Here is a story on the new library from the Natchez Democrat.

Maia is sitting with her mother. God bless.

This year is the first time I've planted tulips. They cheer me no end.

UPDATE: I had forgotton that tulip stems follow the light. We had a partly cloudy day today, and they all leaned to the north. Cut ones do it, too. There is a biological term for that, which I once knew.

UPDATE: Photophilic? Ah, phototropism.

The new Concordia Parish Library opened its doors today!

Pictures here, here, here, and here.

I'd have taken more, but the camera battery was running down.

UPDATE: I'm having a few qualms about this design. I was dressed in a clean sweatshirt and jeans when I walked in, and thought about turning around to go home and dress better.

Yes, yes, I could dress better when I go out. But what happens when you can't?

Is this going to turn off the poor people in this area, black and white?

There's an open house on Saturday including Ms. Amanda Taylor, whom I've spoken about before, and the architect. I can always ask.

Personally, I think it's a great public space for the region. But for a lot of kids, this will be nicest building they've ever been in. That could be scary. Would've been for me.

Let me find that sentence. It's in this article.

Here it is:

Mr. Lacob, the Kleiner Partner, declined to specify how the company’s technology works, saying he did not want to tip off potential competitors.

Now that's in reference to a proprietary oil something or other in this case, but I suspect it will be repeated many times in other energy contexts in the next few years.

This household needs fewer cooks and more cleaners.

Today promises to be a good day for the birds. Lucy and Charlie both love crawfish, and Charlie adores corn on the cob, raw or cooked.

He talks about it:

"Charlie is a handsome boy. Charlie wants corns. Ok? Ok, sweeties."

All day long.

So white azaleas are in a pint Mason jar in the guest room. E., the young lady from Baton Rouge, is staying the weekend.

Tomorrow we have the season's first crawfish boil for our house. We've invited some lady friends (bless'em, they're widows now), and Michael, the cook, has invited a few friends.

How is that guest room coming, Janis? Well, it's stalled. The woodworker we've asked to build the furniture is having terrible trouble with his artificial knees, and spends a lot of time in pain. Guests have a bed, though, and a lamp, and a chair. The lamp stands on the flipped seat of the vanity bench that was part of Girl's bedroom suit bought when she was 11.

M. the woodworker has begun work on the headboard, but is going no faster than he can manage without harm.

As for the quilt. Ah, well, the ten-year-old quilt top might be 11 or 12 before it's done.

I can say, though, that the laminate floor is a pleasure to take care of. A flick with a dust mop, maybe a swish of a damp cloth, and it's good as new. I can barely wait to do our bedroom.

If I had any sense at all, the whole house would be done in industrial linoleum.

The blossoms on these azaleas are as big as the palm of my hand. They cut well for display in a vase.

These predate my arrival at the Gore house.

This is a particularly pretty tulip. I wish I knew which one it is. Maybe a Rembrandt? Or is it a Juice n' Honey? The Antoinette?

Spring.

That was a lovely wedding.

Music was a flute and a harp. And one vocalist who went on too long. Just a note kids, being on stage is being on stage. Don't fidget.

The big girls were all beautiful. The bride's dress was a crushed silk, with a simple floor-length lace edged veil. That girl has a flawless complexion. I asked her mama if she was trying to outshine the bride. Girl did them both in with a bronze two-piece floor-length that was vintage Hollywood. Just the thing for dinner and dancing at the supper club. She was 87 on the 5th of this month.

The pastor cited Corinthians on love. The pair took communion to "Let us Break Bread Together."

And yes, I cried. Nearly blubbered. And I don't even have to pay for it.

Okay, Kim.

Today is the wedding day. It's beautiful outside, 80 degrees.

Lyman's niece has waited and worked a long time before marrying this boy. Seven years. She'll graduate from law school in May.

I'm having terrific fun watching this flamenco video that I found at Sarah's site.

Watching the videos that come up on the sidebar is fun, too. You know, I might like being a woman.

On the evening of March 6, Lucy laid an egg. I took it away from her yesterday.

I let her sit one for the 28-day term in January into February. Her laying behavior was so weird through November, December and January, I thought it might get her back on schedule.

We'll see.

Kate's business has taken her to China. She's having a little culture shock.

UPDATE: Her latest post reminded me of the excellent way the Chinese serve large groups. The tables are round, with a large lazy Susan in the middle where all the dishes are placed. Settings are at the perimeter of the base table. Guests can serve themselves from whatever dish is in front of them, then spin the Susan along to select another dish. Those tables seat 8 or 10.

Friends of ours had a similar 6-seat table built for their home. It was charming. I love a round table, but we don't have the space for one.

When I was in China with a tour group, the dishes weren't, all in all, quite so ... colloquial (help me here with a better and more appropriate word), perhaps? But I can go the rest of my life without tasting another sea cucumber.

And she missed a digit in her pop. figure for ChongQing -- 31 million and change.

Ok, dear readers. (I'm so nice when I want something.)

We have access to high-quality tuna steaks via a local restaurant. We want to sear thick tuna steaks, and serve them with a sauce or not. We don't like sweet food.

We're not finding anything chasing down our resources.

Do you have something good?

Ahem.

Radley Balko posted a piece on the Waffle House code that's a good companion to this from way back.

Ah. Pumps.

So, I have to track back and correct misinformation.

While we live nestled in an arc of a hydroelectric facility and nuclear reactors, we actually belong to the Louisiana Energy and Power Authority. Most of the facilities in this organization are gas-fired power plants. I don't know yet if they buy from other sources.

(Always do the research, Janis.)

So time to push along the window replacement project.

How the past sneaks up on you.

This morning, during my last dream, I was doing some work with a bizarre little shop. Someone else and I had altered a sign for a product, then presented it for approval.

The sign was not approved because the product name was not in the same font as the product price. The font used for the price was named "Desert Rag."

Lucy laid an egg on the evening of 3/2/07.

I don't know.

Stuffed shells? Spinach salad? Cream of spinach soup? Sarson Ka Saag? (However, I don't think they carry channa dal flour at Piggly Wiggly.) Indian Spicy Fried Spinach?

I love spinach. I even liked the stuff out of the can.

This page needs a little color.

I do so hate to be cross, or see people crossed, so let me show this alligator recipe we cooked the other night:

SCALOPPINE OF ALLIGATOR

12 (3 ounce) medallions of alligator
1/4 cup chopped basil
1 T chopped thyme
1/4 cup chopped parsley
salt and cracked black pepper to taste
Louisiana hot sauce to taste
egg wash (1 egg, 1/2 cup water, 1/2 cup milk, blended)
2 cups seasoned flour
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup thinly sliced pickled okra
1/2 cup diced red bell peppers
1 T minced garlic
1 cup white wine

Pound medallions until 1/4 inch thick. (He uses waxed paper.)
In a a large mixing bowl, combine basil, thyme and parsley. Season medallions with salt, pepper and hot sauce. Dip in egg wash then coat with flour and press into herb mixture. In a 10-inch saute pan, melt butter over medium-high heat. Pan saute alligator until golden brown on both sides. Add okra, bell peppers and garlic. Saute 3-5 minutes or until vegetables are wilted. Deglaze with wine and reduce to sauce consistency. To serve, place two medallions over angel hair pasta and top with sauce.

(Please forgive me, Mr. Folse, but this is a good recipe, and not everyone, yet, knows what you do.)

Just to note that Lucy laid an egg at 10:13 p.m. on 2/27/07.

Mmmmmm. Alligator scaloppine with pasta from John Folse, grilled asparagus on the side.

The other other white meat.

I have a question.

Like a good rubbernecker, I looked at the bit about Al Gore's energy usage in his 10,000 square foot Nashville house, coming in at a hefty 221,000 KWH.

I have some mixed receipts for a few years, so I did an estimate for our usage in our middle-aged, inefficient 2000 square foot house in Louisiana. I'm coming up with 16,500 and some-odd, so let's round up to 17,000 KWH.

17 x 5 = 85,000 KWH for a comparable house of 10,000 square feet. That offers 15 bedrooms, 10 bathrooms, and five areas of about 700-1000 sq. ft., depending on the sizes of the bedrooms.

Anyone with with good taste would have higher ceilings than we have, so I'll pitch in another house and a half, which brings that total to 110,500.

This ABC article reports that half the energy bills were for the pool house.

My question is, what in tarnation are they doing in the pool house that takes so much energy? I thought we were supposed to bring our own energy to that stuff.

When I bought a gift certificate for china for Lyman's soon-to-be-wed niece at Hal Garner's this week, Lyman's patience ran out.

He has been agitating for new dinnerware at our house for a year or two. Not long after we married, we bought 12 place settings of stoneware. The set is in pretty good shape, but a few pieces have been chipped or crazed or broken, and besides, he's tired of the pattern.

After looking around a lot, we've decided to accept our destinies and go with restaurant ware.

To start, we're taking a case of the 10-3/8 dinner plate and one of the 7-1/2 inch menudo bowl. (The menudo bowls will be a good addition to our our kitchen. We frequently eat gumbos, stews and pasta, and they have enough capacity for a decent portion of salad. Our cereal bowls aren't really up to it.) I think we can mix our current coffee cups/saucers and salad/dessert plates with those, along with our seldom used serving pieces, and still set a decent table.

And he won't be standing at the sink trying to scrub away the pattern that he has mistaken for parsley.

Just a note for people watching their portions: restaurant ware allows you to select smaller dinner plates, so smaller portions don't appear so small.

(We looked into ordering from our local restaurant supplier, but even with shipping, Richards was cheaper.)

UPDATE: If they'll let us order single-case quantities, Instawares is even cheaper.

Nate McCord has posted a fun little time waster.

Did I tell you that when I talked to my 92-year-old aunt that she told me that my maternal great-grandfather was from Tennessee? Or so she thought.

Or that he had a family before my grandmother was born, and she went to visit her half-siblings in Baton Rouge?

Charlie has a new phrase: "Are you okay?"

UPDATE: I've talked about how careful we are with language around Charlie. There's no knowing what he'll take to and pick up.

Today, for the first day in my memory, Lyman made a noise that was a quiet "choo, choo, choo." Charlie picked it up as soon as it was out of Lyman's mouth.

The boy has needed a new song with a simple melody. He's still working on "good tidings for Christmas."

Pardon me, boy, is that the Chattanooga choo-choo..."

Or is it the sound of brushes on drums that he likes?

Looks to me that Lynn Pulsifer and Kevin Brodeur are of the same school of art.

(Thanks, Ann Althouse.)

The envelope for my BellSouth bill is stamped with this message:

BellSouth is joining the new AT&T, connecting you to the nation's most complete and secure network.

Not so long ago, but near 20 years, 1984-86, I worked at a small long-distance company that had sprung up in the wake of an enormous anti-monopoly lawsuit to split Bell and AT&T.

I did not dream that. I have a T-shirt.

I just watched two shows of What Not to Wear.

So what do I need to do? Wear a tube top braless to the wedding? Believe me, my sister-in-law and niece would understand for a $5000 shopping trip to New York.

James Joyner posts Amanda Marcotte's description of her arc as a worker on John Edwards' campaign in Salon.

Ms. Marcotte attributes the controversy leading to her resignation to sexism in politics and Bloggerville, and to the rumblings of the mighty Republican smear machine.

I quoted portions of this thread to a daughter of a Democratic legislator (state) who is staying with us this week. She said she wouldn't want the woman near a campaign.

(Yes, Diane, I needed a new dedicated guest room. Sometimes I think we're running a bed and breakfast here. Or a dinner-and-bed operation. It's seen a lot of use since my sister came in October.)

Ann Althouse has a post up about the Mona Lisa today.

It's interesting for a comment from Drew W that quotes a song from Michelle Shocked:

But in between her cracks
You can read between the lines
She'd love nothing better than
To rob the Louvre blind . . .

-- "Looks Like Mona Lisa
4:32 PM

Wouldn't she?

How about a Valentine's Day greeting from a pretty girl redhead?

Tornados in New Orleans

I can't resist, even if it's not new: "I didn't say [he] has a small penis, I said he was a little prick."

(Ann Althouse)

An Ipod Shuffle for my birthday! I'm so cool and up-to-date!

How do I make it work?

Charlie is two years old today.

You figure he's spoiled?

This will be the last announcement precisely of its kind.

Today is my birthday. I am 50, a half-century, on the down-hill slope. I have learned a lot about gravity since I was 40. There will never be another statement of this kind on this blog. Ever.

Today is also Charlie's hatch day. He is two. He has learned a good deal about gravity in the past several months, too. We'll keep track of this handsome boy.

Charlie and I are working on a birthday tape for his fans.

Oh, and I woke at 6:30 this morning from a dream in which I was at a large party with music and dancing. I had three possible dresses to wear and was wondering whether I had proper white heels to match a dress, when I found myself standing beside the bar stark naked and bare-footed with nothing but a piece of poster board for cover.

Does it come down to thinking of wearing white shoes between Labor Day and Easter? Down here I certainly wouldn't be dressed if I did.

So I open the door of the truck and step down into the parking lot of Fred's.

On the puddled lot lies one slice of white bread, still dry on this damp day.

Not to be particularly hateful, but y'all get cut roses and I have a new bloom for Valentine's Day.

I never had an orchid for the senior prom. I also wasn't a senior. (Didn't ever go to a prom, either, for that matter.)

Until about now. I'll be 50 in a few more days.

I'd like to ask Mr. Cowen how many times he has vacuumed the bedroom carpet? Someone must do it, right?

I shouldn't say this, but this Super Bowl halftime is the first time I've ever listened to Prince. Or really seen him.

How did that happen?

Too cool. The second line has gone wild.

Michael went to see them in Natchez last night and brought me a CD.

Hip-hop, jazz, and a lot of brass. Works for me.

UPDATE: Their myspace page has several clips.

UPDATE: I'm listening on the Ipod. The boys make much better music than their lyrics would suggest.

The Johnsons now have a TV star in their midst!

Kiwi, the green bird with the yellow beak, is a male Solomon Island Eclectus. A mate for Lucy would look like him. That kind of "dimorphism" is rare in the parrot world.

It won't work. Not right now.

I bought 12 blank signs from Smith Printing, and duct-taped ten together (for 24 square feet) on the inside so Charlie couldn't get a purchase on those chewy edges.

The enclosure just makes him frantic. No harm done, but no go for him.

However, I plan to keep it around. There might be uses for it later. It folds down to 18" x 24" x 2-1/2".

It would do, I think, everything that the Grrreat Wall can do at 1/5 the cost. So, for a small kitten or puppy or rat, or guinea pig, or young birds, it might be a dandy playpen. Worth trying, anyway.

I am: Hal Clement (Harry C. Stubbs) A quiet and underrated master of "hard science" fiction who, among other things, foresaw integrated circuits back in the 1940s.

Which science fiction writer are you?

I don't read much science fiction and never have. So I don't know this gentleman at all. (From Sarah)

Pierre C. Shadeaux did not see his shadow this morning.

So spring should be around the corner.

Corrugated plastic sign stock is $1 per 18" x 24" sheet at Smith Printing in Natchez.

18" would, I think, do.

Can y'all ever shut up so I can hear over here?

If you ever thought you were in in danger, you don't count coups.

Do any of you have any experience with the Grrreat Wall?

I'm thinking of one of these to give Charlie some ground-level play space while he recovers. Remember, he can climb a lot of things. What he can't climb he can chew through.

They're available on eBay. Here's the web address of the manufacturer.

Or could we build one cheaper? What is the name of this type of material for a search?

I'm with Mr. Cosh. Wouldn't the great Alberta lupin fields be spectacular?

Well, hell.

It looks like we'll need to start over again with Charlie.

He's popped his belly again. He goes back in tomorrow.

This time, I'll see if we can avoid stitches, and just confine him to his cage. That collar depresses him so that it might interfere with his healing. Surely birds heal in the wild.

UPDATE: After taking a good look at him, not spotting any infection, she suggested doing just that until his keel is feathered over. He'll still need oral antibiotics, which is not a problem.

I'll bite my tongue about the Edwards' new house as long as Miss Elizabeth doesn't suggest that I dry washing on an outdoor line to reduce global warming.

Deal?

Just a note, kids. Do not cross a mutant female turning fifty.

Got that?

Not my favorites, Proctor & Gamble, but I've bought you a little time to come around, twits.

You stank up the Trinity River in Dallas. I'm not in the least surprised that you would stink up my house.

Yes, I'm talking to you. As I was talking to the woman checking me out at the grocery, who uses this product, too.

Click here and scroll down to Anti-bacterial Cleaner. Click again

I have a headache.

There's a reason. I ran all over town looking for the bathroom cleaner I use. It's gone. Off the shelf. So I spent the afternoon sniffing bathroom cleaners.

I'm not happy.

It's a good day in the Gore household.

See, there's sunshine, and no collar.

We've seen the sun here for about 10 minutes during the past two weeks.

I finally managed to transcribe the necessaries into the new address book (2-1/2 years old), so it's not all for nought, but the grey days are getting old.

Predictions call for sun on Friday. It will be welcome.

Ahem. I was interrupted literally midstream, tossing some potatoes down the garbage disposal. The town has a water main break.

So let's talk football.

I watched both games yesterday, and am convinced that the Superbowl this year will be a letdown after the Colts/Pats game last night. The Bears aren't in that league, and being in the same bowl with either of those teams would only hurt the Saints' feelings.

Can't explain why, but I have always liked Tony Dungy. He's not a particularly prepossessing man.

I will note that Joseph Addai is an LSU player done good.

Lyman buys groceries. I buy cleaning supplies.

For bathrooms and some other purposes, I use Mr. Clean Anti-bacterial Multi-Purpose Cleaner. It doesn't bother the birds (though I don't use it on their things) and has a light, pleasant scent. I use the blue "Invigorating Breeze" formula, which isn't too sweet or fruity.

When I last ran out, Lyman offered to replace it. He came home with Mr. Clean Multi-Surfaces Cleaner, blue formula.

I opened that today to work on our office. I can't use it. A billowing cloud of noxious sweetness rose from the bucket. I can't bear it, and fear for the birds.

Maybe it can be used outside. It seems to clean well enough, if you can stand the smell.

I gave up using Joy dish liquid because I couldn't stand the new smell. Does someone know what the formulators have done to create these new, cloying odors?

There's a team. Presto, left, and Beau, right.

I haven't heard from Adler, so I spoke to Butch at Sewing Machine Sales and Service in Jackson, MS. His boss, Mr. Davis, has been in the biz for 42 years. Based on the model number of my machine, he dates it from the late '40s to the early '50s.

What do you think, based on the design?

Far be it from me to criticise my brother.

My heart lifted today when Charlie chose to speak in my presence.

He and Lucy went to the vet together today. The vet removed Charlie's stitches, but suggested that he keep the collar until mid-week next week. Lucy had a trim of flight feathers, beak and toe-nails.

When someone looked in to see them together after all was done, Charlie took up his position beside Lucy, ruffed his feathers and growled for all his worth. He hasn't done that before, and the vet was surprised.

But he hasn't been there with Lucy, either. He looks after her.

My brother has gone round the bend. He's taking in another dog.

This one is a Shih-Tzu/Pomeranian cross named "Beau". He's a little smaller than Yorkie "Presto", and will come from the house down the block from my brother's. The two dogs are happy playmates already.

Beau's current owner has decided to acquire two Dobermans instead. (?)

The same vet attends both dogs, so it's pretty much a matter of moving the food dish. Charles rather hopes Beau will occupy Presto and take some of his greedy neediness away.

UPDATE: My brother's persona is something of the English bachelor uncle. When he said he'd like a dog, I pictured him with a spaniel like Kitchen Hand's Goldie, not two little amphetamine pills.

Andrew Sullivan features "The View from My Window" on his blog. He posts lovely shots of meadows and cityscapes from readers, sunsets, sunrises.

Here is the view from mine. The worker blew the gutter out when he was on the roof several days ago. It's too cold to go wash it now.

Charlie will not speak to or around me.

But he's dying to talk. I was reading in the back yesterday when Charlie piped up and began chattering, beginning right where he left off with "...good tidings for Christmas..." Lyman was sitting beside him.

He said not another word when I entered the room later.

He sees the vet again tomorrow. I hope the collar can come off then.

Here's a biographical note on Cynthia Seton.

UPDATE: And here is her last review from the New York Times, January 13, 1985:

A PRIVATE LIFE, by Cynthia Propper Seton. (Norton, $4.95.) In this, Cynthia Propper Seton's fifth and last novel - published in 1982, six months before she died - a woman who is a writer and editor copes with the realities of the new freedoms of the post-1960's era. One of Mrs. Seton's aims was to explain women's stresses and men's difficulties. Critics found the characters in ''A Private Life'' ironic, witty and compassionate.

We got us some steer-tail soup on the range to combat the chills.

(James Peterson, in Splendid Soups, says most "oxtails" in stores are from steers raised for beef.)

UPDATE: This soup turned out very good. The taste is fuller than I've found with roasts and such. I blew off Mr. Peterson's instructions for straining beyond a first removal of stock vegetables, skimmed the fat, then added freshly cut leeks, carrots, potatoes and turnips to simmer before adding the meat back in. I wanted a sturdy soup, not an elegant one.

I'll be watching for more oxtail recipes. There's a recipe for braised oxtails in the 1963 Good Housekeeping book. That might be next.

At 11 a.m. on Tuesday, it's still 34 degrees with wind. I'm just thankful that this is not downtown Dallas, where the wind drives down the tunnels between office buildings. ::brrrrr::

I didn't go to the library yesterday, so wound up reading an excerpt of Cynthia Propper Seton's I Think Rome is Burning (1962) from a 1963 copy of Nelson Doubleday's Best-in-Books. This particular book is a journal. She was also a newspaper columnist and novelist.

Sharp and funny she was, and I'd like to read more. She was of the same generation as Betty Friedan, educated at Smith, married with five children. Everything she wrote is out of print as far as I can tell.

I wonder if Miss Sarah's mother might have read her? Or Peg?

UPDATE: Down to 33 degrees at 2 p.m., and radar is showing us in the pink (sleet) zone. No precipitation as of yet.

I bought several of Ms. Seton's books from used bookstores through Amazon. Some were as low as $.01, with $3.49 shipping. Not at all bad.

At 6:30 or so this morning the temperature was 66 degrees with rain.

Right now it's at 42, with a mix of rain and sleet expected for the night and morning. A nasty day.

Our 13th anniversary was on Saturday. We did nothing special. If you'd told me 13 years ago that I'd spend last week looking into the making of "parrot pallets," I'd have cocked my eyebrow and possibly said something profane. At this point, I just wonder why it didn't come up sooner.

I tossed a small pack of Doctor's BrushPicks into each of the boys' Christmas stockings just to let them try a product they hadn't used before.

I hadn't either.

That bristly end is a nifty little dental tool. It tickles the gums and feels good.

I have just finished reading I Am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe.

I have also read nearly 500 reader reviews at the Amazon site, and about 15 reviews by professional reviewers.

Not once have I seen anyone bring up the other Thomas Wolfe, the North Carolinian of Look Homeward, Angel fame.

I am not so sure that you can "get" the one's book without reading the other's.

In this era of Google searches, if I were the talented writer that Tom Wolfe is, I'd have to play with the confusion of names.

If you've feared that Charlie won't recover his speech faculties, rest your mind.

He's talking on the sneak, when he thinks no one can hear. Lyman went to the store yesterday while I was lying down for a nap. Charlie chattered away while Lyman was gone.

My sewing machine has been in my keeping for about 25 years. I bought it second-hand to replace the one I left in New York. It's one of the last of the Adler home sewing machines, which dates it no later than 1961. It's nearly as old as I am if it's not just my age.

Its body is painted steel. According to my bathroom scale it weighs 35 pounds.

And it's working fine, thank you. As am I. Sewing is, I think, something like riding a bicycle. Without the sweat.

Charlie keeps the collar for another week.

Lucy laid another egg on 1/11/07.

That's three this month. She needs a trip.

Fabric

Machine washable, upholstery-style fabric from Wal-Mart for parrot cushions -- $2 a yard.

The vet suggested putting some pads down where Charlie lands when he jumps, to protect his keel. I can do an overlap closure to avoid hardware.

Collar

Here is another photo taken with the Vivicam. It is at lowest resolution and zoomed. This little camera is better than the other one.

Poor Charlie. The vet will check his stitches on Friday.

I have my new camera in hand. It's a cheap little Vivicam 6330s, which is a more than adequate replacement for the missing Gateway.

This photo is at a much higher resolution than I usually use, and I used the zoom.

Cost $120 at Office Depot. Only one thing, this one uses a rechargeable lithium battery where the other used two AAs. Good for the environment, likely, but bad for convenience.

Them's hired hands in the picture. They can do in two hours what it would take me three weeks to do.

Lucy laid another egg at 7:31 this evening.

Charlie has made it clear that he will obey, but he will not speak to me until the collar comes off.

I sang his favorite personal ditty to him yesterday. He looked me straight in the eye and tugged at his collar. Not a word.

I know exactly how he feels.

When I was about two, I slipped supervision and was hit by a car. After ten or so days in the hospital, mother had me on her lap as my father drove us home. I was bandaged and uncomfortable. I wouldn't look at her or speak to her. My discomfort was her fault.

She wasn't to blame. She was outside talking to a neighbor. There were half a dozen older kids in the yard, and I was with my sister behind an ice cream truck across the narrow asphalt street when I bolted as fast as a two-year-old can, right into the path of an oncoming car.

Testing a little flamenco music today.

I grew up with a flamenco album, but we (my brother and I) can't remember the artist. It would have been early to mid 60's.

Suggestions?

Speaking of make-up, I have touted bareMinerals products since I discovered them. They are light, sheer and cool in the summer.

But not everyone can afford them. A young woman who was here over the holidays uses comparable Neutrogena products.

The applicator is clever. A flick or two of the wrist brings the powder into the brush, so there is no mess and no waste.

Here's a source showing price and user reviews.

Oh, all right, already!

I replaced the bulb in my bedside table lamp with a compact fluorescent bulb equal to a 100 watt incandescent. I read in bed. In fact, the beds are the only comfortable places in the house to read.

The color of light is just fine under the linen shade. That bulb is a Powerhouse soft white. As lights in this house go, it is the most used apart from the office lights (fluorescent tubes) and recessed cans in the kitchen. There are CF can lights available. We're contemplating how to use those.

There are three-way CFs. I can use one of those in the "Lucy lamp." As the incandescents go out in the guest rooms, we'll replace those with CFs.

Bathroom lights here are not used much, and I'm keeping incandescents in those. That's where I apply make-up when I wear it. I might share Al's name, but I don't want to share his colors.

UPDATE: What we don't have here is a facility to deal with the mercury content of these bulbs when it comes time for disposal.

Charlie went back to the vet today to have his collar trimmed, a shot of antibiotics, and a fluid injection to help offset his blues-based loss of appetite.

He has been awfully frustrated because he couldn't get food to his mouth from his foot. He prefers not to eat directly from a dish if it can be avoided. We hope the light trim will enable him to manage.

His belly is healing very nicely.

My shoulder is going out from dragging the 25 lb. cage around. I'd have to break his wings to get him into the Pet Pocket.

Low dog.

My little digital camera, the one smaller than a cigarette pack, has been missing since the night of the Christmas party. Michael asked if they could borrow it for the evening.

After trying to track it, he thinks it might have been pocketed by an unknown young man who came with a friend of a friend. Everyone chipped in to replace it with one that's probably better, if inexpensive.

What's with these little #!%*!$&% who steal at parties? Friends of ours missed crawfish-cooking tools after throwing a reception for newlyweds.

Lucy laid her first egg of the year on the evening of January 4.

Charlie spoke two words as we prepared to put him up for the night: a whispered "Sweet kiss."

dracula

My poor little birdie boy. He still hasn't said a word.

Looks something like the famous count, doesn't he? (That's x-ray film used as the collar.)

UPDATE: Many posts ago, so long that I won't look it up, I referenced an article about a rock band called "Hatebeak." One of the members was a grey owner, and would build songs around the grey's screeches. The bird didn't perform with the band. On his own time, he'd whistle Andy Griffith's theme song.

This photo looks like art for "Hatebeak."

Watching the Sugar Bowl this evening.

Brady Quinn of Notre Dame is as pretty a boy as a mother could ask for. My, my.

As an LSU fan, I had my fill of pretty boys before this game started today. Do the initials NS mean anything to you?

UPDATE: Is this to be a game of challenges? Notre Dame is Catholic, and plenty of LSU is Catholic, so it looks like a game of Jesuit lawyers. These I know. Lyman is a graduate of Loyola.

Stitches today, and several of them, on Charlie's keel.

An old kitty had to be put down at the office today due to renal failure. A stalwart old couple brought the box out with them and put it in the back seat of their car. Looks like they'll take her home, bury her, and have a good cry.

UPDATE: This evening, Charlie ate and drank water, which is a sight better than last night. He's confined to the cage for a day or two so he doesn't push too hard or go bump.

I'd say that right about now we should be thankful that Charlie does not curse. This morning I'd get an earful with my coffee.

Or is the silent treatment more effective?

He didn't sing "We wish you a Merry Christmas" this morning. Or anything else for that matter.

We're back from the vet.

The lesion on Charlie's chest reopened, possibly because of ingrown feathers. After trimming away feathers, and pulling away the scab, the damned thing is about half the size of a dime.

They fitted him with an Elizabethan collar that is driving him mad, but it has to be done. He'll need stitches in a day or two, and he'll pick them right out without it.

She gave him a shot and did a topical treatment in case of infection.

UPDATE: Poor little Charlie. What did he ever do to deserve that collar, he wonders.

Kids in the neighborhood got one of these for Christmas. Ain't that cool?

(Except for the reviews from parents who say the balls fall apart.)