I think I like Governor Blanco in an emergency.

I'd like her better if she carried a 45.

Dallas runs an oldies station. When I made that run I heard this song:

Different strokes for different folks,

And so on and so on and and shoobie do be do,

Oooh, sha sha,

We got to live together.

I am every day people.

You know, kids aren't so bad.

I sent a load off with Michael and his girl to the community center on Hwy 15. They have comforters, clean sheets, some towels and some clothes.

Lyman and I have 850 minutes on the telephone beginning tomorrow, and constant access to search lines on the computer.

I sat Ivan out, but not Katrina.

I'm worried about the Johnsons down in Covington.

My brother-in-law's brother lost his house in Gulfport. He's bringing his family up to stay in Natchez.

This is how things are locally.

I need to see what I can do.

Here's something else.

This station covers well.

I keep seeing the same footage of Negroes looting shops. They be rioting. Wouldn't that be entertaining?

I'm becoming picky about this. In this post by Glenn Reynolds the reporter in the story says that the area looks like a war zone.

As a journalistic, advertising, PR kind of gal I'd say you don't want to describe the effects of a natural disaster that way in a time that you are making war.

(It might also help if you've ever seen a war zone. Interestingly enough, of all the things my brother threw away, he kept his Army uniform. He is an authentic Vietnam Vet. I have some letters. He wasn't on the front lines. But he did weigh about 140 at the time.)

Not that there's much ultimate difference.

Just sayin'.

Hey. Home.

We're high and dry here.

Cell phones are screwed up. Some people in Natchez are without electricity.

I'm seeing hurricane pictures for the first time. So many devastated people.

OK.

Time to break this down.

Stay safe y'all.

We were both tired this evening, so we thought we'd go to an old favorite, Alfredo's Trattoria, on Lemmon Avenue. Alfredo's was closed for Sunday night, so we searched for something open.

We cruised in Charles' G-35 for a while and found Arcoduro Pomodoro open tonight. It's a higher-end Sardinian Italian restaurant (there's another one in Houston), perfect for the evening.

We've been working hard, the lights were low, the music was soft and interesting -- I think it was sophisticated Latin jazz, but was too tired to ask.

When the waitress brought the wonderfully drinkable Zuliani Garda Reserve, she poured a spot into Charles' glass. He pointed to me and nodded. She poured a spot into mine, too.

"We are brother and sister," I told her. "We are equals."

She smiled.

There were giant sunflowers lining the walk outside the restaurant, about 9-feet tall, with stalks as big as my wrist and flowers as large as my face.

I nearly never get to do what I want when I come to Dallas.

Patricia and I were going to take a shopping day.

Not to be. We spent the day with my brother, helping him with some of the recesses in his current abode.

Tomorrow I'm off to his place and won't be in touch again until late Tuesday.

Best to you.

I arrived safely at my sister's house just after six o'clock.

Traffic was remarkably easy and sane. Perhaps the heat is keeping the other lunatics off the roads.

How fast do you want to discredit a modern anti-war movement?

Tap, tap. This is the 21st century. CE.

Bright runner + after cleaning

Much brighter, if not perfectly clean. Softer, too.

Blustery Russians.

Terrorist abettor that I am, tomorrow I'm going to start on a 900-mile trip in my gas-guzzling SUV during one of the priciest seasons in many years.

Some time back I told my brother that when the time came, I would go to Dallas and bring a load of delicate things back for him in the Tahoe. He called Monday and asked if I would be available to transport on the 30th, or next Tuesday. So here we go.

Since I'm going that way anyway, I've arranged to visit my sister for the weekend. Come to find out, she has some items stored in Charles' current storage space, so I get to move those a good distance across Dallas, too.

Ain't nothing so stirrin' as drivin' a big box in heavy traffic and high heat. Just sets my soul afire, and pleases me greatly that I am lining the pockets of princes.

I could learn to hate SUVs, too. If I didn't have one, I wouldn't be making this trip.

I told both my brother and my sister that I would appreciate it if they would pick a different month for their life-changing and life-threatening events. October might be nice. This is the third year in a row that I've been called to Texas in high summer.

(I might point out, Mr. Sullivan, that this is my gay brother I'm serving. A straight gentleman of his age would likely not have so many precious things to transport and would probably own his own damned truck. I can only hope that you've convinced all your compadres to downsize when time comes for you to move.)

UPDATE: When I say precious, I'm not being sarcastic. I helped him pack Napoleonic plates when he left Natchez for Dallas in 1993 that sold for $500 apiece.

I browsed overstock.com for 70-inch table covers today and found terrific bargains on sheet sets with high thread counts -- good wedding or housewarming presents, with $1 shipping for the next eight days.

I'm not a hair-shirt type, but I don't particularly like high thread counts in my sheets or I'd buy some for the household.

Dust

Ahem.

Yes, that did come out of the rugs.

I'll do better, Mama, I promise.

UPDATE: And after that, friends, the Hoover steam cleaner spit up something close to mud.