Well, my gosh. Our friends just won $750,000 from the Louisiana state lottery.

Merry Christmas, kids!

(They were married on January 13, too. I say, let them throw the anniversary party this year.)

That went smoothly. Dishes can be done along the rest of the day. Forty-two pieces to handwash.

It's a prettier day today, if cold. At least I can see to dust. And we can have a fire for lunch.

Here's an interesting recipe from Tony von Krag. Kitchen hand might like this one.

From dawn to dusk, this is a dreary day.

Charlie is doing Lucy's voice now. She can't get a word in edgewise.

It's one cold-looking day out there, and I need to hose down the birds' tree. Brrrrr.

So I was piddling here, waiting for the dawn, and stumbled across this site courtesy of Fred First at Fragments from Floyd.

Insert any URL and see the text translated into ValleySpeak. Totally rad.

Hangin' around

We're busy, but Charlie's just hangin' around.

Preparations are underway here for the Christmas luncheon Friday, when the adults in the family gather.

The menu this year is simpler than it has been in years past: shrimp cocktail, salad, garlic bread, John Folse's recipe for spaghetti and meatballs, grilled zucchini, and apple-butter sweet-potato pie with whipped cream.

There's plenty of cleaning and straightening to do, and some mild decoration. And plenty of dishes to wash on Friday.

Charlie has taken his assignment of learning the LSU fight song seriously.

Congratulations, Georgia.

When Matt Flynn threw the interception last night to bring the score to 34-7, Charlie whistled his notes.

"Not now, Charlie," Lyman said.

Bill Quick of Daily Pundit has great gift ideas for the kitchen here.

We've spent much more money on the the kinds of items he suggests. Such buys!

As I was driving to the library, a little boy jumped off the schoolbus, crossed to his yard and turned a front-flip on the grass before he even took his backpack off.

Yikes. How would you like to have him for the weekend?

Library extension

Here is the area for the public library extension.

There were trees surrounding the square. Those on this side were cut. Maybe only two were cut. As Lyman says, they were planted too closely to begin with. Live oaks can have enormous canopies, but they need plenty of room.

At any rate, I feel a little sadness for those guys, but no anger. We have plenty of live oaks but only a small library.

They have poured some concrete slabs to the sides of the main building. I haven't seen the plans. Will they be outdoor public spaces? I'd like that.

I added hit stats today, and did a little cosmetic work here.

People seem to have such fun with referrer logs that I had to see.

Rats.

We bought a new Sears Craftsman riding mower yesterday.

Lyman has been researching for a couple of years. This one was a good enough price with the features we wanted. No, it's not a Deere. But the kid who mowed lawns during his high school years used a Craftsman to do several yards a day without much trouble.

Merry Christmas, Janis. Merry Christmas, Lyman.

But we have a house with a whole roof and a lawn, so I should complain?

Miss Francesca, it's a long story, but my brother is now the owner of a four-month-old male Yorkshire terrier named Presto.

We hope you'll be available for advice, if necessary.

UPDATE: That is one bouncing baby boy.

Satsumas

Satsumas.

UPDATE: No satsumas.

There are recipes.

When I told Sarah G. "Good luck" in the comments below, I didn't mean for her to fail.

My mother would be irate if I deprived her family of a piece of chocolate pie.

The problem there was that one of our family's recipes was just in my mother's head. She didn't measure.

Before she became desperately ill, my sister, sister-in-law and I cornered her in the kitchen to show us how to make it.

"You need some sugar."

"How much, Mama?"

"Oh, I don't know. Start scooping ... that's enough."

"Where's the cocoa?"

"How much, Mama?"

"Well, a little more."

"You need some flour."

"How much, Mama?"

"Oh, I don't know, show me."

Etc.

I don't remember not having her chocolate pie in the house, and I'm near 49 years old.

Fat Boy

And still wound up with a fat baby boy.

(Yes, Charlie's a little blurry, but bird pictures are hard to take with my little camera. Except when Lucy is posing.)

He was subject to a campaign over the holidays to teach him to whistle the first few notes of the pregame and touchdown LSU fight song. He wasn't too quick on the draw, but he'll learn.

He is an enthusiastic football fan.

Charlie revels pretty well with us, but he's been in fine form with his big brothers.

I received this e-mail last night:

Just wanted to let you know that I did Grandma's pie recipe justice. It was as good as hers and turned out perfect.

Mama rolled in her grave.

Here are the ingredients for chocolate-meringue pie:

1 cup sugar
6 T cocoa
4 heaping T flour (or cornstarch)
4-1/2 cup milk
4 eggs, separated
1 T orange zest
Dash salt
1/2 stick butter
1 t. vanilla

Mix all ingredients except egg whites, butter & vanilla. Cook over medium heat until thick, yadda, yadda. Stir butter and vanilla into thickened mixture.

Use egg whites for meringue with:

Dash salt
Pinch cream of tartar
4 T sugar

Cook topped pie at 350 degrees until browned.

If you need more instructions, don't try.

UPDATE: Makes a 10-inch pie.

Someone, somewhere is cackling at me as I continue my search for the elusive recipe of the schoolhouse roll.

We ate them during the fifties and sixties.

They were not strictly regional. Scott Chaffin and I had them in Texas, Lyman had them in Louisiana, and Wisconsin friends remember a particularly good roll served in public school lunchrooms there.

So where's the recipe?

UPDATE: I bet only D.C. hostesses get the recipe. Keeps them coming back, you know?

Boys.

My table is going to be all boys tonight.

Help?!

And Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

We had a little birthday party here last night. Michael, his girl, and her two sons came to taste and pick up her cake and gift.

The older one had been hunting yesterday morning. He didn't find any squirrels, but bragged a bit on shooting some birds.

"Hush, boy," I said. "We don't talk that way in this house."

I am posting this recipe for apple-butter pumpkin pie here for easy reference.

UPDATE: This pie is dandy.

Wretched booby boys have my camera, or I would show you the broken ground for the public library extension. Four formidable live oaks were cut to make room, which hurts my feelings.

But we have a lot of live oaks here in town, and only a small library -- a necessary trade, I'd say.

Do you remember the story about the dirty kitchen rug?

This picture has received more hits than any picture (other than one of the two birds) in my flickr file.

Just goes to show that people are most interested when you air dirty laundry, or post dirty pictures.

I'm running a little late on this cake. Give me a really good reason why one bothers to bake this batter.

Now, down to important things.

It's been an overcast day here, so when the sun just appeared through the trees, Charlie jumped out of fear -- the world had suddenly changed.

My sister and I have been exchanging e-mails refining the instructions for Mother's chocolate cream pie, which she is taking to a brother's home in Austin for Thanksgiving.

I have been compiling a grocery list for an Italian cream cake which I'll bake this evening for a birthday girl, and for split pea soup, for a soup-hungry Janis.

Tacky woman that I am, I have been following the great OSM launch with undignified interest.

I luv a ole-fashioned blog brawl. But I have no favorites in this foofaraw.

I will note that the website looks like a particularly dull corporate newsletter at this point. Michael, son and local hip-guy-on-campus, says it looks like the "website of a government parts provider."

No big deal in the long run.

I'm just spoiled by Sploid.

I think I might have gone to heaven had I one of these as a little girl.

Ahem.

CBS has been around, according to this story.

I like this quote:

“The Southern diet has been focused around taste,” Brzezinski said after the morning taping session. “It is like smoking. It is an addiction.”

Ahem.

UPDATE: Yikes! I left Greek cooks out of my comment below. I love Greek food.

Worth a try?

Or this?

We have delicious satsumas on the trees in the yard.

It's 5 a.m. and far too early to do anything very constructive. The birds are asleep here at this end of the house, and Lyman at the other, so the genuinely useful things, like vacuuming, are off-limits.

So I'll contemplate Thanksgiving. Years past, the boys would go to their mother's near Dallas, Lyman and I would go my mother's in Dallas, and Lyman's parents would have dinner with his sister's family, as they will this year.

My mother is now gone, and the boys now prefer to go their mother's after Christmas. My brother, who used to join us in Dallas, is now here. Jason is in Georgia, and will come here for the holiday. Michael is seeing a girl with parents here, and children in Jackson. How this all will come together, I don't know.

This year will be my first Thanksgiving dinner. I still haven't pinned down the hour (or the day, for that matter), or the menu. And I might be counting six at the table. Or not. Or more.

Fried turkey, for sure. Orange-cranberry relish might be nice. Perhaps a special mashed potato, and string beans in a skillet. We have frozen corn we put up this summer. Green salad. Paula Deen presented an apple-butter pumpkin pie on food.tv the other night that might be good.

And I still haven't gotten around to homemade dinner rolls. Those might be worth some practice this week.

And cleaning. Lots of cleaning. Where can I send Lyman?

We saw one of these in red (the young one) at Tacky Jack's. We think it was Kenny Stabler's. What year model is it?

UPDATE: Looks like a '53, the original. I've found $129,000, and worth every penny. It's a cool car.

Here's some story. Maybe it wasn't a '53. Could have been a '54 or '55. Cool enough.

Home again.

Truly can't tell you how much I enjoyed the win over Alabama. In Alabama.

Where I am. Until tomorrow.

Rougher Gulf

Pretty, isn't it?

But it's time to go home. After dinner last night, Lyman and I watched the only episode of Dukes of Hazzard either of us had ever seen, and a documentary on the process of becoming a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader (or DCC as they call themselves).

I cain't be gone that far south for long.

And I just discovered rust on the refrigerator. Noooooooo!

The monarchs are migrating. There aren't so many as in past years, but they're on their way.

So, one day this week we went down to the Caribe to look at a 3-bedroom condo listed at $950,000.

The complex has pretty spectacular amenities. The unit itself was 1700 sq. ft., with high ceilings and upscale appointments.

But this particular unit was carefully decorated with the biggest, darkest, faux West-Indian furniture you can imagine. Windsor Castle didn't have beds so large, dark, or carved. Dark leather living furniture, and safari-type accessories.

The elegant place was thus dark, claustrophobic, and vaguely threatening. I especially disliked the hightailed monkey clamoring across the enormous entertainment center.

All yours, for just a touch under a million, with a near perfect view of the highway.

The place is owned by a plastic surgeon from Mississippi. Remind me to not let the guy work on my body.

Thank you, your families and friends.

Gulf of Mexico

Doesn't look so terribly threatening, does it?

Silly girl.

I saw a heron on the little lakefront today shake and straighten his feathers and felt a pang of homesickness for the critters.

Oh, and we figured out that the president of the board owns a cool 15% of a condo.

And we found out today that Johnny Williams of The Drifters passed away last year.

"Under the boardwalk, down by the sea ..."

Oh, and did I note that Chris Marr's office has been recently redone? It looks very nice, with some of the most expensive furnishings in Orange Beach.

She hasn't been earning many rentals, so I assume that was done with monies from her property management contract, which she bought with our votes, from our association fees.

God bless the rest of the coast.

Someone, someone heavy, has been bouncing at the foot of the king-sized bed in the second bedroom. The brace in the center has buckled.

We shored it up, further in, with 1 x 4's. Another frame is in order, but we've spent enough money on this trip.

We might just leave, before we find something else wrong.

Have I told you that we haven't stayed here since May 2004?

We tried once, and were threatened with arrest.

Someone punched out the power and volume buttons of the 27" Sharp TV we bought in 2001.

Wal-Mart has a 27" flat-screen Sanyo for $219. It has a great picture.

Good Christmas gift.

We went, with our friends from Wisconsin, to Lulu's for dinner the other night.

I went to the bar to find the waitress to collect our check, and someone said, "I recognize you. You were at the motel with the parrot."

Yes, I was. I recognized them, too. As I recall, they're from Birmingham, here working construction. They live in an RV in a park now.

I left that meeting after the second iteration of "He has given me his word that X will be done by X."

Lyman and I love each other, but we live by an enforceable contract.

So, there was an executive meeting Monday.

If you'll look at my pictures, you'll notice I can punk up. So I spiked my hair, put on my wire-rimmed dark glasses, a tank top and Cruel Girl jeans, and walked down to listen to the Garden Club.

When Miss "That Cruel Night last September" woman said, "You have my assurances that our money is being spent properly," I said, "We don't want your assurances. We want records."

I listened for a few more minutes, and stalked out.

Come to find out, Little Sharon asked one of the other members "who that woman was."

"Oh, that's Janis Gore, the attorney's wife," a member told her.

Did I tell you we won our tiny suit?

Have I told you that the contractor told my elderly couple that his company can't pay for their windows?

Have I told you that I would have rather kicked every ass at that table than look at their faces?

Sure they could have taken me, but it would have been a catfight.

Addendum: Nothing makes you feel so mean as waking up to a pneumatic chisel, or jackhammer, or whatever they're using next door.

OK, you clever readers out there, the digital display of the microwave is malfunctioning, but the rest of the oven is fine.

What to do? Is there something short of replacing the whole thing?

We're packing off for a few days at the coast, number contingent on how long Michael can control the birds. He's staying here with them.

Y'all have a good week.

Here's an interesting Thursday Three from Papa Possum. It's a big 'un for me.

1) If you have a blog, why did you start it? If you don’t have one, do you think you might start one? Why or why not?

I have a degree in journalism. Before I came to the Miss-Lou I worked for six years with community newspapers. I have done everything from selling advertising, to designing pages (can't tell, can you?) to photographing sports. Long hours, low pay and deadlines. I hate deadlines. I don't even like the word.

The thing I like most about blogging, which my father would have delighted in, is that I can reach across this country, or around this world, and tap a shoulder. Kitchen Hand in Australia, or Sean Kinsell in Tokyo, or Colby Cosh in Canada would have been unaccessible to me until the '90's, and I value those far-away connections. And I value, too, my nearer ones.

I like women (keep your Lesbian spam to yourself, please). I read and e-mail some of the most interesting women I've ever met from this desk. Most women are so busy with children or whatever, that you don't know what they think, or what they need.

I like to share. I am a pretty happy girl, these years, for the first time in my life, though this happy part is beginning to take up a good percentage of my time on earth. If I can offer you cheer or comfort, handle it. Life can be hard, but we can cope, can't we?

And I grew up thinking that I would be a writer. Well, I am, aren't I? It's a laboratory for me.

2) What blogs do you read most often?

I read Instapundit and a good part of his blogroll, much of Possum's blogroll, and my own at least once a week. If you're not on my blogroll, it's because you're on theirs.

3) Finally, what do you consider to be the greatest strength(s) and most profound weakness(es) of blogging?

The greatest strength of blogging for me is shown when someone out of the blue finds this place for information. This has happened twice in the past couple of years during the hurricanes. Ms. Woods of Tennessee and Ms. Rendell of Arkansas came to find out what I knew. And I could help.

The great weakness? Partisan bickering is, like, really, really boring.

I started this blog at the instigation of Papa Possum. The boy do like company.

IMAG0004

Possum at the Post House.

IMAG0003

Possum approaches my brother's porch.

(This house is not on tour, but you're welcome for a martini around 7:30.)

It's Pilgrimage time in Natchez, when some of the old, big houses are open for touring. Possum has gone traveling. Pictures to follow.

While y'all were piddling with dry ice and bats and spiders, I was into some real scary stuff this weekend.

I read depositions from a lawsuit brought by a member of our condo association against the board a few years ago.

Without getting into details, it concerned the backup of a common drain into a private unit and remediation.

The unit owner sued the condo association for $22,000. The board spent more than $60,000 in legal fees to defend the suit, then recently settled with a payment of $35,000 to the owner.

Get it? The condo association paid more than $100,000 for a $22,000 suit, with most of that money going to a couple good ole Alabama counselors -- one named Craven, "protector of the association's interests."

I call that scary.

A beautiful little ten-year-old boy crawled onto one of the chairs in the den today.

What do you do?

Esprit d'escalier:

"It's tough being a woman, but I wouldn't want to be anything else."

Speaking of people on the ground, we're still looking for coats and sweaters and blankets for the coastal areas.

If you have something in the closet, because you lost weight, because the kids have grown, because you bought something that was never worn (I have a good-looking sweater from Scotland that Jason didn't like), because Uncle Syl died, check on your local community, and find your need.

Or send them to me. I'm going to mobilize the Saudi-mobile for a ride to Slidell. It's got chilly around here.

Lucy Belle

A somewhat tired Lucy, for Dr. Smith.

She did well today. That husband of Dr. Debbie works magic.

The Blue Dog print came today.

The shipping cylinder says "OPEN BY PROFESSIONAL FRAMER."

We'll take it to Dianne's. She does good work.

Something else for the boys to fight over when we're gone.

UPDATE: And that's the last dime I ever give to the Red Cross. I like people on the ground.

Today comes Lucy's turn at the vet's office. We can reliably predict that she will have the vapors.

Dr. Debbie's husband will be the holder again. Maybe that will help.

She has a preference for gentlemen.

J-Birds is finally back on-line after Katrina.

Go read it.

Why I love the internets.

RIP, Mr. Dresslar.

(Thank you, Sploid.)

Today Charlie has his first appointment with Dr. Debbie, the local veterinarian we use.

I expect it to go something like this:

"HONK, honk, honk honk, honk. HONK!!!! HOnk, honk, honk, HONK!, Honk, honk, hoNK, honk, honk. Honk. Honk."

UPDATE: He did remarkably well -- stepped up nicely for everyone involved, didn't honk much or scream like Lucy.

Dr. Debbie's husband was the holder today. He's good with birds.

So Charlie's all trimmed up and has made a passel of new friends.

UPDATE II: Dr. Debbie said, "Let's get a tongue depressor so we can do his beak."

Charlie cracked that in two within seconds.

Jason, honey, will you please shut up?

He just called asking for more minutes on his telephone.

He is just like his grandmother. We called her from Italy to report that we were fine and she kept Lyman on the phone for 28 minutes.

The call cost us $54.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but his older brother came in one day and said, "Dad, did I talk that much when I was younger?"

It goes back to Michael Lewis' quote in his Katrina story in the NYT, which is now, unfortunately, behind the archive wall: "Conversation [in New Orleans] is a pastime, not a tool."

Correct me, Mr. Schranck. You have a printed copy.

So I called the guy in Houma, LA, to check on him after Rita.

He built the birds' cages. A Cajun he is, and a roofer who breeds Gouldian finches.

He is fine, as is his family. He sold the cage business, and no longer has his big birds. He had seventeen. He has grandchildren now that he likes to spend time with. He and his ten-year-old grandson go fishing every other weekend.

He didn't remember me. He told me he sold thousands of cages.

But he kept his African Grey, Zeke.

"Did you ever teach Zeke to say 'Don't worry, be happy'?"

"No, he still says 'Birds don't talk' when I bring it up."

Exhibit A for why I am not and have never been a mother of small children.

But where is my #$%! car?

If you have a real snot on your Christmas list, Overstock.com has 1000 thread count sheets on sale for $149.99 a set.

Tsk, tsk, Ms. Postrel. Too, too much time in Los Angeles.

On the basis of this post from Peg Britton in Kansas, I signed up for the Infoition News Service.

It's free, and is a compilation of news stories and editorials from assorted papers.

My first issue came today, and it looks okay.

Jesse Manning is a recent grad from Kansas State. His blog is here.

Charliesil

Gratuitous silhouette of Charlie. What a shapely guy!

If you pop over to the Natchez Democrat today and look at the building for sale at 211 N. Pearl, you'll see the bar where Lyman and I met.

I'd just finished a paste-up shift at the paper. It was about 1 a.m. Lyman had come to talk to the sports writer about fantasy baseball.

That face.

(Click on More Homes if it doesn't come up immediately.)

Today is my brother Charles' birthday. He is 61.

Christmas is right around the corner again, and I'm going to tout my favorite makeup again.

Events of the past week have called for a bit of makeup, and I am still enthralled by bareMinerals.

They're light, comfortable, versatile and natural-looking, and luxurious to apply. Nothing at all mask-like about them.

If I had a woman to buy for (and I might), I'd give them strong consideration. I hooked my sister (55), and she hooked a woman at her office (45+).

Young girls and women around here tend to use flat foundations that look cheap and unnatural. Teens especially would look brilliant in these products. They appear expensive, but a little goes a long way.

I have no financial interest at all in the company, no prospect of earning commissions, no free products or such. There are sources for the products other than the one above that you can find on the Internet.

I just like the stuff, and think women should at least give the products a try, if it's possible.

That closes this advertisement.

Oh, and Lyman likes the Gillette Mach III razor.

One of the pleasant activities this weekend was the walk from Rosalie through downtown Natchez, past King's Tavern and to my brother's house after the performance. 'Twas under a full moon.

We met a neighbor gentleman walking his dogs whom I met 20 years ago when I visited Natchez for Christmas, and haven't seen since.

barge

Rollin' on the river.

3balloon

Several took off from the bluffs of Natchez today. Here are three.

fill

Filling a balloon.

irma2

Yes, kids. That's Miss Irma. At 64, she's still got it.

Michael and his girl, my brother and I are going to see Irma Thomas this afternoon. She plays from 5 to 6:30.

I might go earlier and listen to some Tony Joe White. He starts at 3.

River1

And I never lost a minute of sleepin',
worryin' bout the way things might have been ...

For me, the cruise was a joy. In the twelve years I've lived in the area, that was the second time I've been on the river. The first was in October 1993.

I can tell you nothing about the food. It was served buffet-style. I couldn't tear myself away from the deck long enough to have any.

The boat is on its way to Cincinnati, where the crew will work its way downriver, doing daytrips much like the ones here so these people can scrape up some kind of living.

The captains of the Audubon and the steamboat Natchez both lost everything in the storm. They are sleeping on their boats.

p_johnjames1

I'm dosing up on high-powered cough medicine and taking a little cruise with my boy this evening.

The last time we went out to dinner was in May.

It won't be a long evening. No, I won't go overboard.

(Photo from steamboatnatchez.com)

Poor, poor Charlie.

His eyes are bright, he appears perfectly healthy. He sings and whistles and carries on as usual.

But he has recently developed a terrible cough.

I am mortified.

I visited the lady doctor, and I have an acute case of bronchitis.

She ordered a shot in...in my hiney.

Trade-outs.

We're watching a show on HGTV, called "What You Get for the Money".

$400,000 in Los Angeles buys a 750 square ft. condo, which is smaller than my kitchen and den combined. The kitchen here alone is 280. A cool $148,000 in a high-rise condo, and you can sleep on the bar! Put a kid on the island!

Of course, there you're in the heart of the action.

Verrry interesting.

With Halloween coming up, should we teach Charlie "Werewolf of London"? I'm sure he'd do the AIOOOH perfectly.

(Of course, Lyman says whatever you teach him, you'll hear a lot. With all these wolf whistles in the house, I've never felt so pretty.)

In ongoing parrot news, Charlie has now settled into his baths. The honking has subsided, and he's more and more cooperative. He might even, ah, like them, but as a little boy would never let on.

Lucy seems to like Charlie, too, but acts like a crotchety aunt most of the time.

But you'll frequently catch her preening his head, and she'll stay at it for a good while if you don't watch too long or say anything.

Oh, and today Charlie is 8 months old.

Yikes.

So, Mr. Hlatky, when I was nearly sick with grief over Katrina, a lovely man with a beautifully dressed orchestra came on the screen and lifted my heart. That was Andre Rieu, and his specialty is Strauss.

Where does he rate?

A peek at his website shows he is deadly commercial, but his music is joyous.

I'm not a gun girl -- I prefer knives and cast iron skillets -- but Mostly Cajun goes on the blogroll.

Speaking of hair, if I had any choice, I would wear the high-class pageboy, or a French twist. Perhaps a chignon, on occasion.

I French-braided my longer hair, and pinned it under at the bottom. Or clipped it in a ponytail high on my crown.

Here's the kind of gentleman I like. I asked Daniel Morris to tell us what he needs, and he does.

Coats in the South don't have to be huge. Mr. Morris, I'm clean out of coats, and I wear the Brooks Brothers I bought in 1985 (which you can't have). Who can we donate to who will buy you proper coats?

I just looked at the Land's End catalog. We can do that well at Wal-Mart. What are your sizes?

I wear Wal-Mart, too.

Scarlet

I am a fair decent Southern girl, but I try to stay away from Scarlett.

I might think about this tomorrow.

UPDATE: In place, and after examination, this color will do. Yes, it will.

Oh, Punkin

Miss Francesca asked about my Rit Dye project.

I started here, today. Mind, it took me a minute to remember to do before and after. This one's wet.

Let's check when they come out of the dryer.

I know my value.

Just after I married Lyman, my mama lit into me.

She said, "I worked for you to go to school. I expected you to go to IBM."

I said, "Mama, I have work to do here."

She took to Lyman when she learned he could do plumbing.

Babies

Not to offend anyone, but we're equal opportunity here.

We have a little colored girl at bottom and a honky up top.