A morose little mop dog had surgery yesterday because his eye had popped out.

Dog people, tell me how often a little animal's eye just pops out.

I can't help but wonder if there was brutality involved. And how much brutality do vets see?

Given Lucy's vet bill, which comes within range of half a grand, Lucy, her family, and friends think she should be rechristened Lucinda Faberge Belle Gore. We all still call her Lucy.

And just for defense, Charlie becomes Charles III. He's a good kid. Call him Charlie, too.

All right! The x-ray showed that the egg is breaking up in a safe way. She should pass the fragments through her system without harm.

She had one more treatment. I watch and report tomorrow.

Traveling back and forth so much, I have discovered the value of the Pet Pocket I bought a while ago.

It's light and easy to carry, and the straps fit snugly over the passenger seat headrest.

Lucy and I and the vet rested today.

Still no egg. Another trip to the vet tomorrow, this time for another x-ray. That will be 7 of the past 10 days.

No go for the nest box for Mr. Charlie again.

The ersatz nestbox had to come out of the cage last night.

Lucy just ignored it, but it scared Charlie. He couldn't sleep with that ... that nest of snakes in his cage.

I've put it back in, and him with it, so he can learn that it won't come alive in the night and get him.

Now he'll probably just shred it to pieces.

The first time I had seen enough sexual behavior from Lucy to question it was here. Lucy was barely two then, and unlikely to be bearing eggs.

Surely an egg couldn't be there that long. Physical problems have just come up recently. Otherwise she has seemed healthy. We do think it's the second egg that might have brought all this on.

UPDATE: Here's one from 3/3 of 2005. Her motions then were just the same as those on Saturday evening.

Still no egg.

Another visit to the vet, more fluids, more lubrication and stimulation.

This egg is going to be the most expensive thing since Faberge.

OK, since the "blogosphere" is supposed to be a hive of intelligent minds, help me, and let old Dan languish on St. Thomas.

My archives are open. I am looking for every reference to Lucy as a sexual critter. Key words might be: dance, arch, distend, Balinese, beautiful, etc.

I think this impacted egg might have been there a long time, and could be bound by tissues.

Surgery might be indicated, but not soon. She still has spotty lungs.

If you find anything, e-mail me at janis22@bellsouth.net or put it in the comments.

Lucy and I will thank you. You'll especially like her thanks. She's beautiful. And she gives sweet kisses.

We're looking at after she was two, which would bring us to 2003.

Charlie is continuing hearty and hale.

Jason brought a girl over today and he wolf-whistled at her. She was giggling when she left. He's good.

What I didn't know about the vet, is that is the place where they take catchable raptors around here.

If you have a stunned hawk or falcon, or a screech owl, they go to Dr. Debbie.

The helper was telling me they haven't x-rayed many pet birds, but they do raptors.

Well, I'd be ticked, too, Lucy.

She does have another egg, very high up her tract.

The doc lubricated her tract and injected her with more fluids, with a needle about the size of a Cajun injector.

Pass that egg, Lucy, or we get to do it again tomorrow.

UPDATE: C'mon, Lucy. Another glimpse of that needle and I'll pass out.

Lucy is going to the vet for an x-ray today. She strained Saturday night as though she had another egg to lay.

Best to be sure.

Streetcar Suburb You scored 21 out of 40 on urban-rural and 18 out of 40 land intensity.

People know you as: Grandmama Quote: "Maybe the neighbor can lend us some sugar." Your score indicates that you prefer a large metropolitan area to the wilderness and that you like your personal space. But you also enjoy interacting with other people occasionally and maybe, just maybe, on a rare occasion you even enjoy walking somewhere besides across the parking lot to your car. You should live in a pre-World War II suburb. The kind populated by bungalow houses and charming little corner grocery stores. Just like grandma. Examples of places you should live: Bethesda, MD; Evanston, IL All Categories Secluded Hideaway / Farm or Ranch / Small Town / Little City / Suburb / Streetcar Suburb / Rowhouse 'Hood / Downtown Loft

My test tracked 2 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 53% on urban-rural You scored higher than 39% on land intensity

Link: The Where Should You Live Test written by TwelveFloorsUp on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

I came by this by way of Mostly Cajun.

As I've said, I don't have a clue about formatting.

I have said, and the Johnsons will back me up, I would rather have Lucy than a box of jewels.

It has been the best of Christmas days. Lucy is alive and well.

I'm signing off for a day or two. Everyone have a Merry Christmas or other Happy Holiday.

Thank you for your prayers and thoughts for Lucy. I'm watching her like a hawk. Charlie, too, in case he should show something.

I gave her the morning dose of Flagyl. It's done with a syringe in the mouth. There's absolutely nothing wrong with her bite right now.

Lucy is home.

She looks great and is acting normally.

She will need Flagyl twice a day for a few days. Concentration on watery fruits and vegetables.

Something additional was wrong. She was egg-bound. First egg that I know of.

One toke over the line...

Here's an odd little story by way of Gut Rumbles.

Lucy is doing well. I am to call after lunch to see of she can come home today.

At 4:30 this afternoon Lucy had eaten some food, and drunk some water, and successfully held those down. She had been up and down a bit. Her stool looked better.

Hold tight, baby.

The docs here say Lucy is better this morning. They recommend having her evaluated at LSU before the weekend.

It's just like Lucy to time things this way.

UPDATE: We went to see her. Her eyes are clear and she seems pretty alert, if pissed off.

I misunderstood the vet. They suggested taking Lucy to Baton Rouge in case there was some condition they couldn't test for here. As long as she improves here, I see no reason to stress her with travel and unfamiliar people. If she takes a sudden decline from her condition now, I imagine the case is hopeless anyway.

She's just a little bird. She doesn't need a lot of prayers and good thoughts, if you've any to spare.

Birds do that to you.

(By the way, at 6 she was doing better.)

Any source will tell you that they camouflage illness so they won't be attacked by predators or their own kind, or cut from the flock.

Lucy wasn't looking peaked. She was in fine feather. Her eyes were clear. She looked a tad lethargic this weekend, but I attributed it to some dreary weather. Yesterday, she preened Charlie's head twice (that should have been a tip-off, I guess).

She gave Lyman and me kisses when I put her in the cage last night. She crawled up her ladder this morning.

And was so weak she fell over the edge of her cage at about 3:30.

The doctors think she was squinting because she was in pain. That medication has taken effect now.

Hold tight, Lucy. Let the medicine work.

I told you I wasn't fit to be a human mother. What a neurotic!

Lucy doesn't feel good.

For a couple of hours, I watched her this morning. Her energy was low, her eyes weak, and she was standing horizontal on her perch. Then she began to vomit a time or two.

I immediately called the vet's office and we have just come back.

Dr. Debbie says she is congested. She gave her an injection and told me to report on her condition at 3 or so. If she gets worse between now and then, there will be tests.

Otherwise, we are scheduled for another injection tomorrow, whatever happens.

My pretty baby.

UPDATE: I'm worried sick. She can't keep her eyes open and she can't keep anything down. She moving about a bit, though.

UPDATE II: Lucy will stay at the vet's tonight for oxygen, fluids and further medication.

We should put a "for sale" sign on the lawn and check into buying a nice barn.

My father-in-law walked in today with the morning paper, as he usually does, and dropped it on the bar.

He picked a satsuma up out of the big bowl.

"I'm the only one eating these oranges," he said.

Then he walked out the door on his way to play dominoes with his cronies. (Mind, he's 86.)

When I walked past the door to get another cup of coffee, I spied something on the floor.

Yep, satsuma peels.

Gotta love a guy who finishes peanut butter balls and puts them on the truck hood to cool. It's 34 degrees out there, cooler than the refrigerator.

Lucy & Charlie

This page needs a little color. Here is a gratuitous picture of Lucy and Charlie.

Sorry about the odd effects. The light here is not good.

How nice.

Joost Elffers needs a home page. I love his work with fresh fruits and vegetables, as in this book. I plan on collecting all of them.

Checking Google to see if there is such a thing (no), I ran across this book by Rex Barron. I might have to have it, too.

Did you grow up with kitchen stuff with fruit faces? I loved them, too.

I don't remember any in our house, but the dime stores were filled with them.

UPDATE: Hunh. The food artist is Saxton Freymann. Joost Elffers packaged the book.

UPDATE II: How Are You Peeling? and Food for Thought came in today.

UPDATE III: 26 four- and five-star reviews for How Are You Peeling?, and one who pans the book because it expresses negative emotions. Children have a lot of negative emotions. I have a good many, too. Therapy didn't work, I guess.

Kim, appearing in the comments in the post below, writes from Houston under the title Frothing at the Mouse, which is the best blog title since tequila mockingbird.

I've also added a link to my Flickr.com photos in the sidebar.

And one to Life at Full Volume where Sarah maintains sanity with twins and two older boys, and bakes prolifically, too.

We have attended Charlie since his mishap.

And I did take him to the kitchen to help unload the dishwasher.

That's Lucy's job, and she is much distressed at the thought of being redundant.

Idiot child, one of the most glamorous creatures on the planet, is afraid of not being loved most.

At a moment, I was on elbows and knees, coaxing Lucy out from under the cage table, with Charlie standing on my spine.

I like Nat King Cole's Christmas album.

The boys' mother has called for this recipe from Lyman's grandmother, Mama Jean. You might as well have it, too, since I have to type anyway.

Angel Food Pie

4-1/2 T cornstarch
3/4 cup sugar
1-1/2 cup boiling water

3/8 t salt
3T sugar
3 egg whites

1 cup whipping cream
1-1/2 t vanilla

Mix cornstarch, 3/4 cup sugar and 1-1/2 cups boiling water in sauce pan.

Cook slowly until thick and clear. (10 or 12 minutes)

Beat egg whites with salt until very stiff. Add the 3 T sugar (one at a time) to egg whites.

Pour hot mixture over egg whites. Beat until smooth. Cool slightly.

Pour into pre-baked pie shell.

Top with whipped cream, nuts, and halved maraschino cherries (both red and green for the season). Add grated chocolate if desired.

Chill well.

UPDATE: To tell the truth, this doesn't look like much to me other than an excuse to eat maraschino cherries, which, when you're broke, is a rare opportunity.

About now (this evening) you would have caroling on the square in Jackson Square in New Orleans. You'd pick up a candle outside, then sing with the others gathered.

Even the hard-hearted cried.

UPDATE: No, it's Sunday.

Me and my babies,
We got the barometric blues ...

We had a little-boy trauma here today.

Charlie bonked his beak and broke the tip. There wasn't much blood, and he wasn't too much the worse for wear after spending some time on his papa's shoulder having his head rubbed.

It doesn't seem to have affected his eating, and the vet will be open until noon tomorrow if there is trouble.

Poor boisterous baby.

Moving along to something more tasteful, I am looking through Mexican cookbooks for a good enchilada recipe.

Lyman is no fan of Tex-Mex food, but I am, and so is my brother. We can gang up on him now!

Any recommendations?

Bad taste alert

"Oh, my god..." was Lyman's reaction.

Never mind. That post from Marginal Revolution is gone. Perhaps a hoax? (Nope. People are reporting TypePad down. Back up now.)

No. Here's a link to a story about a new trend in intimate cosmetic surgery.

What will women pay for next?

All right, kids, I know this Laura Perilloux.

Go vote here.

I like Emily C.'s report. Especially when the 11-year-old writes that Number the Stars is "one of the best books I've ever read."

Yesterday was a perfect day to take for myself.

It rained three inches, steadily from morning to late in the night.

I read novels, napped and snacked all day, threw a tidbit to the birds every once in a while. They didn't care. They were as quiet as I was.

Charlie is ten months old today.

We think he is trying to break the language barrier.

He seems to be saying "Good bird."

Lucy never even tried that one. She might be a snot, but she's not a liar.

But that's only money.

Our Wisconsin friend sent us a recipe, which Lyman prepared, for a peanut butter treat that has already developed a following here:

CHOCOLATE DIPPED PEANUT BUTTER BALLS

Cream 1/2 cup softened butter, 2 cups creamy peanut butter, and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla in large bowl. Add 3 cups confectioners' sugar by hand. Stir in 2-1/2 cups crisp rice cereal by hand. Dust hands with confectioners' sugar and shape walnut size balls.

In double boiler, melt 16 oz. milk chocolate and 12 oz. semi-sweet chocolate chips. Dip balls quickly, cover completely; remove to wax paper, let cool. Makes 6 dozen.

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.