Use the university, Chris. Not that I ever did much with it, recluse as I am, but you're all there.

One of the benefits that yoga gives me (and I am not trying to convert here, mind, any other upward reaching exercise will do) is to put my arms in other directions than they usually go.

I was a waitress in my 20s. The reach was always down. I'd get dizzy reaching up or backward. Mothering, the reach is down. Most of housecleaning, the reach is down. Walking, the reach is flat, running, the reach is flat. Computer work, the reach is flat.

The yoga that I'm doing raises arms for good lengths of time.

What I see at the assisted living center is a lot of 85-90+-year-old women who can't even reach up. They've trained their muscles down. They'd have had a hard time reaching up when they were 62.

Strictly Tabu.

Never know what will send you on a jaunt to the past. Today it was Sarah's post that mentioned that her son really, really doesn't like piano practice.

That reminded me of Ed Hagen. (Third from left.) Jazz was a part of the Dallas scene in those days.

He was playing Lionel Hampton while The Ramones were gearing up.

Strictly Tabu was pink flamingos. Admit it, everybody loves them.

Now there was a practical benefit to yoga.

The lights in the guest bath needed cleaning. We're talking six bulbs and six globes with an awkward screw fitting. Lots of reaching up on tiptoes.

All that "bending, stretching, twisting and squeezing" as Wai Lana says, made it a snap. (Not to mention that the exercises are carving my waistline down. Welcome enough, but that's a side benefit.)

I sent for her Hello Fitness series of DVDs, which is intermediate level. I watched one yesterday. Now is the time to be careful. I don't want to "pop my mesh" as opposed to "bust a gut" after that femoral-inguinal hernia surgery in what, 2004?

Charles, the bird, likes the song Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.

He's working at putting that "sweetie pie bird" in there.

Yes, I will weigh in on the health care issue.

I found myself caring for a nearly dead person because the technicians weren't good.

The Mayo Clinic, when it came down to Charles' illness, evaluated slides taken from labs in Natchez and Jackson that were too thick, the infectious disease doctor said, and the poor staining masked the illness.

Dr. Dreiling at the VA, the other hematologist, said that there were markers for Hodgkins. That was the end of his comment.

UPDATE: Reed-Sternberg cell. I'm looking at you, kid.

A cute, funny thing happened at the dollar store today.

A young woman was at the register with a tiny girl toddler. The baby had a piece of candy in her hand.

When it came time to scan the candy, the little one resisted giving the candy up, so her mom just picked her up and held her over the counter so the checker could scan the piece. No muss, no fuss.

Not a bad way to avoid a scene.

Travis, Lyman's father, had a Patsy Cline CD in his car:



What a voice.

It's the small things.

From the time Lyman's dad retired at 79, until just several months ago, we had a reliable visitor, sometimes once, sometimes twice, sometimes four times a day through the years.

The late afternoon visit always started with "What's for supper?" Not that he would stay, but he might like to expect a portion the next day.

Last night we were cooking boiled shrimp, and for the first time in fifteen years, we didn't cook a least a portion the way he would have liked it. He didn't care for it as spicy as we do.

That was the first big click in "missing."

Lucy looks low when she is ready to lay. She does have an egg.

But for two or three days prior, she looks like she feels right lousy.

I really wonder if I should let her go to a breeder. It would grieve me greatly to let her go, but she seems so set on a little nekkid birdie or two.

This has been going on for what, four years? Lucy turned eight this July.

Yoga, yoga, yoga.

I lost a week of practice because Lyman's sons were here. I need to rethink this not having televisions in the bedrooms. Lyman's younger will not sleep without TV noise. I find that a shame for his sake, and a disruption of my schedule.

I don't need a bigger house. I need enough money to put them up in a hotel room.

Few things tick me off more than waking to a television carrying on in the house, or someone in my morning space.

So, in the course of conversation last night, I said something about the bird Charlie. The bird looked up and said, "Charles."

I stand corrected. Jeez.

Lyman's boys like breakfast. I don't.

But to keep them from spending $30 on omelets this morning, I baked this casserole.

That's a keeper.

And I'm giving up trying to make a good biscuit. Mary B makes a big, fluffy, gravy-ready biscuit in 20 minutes.

I spoke to Miss Betty yesterday, and the absolute word on Southern funeral attire is that it's not improper to wear open-toed shoes.

By observation, a woman can slso wear trousers without gathering ill-opinion.

Also, by observation, if you can can away with it physically, uncovered shoulders are fine, too. No sloppy, swaggy flesh, thanks.

That was in a Southern Baptist church in Vidalia.

I don't know about Natchez.

Lyman's father died peacefully this morning near 7:30.

UPDATE: For locals who would like to make a gesture, in lieu of flowers send donations to:

Streams of Life Food Ministry
10140 Whiteoak
Baton Rouge, LA 70815

Streams of Life

Just watching the lead-in tape before the overall yoga session, I discovered that I was doing one of the asanas wrong.

In this "asana" she told me to lift my legs to a 45 degree angle. So I lift my legs to a 45 degree angle off the floor and proceed with instructions.

In the pictures, she is lifting her legs to a 45 degree angle on the other side of her body, which is over her head. She's coming from the other end of the axis.

I'd call that a 135 degree angle.

In all, I like it better, the getting up on my shoulders, but we need some agreement about geometry.

Charlie's newest phrase is "Oh, no!" Remember Mr. Bill?

Oh, so now everything carries guilt?

At the MSN homepage today there is a "Guiltless Guacamole Recipe."

My first thought was "What are those people adding to their guacamole? Olive oil? Mayonnaise? Tequila?"

One regular guacamole recipe looks like this.

Let's look again at the recommended recipe. White beans in guacamole to cut fat?

Sorry, kids. Use the full fruit and eat the beans on the side. Eat less, if it bothers you that !@*%$#@ much.

Where do y'all come from?

I posted this at Althouse:

I fault Sarah Palin for having the poor judgment to accept a nomination that would bring young, unwed, pregnant Bristol onto the public stage.

How many times have we heard the term "teenage pregnancy" in the last say, 40 years, as something to be contained?

Now everyone's supposed to say, "Well, that's cool," then pay for her delivery and the support of the child in the Naval Observatory?

Hell, I didn't like the way the Bush girls dressed at the 2004 convention. Some occasions demand some formality, and a nomination to the presidency or vice-presidency is one of them.

But, back to to my topic, you can't break with a social narrative (call it a more, if no longer a taboo) that hard and not expect criticism.

Should that have applied to Trig? Not at all. None of us has control over our genes.

Have at it.

Lucy rarely speaks anymore, but yesterday while I was reading in the bedroom and Lyman was doing errands, she belted out a wonderful array of natural bird calls -- the kind you hear above the rain forest down home with clacking and monkeys.

The girl gone native.