I am enjoying the ease of using flickr.com for posting photos.

It's adequate for anything I do on the web, and I haven't begun to look at all its features.

If I could just find the USB cable for the camera, it would be easier still.

UPDATE: Aha! Got you, little device!

Law, law. Just go visit this post by Radley Balko.

(Will I ever overcome my desire to call that man "Boo"? Can it be that offensive to be called "Boo Balko"?)

Possum on the patio

Possum in pine on patio with orchid

Possum in the patch

Possum in the tomato patch

(at least it's not a squirrel)

It's been since 1999 or 2000 that we've had tomatoes like these.

Kiddos

Gratuitous bird picture, using lower resolution and changed settings, according, ahem, to the camera instructions

One of Lyman's baseball buddies' wives is expecting a baby, going into forced induced labor tomorrow. They're in Jackson, MS, tonight.

Lyman said, "I bet they're on nins and peedles."

I'm fond, but I also like that Spoonerism.

IMAG0015

Possum perches on pencil midst posies

Forest face

There was a little possum and he lived in a tree.
He lived in a tree by me ...

I am speechless.

Daniel Craven, Esq. (I always like that pretentious touch), our lawyer, has a brief article in the Summer 2005 edition of Condo Owner magazine titled "Communicating During Troubled Times."

A key point that he makes:

There is a difference between what owners want to know and what they need to know.

Says it all, doesn't it?

UPDATE: The last line of the piece is eloquent:

In conclusion, the key to better relations, especially in troubled times, is communication, communication, communication.

Esquire Craven, I couldn't have said it better myself.

I learned something from these beans.

My oldest brother called on Sunday to chat.

He said, "I remember when grandmother would serve beans that were half shelled and half not."

"Are you talking about field peas and snaps?"

"No, I'm talking about plain string beans."

He was talking about home-canned string beans.

Well, rats.

We made a mistake, maybe more than one, and they're all mine.

You have to remember that this canner was made somewhere between the forties and fifties. I don't have a manual.

I forgot that you should leave the petcock on the valve until the pressure goes to zero.

There's no broken glass, and the mess is small, but our poor little beans lack about an inch of liquid.

But the seals are tight!

Yack. Such good beans.

Lyman also thinks the gauge might be off.

Yack.

As Lyman says, "Some people can, and some people can't."

UPDATE: Put them in the refrigerator and eat them soon, they say. I can go for that.

And do a cold pack next time.

I'm stalling.

It's been over three years since I used the pressure canner. It's a big old Presto thick-walled model that Lyman's mother gave us.

It works perfectly well, and the gasket and stopper are fairly new.

The whole process makes me nervous for no good reason, but I grew up with the legends of the exploding pressure cookers, too.

UPDATE: That's all set up.

Now, hot pack or cold pack?

Do-de-do.

UPDATE: Hot pack. Some of these little fellas aren't youngsters.

Tomatoes

Aren't the tomatoes pretty?

I believe Lucy is preening Charlie. Do say.

I understand, honey. I like to touch him, too.

Here is good news!

We are able to can three pints of tomatoes today -- first time since 2002.

Our crops have been wretched for a few years.

UPDATE: And a question for you:

We are growing a nice lot of Italian flat green beans this year, faster than we can eat them.

I would like to can some, and know they'll have to be canned under pressure. Is it my imagination that you should always fill your pressure canner completely with jars? That you should not do just four or five at a time? Or did I make that up?

UPDATE II: Presto says no, it does not have to be full.

"Fabio, honey, what should I do?"

"Stroke my manly chest and lose yourself in my less than luxurious hair."

"But, but, there's Lyman, and Lucy and Charlie, and Patricia and ... hmmph."

Uh oh. We just gave the list of the board of directors and their numbers to my father-in-law.

I hope they want some sweet corn. Or maybe they'd like to open his condo first.

UPDATE: I can hear it. Director says, "My lawyer says..."

Big Daddy says, "Lawyers? You want lawyers? I breed lawyers. Two sons, a grandson and a grandaughter coming. What now?"

UPDATE II: Uh oh. He just gave it back.

The introduction to Mr. MacDonald's book, Condominium (1977), reads this way:

It's a very dangerous thing to go so long between hurricanes. It just causes a larger number of incredulous people -- nonbelievers.

Dr. Robert H. Simpson, Former Director, National Hurricane Center, Miami, Florida

Not that I spent a lot of time planning what I was going to be when I grew up, but I can't remember a day that I planned to be a mother of disparate tropical birds.

Michael has been in, laughing at me and his little brother and sister.

I tapped him on the shoulder and said, "When I married your father, Jason was 18. I thought I was beyond this."

"You can't escape it," he said.

My sister's delay in coming has resulted in an unexpected benefit -- I've picked up a brother! They'll both be coming in a couple of weeks.

Since Charles prefers more privacy than can be offered in our house, I spent some of yesterday morning talking to Joseph Stone, owner of this house.

During part of the interval between his father's death and Joe's return from New York City to renovate the house, I lived there for six months. In fact, during one of his visits, Lyman and I fed Joe in his own kitchen.

He has worked hard at the restoration, and behold, has a lovely small bed and breakfast. Charles will be staying in the detached cottage.

We hope to have the benefit of Joe's performance on the piano. He is quite a good player. He's also a collector of antique maps, etchings and books.

Joe, Lyman and I have all been busy these past ten years and fell out of touch. It was a pleasure to talk to him again, and I expect even more from seeing him and his lovely house.

Julep time!