(Thanks, Dianne at Natchez Coffee Co.)

I'm putting this image up because it is the best photo I've ever taken, and it will give Icepick a laugh:

 

Maybe I'll open the windows and go all out Tennessee Williams.

Speaking of not costing a fortune, I just had grilled salmon, polenta, and vegetables, with a side of pickled beets that must have been divinely inspired for $16 at the Carriage House.

Bingo Starr is an unprepossessing man with an angel's touch when it comes to food. He is a gift to the area.

Look, people have been telling me to treat myself well, and I am. Doesn't have to cost a fortune.

Then if you'd like to do a double deal, Penney's has the lightest, softest, nicely detailed, innocent cotton nighties on sale for $12 apiece.

All right ladies, and gentlemen who like to touch ladies, listen up. Nivea Moisturizing Body Wash is on sale for $4 a bottle in our town, and my skin hasn't felt this silky in years.

Treat yourself, or someone else.

It's okay, it's okay. I've been to a doctor and have a brain scan scheduled tomorrow morning.

Oh, dear. I'm not quite the proper, distinguished Southern widow-woman, am I?

Jason's mother and I have been momming it up outfitting his new bachelor apartment. She's working from Michigan using Craigslist and her Penney's discount (her husband recently retired as a site engineer for the chain), while I'm doing what I can here on the ground.

I had forgotten a good-looking glass-topped table with four chairs that I bought many years ago from Pier One for our sun porch. It had been moved to one of the boys' mutual friends for a while. Sturdy and masculine, and just suitable for his sun porch.

The best food in town, though, is at the Carriage House, where the kitchen is run by Bingo Starr.

I'm a good cook, and it would take considerable practice for me to make food as good as his at home.

I've had lunch with my brother's group there twice. Good times, good times.

I have been spending time with my brother and his friends at the Natchez Coffee Co. on Franklin Street in downtown Natchez.

This morning we shared a bagel and lox for breakfast, served with cream cheese, capers and grape tomatoes. Can you imagine? Delicious bagels and lox in a cozy independent coffee house at the end of the Natchez Trace? I think I'm in love.

A side benefit is that I know many of the people who stop by to chat in the mornings, and I'm meeting new, interesting people every time I visit.

Children and babies are welcome. In fact, there's a quiet, comfortable chair for breastfeeding outside the restrooms and an antique changing table in the women's. Now, whether there's one in the men's, I don't know, but I'm sure the ladies would make way for a gent who wanted to change the baby there.

Far above average, healthy, tasty food at good prices. A real gem.

Now, I know there are better conductors than Andre Rieu, but his orchestra plays waltzes as dance music rather than pure compositions. Waltzes were party music, ballroom music. Music for the feet, not the brain.

I'm telling y'all that this bereavement business is a lotta damn work. I virtually ran a newspaper in Las Colinas. I don't remember being this busy.

I wasn't the only person who loved Lyman and his family.

Naw, I'm not cowering in a fetal position. I'll never replace the man, but I ain't dead yet.

I was with the ladies who lunch at The Castle today, celebrating a close friend's 76th birthday. Our driver, about the best Bridge player around, ordered a dirty martini straight up for lunch. The woman be serious. She drives an outdated Lincoln in pristine condition. (Good Lord, that woman is 81 years old, I just learned. You wouldn't know it by sight.)

Great fun. All five of us loved Lyman. Three of us were widows. Three of us were the babies in families of seven children.

Lyman and I used to go to the birthday girl's house on Christmas Eves to help assemble toys for the grandkids.

Y'all are likely too young to remember that Fleetwood Mac wasn't always fronted by Stevie Nicks.

For you, Chef Tony.

Was that bass player with Roxy Music?

Here's the more beautiful long version.

Charles Gore just asked, "Are you okay, Sweet Baby?" We're going to be fine, you big ol' handsome boy.

That went off pretty well.

My sister asked me to read the following tribute yesterday. It was well received:

In memory of Lyman

For many years, I was a stressed out single working mother, pinching pennies, and dealing with seemingly endless days of misbehaving children. When I could scrape up enough gas money, one of my favorite things to do was visit Lyman and Janis. I always relished these trips. For me, it was sort of like checking into a 4 star hotel with somebody else being responsible and in-charge of life, if only for a few days. Life always seems much simpler here – slower, kinder and more honest. Worries are about the weather, the latest crop of tomatoes, and the breakfast talk is about what’s for dinner.

While everybody was asleep, one of my favorite treats was getting up early and taking a walk on the Mississippi and watching the sun come up. There really isn’t anything to compare to that beauty. Then it was back to the house for a shower and hot coffee. Lyman’s dad, Travis aka Big Daddy, would start popping in and he too was always wondering what was for dinner. I began to think that dinner here was the only thing that really mattered.

And then I began to understand…It was all about Lyman’s cooking. Lyman had that easy breezy confident cooking style that only many years of passion, knowledge, and experience can bring. I think the key word here would be passion because that is the difference between a good cook and a great cook. Lyman was a great cook. He would entertain with a story or an observation about life while going about tending to the big simmering pots on the stove. Travis and Girl or various friends would join us and we would feast on that wonderful food until you just absolutely had no where else to put it.

When it was time to return home, it was with a bag of tomatoes, and a Styrofoam cooler filled with frozen zip lock bags of gumbo and other wonderful food prepared by Lyman. I knew that I would be eating well for the next week.

Life is better now. The kids are grown and I found new love. I’ll still make my trips to Louisiana and it will still make me happy. I’ll still have that wonderful food as Janis has become a wonderful cook under Lyman’s tutelage, but I will miss Lyman very much. He was always such a part of my trips to Louisiana.

Lyman loved his children, his wife, his family, his tomatoes and cooking. I’m not necessarily sure of that order because he really really loved his tomatoes. He was smart, kind, witty, and full of good humor. Lyman was a gentleman and a gentle man. Thank you for so many wonderful memories and adding just a bit more to my life. I will miss you.

Patricia

Lyman and tomatoes

Lyman hated funerals. He declined to be a pallbearer at his best friend's.

 So here we are: Lyman's obituary.

 If you so desire, donate to your local food pantry. He was all about food, among other things.

Lyman died this morning at 4:17.

Lyman is lying up in bed, with a pretty blonde nurse and good drugs. Healthy men pay good money for that stuff. I told him so.

When did Chrissie Hynde need a full orchestra?

 Albatross always makes me smile.

Don't take this grimly. I just like Roxy Music.

Rockin' steady, baby.

Lyman's brother was waiting at the door to ICU when I arrived at 5 pm. He hasn't seen him since he's been sick. He was shocked and frightened and nearly frantic to do anything to help him. Lyman does look like the last survivor of a famine.

He calmed down after he spoke to Lyman's sister's husband. The husband is a veterinarian and understands medicine.

Lyman has a low potassium level that they're trying to correct, which undermines his muscle functions in his heart and lungs. A cardiologist/nephrologist has been called in to consult.

His gut and the colostomy are working. If they can get his nutrition level up, I think it will help. He's receiving nutrition through a thin nasogastric tube.

Lyman's been trying to tell me something for two days. With the ventilator, I can't make it out. He's gonna give me an earful when he can speak.

He's been in the hospital nearly two weeks.

Lyman looks like death warmed over.

But, the surgeon says the pathology report came back. The tumor was malignant, but there is no evidence of metastasis. The prognosis there is good. There are some other fixable issues, and he should be turning the corner soon.

He told me to be patient.

Lyman is stable today. Awaiting test results from yesterday.

He is being sedated for occasional agitation and combativeness. Which I understand, as I've learned that the gastro is visiting. I need to see if I can do something about that. I'd be combative, too, if that asshole were within 100 feet of me.

Lyman's back on the ventilator. My sweet boy. His breathing has been dodgy the past couple of days.

I have to say that the surgeon is a top-notch guy -- great bedside manner, highly respected locally, very acute. And handsome.

He removed a tumor that he thinks is cancerous from Lyman's lower colon. He didn't see any other traces of cancer and removed all of that one.

Lyman will have a colostomy for several months, but otherwise he is doing well, they say.

Surgery was Thursday, and he's still in ICU. He wasn't able to take in much nutrition during the past few weeks. We'll have a haul ahead of us.

 Thanks for the good wishes. Don't put off your colonoscopies.

I'll tell you what. The local gastroenterologist has spent entirely too much time around assholes. But the surgeon is a champ.

The Miralax-Gatorade preparation for the scopes landed Lyman in the hospital. Rather than it working as desired, he began vomiting the solution a couple of hours after he finished the half-gallon mixture.

He's currently being pumped with a nasogastric tube, and the scopes will be done in the hospital. This hospital is in Natchez, about 8 minutes away.

We're still in diagnostics here. Monday at 6:30 am Lyman is due for a full scope.

In the interim, the nurse-practitioner suggested old-fashioned enemas. Not the cute, prebottled little squirts, but protracted hot water bottle style.

He is dreadfully embarassed, and they are momentarily uncomfortable.

Boy should get over it. I've handled worse than that. Those mothers will say, with truth, that they have.

Criminy. Lyman needs to be scoped, but he can't see a gastroenterologist until next Friday. He's doing okay, but that's a long wait.

My poor Lyman. He looks like someone stuck a spout up his nether parts and pumped him full of air.

This came up more than a week ago, but he's gone to the doctors and had an ultrasound and a ct scan. He should have some results tomorrow.

There's an obstruction in his gut. From what I read, could be impacted feces. Hard to think so, since he went from viable one day to incapacitated the next. Couldn't do that on a Greek salad, could you?

Anyway, I'm a pretty good nurse if it comes to it. I just need to know what to do.

One of our long-term renters at the condo has complained about the sofa for a while, so I put in an order for a new one today.

Without the time to shop at the beach for a month, we went looking locally. Unless you want an antique, there's not a lot here. So we went with a La-Z-Boy sofa-sleeper in this style and color. It will be be a push with the lime love seat, but we'll work it out.

It will get along with the art, the blue chair, and the wicker.

It's been six years since we bought furniture at the coast. Furniture wears quickly.

Speaking of squash, we had collected quite a bit and needed to dispose of some of it.

I tried Emeril's zucchini and summer squash casserole last night to go along with some barbecued country ribs.

It was a pleasing, light, healthy side dish, and reduced our stash by four pounds. (Lyman didn't like it at all. He likes crisper, more highly seasoned squash dishes.)

Unusually, the thyme and oregano we planted in the garden are surviving, along with the basil.

The gardens are running riot this year.

I spent an hour and a half picking and pruning the Kentucky Wonder beans:

Here are the squash that ate Vidalia:

It's time to leave good enough alone.

Ahem. The side-by-side refrigerator indoors went out. The seal system has a leak. It was purchased in November 2002. I understand that's a pretty good run these days.

Yesterday we went to the local hardware and purchased a new French-door model. We went with a Samsung because it fit the enclosure in the kitchen. It has plenty of complaints. So do Whirlpool, GE, Frigidaire, Kenmore and Maytag. Wouldn't you think that a company named "Frigidaire" could make a reliable refrigerator?

New refrigerators come with one-year warranties. The old Hotpoint that Girl selected for this house lasted for over 30 years. Then we had a Whirlpool that just outlasted it's five-year warranty. Then a Kenmore that lasted for close to ten.

Buying appliances is a crapshoot these days. Yes, we purchased a three-year extended warranty. The seal system will go out in four.

We were finishing the bar when we brought Lucy home in November 2001.

Consequently, I don't remember a thing I did at the time. A lot of water under the bridge both literally and figuratively. The previous job left a nearly perfectly smooth surface. Using a brush this time, I'm running into marks.

I surfed around until I came to a skateboard forum. The guy uses Polycrylic on all his boards. Up to 25 coats with sanding and buffing in between. He recommends cheap foam brushes.

Now I have a passel of those on hand. Another day or two.

The sanding and filling went fine. The cheap Black & Decker Random Orbit Sander is doing a fine job so far.

I love the gown Laura Bush wore for her White House portrait. I have a dress closely akin to it in khaki. Mid calf, shorter sleeved, epaulettes, but the shirtwaist style with a belt and dropped gathered skirt is right on.

It's been a while since we've undertaken a project. Here we're refinishing the much-used bar in the kitchen.

Stripped with Citristrip, now we're sanding. Then I'll be filling some cracks and finishing with Minwax Polycrylic. Another couple of days, at least.

Oh, for goodness' sake. When Lyman's dad died, I didn't celebrate. But I did breathe a sigh of relief. No longer would putting up summer corn be an issue.

HA! Here I am now shuckin' and jivin' 'til I get this bushel of Silver King put into the freezer tonight.

A chip off the ole block, his boy. Charles Gore, the parrot, is just as bad. "Corn corn, corn."

And we went to Joe Patti's in Pensacola, Florida.

All these years, and this is the first visit I've made. Last trip Lyman made his first. Now it's a must. Tons of fish and shellfish of all kinds at good prices. Excellent breads. Desserts, deli salads, cheeses, pates, spices and sauces of all kinds. Wine and beer.

Highly recommended. Don't miss it.

Yeah, we went to beautiful Orange Beach a couple of days. No pictures. It looks the same.

We did have a spectacular lightning storm Monday night with great glaring bolts blazing down the sky while we were tucked into Grazie restaurant eating fried calamari and spinach salad.

A short bombshell of a bleached blond was seated in a window booth while we were there. She had a tiny little waist with flaring hips and double D's crammed into a low cut bright pink spandex sheath. She spent the first few minutes at the table settling her boobs to their best advantage. Must be new.

'Twould have been a miracle of nature to have grown those on that little frame. Girl gave Dolly Parton competition.

No, I didn't have a camera.

Lyman said later, "That girl looked like trouble with a capital T. She'll cost a man more than a little piece of his heart."

(I'm not a particularly censorious type. It was fussing about the decolletage that caught my eye. That, and I do like to sleep on my stomach sometimes.)

Aha! Finally. I found the next set of sheets that I'll buy.

I have looked all day for something like these

This morning I've been ridding this computer of the Scour search redirect virus. Where it came from, I don't know. Should it come to you, I used the instructions at PCHell. I seem to be okay for now.

Southern comfort in a bowl.

 Lyman made this a few weeks ago and I ate myself silly. He left out the sugar. We don't do sugar with greens in this house.

Needs a little tweaking, but I find the new template refreshing, and it carries the title theme well. The drives around here look much like the background.

All righty, I have downloaded an xml file from Echo which I should be able to import into Blogger to restore older comments.

When I try to import, I receive a bX-lyly16 server error.

Umm, does anyone know anything about that, or should I report it to Blogger?

I've Googled the problem and see some answers, but the heads don't go directly to the questions in Blogger support. They go to a page of categories where there are thousands of topics. How annoying and worthless.

Hmm. Looks like I need to adopt a new template to import comments and sort out issues. Maybe it's time.

And how do I insert a space between the "posted by" and the time-stamp?

So, what's with this new interface? Let's try an edit.

 If you'd care to watch penguins milling about, try the Penguin Cam. The webcam will operate through April.

Yikes!

I hope my brother and sister and their families are safe.

UPDATE: Affirmed.

I fell off the wagon there for a while, but I'm back to at least three days a week with yoga tapes. While I like yoga classes, my, ah, personal schedule doesn't really accommodate the offered times. It's embarassing to break wind in a gently flowing ladies' class with delicate and soothing music in the background.

And I find that it quiets Charles Gore down of a morning. He likes the music and finds my contortions amusing. I practice on the living room floor.

I do not have a tape of the sun salutation, which is basic practice. I have real problems bringing my feet back and forward in those movements into and out of the lunge pose, and I need to develop the rhythm for the various poses.

Lucy had a bath an hour ago:

Sunday, on an afternoon:

At the back of the lot the other Michael is running over the dirt track for the remote-controlled cars with his daughter's four-wheeler. Libby, our next-door-neighbor's Labrador has decided to follow.

Our son is practicing his electric guitar with his friend in the cabana.

Lyman and I are laying down weed-guard between rows of sturdy Roma tomato plants.

Mostly Cajun has put up a Spelling Test.

I ran across the Fashion-Incubator blog earlier today through Marginal Revolution and can't stop reading. Kathleen Fasanella is in the fashion industry.

Here's a sample.

Here's Kathleen on "monobutt" jeans.

The satsuma trees are blooming and the bees are buzzing busily.

It just crossed my mind.

My stepson has asked me about how to blog. So this is what we're doing.

I'm horrified. The freezer in the storage room went out, and behind it is a skeletonized cat corpse.

Poor baby must have found a warm place to die. It happened during the past eight years. The only mewling I've heard is from these pampered boys.

So, Lyman looked up the recipes and I baked a Devil's food cake with fudge icing, I went to the raised bed and picked six perfect coral tulips, and celebrated my mother-in-law's 92nd birthday.