A matter of taste

All the heavy chemotherapy artillery Jimmy got blasted with in January did more than make his hair fall out: among other things, it affected his taste buds. Things that used to taste good to him have lost their appeal, and vice versa.

One of the more noticeable changes has been with coffee. Nearly every day of his adult life, Jimmy has HAD to have his one or two cups when he gets up in the morning, but in this post-transplant era, he has completely lost his taste for it. He craves Coca-Cola instead. A few days ago, as an experiment, he fixed a pot of his favorite Starbucks, but after one swallow, he said,"Yuck. I'm sticking to Coke."

Jimmy has always loved ice cream. He still likes it, but his enthusiasm for it has abated somewhat. For years, Breyer's Peach topped his list, only to be supplanted of late by Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla. He has also been enamoured of Chik-Fil-A's vanilla IceDream cones and knows where every restaurant is located between here and Atlanta.

My personal favorites lean more toward the exotics, like Hagen-Daz or Ben and Jerry's: the Cherry Garcias and the Chubby Hubbys and the Turtle Tracks of the ice cream world. Still, you can't get much better than vanilla with Hershey's chocolate syrup from a can drizzled over it, mushed up and with a few walnuts sprinkled in. Also, plain chocolate is great, with a little milk poured over the top, so that it freezes and makes a thin icy crust.

Excuse me. I have to go fix a bowl of ice cream.

...while visions of little grey squirrels danced in his head...

Andy's motto is "The Only Good Squirrel is a Dead Squirrel," and he spends much of his days on alert, peering out the window in case some hapless creature wanders by. He hasn't caught one yet, but an aspiration is a joy forever.

When he isn't on active squirrel patrol, he naps. There's always a good solid morning nap and a heavy-duty afternoon nap, with numerous mini-snoozes in between. He sleeps deeply, sometimes emitting muffled little yips and barks and growls, with his eyes twitching and his legs jerking in tiny running motions, his elusive quest continuing even in his sweet doggy dreams.

Bas Bleu

When the phone rang this morning, we expected it to be Pat calling to tell us that the upcoming birth was imminent, but it was Converse and Jill, asking us to meet them downtown for brunch. Not quite as exciting as a new granddaughter, but nonetheless a delightful way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Having never been to Bas Bleu before, we enjoyed it immensely, and it's something we look forward to doing again soon. The decor is unpretentious but comfortable, and the food is excellent, especially the French toast that's cooked to perfection with a custard-like center that melts in your mouth. There are two-for-one Bloody Marys and Screwdrivers if you're so inclined, and the little jazz band's music transports you straight to New Orleans, all bluesy and mellow and soft.

Appointment at Pearlman

We had an appointment today at Pearlman Cancer Center with our Valdosta oncologist, Dr. Eric Anderson. Routine stuff, and Jimmy's getting along fine. His hematocrit is a little low, but it's not a big deal.

Before we left, I whipped out my phone camera and snapped a quick picture, but alas, Eric blinked. It's a shame, too, because he's so good-looking. I'll take another one next time, one that does him justice.

Ellen, Mac, and William

When my brother Mac called this morning, he was in his typical high-gear do-it-now mode: "Meet William and me over at Mama's in fifteen minutes. We've got to do something with that house before it falls down." In the year and a half since Mama's been gone, we have tried and tried to bring things to a conclusion, but we haven't quite been able to pull the plug and clear everything out. Not much is left but memories, but they're the hardest to let go.

William and I are sentimental. If it was left up to us, we would probably not have things resolved ten years from now, and Mac has been like a border collie, trying in vain to herd us into a decision. Mac tries to act like such a tough guy, but underneath that veneer lies the softest of hearts.

Maybe it's because we three are so close in age (only twenty months separate each of us); maybe it's because we slept in the same room until I was seven years old (we giggled and sang and told each other stories until we fell asleep every night); maybe it's the shared history and the shared memories and the shared gene pool: for whatever reason, there's a closeness, a bond, an affectionate understanding between us that is constant. I was looking at them today, a couple of nice men in their fifties, and thinking of how I'll always see them as my precious baby brothers.

At Yustega

This little fellow wandered up to the house, and was so tame he followed chef Lynan around like a puppy, and would even let her pet him. We hope he won't be shot by a hunter next fall. Putting a bright collar on him is out of the question because it might get him caught in some bushes; maybe we should write PET on his sides with day-glo orange paint.

Hunting season of over, but this photograph, taken by the Zambas' son-in law earlier this year, is so great I wanted to share it.

Aunt Mary Lois

Jimmy's ninety-year-old aunt, Mary Lois Dewar, passed away Wednesday, and we went to her funeral at First Methodist Church this morning. It was a beautiful celebration of Mary Lois' life. Her niece Emily Anderson, her son-in-law Billy Greer, and our minister Tommy Mason, and John McGowan all spoke, and the choir and congregation sang some of her favorite hymns: "The Old Rugged Cross," "Amazing Grace," and "For All the Saints." She had sung in the choir for over sixty years, and she had the voice of an angel.

Fann Greer, Mary Lois' daughter, lives in Norfolk, Virginia. She loves gardening, as did her mother, and when she got word that Mary Lois had died, she cut armful after armful of flowers from her garden, and she and her husband Billy drove the almost six hundred miles to Valdosta with them in buckets of water on the back seat of their car. When they got to Valdosta, Fann had the florist use them to make the blanket for Mary Lois' casket: it looked like the breath of spring, and Mary Lois would have loved it.