolcott thinks it's equivalent that I get popped by Gaia and he gets popped by Allah, then he can handle it.

We came out pretty well. I won. Not everybody did. This time.

Bi-focals, anyone?

I took a large envelope to the post office to mail.

The clerk behind the counter had his glasses at the end of his nose, looking through them to read the number on the meter. I had my glasses at the end of my nose, looking over them to count out the correct change in my hand.

Same pose, two different purposes, and neither one of us can stand to wear bi-focals.

I replaced mine with the cool Transitions lenses so I can have sun protection without keeping up with shades.

Jordana is close upon expanding the Axis of Weevil by one.

Perhaps she can take comfort that she won't be making introductions thiswise:

Dear Shellie,

I wanted to share with you my family's recent addition. My daughter-in-law Theresa and son Paul who live in Southern Alabama had a surprise Friday Morning Sept. 17th when Rider Sage Frusha came into the world weighing in at 10 lbs. even and 22 in. long with jet black hair. Of course the most beautiful baby in all of Alabama. But as Paul Harvey would say here's "The Rest of the Story". He was born at home in the bathroom with my daughter in law and son the day after Ivan came through. No power, no drugs, no coach. My daughter in law is my new HERO. She cut the cord, tied the cord and had him wrapped in a towel when the EMT's arrived. Baby and Mom are great; dad is still a little bit shook up.

This letter was sent to Shellie Rushing Tomlinson at her site All Things Southern where you can find Shellie's observations from The Porch and, well, things Southern.

When Michael, Lyman's older son, was in nursery school in New Orleans, his teacher taught the tykes a little song:

Sharing time is a happy time.
We share our books and we share our toys,
And have a very, very happy, happy time.

I don't know where Lucy learned that, but she believes it to the end of each quivering feather, unless she's the one expected to share.

A few days ago I gave her half a pomegranate. She'd just piddled with it a bit when I picked it up and separated out a few seeds to eat myself.

She stood stock still and looked at me with disbelieving horror.

"You didn't do that, did you?" she seemed to ask.

I was working on the jigsaw puzzle this afternoon. We've worked about 2/3 of it.

"Jaaaaanis," called a little voice.

"Hmmmm?"

"What you doing?"

After last night's debate, which I watched on MSNBC, a young woman from the Christian Science Monitor described what she had seen on stage as a "bloodbath".

My, my. We are a sensitive crowd these days.

She should catch Lyman and me on a party day.

I just don't read these debates the same way other people do.

I thought Kerry looked more engaging and more himself than he ever has. I found him far easier to watch than John Edwards earlier this week. Perhaps I just prefer a more mature man. And such an improvement over Gore years ago. I can imagine Kerry in the living room for four years.

Bush was better this week as well.

For the Thursday Three:

1) Favorite country/western/bluegrass songs today - London Homesick Blues, You Were Always on My Mind, and Crazy.

2) Favorite singers - too many

3) I don't listen to any radio stations unless I'm in the car, which is rare, or the Tigers game is not on TV.

When, I ask, did the Democratic Party in America turn into the party of the fabulously wealthy with good intentions?

The best slam that Cheney got into Edwards was the note that Edwards had established an S corporation, which saved him, personally, $600,000 in taxes.

Edwards rejoined that he had paid all the taxes he owed.

We're pretty well-off people. We don't have $600,000.

UPDATE: My understanding of the corporation is limited and this post is probably wrong.

I still take exception to the notion that Kerry and Edwards have a better understanding of the struggles of the middle class than do Bush and Cheney.

I think Lyman could whip John Edwards black and blue in a courtroom. And he doesn't blink like a girl. He liked criminal defense, not trial lawyering.

Mr. Edwards has the same prissiness in this debate that so annoyed me from George Bush in the first.

Joe Lieberman sure looks good these days.

Lucy will never suffer much neglect if she has any say-so.

I was concentrating on working a wicked, dark spot in the jigsaw puzzle when a little-girl voice across the room called "Hey, Lucy".

Here is a piece about the monarch migration at the Gulf coast.

The Bon Secour National Wildlife Refuge is here.

I have written to find out what they think will happen with the monarchs this year.

The Vidalia fire chief is still awaiting news on the investigation of the July 3 4 fire that burned the local McDonald's. He'd like to hear something, as the debris cannot be cleaned up until the investigation is complete. Believe me, it's not a pretty main street in the best of times. A fire ruin only makes it worse.

The report will come from the regional fire marshall in Baton Rouge.

Maybe not. Here is a story from the Concordia Sentinel.

Lucy went to bed early tonight. She'd had it with company, and was telling them so all day long. She didn't say "Sit down. Be still. Tell people not to call." She shrieked.

This is usually a quiet house. It is not quiet when the boys come.

When I was watching Ivan closely, I ran across a mention of these guys. Particularly interesting was that this troupe strapped down an SUV in Gulf Shores, equipped with weather gauges and webcams to record the hurricane's landfall. Some video clips are here.

Well, yes, the food always looks fine, but the descriptions call for a visit someday.

I'm considering taking Lucy out of the house today.

Lyman and the boys will be watching the Yellowshoe Tigers play Georgia in Georgia on TV at 2:30, and I'm not sure she should be exposed to that kind of language. Maybe Big Daddy will come to watch with them. That might tone it down a bit.

(Don't get the wrong idea. They all have excellent manners and seldom descend to profanity. Some situations just overstrain them.)

LSU does not have the team it had last year when it beat Georgia twice, and Georgia carries a grudge.

These boys are serious about their sports. Jason's cellphone rings with the opening chords of "Eye of the Tiger".

UPDATES:

1) Too much for Big Daddy at 85. He'll watch it at home in his bed. Jason has been instructed "No kicking anything indoors."

2) Georgia is up 24-0 with six minutes left in the second quarter. It's "colorful" around here.

3) The half closed with Georgia up 24-10. Big Daddy has arrived. Discussion ensues.

4) Michael says "This is the last time I come home for a game. Y'all don't bring luck."

5) 38-10 at the beginning of the fourth quarter. Michael's phone rings. "I ain't answering no calls from Baton Rouge. I'm not talking about this game."

6) Nick Saban doesn't seem to feel like an extra million dollars today.

7) 45-16. The kicker missed the extra point.

8) Jason changes the ring on the phone.

9) Duck gumbo for dinner. They'll feel better.

Lyman's boys came in from Baton Rouge at about 10 last night, after we put Lucy to bed.

They come with appetites and things to tell, showers to take, people to call and round up, laundry to do, people to introduce - a little circus of homecoming.

Several times before they departed for a night on the town - which can be a lot of fun in Natchez, especially when topped with watching the sun rise over the Mississippi with a Bloody Mary Under-the-Hill, or so I've been told - Lucy shrieked at them to hush up and go to sleep.

The kids came in very late (as in I heard voices at daylight) and are snoozing in their beds.

It's everything I can do to keep Lucy from getting back at them.

Mr. Woodlief will now have to find other excuses for his violent impulses.

(Thanks Jordana and happies to The Girl, too.)