Next phrase up for Charlie.

My generous friend, Peg Britton, who is no young chick herself, is having back surgery today.

A little thought here, and one there.

Better.

Setback.

I often sing ridiculous little made-up ditties to the birds. One has a swing beat and goes something like:

We got the cutie (point at Charlie)
We got the beauty (point at Lucy)
We got the cutie and the beauty,
They're the sweetie-pie birds,
They're the best little birds
in the whole wide world,
They sing it high
And they snack it low,
The best little birds you want to know,
They're the birdies, the birdies, the birdies,
Yeah!

So, this morning Charlie is going through his vocabulary and I hear

the birdies, the birdies, the birdies

Nice to know someone in the house listens to me.

Lyman's dad seems to have dodged that bullet.

He had a first heart attack just after Christmas. He was resting and recovering at home, then took a sudden decline. Both his wife and daughter thought he would die this past Saturday.

Lyman and his son went to Jackson on Sunday night. He looked little better then. Michael told me he was preparing himself to accept the worst.

Then he began to steadily improve. Yesterday the doc installed a pacemaker. Lyman's dad did fine.

He is still in Jackson with a 24-hour attendant. Lyman's sister is in Jackson at a relative's house to be available if necessary.

UPDATE: Seems to have been a problem with medication combined with lack of fluid intake, and irregular heartbeat

After a talk with the Johnsons last night, I decided to leave the second egg in the cage.

Lucy didn't take any interest in it. She returned to her normal sleeping perch.

This morning the egg was broken.

Lucy had this one in the cage.

Poor lil' Charlie says, "What is this girl stuff?!"

He'll be one year old next month.

Oh, for goodness' sake. Lucy had another egg. (Eclectus usually lay in clutches of two.)

The Gore boys sent their mother home from Jackson for a night. We were talking on the phone, and Lucy laid as we spoke.

Lucinda Faberge Ladybird Belle Gore.

UPDATE: Lucy has always loved Lyman's mother, and it isn't just her gold jewelry. One of the few words she has said was "Grandma" a Christmas or two ago. Girl doesn't go by "Grandma." She goes by "Girl."

You don't have to be be superstitious to think she gave her a gift.

Steve H. at Hog On Ice keeps two birds, too. One's newest:

"Do you love me, bird toy?"

scale

Another picture for scale. That's a quarter.

IMAG0020

$25 a gram.

But Lucy is priceless.

Oh, my gosh. Lucy laid an egg. 19 grams.

Kim, here is that soup recipe.

OYSTER AND ARTICHOKE SOUP

2 cans artichokes (not marinated), drained and coarsely chopped
8 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup finely minced onion
1 cup finely minced celery
2-3/4 cups chicken stock
Salt to taste
1/2 teaspoon each white, cayenne, and black pepper (may add more to taste)
2 cups heavy cream
1/2 gallon oysters, drained

LIGHT ROUX
1/3 cup butter
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
Melt 8 tablespoons butter in a large saucepan. Add onions and celery. Cook until tender but not browned. Add artichoke pieces and cook, stirring, until well mixed and hot.

Stir in stock, salt and peppers, and bring to a boil. Lower heat and simmer 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, melt 1/3 butter in small saucepan. Add flour and cook, stirring continuously, until roux is smooth and golden. Add the roux to the simmering soup and simmer for 5 minutes longer.

Add oysters and simmer until the edges of the oysters just curl. Don't overcook! Remove from heat and gradually stir in the cream. Serve immediately. This is a favorite recipe at our house. Served with hot french or Italian bread and a salad, it makes a meal. We usually halve the recipe, to serve three generously. A few dashes of Tabasco can be added to make a spicier dish, or Tabasco can be served on the side.

Charliebill

Far as I'm concerned, Sweetie Boy, you can have them all.

We're losing them.

Big Daddy is on his way to Jackson tonight.

Young and brash, with the world ahead of them. They'd make it the way they wanted it, and they did.

My father-in-law married his lady love in July and was shipped (seasick) to World War II in September. They didn't see each other for three years.

What people.

Give a thought, a candle, a prayer. He harries the hell out of me, but I'm not ready to let him go.

This bird is co-owned by the proprietor of sonicfrog blog. Isn't she the most extraordinary bird you've seen?

I found her in the comments to Ms. Althouse's post mentioned below.

So we get a note from some unit owners down at the condo complex that have their certificate of occupancy and had snowbirds in the unit when the contractor-installed kitchen cabinet fell off the wall.

It had been screwed directly into the drywall. Not studs.

UPDATE: Not to mention the owner's kitchen cabinets that were screwed into a sewer pipe rather than studs.

I should have gone to jail.

Results are in on the blood work. Everything is normal and hunky dory. Cholesterol numbers are very good.

Now on to an opthamologist.

Yesterday afternoon, I determined that this would be the morning that I would have my blood tested at the doctor's office. I am a morning coffee drinker.

Last night, I set the alarm for 7:40, crawled into bed with a book that I don't think I'll finish, and settled down to read, perchance to sleep.

I was due in the office a little after 8 a.m. I woke at 5, 5:30, 6:00, 6:30, 7 and 7:30.

It's bad enough to wake in the dark at 5 a.m. knowing that there is not a d**ned significant thing you can accomplish for hours. Worse when you can't nurse coffee while cursing the darkness and other sleepers in the house.

Extending the topic, all would be well if this house were laid out a little differently. For instance, if Lyman and the birds slept in an annex across the street, I could get some things done.

Not much house can be kept on tiptoe.

And did I tell you I fell out of my office chair (the one with the broken back) and gave myself a black eye? I'd rather say I mouthed off to Lyman. It would be less embarrassing.

Francesca, I won't count you dear for this, but since you tagged, here goes for fours:

Four jobs I've had
1. Community newspaper advertising manager (short-lived, I'm no manager)
2. Community newspaper editor
3. Technical writer
4. Waitress

Four movies I could/would watch over and over again
1. Sean Connery Bond
2. Roger Moore Bond
That's four, yes?

Four books I could/would read over and over again
1. War and Peace
2. Don Quixote
3. Robert B. Parker (anything)
4. Grimm's Fairy Tales

Four places I've lived
1. Dallas, Texas
2. Portland, Oregon
3. New York, New York
4. Vidalia, Louisiana

Four TV shows I watch
1. Design on a Dime
2. Design Challenge
3. Iron Chef
4. Good Eats/Alton Brown

Four places I've been on vacation
1. People's Republic of China
2. Israel
3. Italy
4. Great Britain

Four favorite foods
1. Oysters on the half shell
2. Bacon
3. Spinach
4. Potatoes

Four places I'd like to be right now
1. You mean rather than at home?
2. Propped in bed with a book (where I'll be shortly)
3. Looking across a mountain range
4. Lunching in a desert

Four bloggers I'm tagging
1. Gary Farber
2. Anyone else who'd like to play
3. Ditto
4. Ditto

Ann Althouse posts about Ziggy the parrot's revelations of an affair in the house here.

And I agree with her. Chris is a jerk.

UPDATE: I think I'll take that back. Chris is 30. He acquired Ziggy when he was 22.

Unless Chris was in a family that owned birds, Ziggy probably came closer to owning him. So Ziggy might be a continuing problem with Chris finding a woman to share his life with.

So that's not so bad, so long as Ziggy found a stable home.

Again, be careful when choosing pets.

I have read two books that made an impression in the past months.

One is Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance.

Another is Sue Monk Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees.

When I grow up, I want to be August. Or Dina. Never mind.

UPDATE: I don't watch Oprah, and I don't think anyone is infallible (look at what she did to the Katrina coverage. Despicable). But she's usually smart, and these are part of a collection given me in a brown bag. I'm ready to pass them on. Where do they need to go?

I received a catalog called "Black Expressions" for a book club that features black authors.

I don't want to belong to another book club, and I don't want to fill this house with bookshelves, but I want to read some of these books.

Sister Betty! God's Calling You, Again! by Pat G'Orge-Walker

Sister Betty hasn't been the same since God called her on the phone back in 1984. Now it's her job to look out for the members of the Ain't Nobody Right But Us All Others Goin' to Hell Church and members like Connie Fuse, Ima Hellraiser and Carry Onn.

What a Sista Should Do by Tiffany L. Warren

Three church women stop frontin and tell it all! Yvonne must confront her womanizing minister husband, Taylor's trying to keep married baby's father a secret and Pam's fed up with her hubby's P. Diddy wannabee lifestyle. Through prayer and each other, these sistas better figure out what to do!

Skyscraper by Zane

While everything may seem cool on the surface at Wolfe Industries, the nation's first African-American automobile maker, underneath it all this cast of characters is teaming with betrayal, after-work affairs, scheming secretaries and lots more!

If you're local, I'll subscribe and donate the books to your organization.

"Yes, Charlie is a sweetie bird."

"What do you think about Lucy?"

::wolf-whistle::

The kid has his head on straight.

Both birds had baths this afternoon.

Charlie is, today, a "sweetie boy."

He'll tell you so. One can hear it.

Handsome, too.

Lucy is as glamorous as always.

All right. My traffic is up and I don't like it.

If you are cruising for incestuous bestiality, get lost.

If you are cruising for genetic mutants, get lost. Unless you are a researcher.

It's "De-lurking" week. If you are curious, speak up and say so. It won't cost two-bits.

Charlie is getting a lot of attention lately since he has started to speak.

Lucy doesn't like that, so she tries to beat him up.

Thing is, Lucy can say about anything she pleases. She don't please to say much.

Charlie is breaking the code of silence.

Hmmm. It's our 12th anniversary and it's Friday the 13th.
-----------------------------------------------------------------

I need to have a word with the woman who cleans this house. She has become downright slovenly lately and it's got to stop.

My well-being is at stake.

Something new in the animal world -- now we have the parrot stomp.

Charlie has taken to coming to the floor of the corner of the cage in the morning, and stomping the grating with his right foot until someone lets him out.

Lucy would just shout.

I watch little TV. (I make an effort to watch Monk.) I see few films. I read for entertainment.

Books don't hold me to a specific time or location.

Of the dozens of books I've read in the past months, Scratch by Troon McAllister was the most entertaining.

AcAllister sends up poker players, advertisers, marketeers, reporters, the FBI, terrorist hype, golfers, lawyers, and courtrooms and any other specimen he deigns to address.

What I know about golf wouldn't make a weak tea, and I don't play, but I do respond to satire. My housemates were a little disturbed to hear me laughing aloud to myself so often.

Eddie Caminetti is presently my favorite character in popular fiction. Who else is a moral hustler?

I've read The Green. Now I need to find The Foursome.

Now that everyone has been well-distracted, I'll talk about my visit to the doctor.

I don't know what the woman at the desk told her, but she walked in as if she knew nothing. She had me describe my history and talk about my well-being.

So now, at my discretion, I drop in any morning M-Th a few minutes after 8 am and have a full blood work-up and urinalysis. That's where we start.

It's not a big deal. We're just setting up surveillance.

Lucy has an unseemly attraction to Lyman's son, Michael. It's not as bad as Eclectus males humping people's wristwatches, but she goes into sexual flutters around him at times.

Now, we run a fairly liberal household here. While their grandparents might flip, if either of these boys took up with an African-American woman or Latina or other, she would be welcome in this house. I would need to change the color palette for Christmas stocking items, perhaps, or allow myself to consider more exotic perfumes. (Dark women can wear them with more style.)

If either of the boys came out as gay, the same would apply.

But Lucy, honey, incestuous bestiality is off the chart. Sorry, baby.

Charlie is working on a phrase today. I can't quite make out what the adjective is but "boy" is clear.

We tell him frequently that he is a "good boy" and a "sweet boy", and "silly boy." Lyman calls him "Charlie Boy" often. "Cutie boy," we use. But he seems to be saying "stinky boy." He's been called that, too, but not often.

Best to stay positive, you know.

No, no and no! I won't feel guilty!

The weather here has been beautiful -- warm, sunny and breezy April conditions -- for more than a week. Perfect for yard work, or washing windows.

But I don't do those things in January. And I won't. No.

Charlielines

I tease Charlie a lot, but he is becoming a handsome animal. Look at those lines.

Living with Charlie is something like having a big, fat grey canary with the television tuned to the Three Stooges all the time. On multiple sets.

Lucy is beautiful and dignified. Charlie is a maniac. A fine little boy.

I was wandering around and found this post at Zonitics.

Pertinent passage:

I remember watching my mom type her dissertation on a manual typewriter, occasionally sticking in a piece of correction ribbon and typing over a mistake she had just made. After a couple of years' worth of work on her thesis, I came home one day and found her crying. I said, "What's wrong?" She said, "I just finished typing the last page of my dissertation. It's 225 pages." I asked, "What's wrong with that?" She sobbed, "It's only allowed to be 200..."

What is this idiot phenomenon on my hit counter? Something at bellsouth.net is pinging away.

Lucy weighs 440 grams.

Charlie weighs 502 grams.

UPDATE: Lucy's about two miniature Hershey bars (or seven pennies) over fighting weight, according to Craig Johnson's description of Eclectus.

What's the proper weight for a male Congo, Craig?

We're trying Ally's Green Chili today.

UPDATE: Very tasty and easy to make. It takes some time to simmer. It's a keeper. Thanks, Ally!

But in my questions of what I am, I haven't forgotten that I am a graduate of journalism school.

Looking at Tim Blair today, I see that Anderson Cooper has been on the job talking again of things he knows nothing about.

I didn't see any of the coverage of the Sago mine disaster, so I shouldn't speak out of turn.

I do know that under similar conditions in other mines, there were no survivors, so skepticism should have been the order of the day. Lethal gases tend to kill people and other living things. The locals were discreet.

God bless those families.

I do know there are a lot of I's in this blog. But usually they are pointers to something seen or heard elsewhere. Merely an introduction to another topic.

But now I need to talk about me. My two diagnoses in the 60's and 70's yielded no information about what I should do.

I've never known I was at risk. I thought I had my small defects, and that was what it was, and it was over. I forgot that I am a genetic mutant. A little odd, but that was that.

But things fall into place. I've never told a doctor I had Fong's disease, so I've always been given antibiotics for protein in my urine.

When I had surgery for the hernia, my surgeon said my connective tissue was weak.

So now I think I should get a urine test, and analysis, and look after myself in a way I haven't before.

I know who I am. But I'm not quite sure what I am.

UPDATE: I've set up a consultation with my GP for next Wednesday.

Ahem. I went to the University of Texas at Austin in the summer of 1977 (76?). A good many of my friends graduated from there.

National Champions.

::snicker:: USC ::snicker::

We've been thinking about purchasing an accurate gram scale since we acquired Lucy. Changes in weight are indicators for sickness in birds.

I also do some baking which might benefit from accurate weights.

So when Chef Tony sent me a link to this scale a few months ago, I kept the e-mail on file.

Lucy's turn of events this Christmas convinced us to buy now. So now we're waiting for delivery. Most bird scales we've seen run nearer $100, and weren't adaptable to other purposes. This one is both cheaper and dual purpose.

Ain't Chef Tony cool?

There's a spike in my traffic, and it's about Lucy.

She's fine. Chipper as a lark. And snotty.

Lucy is always well when she's snotty.

I recently noticed some changes in the nailbed of my right index finger. So I went online and found more information on Nail-Patella Syndrome, the genetic disorder I was diagnosed with as a child.

The doctor at that time (I was five or six, 1962-3) called it "Fong's Disease." A doctor when I was 21 (1978) called it "Patella Syndrome." Most sources refer to it as Nail-Patella Syndrome, or NPS. I've never before seen much information on it.

The current number for distribution is 1 in 50,000, so it's not particularly rare, though I've never met anyone else with it. Carriers have a 50% chance of passing it on to children. About 20% of us have spontaneous mutation in gene LMX1B. Neither of my parents had the syndrome, and had no memory of relatives showing symptoms, but they might not have known what to look for. None of my six siblings show signs, nor any of their children, so I tend to believe I'm in the spontaneous or "sporadic" group.

Some families have carried the mutation for generations and just saw the symptoms as family traits.

Symptoms vary widely in the affected population. My presentation has been very mild, with only the very odd thumbnails, thin flat index fingernails, and square knees, with somewhat thin calves. I have spurs on my pelvic bone called "iliac horns." There were some kidney problems as a small child. I've never experienced any disability, though I've never considered marathon running. Or wearing miniskirts. Kneebends are not my favorite exercise.

But it looks like that index fingernail is going the way of my thumbnails, and some of my toenails are showing some slight changes, too. All cosmetic, and nothing to worry about. I never planned to be a hand or foot model. But I mistakenly thought this was a "one-off" deal with all the damage done by time of birth. Not so.

There are real problems that can come up. Glaucoma turns up in a lot of us, and renal disease can be a problem, to the point of needing dialysis or kidney transplant. Arthritis might become a problem. These things I didn't know until last night, and will require more attention in the future.

I even found a woman's homepage with a forum to discuss NPS. And some people have serious things to discuss, as in lack of extension in their arms, displaced hips, clubbed feet, missing or malformed ligaments and tendons. Many had extensive corrective surgery or bracing as babies and children to correct twisted limbs. Many have had various knee and elbow surgeries, and a few have had kidney transplants at relatively young ages.

So now you know what I know. I didn't know there were so many of us or how debilitating it could be.

What about that Internet?

Egads, what a mess!

Charlie tried his first pomegranate yesterday. He likes them.

I'm signing off to help Lyman prepare a lobster dinner for this New Year's eve. (Don't know why on that lobster. We've never done well before. We're trying something from Wolfgang Puck.)

Before I leave, I would like to thank all my readers, and extend special thanks to the Miss-Lou Veterinary Clinic, doctors and staff, for a small miracle.

Y'all have a happy new year. And that includes you, Gary Farber.

UPDATE: The lobster was quite tasty, but tough as usual.

Gary Farber posted on one of the oddest stories I've ever read here.

UPDATE: The Salon story that he cites appears to be a good and readable account.

Ahem. Good animal news from Sploid.

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.