Jason brings me Morning 40 Federation:

Ronan Hardiman

Oh, yikes! I just found Gaelic Storm:

It's time to do some serious housecleaning here, as soon as Jason packs up the rest of his stuff and goes off to live in his dream pad.

With that in mind, I bought three La Bottine Souriante CDs (so I can use them in the car) and one Bob Seger's Greatest Hits today. Maybe he'll light a fire down below when I'm scrubbing kitchen drawers.

DSCN0674

Smart-mouthed kids.

Janis at Jericho

Sort of like being married to Lyman. Sort of like now.

Jordan Valley

One of the few photos of Lyman and I together. I don't like photographs of myself.

His mother, his sister, his father, and his sister's daughter

Sally was at the coffee shop this morning. She's a refugee from the tornado in Joplin, Missouri. She looks like this. And a mighty sweet girl she is.

She lives with a retired orthopedic surgeon who practiced for a while in Joplin.

Lyman in mid 30s

A little out of focus. The curls were natural. Likely mid 1980s.
Boy, could I have used him then. And he could have used a haircut.

Lyman and boy

Here's Lyman palling around with terrorists in Jerusalem, ca.1996.
We were married about two years then. He was about 48.

Lyman and fish

Here's Lyman in 1970, long before I knew him.
I was 13 at the time. He would be 23-24 here.

That's his brother in the background.

I learned three things about grief:

1) Pretty plants and flowers gladden the heavy spirit.
2) Sympathy cards count.
3) Photos are beyond value. After those last days in the hospital, I couldn't remember his face.

The shrine has been knocked down, but the cards are on file (there were many more). The basket of pictures is still out.

Oh, great. I was so tired after my day's work that I popped off into a deep sleep at 8 o'clock. Now it's 11 p.m. and I'm feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Maybe I'll plan my small dinner party. I want to have my brother Charles and a couple of his friends over for alligator scallopine and a nice salad.

Once upon a time, we could buy sliced mangoes in light syrup from the refrigerated produce section of the local markets. They make a fine summer dessert when paired with Blue Bell Vanilla Bean ice cream. It shouldn't be hard to make mangoes in simple syrup, should it Tony?

No, I have not been moping.

This morning at 8:30 I locked up the birds in their Lexan cages and dragged the wire ones out the door onto the patio for a good wash. Then I put the birds into the wire cages and gave them a good wash with the mister setting on our hose spray.

Left them outside to commune with nature, and came in and moved everything off the enclosed porch that didn't belong there, vacuumed windows, shelves and floors, mopped the floor, and made a bird room.

(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.