Jaunt to Gulf Shores

We recently realized that in her 20 months on this planet, Avery has never set foot on the beach.  Neither has her daddy, for that matter, and so without further ado, we decided to make a last-minute last-ditch quick trip to the coast for one final summer fling.  

Mike was only off for four days, and we literally wrung every last drop of fun out of those four days as was possible.  He worked Wednesday night, so he came home Thursday morning and slept for a few hours, then I threw everybody in the car and drove straight to Fish River Grill #2 in Foley to have supper.    Since I'd been to Orange Beach with the girls a couple of years ago, I was designated tour guide.  Avery was a doll on the way down and behaved remarkably well during dinner.  Mike had fried oysters, and I had the fried alligator - it might have been our favorite meal that weekend.

 Then we drove on down to #609 in Crystal Towers, our lovely home away from home.  Mike had booked it last minute, and we were lucky enough to have an entire side of the complex all to ourselves.  When we first walked in, Avery and I genuinely said "WOW!" back and forth to each other.  It was awfully cute, and the condo really was that nice.  Avery's room even had its own balcony with views of the Little Lagoon behind us.  The kitchen and living room had huge picture windows of the beach, and the living room and master bedrooms had sliding glass doors that opened to a lovely, wide balcony.  It was perfect.

 The next morning we had breakfast, slathered up with sunscreen, and headed to the beach.  Our first unfortunate surprise: Avery.  HATES.  Sand.  Despises it.  Has absolutely nothing to do with it.  Cannot tolerate the stuff and is quite frankly shocked and horrified that we would even consider walking on it.  The photo below is the ONLY time she took a few steps on the beach, and even that was under duress.

 So the morning was spent with either Mike or me carting the baby around on our hips or sitting in the water with her on our laps.  We headed up to the condo for sandwiches for lunch and a nap for the baby, then headed back down for another try on the beach.  Once again, sand was a no-go for the little monster.  I found myself enormously grateful to Mike for having the foresight to book a place with such a fabulous pool.

 We decided Friday would be our best bet to eat out, so we loaded up in the car and drove a little while Avery took a nap in the backseat.  We decided on the Original Oyster House for dinner but had to take home to-go boxes after an hour and a half wait and complete meltdown from the kiddo.  She had too big of a day and was done.

 Then Saturday we once again went through the sunscreen ritual and headed for the beach.  On the way home, we noticed that though we had a little bit of sun, none of us burned at all.  Mike and I contributed it to our being so careful with Avery.  Friday afternoon I had picked up some little booties for her to wear on the beach in the hopes that would calm her distaste for sand, but no luck.  We were able to distract her fairly well with snacks on our beach mats, so she wasn't literally on top of us the whole time, and she really enjoyed pointing at the seagulls.

For lunch we went to Papa Rocco's for burgers, and Saturday afternoon was spent with the baby taking a nap back at the condo while Mike and I watched Georgia Tech beat Virginia.  It was a really great game.  Then we took a quick walk on the beach, where we took some family photos, and decided on takeout from S&S Seafood Market for dinner.  Wow.  That was right up there with our top favorite places to eat.  I had the creole snapper, and Mike had Greek trigger fish.  The boxes were also piled high with onion rings, hush puppies, and fries.

After Avery went to sleep Saturday night, Mike and I stayed up to watch The Woman in Black, a chillingly terrifying movie with Daniel Radcliffe.  It was the perfect beachside ghost story, and after it was over I just had to go check on the baby.  But I was too spooked to go alone, so armed with a flashlight, Mike and I crept through the condo like two bad little kids ourselves.  She opened her eyes and looked at us as if to say, "What are you crazy people doing?" and we scampered away.

 Sunday morning was spent poolside, which Avery quite adored.  She had a thing about the darker squares on the pavement and wanted to stop and step on each and every one.  Once again, lunch and a nap at the condo, and then we headed to Tanger, where Mike and I bought each other's birthday gifts.  I'm entirely too excited about mine but will have to wait 'till November.

 On our way back from Tanger, we stopped by Bella Luna Pizza for a Mona Lisa with green bell peppers.  Delicious.  We headed back to the condo to pack everything up and settle in for the night, watching the Simpsons just like we do at home.  Then Monday morning we took another quick walk on the beach, and on our way home, we dropped in to Cafe Beignets for breakfast.

It was the perfect quick little getaway, just the three of us, with several life lessons learned along the way.  All in all, it was a happy time, and we can't wait to go back.  Mark Twain said, "I have found that there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them," and after this weekend, I'm most certain that I desperately love these two.

Handprints

Avery is growing by leaps and bounds. So much so that I feel like I've missed the past six, no seven, months, and want to relive them all over again. As tough as it was, I could so easily and happily go through the sleep deprivation, labor recovery, frustration, terror, spray poop, and whiny screaming again just for one or two sweet gummy 3-month-old smiles. So I'm desperate to preserve just a little of this tiny-ness. Sure, I have her clothes, but now that she's outgrown them it seems more like they were for a tiny doll instead of this larger-than-life imp taking a nap in the other room.

My good friend Rebecca has the sweetest handprint hanging in her breakfast nook of her husband and son's hands together, like Avery's hand is in Mike's above. The highest form of flattery is imitation, so of course I was dying to have one done with our little monster. I was thrilled when Rebecca told me that Mitzi, who owns the business Handprints by Mitzi, was coming to Sweet Dreams to take handprints that next week. I didn't want to be left out of the fun, so we asked Mitzi at Sweet Dreams if my hand could be in on it too. I love how teeny tiny her hands are within ours and that we have hard, physical evidence of her size relative to us. And I love how the sandy beige of the glaze goes with the blue in her room. This plaque is now one of my favorite treasures.

Avery had a kick making these prints too. I suppose she felt like a movie star.

Technical Difficulties

My dear, patient readers,

I've been terribly remiss in blog posting, but I promise I have several excellent reasons. It all started more than a month ago. My computer bit the dust approximately one month after the warranty expired. Convenient! After spending a week at the Computer Co-Op, the guys there very gently told me that though they had put it on life support for several days, the thing was really D.O.A. So here it sits in Mike's office in paperweight mode. My last backup was June 9th, so I've spent the better part of this week playing catchup since then.

Moral of the story: backup at least once a week. At least.

Then we took a trip down to Florida to visit Mike's parents. Avery had a blast and had a lot of firsts. She took her first dip in the pool:

And played around with an abacus...
Flew her granddaddy's plane....
And just hung out with daddy.
And now I'm setting up this new computer and settling into the new groove of this appliance. So more posts should be coming along soon.

Oops, the monster awakes. Y'all have a fabulous weekend.

Love,

Fran

It Was Just a Matter of Time....

"I tagged a deer."

That's the first thing Mike said when he called to let me know he was on his way home last night.

"What do you MEAN, 'tagged?!?' Like, 'TAG, YOU'RE IT!' tagged?"

I can't tell you the panic and adrenaline that immediately surged through my body. Images of him on the side of the road, mangled truck in a ditch, mangled deer on the median, and no telling what sort of bodily harm might have come to him.

Turns out, it really wasn't that bad. Just enough to be a hassle and pain to repair. The door doesn't open right, and the bumper is all messed up, and for some reason the horn is no longer functional.

We had a funny moment last night when filling out the insurance form online. They wanted to know if it was a collision with a standing object, a moving vehicle, an animal, or a pedestrian or bicyclist. Considering the other options, we were happy to report it was an animal. Then they wanted to know if there were any fatalities: yes, no, or I don't know. Mike and I were at a stalemate. Yes, the deer probably died. But would she have counted as a fatality? And if we answered "I don't know," would the police show up at our door because of a possible hit and run to a human being? So we answered "no" and went on with the form.

But Mike is OK and has beautifully survived his deer initiation without a scratch. With it hitting the driver's side door out of nowhere, another millisecond and a slightly larger deer would have been very much bad. God is good.

Dante is intrigued.

Rainy Day

Ah, my lovely readers, thank you for your patience. It's been a wild and woolly November, and I'm sorry for the breaks in posts. Today's weather is too dreary to take Dante for a W-A-L-K (I have to spell it lest he know what I'm saying and freak), so as we wait for the bands of rain to move on, I'll fill you in on this month.

We both had birthdays in November, so many, many photos were taken. At the beginning of this month, Mike, Dante and I took a drive down the Trace for some sightseeing and a few photos. We came upon Owen's Creek, a natural rock formation that was really surprising in its loveliness and contours. After a walk through the woods, we stopped at a few other attractions along the way to have some lunch at my favorite chicken place in Lorman.

Then the next week, we met our good friend Joy McClellan for some sweet photos of us and the Peachick. I think they turned out really well and must must MUST let Joy know our selection for prints, if I can EVER pick out which ones we like the best!

Mike took me to my buddy Craig's Parlor Market for my birthday, and damn. It was fine. If you live in the area and haven't been yet, you are totally missing out. The prohibition drink menu in itself is worth a trip. Since the Peachick has crowded my stomach considerably, I had the foie gras small plate and absolutely savored every bite. The flavors on every dish were nothing short of phenomenal. Well done, Craig. Very well done. After that, Mike took me to Mom's house where they surprised me with a chocolate ganache cake from my favorite bakery, That Special Touch. It sure was a special touch.

Probably the most fun we had all month was thanks to my good friend Leslie, who graciously invited us to the Slobovia Outernational Pumpkin Drop. Mike had heard of it before, but I'd never imagined this grassy airstrip and the motley crew of planes, anything from a P-51 to experimentals, could come together for such entertainment: they made up a target with old airplane parts and, one by one, bombed it with pumpkins leftover from Halloween! It was a hoot and a half.

Because of Mike's work schedule, I was never able to take him out on a date for his birthday, which made me very sad. Maybe I can do it this weekend, once we eat all the leftovers from Thanksgiving. I'm ready for a big slab of good red meat.

The rest of the month was a whirlwind of family visits, showers, holiday parties, good friends, and lots of mayhem and foolishness. We are humbled and awed at how sweetly family, friends, and strangers are celebrating and welcoming the Peachick and are looking forward to her arrival now more than ever.

Asher made these cupcakes. Chocolate raspberry habanero with white chocolate raspberry frosting and pistachio with white chocolate buttercream. Deelish!
Peachick's initials were on the petit fours and napkins, and I have to admit that seeing them made me tear up a little. It made her more real, more of a person, even though Mike is still reserving the right to change her name once we meet her if necessary.
And how IS our little peachick? She's just kicking along. At 33 weeks, she's measuring right on track at about 4 pounds and 19 inches even though the general consensus is, "My gosh, you're so TINY!" People honestly do not believe that I'm as pregnant as I really am. Yes, at 8 months I'm still wearing some of my non-maternity clothes, which freaks me out a little. But Dr. K says everything is fine and that I just have the bone and body structure to carry an extra few pounds of baby. I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not, but if the kid's OK, then I'm happy. I was 9 pounds even at birth, and Mike was 6 pounds 12 ounces, so Dr. K is estimating that she'll be somewhere between those two figures. I'm hoping she takes after her daddy. She seems strong like me but mellow and easygoing like him. I can't help but think that combination will make for a good birth.

9 PM is her witching hour, when she's the most active, and you can almost set your watch by my belly dancing. I feel great, but Dr. K has suggested I take it down from walking 5 K a day to only 1-2 miles. I still cheat a little every now and then, if only to see what's going on in the hood. My mom has been kind enough to send her maids to the house so I'm not doing heavy housework any more, and after an unfortunate episode with cleaning out the bathtub, I'm very appreciative. I'm going to see Dr. K every other week until December 17th, when I start going once a week. My, how time flies. The nursery is set up, but I'm waiting for Mike to have a little time to hang pictures on the wall before I post pictures on the blog.

He's pretty stoked about his girls.

Day of Laboring

Oh, what a beautiful weekend, oh what beautiful days. I have a beautiful feeling everything's going our way.

The past three days have been nothing short of idyllic. Maybe it's the (somewhat) cooler weather, maybe it's the fact that we are now able to sleep with the windows open, maybe it's just been the company. But we have loved every minute of it.

Mayhem and foolishness started on Friday, when Mike was able to come home a little early. He brought with him flowers and doughnuts! Lately I've been on a kick about how goooooood a doughnut would be, but I wouldn't break down and buy any because of all the sugar and fat involved. Well, Mike fixed my little red wagon with a baker's dozen of freshly-glazed goodness, enough to keep us through these past three days. Pair them with a cup of freshly ground and brewed coffee, and I'm like a new woman.

Then the girls and I went out for supper Friday night. I know - it's too good to be true! A man who brings home flowers and pastries and then gives me the night off in the kitchen so I can spend time with my two favorite bad influences. The weekend could not have begun better.

But wait. There's more.

Dante started off with a big Saturday morning romp:

Then Mike had to join the fun:

After that, Mike and I had some lunch and stopped off at Discount Hunting on our way to Turcotte to shoot rifles with friends. Peachick was not fond of the larger calibers with whom we were sharing the range, and she let me know under no uncertain terms with lots of kicking and squirming. When Mike saw somebody pull out a big boomer, he would grab me by the waist and hug me up behind him, using his body as the baby's own muffler. It was so sweet, but a little hot. So I spent about half the time sitting in the car, which was kind of a killjoy. But it was nice being outside and enjoying good company nonetheless.

While in the car, we listened to Georgia Tech beat up on South Carolina State 41-10. Mike was enthused.

Saturday night I roasted a rosemary and cracked pepper crusted ribeye with onions and potatoes while Mike tinkered out in the garage and started sanding the side door in preparation for some new varnish. We watched Date Night, and I laughed at the cab driver 'till I cried.

Then Sunday we loaded Dante up and headed down to our friends Cindy and James' place out in the country for a cookout in the dappled shade of the pecan trees. We ate too much but had a great time doing it. The food was great, the company even better. While we were there, we were fortunate enough to have friends take a few shots of the two of us together. That's so rare for married couples: we always have photos of one of us or the other but very few together in the same frame.

Mike is so proud: look what I did!
Of course, I'm proud too: look who I married!!!

Mike also honed his photography skills with some very difficult subjects: hummingbirds.

We came home to an easy evening with a light supper. As soon as evening fell, we opened all the windows, turned off the lights, popped some popcorn with extra butter, and cuddled together to watch the Swedish version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. It was a very intense and graphic film with a very good plot, and I hate to see how much moviemakers water it down for the American version. Though it's filled with unsavory characters with whom I find it hard to relate, I'm so fascinated by their strengths and motivations that I might just have to read the trilogy. But I'm glad to have seen the movie first for the heads-up on some of the necessary plot development.

We took it easy today, taking a leisurely run together with the dog this morning, having an excellent Mediterranean/Lebanese lunch, and enjoying a quick visit with Mom this afternoon. During lunch Mike told me the story of how he flew solo for the first time and the process of achieving his pilot's license. His instructor actually told him to go solo before Mike expected, and Mike admitted (as I would have been too!) that he was scared out of his wits. I love that human part of my 00 secret agent. Now I'm sitting with my feet up, watching my favorite, Pawn Stars, while Mike tinkers with the boat outside.

I hope your weekend was just as wonderful. What did you do?

Photo courtesy of inspirationbit.

I Can't Leave Town for a Minute

Well, all's well that ends well.

It all began with a mole on Mike's chest. As Mike has spent most of his life out on a beach somewhere and the spot looked suspicious to me, I had been badgering him for months to have Dr. L take a look at it. We both know from prior experience that Dr. L will take a look about 15 seconds before he passes judgement, deadens Mike up, carves out said mole, and goes on to his next patient. I'm not sure if it's because most of Dr. L's patients are women, but he's pretty gruff toward Mike, and we like that just fine: get in, get it off, get out in less than an hour, get results in less than 2 days. None of this fussy come in for a consultation, come back a week later, waste 6 hours of your life, then 2 more weeks to hear from the lab.

Last time we went, Dr. L took a mole off Mike's back. That's the day I knew I could carry Mike's baby: I was riveted. Though Mike insisted that he didn't feel a thing, everything Dr. L did looked like it would hurt one of my own, and I had a visceral reaction to protect Mike. It was surprising that I literally had to sit on my hands to keep myself from stopping the procedure, only because such a deep voice in me was shouting to make that man stop stabbing my husband.

I didn't expect those protective feelings about somebody until I gave birth.

Anyway, it just happens that Mike's appointment was at the same time I was supposed to head to a client's office in Satartia, Mississippi. We agreed that as Mike had to drive us both home (the whole visceral experience left me wiped out and somewhat nauseated), it wasn't necessary for me to tag along and that he would take care of everything himself.

Next came Mom's eye. Have you ever seen somebody blow out a blood vessel in their eye? It doesn't hurt at all, but there's a lot of blood for such a sensitive area of the body, and it looks downright gnarly. Mom had recently changed a medication, so though she wasn't in any pain, she decided to err on the safe side and have it checked out. No big deal, no she didn't need me to go to the doctor with her.

And anyway, you guessed it: same time I was going to be in Satartia.

I was on my way home when Mike called first: "Since it was on my chest, I was able to watch this time. It was pretty gross. I had to sit down." Translation: it was gross enough that Mike almost passed out himself. Ha! He thought I was being a weenie last time. "Mike, do you need me to come and get you?" (knowing it would be at least an hour and a half before I could make it) "No, no, I'm on the road right now. Just wanted to let you know it was done."

Great. My recently-grossed-out-and-cut-up-husband is driving around and talking on the cell phone.

I was in the middle of a cotton field in the Delta when Mom called next: "I'm in the recovery room. They had to cut something out of my eye." What do you mean, out of your eye?!? Lymphoma is a weird thing and can apparently manifest itself on the eyeball. And the only way to find out is to actually cut out a sample and send it off to a pathologist.

Excellent. My recently-dilated-deadened-and-biopsied-on-her-eyeball mom is about to be woozily driving around and talking on the cell phone. And the doctor said it was OK, so there's nothing I can do about it.

No wonder I have migraines.

It's a wonder I wasn't stopped for speeding: my mind in a thousand different directions, and none of them included the road on which I was driving at the time. The day had snowballed from no-big-deal doctor appointments to samples taken out of somebody's eye, and that was just not acceptable. And though I was not necessarily needed at either of said appointments, it would have been nice to be there for moral support, hold a hand, or even to be able to drive the wounded home.

Welcome to motherhood: check your control over life at the door.

I found Mike at the house, gearing up to move furniture in the office. As he was supposed to keep the bandages (!!!) clean for 24 hours, he figured a trip to the pool was out. I had also convinced him not to mow the lawn or go for a run. So the next logical step would be moving filing cabinets and a pre-World-War II desk that weighs roughly 2.5 tons. Um, no. His bandage was so packed, it honestly looked like he had been stabbed.

In an effort to keep the man still, I decided we had to go check on Mom. She didn't look much better: the eye looked like she'd been socked. Between the two of them, they made Fight Club look like a bunch of pansies.

(You're welcome for the gratuitous Brad Pitt bare chest pic. Even if I did call him a pansy.)

But as I mentioned, all's well that ends well. Over the next few days, we learned that neither Mike's mole nor Mom's eye had any traces of cancer, and though they were the worse for wear, they have both almost completely recovered. It was worth it in the end to know the good news. Mom will have to return to have her eye checked on by professionals, and Mike and I both were surprised at the size of the incision on his chest.

It's ok Honey. Chicks dig scars.

Photos courtesy of icanhascheezburger and Huffington Post.

The Methodist Ladies' Chicken Lasagna Florentine

It's a glorious Monday morning here in beautiful downtown Burbank. 74 degrees (I know - shocker!), the sun is rising, and I am up, dressed, and ready for the day. Taking Dante for a W-A-L-K? Ah... No. Going outside to work in the garden? Nope. Off to the grocery store while it's still cool? Of course not! I'm sitting on my duff, waiting for the painters. Last time they were two hours late, and they said they would arrive at 7:00 this morning, which I suppose translates to sometime around 4 this afternoon. The day is totally shot.

Well, not completely. Laundry is running, dishes are washing, and here I sit, making good on my resolution to blog more often.

This is another excerpt from my current favorite read, Being Dead is No Excuse. Despite the subject material, this really is a funny cookbook written in somewhat sarcastic hyperbole (yet the truth comes in jest, you know) that strikes a chord in me. If you live in the South, these people are your neighbors.

For once, we're at a loss for words. Pecans and lasagna? But this is the quintessential Methodist death dish, and it's so good it'll kill you.

Ingredients:

6 lasagna noodles, uncooked

1 (10-ounce) package chopped frozen spinach, thawed

2 cups cooked, chopped chicken breasts (about 3 medium breasts)

2 cups shredded cheddar cheese

1/3 cup finely chopped onion

1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons white pepper

1 Tablespoon soy sauce

1 can (10 3/4 ounce) cream of mushroom soup (of course.)

1 (8-ounce) carton sour cream

1/3 cup homemade mayonnaise (I used our olive oil stuff, and it came out just as well.)

3/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese (or to taste)

Butter Pecan Topping (see below)

• Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
• Cook the noodles according to the package directions, drain and set aside.
• Darin the spinach well, pressing between layers of paper towels (or kitchen towels).
• Combine the spinach, chicken, cheddar cheese, onion, nutmeg, salt, pepper, soy sauce, soup, sour cream, and mayonnaise in a large bowl; stir to blend.
• Arrange half the lasagna noodles in a lightly greased 11 x 7 x 1 1/2-inch baking dish.
• Spread half the chicken mixture over the noodles.
• Repeat this procedures with the remaining noodles and chicken mixture.
• Sprinkle with Parmesan cheese and Butter Pecan Topping.
• Bake, covered, for 55 to 60 minutes, or until hot and bubbly.
• Let stand for 15 minutes before cutting.
• Serves eight.

Butter Pecan Topping

Ingredients:

2 Tablespoons butter or margarine

1 cup chopped pecans

• Melt the butter in a skillet over medium heat; add the pecans and cook for 3 minutes.
• Cool completely.

Beware: this stuff is super-duperly rich, so have a side salad nearby. The spices are great though, so I would recommend following that part of the recipe rather closely, which you know is odd for me. Especially with a casserole. Mike calls it "the chicken stuff," and requests it often.

Now for a little lagniappe: the photo below was taken at Grace Church Cemetery in St. Francisville, Louisiana. The structure is in the back of the antebellum churchyard, and Mike and I were transfixed by the architecture, brickwork, and current state of ruin. My guess is that it was some sort of crypt - there was another opening on the other side - but Mike didn't seem to agree. The other entrance was below ground level and had been haphazardly covered up with a road sign by some authority, only to be pushed aside by teenagers looking for a spooky thrill.

What do you think it is? Can you imagine the stories, sordid and toe-curling, that might have occurred at this eerie kind of spot?

St. Francisville Jaunt

Dante, Mike, Kearney, and I are all piled up on the green couch this morning, a creepy ghost movie on the TV, a cup of coffee perched precariously on the arm rest, the comics in Mike's hand, a baby wriggling happily in my belly, and Dante's head resting peacefully in the crook of my arm. It's a nice morning.

The past two weeks have been a whirlwind of activity, and as per usual, I'm sorry for not keeping up with it here. I suppose as I enjoy writing, this blog is somewhat of a luxury for me. But years down the road, I'll wish I had written more. Last night our good friend Jessica told us about her friend who sets up spa expenses as part of their family budget because it makes her a nicer person. I like that idea. So I made a new entry every week on my calendar - "BLOG!!!" - and maybe now since I've carved time out (I mean, really, as luxuries go, this one is pretty cheap.), you'll hear more from me.

Meanwhile, we need to catch up.

How about I start with Mike's recent dispatch down to St. Francisville, Louisiana, to work at the power plant? He had a project to do that had a somewhat indefinite period of time dedicated to it, but I thought it would be a fun adventure to join him. It always is.

When we first arrived in the pretty little town, we stopped by Grace Church, where we walked through the cemetery and took a few photos. It was a neat experience, walking amongst the peaceful dead and feeling our little life kicking and squirming at the same time.

The next day, I dropped Mike off at work and set off exploring on my own. I started off at the Main Street and enjoyed the architecture.


The rest of the week was spent bumping along backroads of Louisiana and the Mississippi border. I really felt the baby kick while I was driving, and I found myself talking to him in the car.

The rest of the trip was rather uneventful - just scene after beautiful scene of majestic live oaks, bucolic fields, and ancient architecture. A big craving for fried chicken raised its ugly head, and boy, were we in luck! I subjected Mike to some of the best fried chicken in the world: first at Eight Sisters Kitchen in St. Francisville, and then at the Old Country Store in Lorman, Mississippi.

That was a trip.

We arrived early for supper - around 5:15 - and once we walked through the doors of the 130-year-old establishment, we were transported back in time. Mr. D. and an employee were sitting at a table and asked how they could help us. I explained that we were looking for some fried chicken. They were unfortunately not open for supper yet, but Mr. D. set us up with some to-go boxes to take home with us.

I was in heaven.

Daisy would agree that this stuff is almost as good as hers. Which makes it currently the best fried chicken in the known universe.

Antiques Roadtrip

Meet the first million-dollar evaluation found at the Antiques Roadshow.

Our experience was somewhat less exciting, but interesting, informative, and entertaining nonetheless. Mike and I set out yesterday for a day trip down to Biloxi, Mississippi, where I had won free tickets in a lottery to participate in a filming of the popular PBS show. The day did not disappoint.

The reality of the Roadshow is very different from our expectations. First, we stood in line for the "triage area," where somebody would look at our stuff and give us a ticket for the next level. Then we would go stand in line outside this complex, behind which they were actually filming:
THEN we would go stand in line within the blue panels where the cameras and lights were set up (don't pick your nose or your underwear!). Then, after a couple of hours, somebody would cursorily look at our stuff and give us a 2-minute chat about it without really telling us anything we didn't already know.

It was a lot like socialized healthcare.

But the real fun was in the Southern experience of chatting with the people who were standing in line around us and having the chance to see their treasures. The day was a grown-up show and tell. We saw everything from porcelain to muskets to a hand-carved coconut shell somebody's great-grandfather made while a prisoner of the Civil War in the Customs House in New Orleans. We heard sordid and juicy stories of love lost and family found. We made new friends and expanded our horizons.

I wonder if it's the same up in New York.

Our first stop was to check out a Marie Hull oil painting of a pot of flowers with a Chinese figurine that Mom loaned me for the trip. That line was relatively short, but the "expert" made up for that with her snootiness, "Ah, another Marie Hull. That's the fourth one I've seen today. I like the ones with birds better...."

I considered showing her a bird of my own.

Then we took Mike's American Indian corn grinding stones to American Artifacts. That evaluator was really very nice, giving us helpful information about how we could find a local artifact association in the same region where the stones were found (Georgia and South Carolina) to better date them and perhaps even tie them to a tribe. Though it's doubtful that we'll do that, it's an idea of which we hadn't thought. He also suggested that we let our child take them to show and tell because they were excellent examples of everyday life of the Indians. And they weren't likely to break.

Next we stood in line for Asian art to have Mike's hand-blown glass net floats checked out. I was excited about meeting Lark Mason, who was very nice, and though Mike's floats weren't worth a lot of money, Lark was intrigued by one that was an oblong shape: he seemed to think it was actually a pastry roller. But Mike corrected him, relating the fact that he found it on the beach of Okinawa, still wound up in its original net. Lark did make the point that they will probably increase in value, as those floats are no longer used and have been replaced with plastic parts.

Last but not least, we stood in line for TWO HOURS to have my KPM porcelain plaque evaluated. Once finally at the front of the line, Mark Moran was nice enough to have a look. He didn't tell me anything about it that I didn't already know, but he was very complimentary, saying that the value of KPM comes from the artistry and beauty of the piece, that one of the figures looked a lot like me, and that it was a remarkably beautiful piece. Toward the end of our conversation, he said it was the "nicest piece he had seen all day," but fortunately he did not want to put me on TV. We were finally able to head home around 4:30 - we had arrived at 11!

Do the math: 5 1/2 hours of standing in line and 6 hours of driving for 8 minutes of evaluations. But you know what? We really enjoyed every minute of it. We were able to meet people that we had watched on TV for years, and now we are intimately familiar with the entire process.

And who knows? Maybe we'll be the people in the background picking our noses when the show airs in January.

Well damn indeed.

Photos courtesy of NYDailyNews, GulfLive.