And again, let me extend gratitude to Debra and Craig Johnson for raising a trooper.

Lucy is a loudmouth at times, but she is top-notch.

"Interfering in (or with) a governmental action". If you are a lawyer, or a law student, please look that up for me.

It's supposedly a state statute in Alabama, and I am convinced it dates between 1954 and 1978.

My e-mail address is on the left side. Send me a bill.

And for everything, we don't have trouble.

And where is the follow-up to the tsunami in Asia? Googling brings me this.

We did more socializing at the coast this weekend than in the entire nearly five years we've owned our place.

The dinner on Sunday night was the first time that we've actually sat to down to dinner with friends. Same for them. They are shorter term owners than we are, and have spent most of their time working inside their units. We've spent ours shopping and arranging improvements.

Lyman has had more fun at the coast. There were times when several local couples would go down to cook and play together.

Lyman and I usually play together very well, but it was fun to have someone else to play with.

Phase V - inventory

We went twice to the condo on Sunday after shopping trips.

Most things were in pretty good shape. There was the usual loss of glassware. We bought our third sturdy manual can opener in five years. We replaced the rusty box grater. Bought a hand-mixer.

We had a pleasant dinner that evening with the nice couple from Wisconsin that we have been talking to for several months at Cafe Grazie at SanRoc Cay.

We all had drinks, shared two substantial appetizers and two entrees for $90 total, including tip. It's well-decorated, pleasantly situated, and the food is good.

We have an invitation to the lake country in Wisconsin this summer. The company would be fine and the lakes are beautiful. It's a thought.

After the meeting, we went to an owner appreciation party at Live Bait.

Nothing much to report on there except the 18" baby alligator that came paddling up once a few people appeared on the deck above the water.

He was a pretty cute little guy, but one was led to wonder where his mama was.

People threw him little chunks of hushpuppy and chicken. He won't be a baby long at that rate. I suspect he's a regular.

Phase IV - the meeting

It was long.

The lawyer lied at least once that we know of, and the contractor danced around a serious question.

The president was her typical insufferable self. She started the meeting saying, "I think a lot of people here should begin with the attitude of saying 'I'm sorry'."

Then she began a litany of "I'm truly sorries," none of which approached what she should be sorry about.

The first time she spouted "I'm truly sorry," I nearly laughed out loud. The little lady had taken the words right out of my mouth. She makes it too easy.

The board did decide that it would be better if they did not retain the right to make changes to the by-laws without a membership vote. Generous, hunh?

We were only able to elect one new member. He is a good guy and will do as much as he can, but the boy do have a row to hoe with that crowd.

There was nothing wrong with the groundwork and electioneering our outside team did. Something was rotten, though, and I won't go into it here.

Just a note to the nice lady from Indiana. Southerners look down on using a public restroom as a venue for making cell phone calls. Just sayin'.

So Lyman called Gateway last night to arrange for repairs to the laptop.

He admitted that he had run over it. The woman handling the call reassured him that he was not the first to do such a thing.

The handlers keep a list of the oddest calls that come in. The present oddest call was from a guy in Arkansas who shot his computer when it failed to work as he wanted it to. Then he complained that repairs were not covered under warranty.

I respect the guy for doing what so many of us have wanted to do from time to time, but a claim under warranty was a bit much, don't you think?

Phase III - Friday the 13th

An excellent reason for neither of us going to jail was the necessity of buying a new pair of lamps.

I will repeat, I DO NOT LIKE TO SHOP. If I need something, I'll find a means of purchasing something appropriate, but it is not a blood sport for me as with some women.

To be continued ...

MOVING RIGHT ALONG: The selection of lamps has improved over the years. But my lamps had several criteria:

1) They had to be a tone of blue that would coordinate with the current wall color, art, and bedspread in the room.

2) They had to be of a simple shape and style to contrast with the white wicker headboard.

3) They should be no less than 25" inches tall, and no higher than about 30" so as not to overpower the headboard or the end tables that were to be their home.

So off we went. We had seen billboards for Posh Furnishings along the highway on Canal Road, so we started down that road first. Posh is an appropriate name. The pieces there were large and pricey, and there were no lamps suitable for my more modest setting.

On to Coco Island Furniture. There was a large selection there, and a number of attractive, cheerful options, but only one blue lamp that I thought might do. The color and finish were good, but the shape didn't appeal, and I thought it a little large for our bedroom. At $159 apiece they were a little pricey, too.

World Furniture offered lots of imported things that were totally inappropriate for us. They did carry a large number of attractive woven rope and wicker pieces, if you've a yen for that sort of thing.

Henry's had nothing appropriate.

So we drove on out to the main drag in Gulf Shores and visited a shop I'd never been to before. And there was a doable blue lamp. It looked like it came from the same maker as the one at Coco Island, but the shape and texture were better and the price, too, at $122.

And I found Charlotte again. She sold me the bedspread for that bedroom two years ago at Henry's furniture. She gave me the name of the seamstress who sewed my drapes. After the drapes were installed in 2003, I wanted to call and thank her for her recommendation and praise Sunny's work. I tried Henry's and she wasn't there. I had lost her. And she's just the kind of woman I wanted to know.

Charlotte owns Anchor Furniture. So she did it for me again. And she gave me a 15 percent discount. The lamps came in at $102 apiece. If you're that way, check out her shop. Buy something. It's been a rough first year for her. And she sells bedspreads.

Friday 13 was a lucky day for us.

The peregrines are feathering out nicely.

Turn your back on the kids for a few days and they begin to look like real birds.

Dinner was late at LuLu's, Jimmy Buffet's sister's place. It was cute and fun (and breezy and cold), but the food wasn't anything to talk about.

Phase II - or where to lay our heads as darkness falls

Without the specific consent of the owners, pets are forbidden in condos. And most hotels. And you don't sneak Lucy into a place. She'd scare the bejeebers out of someone who wasn't aware of her presence. She provides a pretty good shock when you are.

So we parked at a gas station and flipped through the yellow pages looking for places that allowed pets. We found a listing for the Home Away Inn, at the foot of the intercoastal canal bridge beside the Comfort Inn.

I carried Lucy in on my shoulder and asked if Lucy could get a room. The solid, good girl behind the counter said it was not policy to allow pets (despite the blurb in the ad), but she'd let us stay. She said, "Let me give you a key, and you go look at the room next door and see if it's all right." I took a look. The bathroom was very clean with plenty of fresh towels, the kitchenette was clean as could be, the sheets were fresh and the bedspread was clean. The furnishings were mismatched and a little worn and the carpet was stained, but I've stayed in worse.

Turns out the place caters to the construction workers that are busy all over town. Some have stayed there for a year or more.

She said, "We try our best."

Even the best behaved of them come in dead and dirty from a day's work. Who can keep up?

So we took it. And I liked it. We met some of the people running around, and they met and admired Lucy. It was convenient and pretty darned cheap.

It also had internet access. So what?

Notes on Thursday:

We arrived into town about 4:15, stopped at Home Depot to pick up a couple of hard hats, entered the property and unloaded everything into our unit, and parked the car outside the gated area.

At five, a security guard came to tell us that we had to be out of our unit. Lyman said we would not be leaving. The guard said he had to report that to his boss.

Sometime later another security guard came by to tell us to get out. Lyman said he was not leaving.

Later, the chief of security for the property management company came by and told us to go. Lyman said no. He said he would have to call the police. Lyman said fine.

Then a young officer came by to tell us that we had to leave. Lyman asked what ordinance or statute we would be violating if we remained. The kid said he would need to call his corporal. He stepped outside and spoke to his corporal, then returned and said the corporal was on his way to explain the situation.

In the meantime we discussed Lucy and the view, both of which were gorgeous that evening. Lucy rather liked the young man, and so she should have. He was very courteous and regretful at the position he was in.

The corporal arrived with a few other officers in tow, and told us we had to leave, or he would have to arrest us. Lyman explained to them the overall situation, and his view of it, including the point that a certificate of occupancy was under discussion by the board as late as Tuesday.

The young man said regardless, he would have to arrest us if we didn't vacate the site. Lyman asked what crime we could be arrested for. The young corporal told us that we were "interfering in a governmental action," under state statute. Lyman later said he should have asked them to cite the statute. (That boy is sure enough out of practice.)

Lyman asked when bond could be set. The magistrate would set bond the next day, he was told.

Lyman asked the whole troop to step outside so we could discuss it for a couple of minutes. He decided that he really didn't want to spend the night in jail. If he could have posted bond that evening, he would have gone through with the arrest.

That's when I should have risen to the occasion and said, "Take me." They all felt bad, and saw through the foolishness of the situation. They would not have cared one bit for arresting a woman for doing nothing more than occupying her own home.

So then it was a matter of getting all our things back to the truck, which was parked outside the now locked gate. There is a pass-through for pedestrians, but no access for cars.

No one on the site had a key to the gate. Lyman suggested they call the contractor and have someone bring a key. They did, and found out the contractor was an hour and a half away in Mobile, and would not return to unlock the gate.

They pondered a minute, and Lyman said, "Y'all are all fit guys (by now there are three security people and four cops). If each of you will grab a piece of stuff, we can get it all out of here in one trip."

They didn't like that much, and suggested we return for some things in the morning. We agreed to that. The first young cop picked up Lucy's travel cage; I put Lucy in the Pet Pocket, shouldered my purse, and grabbed my custom-made briefcase from the Winnfield prison; and Lyman rolled the suitcase and carried the laptop.

There were two squad cars by the gate.

They escorted us to the car. We loaded what we had and got in and started to drive away. The young officer said, "Sir, you backed over something." And brought us the laptop case. Lyman had left it beside the back wheel while we were readying to go.

(It appears to be repairable -- booted right up, but the screen is a mess.)

That was Phase I.

UPDATE: Some explanation.

The way things are structured at the site now, I could arrive at the condo at eight in the morning, take a shower, wash and iron some clothes, cook some breakfast, watch a little TV, sit on the balcony, take a long nap, cook an early dinner, and leave the property at five without any complaint from anyone, so long as I wore a hard hat while walking through public spaces.

Seems when the workers go home, the place is suddenly dangerous, and it is criminal to be there.

Hey, y'all. While we were driving home a newsman announced that experts are predicting a worse hurricane season this year.

I can't wait.

We're carrying the laptop, but bye y'all.

Lucy weighs less than one pound, and she carries about 75 worth of trappings.

But she's a numbers girl. She is very interested in her eight toes.

Which seems to be rather better than some of the board members.

We are preparing for a weekend at the coast. We will leave tomorrow and return on Monday. Lucy will, as always, be traveling with us.

The annual members' meeting of the condominium association will be on Saturday, and should be quite an event this year. We are not alone in our contempt for our directors' leadership in the wake of "that terrible night last September."

We hope to make it. In defiance of a lack of a certificate of occupancy, we plan to stay in our condo (fully paid for, all fees and taxes up to date), rather than rent some other accommodation, as the board and contractors would prefer. I do not want to board Lucy with a stranger, and no one is available to look after her here. We do not know what the repercussions of our action will be.

Lyman does, however, have extensive experience in criminal law, and knows how to conduct himself accordingly.

And there's some shopping to do, most importantly, two lamps to buy for the master bedroom. The two we had were fine, but one was broken somewhere down the line. No, I don't know how, though we're certain it wasn't "winds of Ivan," not if the placemats on the dining table hadn't moved an inch. Gah, I hate shopping, especially when I know that what I will find in the stores will not be as suitable as what we already owned. The art and bedspread and flowers in that room were keyed to those dark blue lamps.

For now, I am cleaning this place up. I'd leave it as it is, but Bug Busters will come in while we're gone. I wonder if they have a mongoose to chase down whatever is moving furniture in the attic?

UPDATE: Lucy says, "Make my day, big boys. I'll blow your eardrums out! You'll lose hair. Your babies will cry in their cribs."

Can you say "press"? I can.

I ain't signing no "hold harmless" agreement, either. There are half a dozen ways they can hurt or kill Lucy, who will have to be left alone sometimes, without leaving evidence. I wouldn't put anything past those people. No, I don't trust them. Not one iota.

Speaking of showing wings, Fritz Schranck and his wife are proud parents of a fresh college graduate.

Go, girl.

What have I learned from watching the peregrine nest box?

1) There are two parents who share responsibilities, from sitting the eggs to feeding the young.

2) The oldest hatchling will be dominant, demanding the most food, and will defend its siblings. (I might be totally wrong here.)

3) Peregrine siblings comfort and teach one another. The one who lay with the baby got up and demonstrated those lovely wings, and convinced the baby that it was okay to leave the nest.

Do I have anthropomorphic vision? Probably, but I can't deny what I saw.

That feels pretty good. Lyman's mother said the cake was moist and "to die for."

Good. I haven't made that cake in ten years.

Peregrine notes:

Only one napping eyas left in the box.

This one must be the baby. It is a tentative little thing that still naps quite a lot. During lunch, one of the others jumped in the box and lay down with it awhile after.

UPDATE: Ah, there he went! One of these little guys hatched about two days behind the first to emerge. This must be the one.

The cake looks lovely, and the mixer is covered again until Christmas, when I can unwrap it again and say, "My, what an expensive and useful gift! Thank you so much, Lyman."

It took a while to work up the nerve to have the scent of baking chocolate cake wafting through the house. Yeah, yeah, I know.

We bought the big mixer for two other uses: to grind meats and stuff sausage, and to knead bread. We'll get to it.

UPDATE: For the finishing touch, I'll take it to her tomorrow in her mother's stainless cake carrier.

Peregrine notes:

Screamin' Willie and one of the Hot Chix jumped out of the nest box today and are exploring the ledge.

The two left behind have tested their wings and taken a run or two at it, but you know, it looks like a long way down there, and it might be best to take a nap first.

I can relate, hon.

One of the chicks was out of the box yesterday, but an observer said it looked like the little fellow backed up to the edge of the box to potty over the side and tumbled over backward.

It found its way back into the box at about twilight. I think it double-dog dared the rest to try today.

Happy Mother's Day, y'all!

UPDATE: For my mother's day, I am breaking out the monster Kitchen-Aid mixer that has been under cover since I took it out of the box last Mother's Day, to mix Southern Living's Decadent Fudge Cake for my mother-in-law.

I do not particularly like cake, especially chocolate, because of an incident with my mother many years ago.

My mother was an excellent country cook.

For one dinner many years ago, she whipped up one of her wonderful devil's food cakes with chocolate icing. I was about five at the time.

After dinner, I insisted on cutting my own piece of cake. It was a huge one for a little girl, and she made me eat every bite of it.

I was sick to my stomach for a good while, and have not cared much for chocolate or cake since. Oh, I can force down the occasional Godiva truffle, or take a cup of hot chocolate on a cold night, but mostly you can keep it. Except for Blue Bell Dutch Chocolate ice cream. I can put a dent in a half-gallon of that.

UPDATE: My mom. She always told me, "Your in-laws treat you well, and you should treat them right."

Ooops. When they banded the peregrine chicks in San Francisco they found the band of a racing pigeon in the nest box. Can you say leftovers?

Lucy is mainly vegetarian and I'm glad of it.

I haven't been to the theater in years. Dame Edna might be a lot of fun.

I am reading insurance papers for the condo.

In the Lloyd's of London papers, I came across the phrase "Certified Act of Terrorism", presumably for insurance purposes.

Defined as follows:

"Certified Act of Terrorism" means an act that is certified by the Secretary of the Treasury, in concurrence with the Secretary of State and the Attorney General of the United States, to be an act of terrorism pursuant to the federal Terrorism Risk Insurance Act of 2002. The criteria contained in that Act for a "certified act of terrorism" include the following:

1. The act resulted in aggregate losses in excess of $5 million; and

2. The act is a violent act or an act that is dangerous to human life, property or infrastructure and is committed by an individual or individuals acting on behalf of any foreign person or foreign interest, as part of an effort to coerce the civilian population of the United States or to influence the policy or affect the conduct of the United States Government by coercion.

So there you go.

Click over to Fritz Schranck's. He asks you to do good, and it won't cost a dime.

Possum's Thursday Three:

1. Ms. White, in second grade, for showing me my report card at the end of the year, and saying, "If you work hard, you can do this every year." And I did, except for that interval with young blond Richard, who made Fabio seem a dog. No regrets there. I still graduated 12th in a class of 965.

Ms. Woods, the music teacher in third grade, who cast me as Cinderella against a black prince. I do hope that cute boy fared well.

Ms. Cochran, high school English, who encouraged me to aim high when applying for colleges and wrote recommendations.

Ms. Cochran and I both believe that John Lewis of SMU is the only genius teacher we've ever had.

2. No need to apologize, but I would like to extend greater appreciation to the world geography teacher in high school who had been one of Pan-Am's stewardesses when they still served meals on white tablecloths. She would wear clothes and items of jewelry from all over the world. An odd little thing she was, and I didn't care enough. Come to think of it, Richard was around then.

3. Air-conditioning for one, and color everywhere. Our schools were dismally institutional.

One of the reasons some members of the condo association are on the outs with the president of the board is that she does not question authority.

If her lawyer (and it is hers, by gosh) or contractor, or any other authority tells her something it might as well have come written on a stone tablet.

It's not that she is a particularly bad woman, and she has always seemed nice enough socially, but she is naive, and I think, on the evidence of her quote below, a tad out of touch with reality. But she's a "nice" woman who probably hasn't had a lot of intimate connections with men. Therefore, she does not know the cardinal rule:

Do not believe everything a man tells you.

Less well-behaved girls like me know better.

Which leads us to the Saturday, April 30 story in The Islander, the semi-weekly newpaper of Gulf Shores, Orange Beach and Fort Morgan:

Russo under investigation by FBI

Steve Russo is mayor of Orange Beach, and investigators are looking at connections between him and developer Larry Wireman, who developed the Caribe Resort (tres chi-chi), and is working on Turquoise Place, which will be contained in two 340-foot towers on the beach. The Alabama Attorney General's office is involved.

Will the investigation bear fruit? I don't know.

Are there underhanded deals when xxx millions are being thrown around? Damn straight, bro, whenever and wherever they happen.

So it would please us if our board members were always heads up on this reconstruction project, and freely kept us informed, which they are not and do not and do not plan to.

They banded the chicks in the nest in San Francisco yesterday. I didn't watch the video, but close-ups of the chicks are available here.

There are three males and one female, determined by the size of their feet. The female will grow into a larger bird, and so has larger feet as a young'un.

Take note of three of the little guys lined up for a record label.

Here's another talented bird that I found at this site.

I'm pointing out this story about a man selling illegal orchids on E-bay just to highlight this paragraph:

"When a man falls in love with orchids, he'll do anything to possess the one he wants," Norman McDonald wrote in his 1939 book The Orchid Hunters. "It's like chasing a green-eyed woman or taking cocaine, it's a sort of madness."

"It's like chasing a green-eyed woman." Isn't that a wonderful phrase?

From the man who has the best job in Louisiana, Mr. Smiley Anders, in today's Baton Rouge Advocate:

Joe Guilbeau of Plaquemine says Boudreaux and Marie were sitting on their front porch when a large truckload of turf grass squares drove by.

"Look there, Marie cher," he exclaimed. "Those rich people send their grass out to be cut!"

Ahem. I am babysitting a pit bull named Thor. Don't ask.

I should carry on when I, too, am certifiably insane. We bought one of these last night.

"Fabio! Fabio! It is done," she said as she laughed exultantly at the bloody knife in her hand, "often the unjust winds of criticism were as hard on us as the winds of Ivana that terrible night last December."

"Oh, Ralph!" she cried, as she stroked his cold cheek in the open casket, "Often the unjust winds of criticism were as hard on us as the winds of hurricane Fitzgerald that terrible night last September."

How's that?

Would you like to try? Have at it in comments.

By gosh, I'm going to submit that sentence to the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest.

With a little work, I'm sure to have a winner!

My, my, you do wax eloquent in your note to owners prior to the meeting where we fully intend to drive you to a total nervous breakdown, darlin':

Often the unjust "winds of criticism" were as hard on us as the winds of Ivan that terrible night last September.

It's a building project, hon, not a romance novel. That's your problem in a nutshell.

Can it, Scarlett.

Reid Stott, the Photodude, might have the best comment yet on the runaway bride story at this post by Jeff Jarvis:

This is far from over. We haven't even heard from the 14 bridesmaids who spent money on dresses that will likely never be used. You know that's gonna be ugly...

Bad news, Tony.

Neither of us has ever been to Uglesich's. Guess we'll never go.

My favorite quotes from the story:

Inside, against a background of hissing oil, Uglesich jousted with some rambunctious tourists at the counter.

Uglesich: "If you give me a chance to talk. Now wait a minute!"

Tourists: "We're from New York. What do you expect?"

Uglesich: "I get plenty of people from New York. Now shut up and listen to me!"

I've been over watching the peregrines a while. The four eyases (eye-uh-ses) are growing. Seems to me they're not a lot smaller than George, though they have a long way to go on feathering and coordination.

Feeding them has become a two-handed job, with Gracie and George taking turns. The nest looks like a little schoolroom, with the children in rows and the teacher at the head of the class.

I showed Lucy.

"Look, Lucy, this is what all that dancing in the window can lead to. You can't just sit on your tail and fake yawns when those babies want to be fed. You better remember that.

"And believe me, honey, I won't take over like your grandparents, Debra and Craig."

Just the Thursday Three (late,again) and I'm off to clean for our engagement this evening. Why can't we live in a barn?

At any rate, Possum's Thursday Three:

What does your name mean—any connection to what you do or who you are?

The old explanation of my name, Janis, is as a derivation of Jane, which is a derivation of John, meaning "full of grace".

Or there is the Wikipedia entry for Janis, which is: In Latvian mythology, Janis (or Jahnis) was a god associated with the Midsummer's Night festival (Jani). After Christianization, he was associated with John the Baptist, through a process of syncretism. Once a year, Janis came to bring luck and fertility to the people of Latvia.

Sweet and lovely and capable as my mama was, I don't think she was steeped in Latvian mythology. I'm likely named for Janis Paige, the actress. I've always preferred the association with Janis Joplin. Cry, Baby.



I don't have problems with my name, though I like Patricia, my sister's, better.

Patricia always got all the best stuff, and all the pink stuff. I was stuck with blue all my life. Darn it if Lyman doesn't prefer blue, too.

That is some kind of good-looking bird.

Lyman just pulled a 19-3/4 pound turkey out of the Bradley smoker. It smells divine.

This, too, goes to Herbert's family, where he has been returned to his home under hospice care. A little time is all that's left.

Herbert has always insisted on calling me Miz Gore, even if he is 30 years my senior. I tried to make him stop, but no go. Just a habit, he said.

Big Daddy is going to be sniffing around like a hound dog because we have a smaller one for our family, too.

Someone last night said, "Big Daddy can worry the warts off a frog."

My lady friends on the river were tickled when I quoted this from Miss Indigo:

Dear Lord,
I pray for Wisdom to understand my man;
Love to forgive him;
And Patience for his moods.
Because, Lord, if I pray for Strength,
I'll beat him to death.

It is understandable if you think I am lying.

Lyman and I walked through the lobby of the Comfort Suites Inn in Vidalia, and opened the doors onto the scene of the American Queen riverboat pulling away from the port in Natchez with the calliope playing "Proud Mary":

From here

Left a good job in the city,
Workin’ for the man ev’ry night and day,
And I never lost one minute of sleepin’,
Worryin’ ’bout the way things might have been.

Chorus:
Big wheel keep on turnin’,
Proud mary keep on burnin’,
Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ on the river.

Cleaned a lot of plates in memphis,
Pumped a lot of pain down in new orleans,
But I never saw the good side of the city,
’til I hitched a ride on a river boat queen.

Chorus

Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ on the river.

If you come down to the river,
Bet you gonna find some people who live.
You don’t have to worry ’cause you have no money,
People on the river are happy to give.

Chorus

Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ on the river.
Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ on the river.
Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ on the river.

Miss Lucy did something provocative yesterday.

I spent the morning cleaning in the kitchen. Lucy was dying most of the day to see what I was doing up close.

When I wound things down, I carried her to the island and set her down. Readers know that I often take Lucy to the kitchen to work as my helper while I'm preparing food, washing dishes or emptying the dishwasher.

As soon as I set her down, she looked around a bit and faked a big yawn. "Oh, is Lucy tired?" Another big fake yawn. "Lucy is too tired to work?" Another big fake yawn.

Lucy just went to the kitchen as an observer yesterday. She was too tired to be a helper.

Crawfish boil, Friday at 6 p.m., Nate

There were a good many pictures in the box of Lyman bent like the baby above.

His mama said, "He used to stand on his head all the time. I wonder why he did that?"

I suggested that there is an entirely different way to describe that picture, and that he does it still.

Here's Chris of the Big Yellow House on the sacrifices mothers make for children.

She might shed light on events this evening. Lyman's dad and mother dropped by (without calling, of course). Lyman's mother was carrying a shoebox of old pictures of and for Lyman. Luckily, she only wears a five, so it was a small box.

Many of the pictures in the box were of Lyman's birthday parties as a baby. His mother said that Lyman would often wake up in the morning saying it was his birthday. Mama would then run to the store and buy a cake mix and ice cream whether it was his birthday or not, and have a little party in the afternoon for friends.

My mother would have plainly explained that it wasn't and gone on with her day.

But, to this day, my mother-in-law is a fan of a piece of cake. Do you think?

A herd of buffalo got loose in a neighborhood outside of Baltimore, Maryland.

The police successfully herded them into a tennis court. A quote:

"Somehow they figured it out; I've got to give a lot of credit to the creativity of our officers," police spokesman Shawn Vinson said.

I'd think so.

I am off-base and out of touch regarding beach property, which is hardly a surprise. When I read that property is selling for $159,000 a coastal foot, my eyes cross a bit.

Big money is coming down, and the prevailing philosophy is "dress up" your condo. Lyman was talking to a guy yesterday who bragged that he had the nicest condo in the complex. Granite countertops, crown moldings, a custom-built $2500 entertainment center. (I can't wait to see it. How do you cram all that into 950 sq. ft.?) Others talk of custom bedspreads, panel doors, faux finishes. Friends plan granite in their bathrooms. "It will dress it up," they said. And I felt pretentious putting in fake marble.

My aide down there had told me people are buying heavy, West Indian style furnishings. The girl who made my drapes showed me a custom duvet job in which the predominant color was black. She is an Asian woman somewhat younger than I am. "Why they want black at the beach? I don't like this black."

I'm thinking, "So why do these people bother to leave home?"

The beach to me is slapping screen doors, sleeping porches, and polyurethaned furniture so the kids don't do damage.

Keeping up with the Joneses has never been my thang.

Four peregrines there.

Four congo greys here.

They all look pretty silly, don't they?

The first memorable post I read from Possum was the description of anthropogenic fish art that his doctor had moved from old offices to new. That was written on 1/20/02.

A little later he received a link from Dr. Frank. Long before, he often referenced den Beste, where I participated in a few discussions that included Fritz Schranck and Mommabear.

So there's almost no telling how I came upon Possumblog.

George is doing his level best. He's a fine mate. See the peregrine cam at left.

Lyman's nephew was sworn in as a lawyer today at the Superdome in New Orleans. Does that tell you something about the proliferation of lawyers?

Or does it tell more of the straits of the Superdome?

Or does it tell about the season ticket holders?

Indeed, I did call Terry Oglesby today. By gosh, if Lyman gets to talk to all these women everyday, I get to talk to men. I didn't call old boyfriends, but there are one or two of them that I like, too.

Terry has a higher, more professional, and less southern voice than I imagined.

He asked me a nearly impossible question. "How did you stumble upon this lowly blather?"

I know that I sent him a fan letter on February 27, 2002. I have no idea of how I arrived there. There are a good many longer-standing members of the Axis of Weevil than I.

How did I go to Possumblog?

Yes, I did buy a new copy of Robert's Rules of Order last night.

I was shamed into it. I have an Oxford English Dictionary, and an Abingdon's Strong's concordance to the Bible, but we lacked a Robert's.

Intervening in Lyman's conversations with women, an 80-year-old gentleman from Athens, Alabama, called the other day, saying he had noted something in his recent copy.

"Sir," said Lyman, "You're eighty years old. Why do you have a new copy of Robert's Rules?"

"I like to keep up," he said.

This little story from J-Birds makes me cry, too.

I don't doubt the bird can cry, much as a good dog feels bad after being scolded for doing wrong, or a small child.

My mother-in-law is probably right. I would have been a hopeless mother of children.

UPDATE: Lucy, in contrast, would pin me with those eyes and give back as good as she got. The girl doesn't like the word no.

One of Lyman's funniest trials keeping a tomato garden is squirrels stealing his string. For many years, he would keep a roll of jute twine on a nail on a post handy for tying up indeterminate tomato plants (not a bush variety).

Then the squirrels started taking off with his string to build nests. We found one roll next to a pine tree, with the string going up as far as we could see.

Look at this baby owl from Glenn Reynolds. Isn't it a hoot?

(Yeah, yeah.)

So, Lyman's dad shows up at one o'clock yesterday afternoon and says, "I have a job for you."

Lyman said, "I have a job."

Dad says, "You don't have this one yet."

Lyman says, "OK, what is it?"

Dad says, "Herbert's in the hospital, and people will be taking food to his house this afternoon at about 5. I thought you could smoke a ham for me to take."

"Daddy, I can't smoke a ham in that time. I can bake one. Do you have the ham?"

"No, you can pick one out better than I can. I'll pay for it. What will you need, $20?"

"Do you want a whole ham, or half?"

"A whole one."

"That might make a good down payment. There aren't many hams around at this time of the year."

So Lyman went to the local market and found a whole ham, 18-1/2 pounds, for $50, brought it home and baked it, with mustard, honey and black pepper.

The family liked it.

Big Daddy nearly dropped in his tracks. 50 dollars!?

So, Lyman spent more time talking to more women this weekend, and found two more board members who don't have copies of bylaws for the association.

Pray tell, who does?

You know, friends, this is remarkable. I can move today.

Not like the other day when I planted with Lucy. 30 bulbs that day. That was almost as bad as riding a horse for the first time since I was 16.

100 caladium bulbs and 102 impatiens plants in the ground. That will do for the front yard.

There's a lot of trimming to do. The English Ivy still has an accent, and the azaleas go out of control even if you trim them to the ground. The box hedge has new growth, and the Japanese yew needs to be cut back, and somebody needs to paint again.

Somebody at my house's name starts with a "J".

Lucy is, if you have not gathered, Lyman's baby girl.

She had a shipment of food from Ducote's Parrot Place today. Ducote's had a computer glitch after Lyman's order, which meant they called us for our street address. Lucy's food came Fed-Ex with an extra bag of something Lyman didn't order. We call that lagniappe. What nice people.

I just gave her a bite of Sesame Soy Crunchies. They blast all over the place.

We have been out planting caladium bulbs. Lucy was on my back. The garbage truck came by and honked. She steals every show.

I am, at heart, a fairly laconic Texan. I like to be quiet, watch a lot, and perhaps have something pithy (not pissy, I don't lisp) to say when all is done.

So I keep myself a tad apart from Southern women, because they will talk your ears off. Spend a half hour in conversation with a southern woman and you will know more than you ever needed to know about her family, circumstances, and general outlook on life.

I've just spent 3/4 hour talking to one of the women Lyman will talk to today.

That boy needs some fine treatin'.

UPDATE: Maybe that's why Lucy doesn't talk much.

The garden club lady brought my caladium bulbs yesterday. They were to be Aarons, but they are White Queens. I like them better anyway. Ooops. Shouldn't they change that name?

A feeding at 6:38 PDT this morning. Gracie was wondering, but ultimately fine.

George cannot sit this rowdy crowd much longer. He jes' ain't big enough.

Eight women Lyman has talked to today and counting ...

If it pleases you to tell me, explain why the numbers of votes cast for various candidates for a board position in a condo association should be kept secret from the membership, including the president of the board?

This comes from an unsigned e-mail from the pres.

If that ain't broke, I don't know what is.

The fourth falcon hatched sometime during the night of April 12-13. Reliable times to watch feeding, which is about the extent of activity in the nest right now, are about 6:30 a.m. PDT and 7 p.m. PDT. Those might change as light comes earlier and stays later.

I watched this morning. At 6:30 (8:30 here) almost to the second, George brought Gracie a hunk of something. She fed the chicks until about 6:47, then took off with leftovers, and George took over brooding the chicks.

It won't be long until they're too big for him to be of much help. Remember, he weighs about 650 grams to Gracie's 950 grams.

The letter in this post from Greg Hlatky ticked me off so badly I went out and fired up our outdated, gas guzzling, lawn tractor and mowed the front yard myself.

"Family cars," "tract houses," "discount boxes in cornfields."

I guess it's fine that your favorite entertainers have 10,000 square foot houses on private beaches in coastal areas and fly when they leave.

I'd do the back yard tomorrow, but Jimmy -- black, uneducated, my age -- needs the work. He's paid $10 an hour. I made $6.60 doing paste-up at the Natchez Democrat in 1993.

Just watch it when I bring out the bypass pruners.

I guess I won't be lynched if I print a post from the Yahoo group watching the peregrines. Here we go:

My office is in 101 California directly across from the nest vent in the PG & E building. Last year I watched from my window as the two
youngsters left the vent and took their first flight. I was terrified
as each chick, one at a time took that first step off the ledge. I was astounded as George and Gracie dived under the plummeting, albeit madly flapping chicks. From my vantage point, it looked as if the parents
were "lifting" the chicks up into the air to the top of the building!
Once on the top the chicks marched importantly back and forth on the top ledge. (Emphasis Janis.) It wasn't long before I spied the chicks flapping around and eventually finding their way back into the vent at least once.

Are all youngsters alike?

There are some new things with Lucy this week, too.

Just a few minutes ago, she was perched on top of her cage saying "Want some apple?" She has been using "apple" for some time now, but that's the first time I've heard her use the whole phrase.

She also has a new physical move that relates to her dance. She opens her beak a ways, and vibrates it against the branch above her on the playtree. Now what does that signify?

George finally gets a cigar. At least two of peregrines' eggs have hatched today.

Another of the observers and I think we saw Gracie take one of the chicks (called "eyases") from the nest and dispose of it, as though it were dead. I haven't seen any confirmation of that from anyone else. I suppose it could have been leftovers from a meal.

The nest will remain a quiet place for a while, as the adults keep the young'uns warm and hatch the remaining eggs.

UPDATE: At about 12:35 PDT, George popped in with a morsel that Gracie fed to the chicks. I think there were three heads bobbing there. Other observers say two. There's a little pig in the bunch.

You can watch by clicking on the "Peregrine Nest Cam" over there on the left.

UPDATE: Must have been a leftover earlier. Another egg hatched near 2:30 p.m. PDT and all three kiddos were fed at about 5 p.m. PDT. One egg remains.

My Land's End sleeveless V-neck tees came today, and I couldn't be happier.

They are cut to cover bra straps with a concealing underarm cut, and don't cling excessively. The fabric is sweetly soft and the colors are brilliant.

I've popped them into a cold wash to see how the colors will do and check shrinkage.

I'm still a slender woman -- though not like Jane Fonda at 52 -- but I am edging up to 50, and these seem to be quite appropriate summer garments for a woman my age. They'll look great under an overshirt, too.

UPDATE: Fine on color and shrinkage. Could do with a softener sheet or touch-up with an iron. Hah. An iron? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

As if life weren't boring enough spending Saturday with the baseball boys at the Elks lodge, I spent yesterday watching the tail of the Master's golf tournament.

That Fritz Schranck is a dubious influence.

Not all his fault. One of Lyman's best friends was an avid golfer. When he retired as paymaster of the local International Paper plant he was often off to Monroe or other near cities for golf tournaments.

He was about 6'6". When we were working on the great room we kept him in mind, making sure that he wouldn't knock his noggin on light fixtures and such.

He died of a massive heart attack stepping into the shower about four years ago. 65. A congenital weakness. It was his grandson we ordered the skateboard for at Christmas.

Charlie took golfing magazines and ordered books from clubs. I borrowed his books from time to time, so I've read about Lee Trevino lifting his club in a thunderstorm, declaiming "Even God can't hit a one iron!" I've read about Dan Jenkins clinking balls from one end of Fort Worth to another. But I can't remember who writes the Eddie Caminetti novels.

Mr. Schranck?

Lyman's father came by early yesterday to pick up a cricket box. He was going up to the lake to fish with a friend for bream.

Luck must not have been so good, since he brought back a bucket of small catfish retrieved from a trap at Lyman's brother's property.

"They're small. They're good skinned and fried whole this way. Y'all can do what you want with them. They sure are good fried whole."

Was that a hint, ya think?

Craig's bird-focused Sunday Comics is especially good this week.

Ahhhh. Life in the country, where, for all the frogs and crickets and cicadas, you can't hear yourself think. Quiet nights in the country. Bah.

I am preparing for my annual stint as the recorder for the River City League's fantasy baseball draft. Tomorrow we'll meet at the Elks' hall for the yearly event.

There are eight teams this year, and all the owners are the nicest of gentlemen, but, by gosh, it is about the most boring four or five hours I spend a year -- worse than a drive to Dallas. This will be, I think, my tenth year. This baton needs to pass along.

Lyman provides me with lists so that I don't have to spell names phonetically, and so I can distinguish between the five Fernandez boys.

Lucy has come up with what she thinks is a cute new trick.

When she wakes up and gets tired of being alone in the morning, she knocks her beak against her cage walls in perfect imitation of someone knocking on the door. Once or twice I have come running.

It worked well while workers were on and off the lot working on the greenhouse. Not so well now that it's about done.

Lyman and I took a walkthrough of the greenhouse yesterday. It has a heater and a fan and a mister and a sink and a couple grands' worth of hydroponic equipment that hasn't been hooked up yet. 16' x 24'. I've lived in less luxurious apartments. All three of my cars cost less. Added together.

"Lyman, this is the perfect place for you and Lucy to stay while I do spring cleaning."

He laughed. Not such a good idea, Daddy-O.

What a haul!

I've been to the dollar stores for serious work clothes: 3 tops at $3 apiece, 4 capri and other cotton pants for $27.

I'm ready now, Buster.

UPDATE: But not for bluster. The wind is blowing against the direction I need to rake. I wasn't born yesterday.

Sometime in the next few days, the patient peregrines on the 33rd floor of San Francisco's PG&E building should reap their reward.

Professional observers project April 9 as the hatch date. Then there should be more to see on the cam as the little ones grow.

The brand new Possum Thursday Three:

#1) If there was one thing you could change about the way you look, what would it be?

Not yet, but my inescapable destiny evidenced by my mother's mother, mother and her sisters, and my sister, is that as I age I will have droopy jowls. No amount of exercise, or eating right, or yoga will prevent them. Both my sister and I are considering corrective measures when the time comes. She goes first.

#2) In your house, right now, what is your favorite piece of artwork that you have displayed?

A wall hanging done by a co-op in Zimbabwe that we found in a zoo along the Gulf Coast. It is a vibrant village scene done with batik, stamping and painting. 54" x 77". It hangs in the entry of the house. A lot of art for $150.

#3) What person living now would you most like to meet?

Right now, I'd like to meet Terry Oglesby. We've had an online correspondence for three years and have never met face to face.

A Land's End catalog came this week. We have an online account for Land's End.

I found a v-neck tank top in the book in colors I like for $8 apiece, and ordered some.

In the receipt for the order, they included a link to a virtual model. It was my first experience with one.

Age, height, weight, measurements, body type, coloring, eyeshape and hairstyle were options. Turned up with a girl who looked pretty much like me, but her butt's too wide and her belly's too flat.

It was kind of fun. Boys can do it, too: My Virtual Model

UPDATE: This is cooler than paper dolls! Cooler than Barbie!! Not that I look a thing like Barbie, mind you.

I like birds and I like strawberries:

"I ain't ever in my life seen the likes of these birds," Young said. "They ain't scared. That's the bad part about it. . . . They catch us not looking and they'll swoop down and sit in that patch for 30 minutes." [...]

[...] A first-time strawberry farmer who hopes to expand to 100 acres next year, Relan said he solved his cedar waxwing problem the same way farmers across Tangipahoa have for years. The few farmers who have tried air cannons realize they've wasted their money when the birds are so undaunted by the devices that they use them for perches, he said.

What to do, what to do? Shooting them is against the law.

This story has a slew of good quotes from country boys.

Oh, for pity's sake:

Arkansas coach Houston Nutt has decided that his players who are caught loafing will no longer wear pink jerseys during practices in an effort to avoid offending breast cancer survivors.

There's a better argument that the pink is insulting to all women.

I imagine Coach Nutt has been running his slack players in pink far longer than breast cancer survivors have been wearing pink ribbons.

My gosh, what a mess. I've just balanced our checkbook, which required going through transactions back to December.

Lyman and I keep one checkbook between us. But he is the one that usually visits the ATM, or makes online deposits into the account. And we ran out of register for a few days in January, which accounts for the discrepancies.

The $%&##$^% thing has been a churning urn of burning funk for the past three months anyway.

But it's all done now. Mostly. I hope.

Here's a little story of insurance fraud in the Garden District of New Orleans.

I do not know how Pope John Paul II could have died in anything less than peace when he lived so near Michelangelo's Pieta.

I saw it in pictures. I have seen it in life.

Lay me, too, in the lap of Mary.

It's the only thing in the world I think worth stealing.

From Smiley Anders today in the Baton Rouge Advocate:

Dear Smiley: You recently ran a story about a guy who went to a restaurant in Cleveland and saw crawfish on the menu for $13.99 a pound. I can top that.

I am originally from Fordoche. After I graduated from Northwestern in Natchitoches, I worked for two years as a national consultant for Sigma Nu fraternity. My travels took me to 73 universities across the country.

One year I spent Mardi Gras at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln. One of the alumni owned a popular bar and grill, and upon finding that I was from Louisiana invited me to a Mardi Gras party.

He told me they would be serving boiled crawfish flown up from Louisiana as well as jambalaya, so I eagerly accepted.

When I got to the restaurant I went directly for the food, as I was feeling the ill effects of having to eat Midwestern food for some time.

When I got to the front of the line, I told the lady serving that I wanted some crawfish.

She asked politely, "How many?"

Imagine the look on my face when she told me they were selling them three for a dollar!

I didn't know what to say. I remember stuttering out "Nine." I didn't eat any of them, but instead peeled them and gave them to the Nebraska guys I had brought along.

Jeremy Lacombe

Houston

The last live crawfish we bought were $1 a pound. Some of the largest ever seen here were six to a pound.

I know nearly nothing about Vatican procedure.

How long will the bell toll announcing the death of Pope John Paul II?

Then the mule said, "I'm done today. You can walk home."

And the oak leaves have continued to fall.

Lyman called the guy who came earlier and was told his bagger had blown out, most of his big clients had been serviced, and that he would not repair it, but invest in a new unit this fall.



There is an old-fashioned, inefficient thing called a rake, I'm told, which coupled with a tarp, is a dandy device for putting one's back out.

Caladiums, either.

How am I ever going to be able to till the front bed to plant impatiens?

The bed is beside the front porch, under a large live oak. It's a shady place. If I ever get them in, we'll have brilliant flowers until the first hard freeze this fall.

But we're running on a schedule of two sunny, two rainy days. The ground will never dry enough to run the Mantis at this rate.