All right. I used King Arthur's bread flour and saf-instant yeast in the bread machine to combine the dough for French bread. The dough is light and pliant.

It's resting right now, then I'll form it into loaves and let it rise for an hour.

We'll see.

MORE: We won't be killing any fatted calves, but we are talking alligator scallopine.

My sister, the Harley girl, is here!

She came with her beau, and there is a $25,000 motorcycle parked under the carport. Don't touch it. He's a police detective.

The menu tonight is shrimp maque choux with corn fresh from the field, Caesar salad and French bread.

We're doing a second crawfish boil today.

Quoth Lyman: "These are the meanest crawfish I've ever seen. They drew blood."

Well, %^&$&!

Yesterday, I changed my order of the fridge part from two-day to overnight delivery. But they didn't ship it last night, which means that the part will come when we expect to be on the road.

Maybe Sandy will save the day.

I ordered paint from Sherwin-Williams, but you can't get there from here, not without waiting a half-hour for the stoplight at Canal Road. Maybe things will settle down tomorrow.

Am I just snotty crazy, or do you find it odd that the plastic veg bin cover in the fridge down at beautiful Orange Beach has a big chunk out of the side? The glass is fine.

What y'all been throwing in there? Whole hams? Large turkeys? Small children?

The river has crested here at 61.8 feet, according to NOAA.

The expected crest of the Mississippi here has been revised downward to 62.5 feet.

The Mississippi is rolling.

The estimate for the crest here has been revised downward to 63', still due on May 21.

(Thanks, Natchez Democrat.)

The Morganza Spillway is to be opened this afternoon.

It's a big river on a good day. Here it's at about 59.5 feet, topping both '27 and '37 levels. It's expected to grow.

The mighty Mississippi. The Army Corps of Engineers is expecting the "Father of Waters" to pass here at approx. 2,720,000 cubic feet per second at 64 feet.

I haven't seen a Blogger glitch in some years.

The oyster fishermen on the Louisiana coast can't catch a break.

Huh. Email that is not idiotic.

My concern with the southern floods? I live five blocks from the Vidalia levee.

Oh, c'mon y'all cynics, you have to love the South:

"I want to say this: Graceland is safe. And we would charge hell with a water pistol to keep it that way and I'd be willing to lead the charge," said Nations, the county emergency official.

Great-nieces, 4 and 19 months. Lyman and I went up together to cook rehearsal dinner when their parents were married eleven years ago.

I didn't take many pictures on the trip, and none were good, but this gives you an idea of the view from my brother's house. The zoom is too strong on this one. That's the Columbia River, where you can glimpse it.

A somewhat interesting article in Christianity Today about the predominance of the King James version of the Bible in history.

(Thanks, Real Clear Politics.)

Of the three airports I used on this trip -- Baton Rouge, Dallas and Portland -- only one (Baton Rouge) had such a clearly marked facility for nursing mothers. And it was a small, separate room with a comfortable chair. That's all I took in at a glance.

There are frogs on the banks of the Columbia River that actually say "ribbet."

Around here we mainly have bullfrogs that "croak" -- sounds more like a belch, really.

The original:

Here's a story from the Baton Rouge Advocate about the flood of '27 and current fears.

Greenville is about halfway between here and Memphis, TN.

The Natchez Democrat has plenty of stories describing the activities and mood here.

Hey, y'all!

That was a good visit to the northwest. That sister-in-law of mine is just the same -- and a wonderful hostess. We picked up right where we left off eleven years ago. If I'd eaten as much as she tried to cram down me I would have put on ten pounds.

She still treats me like a baby.

Here at home, people are packing up precious belongings and taking them to higher ground. They worry that the levee will break under the stress of handling waters that have never been so high in recent history. The expected river crest will be higher than that of the floods of 1937 and 1927.

The mayor and the sheriff are trying to calm people's fears. They are in constant touch with the Corps of Engineers, who assure us that the levees will hold.

If not, Charles has offered us his spare bedroom in Natchez. One of my other big brothers in Dallas has offered his home as sanctuary should it come to that. But that is too far away. I appreciate the thought, though.

Y'all can get rang'upped stupid any day you want, but I'm going to see my big brother.

I'm a few pages into the second volume of the Byzantine trilogy.

I've been thinking a little about what person I'd like to be in the empire. I can't think of one. Maybe a nice, busy nun, far from the seat of power. The kitchen garden would be pleasant.

Goodnight, Irene. She was the first empress of the Byzantine empire when Charlemagne was coronated emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. Umm, she mutilated and murdered her own son to attain the position. And so closes the first volume of the Byzantine trilogy.

Charlemagne asked her to marry him. Didn't sound like such a bad idea to her, but her citizens flipped. She was overthrown, exiled and dead shortly after.

Oh, well.

I consider it a mission to remind people that Fleetwood Mac wasn't always a pop band.

Now the driver has a valid Louisiana license. I'm done.

That's the story, Kate.

Without the parts that recount how little the left hand knows what the right is doing in GA -- positively, ambidextrously obstructive.

The whole business was stupid, avoidable, boring, frustrating and expensive.

Kate wrote to tell me that I've been too cryptic about the Georgia saga. Now that the boy has a valid driver's license and insurance, I'll try to recount events to the best of my knowledge.

It does not involve anything so heinous as an accident or DUI. It's a tale of ignorance and neglect, a failure to recognize that valid "communication" in our current society extends beyond text-messaging and Facebook.

Let's go on:

On a spring day in Decatur, GA, the boy is stopped by an officer for "driving too fast for conditions," whatever that means. In the course of writing that citation, s/he finds that the registration of the vehicle has expired, the car has not been registered in Georgia, the driver's license has expired, the driver has failed to transfer his driver's license to GA, and there's an "open container" in the car, which the driver insists to me is an empty beer can.

A smart, responsible person would have hustled his butt to the nearest office of the GA Department of Driver Services and taken care of four of those things, and presented evidence to the Dekalb Recorder's Court. Not this one, though. He drops the citation in the glove box and never looks at it again.

He does get the GA driver's license sometime down the road.

The court date comes and goes. The driver doesn't look at regular snail mail. Who uses mail anymore? Duh.

Years pass. At Christmas in 2010, he re-registers the car in Louisiana, the Dekalb Recorder's Court grows impatient, issues six warrants for arrest and suspends the driver's license for "failure to appear." The driver doesn't know this because it didn't show up on Facebook.

The driver is caught driving with a suspended license and gets hauled off to the pokey. The driver calls Daddy.

Daddy bails the driver out with the help of the driver's local friend, and finally, the driver appears in court. Daddy pays fines.

The driver goes to the DDS to reinstate the license. No go. Daddy calls the driver's mother. There are more charges outstanding. The driver goes to the courthouse, pays fines, and finds that there are more charges outstanding. These are turned over to a probation service.

And that's where I come in, dealing with the probation service, the Recorder's Court and the GA DDS. I am doing this because the driver has relocated his sorry self to Louisiana and is working.

And here we are.

Good food is always good news.

Lyman and I have been erratically trying to develop a go-to stir fry recipe for years. The other day he came across Garlic Chicken Stir-Fry.

We've made a few changes to bring it more in line with our tastes. First, a teaspoon of grated ginger ain't nothin'. We use a tablespoon of minced. Second, two tablespoons of sugar is way too much for us. If we want something sweet we'll buy ice cream. So we dropped that to a pinch, about a teaspoonful. Third, we added about five minced dried Thai chiles for heat. Fourth, we added a carrot, thinly sliced so it would cook quickly.

And for variation, last night we used pork tenderloin sliced into thin strips rather than chicken. Rather than browning that early, we waited until the veggies were nearly done, so the pork wouldn't dry out.

It was good. Worth doing regularly.

I feel sharpish. Don't ask me to cook. Or help you.

It was an amicable parting.

Georgia and I are quits.

Good Lord. I've talked to Alice twice. She was much more cooperative when we'd paid fines.

I call it inspirational music. I caught up with this woman in 1978.

Got it!

Nothing better than a Byzantine background when you're dealing with a Georgia court.

I'm loaded for bear. Now I need to find the bear.

UPDATE: The comments have lapsed because I am dealing with real life. If you have anything to say to me you can use the email address in the header.

That's enough of that.

The main heresy running around Byzantium and the Eastern Empire as opposed to Rome is iconoclasm.

It doesn't improve my mood when I tell someone I'm from Dallas.

"What part of Dallas?"

"Dallas, the city."

"But what part?"

"Dallas. I mean Dallas. Oak Cliff, Oak Lawn."

"My dad lives in Dallas. He's lived in Garland, Allen, and some other places."

I do not know how many times I have to admonish you to stay street-legal, you idiot chilluns.

We are looking at $4000 worth of cascading expenses because you wouldn't take the time to register your car in Georgia, of all places -- stringent traffic laws. Or bother to address a ticket.

You are not bulletproof.

UPDATE: For two days, I have been talking through closed loop telephone systems. I want to shoot somebody.

I can do entirely without Stephen Tyler, but where are the other choirs doing "Lean on Me"? Do you have some?

Of course, there's the classic:

Maybe this one:

For kicks, because there's a pretty woman backup saxophone:



That alto sax is Kate St. John. She's just a few months younger than I. Now, I know I have worse genes than a lot of people, but really.

She works with Marianne Faithfull, which, if you're my age, gives you confidence in the resilience in the human race. The women, anyway.

Unanimously we will flow into the mystic.

Maybe we'll go with this one:



It soothes me, if not his mother.

I don't think that music exists to describe the conversation that passed between the boy's mother and I this morning. We're civil. We might even like each other, given time.

She doesn't sleep under stress, and I don't eat. We're very helpful.

What would you posit?

The outside scent is orange blossoms. Yes, the satsuma trees need spraying for smut.

Our big, bubbly, bouncing, blond 35-year-old baby boy is coming in.

I've been making space. I wonder if I could have fit into those black jeans I bought in 1991. Or breathed, if I did.

And I took those dresses I bought with my mother in 1990 off to a Baptist mission store. The dresses were pretty, still are, if more befitting a thirty-year-old than a 54-year-old, but they did represent the last shopping trip I took with my mother. She always pushed me a little harder than I would have gone, and I never regretted it.

The boy will be hungry, and that spells some serious expense.

When I married Lyman I thought I was surely out of the woods with children. I had chosen not to have any, he had a vasectomy.

April Fool's!

I don't typically think of myself in a rural area. We live in a small town.

But sometimes I do wake up to "moos". I don't know why these cows have been isolated in the lot behind a neighbor's house.

I am something more than halfway through John Julius Norwich's Byzantium: The Early Centuries.

Heresy, heresy everywhere.  We're up to our necks in heretics: Arians, Nestorians, monophysites.

And all those barbarians: Visigoths, Ostrogoths, Huns.

Western Emperors, Eastern Emperors, and lots and lots of murder -- families, rivals, possible rivals, traitors, so-called traitors, and whole stadia full of people.

And that's just halfway through the first book of the trilogy.

I have been talking to my BIG brother all day long.  His son picked up the phone and  said, "It sounds like one of your sisters."

Quit being such a punk, child, I'm coming with the gumbo recipe.

Ok, then.

My brother Charles and I are scheduled to fly to Portland, Oregon to see the Major Dude in May.  We tried last year, but Charles was put down with osteomyelitis.  That's gone.

If he can't go this year, that's too bad. I love the brother's wife. I have loved her since I saw her walking down the concourse from gate whatever at Love Field in 1966. Some combination of pleated beige chiffon and strawberry blond tripped my love button.

Lyman and I both went up in 2000 to feed the crowds for their first son's wedding rehearsal.  Lyman made red beans and rice, crawfish pies, and seafood gumbo.

I will carry those responsibilties on my shoulders.

When Mama cleaned her old round-shouldered refrigerator in the '60s, she'd empty it, take all the wire racks and enameled metal bins into the backyard, hose them down, swab them with a bleach solution, hose them again, then let them dry in the sun while she wiped down the box and defrosted the freezer.

With all this crappy plastic and glass, I spend twice as much time cleaning the fridge.

Lyman has his very first sauerbraten in the oven.  We are going to attempt spaetzle tonight.  I do not think we'll be doing it this way:

Okay, so my Valentine tulips are a little late.

Recipe.

Regarding the recipe: I had eight-inch pans when I made it before. They work fine. The proper size pan for the recipe is a nine-inch, which I have obtained since.

Tomorrow is my mother-in-law's 91st birthday, so I've spent most of the day working on an Italian Cream Cake.

It don't get any easier when you do it so seldom.

Let me preface this by saying that I have worked in newspapers, both weekly and daily. (No, never, I didn't work for the Dallas Morning News. Nothing that large.)

And I understand that the time pressures of publishing do push proofreaders to the max, but, can you make any sense of this sequence out of context?:

A group of women in down coats went through the door; behind them a quartet, the two men black, white haired, distinguished, both in suits as though they'd been to a board meeting, their while wives dressed in for coats.

It could be a too elegant expression about women the men were running with, but I don't know.

My husband fed me Susan Spicer's "Spicy Shrimp with Tasso Cream and Green Chili Grit Cakes" for after-Valentine's. We all doing just fine.

UPDATE: Scott provides a link to the recipe, p. 67.

I really shouldn't laugh, but here goes:

Yesterday, I took a tiny miniature rose bush, a pretty Valentine card and a Whitman's Sampler to Lyman's mother at the assisted living center. She'll turn 91 on March 5.

The great current irritant in her life is the woman in the next room over. A group of ladies were chatting after lunch one day when suddenly this woman stood up, looked directly at her and loudly said, "You're a liar, and you're lying right now!"

Girl was flabbergasted and hurt. She said the woman was hard to get along with anyway, and she'd made a special effort to be her friend. The upshot is that there are some papered-over bad feelings.

Now, Girl's memory is shaky. I suspect the other woman's is, too. Who knows what they've talked about or how they remember it, or how much they remember? Who could ever tell if they're deliberately lying? Girl can't even remember what she said to prompt the outburst.

Happy Valentine's Day!:

Sometime before Christmas I read Anne Perry's The Sheen on the Silk, a novel about Constantinople after the sack. I'd read many of her mystery novels.

Which led me to the history I finished reading about three weeks ago that I started on New Year's, The Fourth Crusade: The Conquest of Constantinople, from my brother's library. The book had a lamentable lack of a good map of Constantinople that was remedied by a reference to Wikipedia: Constantinople.

He also has the trilogy of the history of Byzantium by Julian Norwich, which I will read as time allows after he drops them by.

Commenters at Amazon say that Warren Treadgold is a readable historian who pursues more of the cultural aspects of Byzantium.

As a separate offshoot, Charles has a couple of books on the history of Venice.

If the illusions were pretty cool, this is WAY cool:



Have at it, Sarah. The kids will love it.

(Thank you, Nate McCord.)

Pierre saw his shadow -- a short spring and a long summer for Louisianans. New Iberians say Pierre's prognostications are strictly local for Acadiana.

Tomorrow is February 2:

Down in the swamp lives Pierre C.Shadeaux,
where the nutria tells how the seasons will go.
If the sun wakes him up on Groundhog Day,
summer comes early and spring goes away.

Happy Cajun Groundhog Day!

Because it's always good to be grateful, we gave a hefty portion back to Nancy, the hairdresser. She called to say that it's the best gumbo she's ever eaten. She wants to become Lyman's assistant.

The ducks were a wood duck, a small female mallard, and a shoveler.

Mmmm. Mmmm.

Lyman finished his duck and sausage gumbo last night.

It started weeks ago with him begging ducks from local hunters. Finally, our hairdresser's husband brought three ducks by on Thursday -- two wood ducks and a spoonbill. I took one look in the bag at those pretty little orange feet and pretty feathered breasts and said, "Tell me when it's over."

He plucked and cleaned those ducks in the kitchen, making less mess than the parrots do on any given day. I was pleasantly surprised at that. Friday he made the stock.

Then last night settled into the finish. He used something near this recipe.

It's good. Really good.

I've found this tutorial to be effective at achieving the line sketch effect in GIMP. I won't be using it this time.

Malgalin is good, but a little beyond my reach. I'll watch a cute young Aussie anyday, though.

Pretty cool.

(Thanks, Daily Dish)

It's been nearly 20 years since I worked much with graphics programs. I downloaded GIMP to work on the Groundhog Day card.

The big difference between then and now (apart from free software) is that I can find free tutorials online. Then I went to workshops at the Dallas Infomart.

UPDATE: But I can still get just as d**ned frustrated.

Neither Lyman nor I cared much for the paratha.

I admit to be being shaky on the execution, and the product was not beautiful. But it was the flavor that put us off. My experience has been with paratha stuffed with potato or cauliflower. And I used Madhur Jaffrey's suggestion to use 1/2 whole wheat and 1/2 white flour. I would have been happier with all white flour.

Tomorrow we'll try Onion Stuffed Paratha with Vindaloo:

Chicken Vindaloo

Ingredients
For the vindaloo curry paste:
2 t. whole cumin seeds
2-3 hot, dried red chilis
1 t. cardamom seeds
1 t. fenugreek seeds
1 stick of cinnamon
1.5 t. whole black mustard seeds
5 T. white wine vinegar
1.5 teaspoons salt
1 t. light brown sugar
10 T. vegetable oil or ghee (ghee is preferred)
1 large onion, peeled and sliced
5 tablespoons water

For the rest:
2 lbs. boneless chicken (I use thighs) cut into small chunks
a 1 ” thumb of fresh ginger, peeled and chopped
A small, whole bulb of garlic, separated & peeled
1 tablespoon ground coriander seeds
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
1 large russet potato, peeled and cut into 1/2″ cubes
1 bottle Bass Ale (optional)

Method

Vindaloo Curry Paste

Grind cumin seeds, red chilis, peppercorns, cardamom seeds, fenugreek seeds, cinnamon and black mustard seeds in a grinder. Put the ground spices in a bowl.

Add the vinegar, salt and sugar. Mix and set aside.

Heat half of the oil in a wide, heavy pot over a medium flame. Put in the onions.
Fry, stirring frequently, until the onions turn brown and crisp. Remove the onions with a slotted spoon and put them into the container of an electric blender or food processor. Add 2-3 tablespoons of water to the blender and puree the onions. Add this puree to the ground spices in the bowl.

The rest of it…

Dry off the chicken chunks with a paper towel and remove large pieces of fat, if any.

Put the ginger and garlic into the container of an electric blender or food processor. Add 2-3 tablespoons of water and blend until you have a smooth paste.

Heat the oil remaining in the pot once again over a medium-high flame. When hot, put in the chicken chunks, a few at a time, and brown them lightly on all sides. Remove each batch with a slotted spoon and keep in a bowl.

When all the chicken has been removed from the pot put the ginger-garlic paste in the same pot. Turn down the heat to medium. Stir the paste for another few seconds. Add the coriander and turmeric. Stir for another few seconds. Add the chicken, any juices that may have accumulated as well as the vindaloo paste and 1 cup of water or Bass Ale. Add the potatoes. Bring to a boil. Cover and simmer gently for an hour or so, until the chicken is tender.

We're substituting pork for the chicken this time.

Boring housewives need some glamour in their lives.

Yeah, yeah, I know. "Collard greens? Ewwww." "Hog Jowls? EWWWWW."

They were delicious with a sprinkle of black pepper, Tony's and salt.

Hog jowls run about $1.30 a pound in local supermarkets vs. nearly $4 a pound for hamhocks. We'll be using them more often.

Smoked neckbones are a fine seasoning meat, too, but they fall apart in cooking. Eating becomes an adventure of picking through beans or greens for bones.

Y'all, it's chilly here in the Deep South. Yesterday the temp never rose above 34F (that's 1.1C for you metric measurers). Today won't be much better, so I'm looking forward to spending the day in the kitchen making chicken and dumplings.

And today is our 17th wedding anniversary. Of the divorces I've known, most happened right after 18 years. So I'm on guard until 2013. Not for any cause, mind.

UPDATE: Exploring new depths in a mature relationship, we're adding collard greens cooked with hog jowl to the menu.

"Old man river, old man river..."

All right. I hope that Auburn appreciates that I am loaning my #1 Tiger fan to their base tonight:



But those War Eagles can go "weagle, weagle."

UPDATE: Auburn 22, Oregon 19

Good job, Charles Gore. Treats tomorrow.

And Mother Jones has done some reporting. What a novel idea.

I have read a lot of words in reaction to the shootings in Arizona this weekend, but the only ones that seem appropriate are the ones found in comments here.

The shooting is a political event for many people, but not for these.

Maybe I'll just leave this blog right here, with Alberta Hunter and two pretty redheads on the front page. Lucy's always in the mood.

Norman here is a nutria. Look at those feet.

Send the children to another room:

For contrast. I saw these men in a small concert hall in New York, about 1980. Full Indian regalia.

I read in comments to one of the videos that a person didn't like Aaron Neville's voice.

Someone replied, "Have you SEEN Aaron Neville? You gonna be the one to tell him he can't sing?"

Miss Alberta, young. What a woman.

I saw Miss Alberta in New York, about '81. Maybe earlier.

An interview with an older Miss Elizabeth here. I had the great privilege of hearing her play in person at Reed in or about 1975. She wrote "Freight Train."

She played left-handed upside-down. Didn't know no better, she said in concert.