David Speights welcomed us to his beautiful home in the French Quarter, NOLA. David is very involved with the Faulkner Society in NO. And works tirelessly on behalf of the French Quarter. He gave us a personal tour of Jackson Square and the river, etc. He makes a dry Martini, too, if that's your pleasure.

Tim joins John B. and Stacey Howell, and their brother-in-law, David, in the lush gardens of David's courtyard. David's beautiful wife, Marti, passed away a few months ago. Marti was an avid reader and collector of charming hats. Their home is full of books and art. The courtyard is the perfect retreat for reading or writing.

David suggested we try Irene's for supper. There aren't many eateries open in the Quarter on Monday nights, so Irene's was packed. David said Irene's is popular among the local crowd. We know why. Tim had the softshell crab and I had the Amandine -- a Pompano fish with almonds. Good, good food, and great, engaging company. I've been to New Orleans on several different trips but I always wished Tim could see the city. It's full of such history. I knew he would enjoy it, and he did.

It was early Tuesday when Tim and I ran down to Cafe Du Monde for Cafe Au Lait and beignets. We took a walk through Jackson Square and watched the boats on the Mississippi.

Dr. John had to be back in Mobile for surgery so we said our goodbyes and thanked our fabulous host, Mr. David. Yep. That's my car with the Oregon tags in the back ground.

Sonny Brewer is the whole reason I'm here in Fairhope. I met Sonny when Jack Pendarvis introduced us at the Southern Literary Festival in Nashville. Jack then passed along a piece I wrote in the aftermath of Katrina called When Jesus Lost his Head. Sonny published it in Blue Moon Anthology, a collection of writing. And then he invited me to come to Fairhope to the Southern Writers Reading, a gathering for writers and readers each November that was born of Sonny's love of all things stories, authors and readers.

Sonny is the author of the Poet of Tolstoy Park, Carmac, A Sound like Thunder and a host of other stories. Like many I was captivated by Henry Stuart's life, the Nampa man who came to Fairhope to die, and didn't. Well, not for a long, long time. Henry built the house that Tim and Sonny are standing in front of. Sonny wrote much of his novel inside the hut that Henry built. If you've not read the book, go to this link and get yourself a copy:  http://www.overthetransom.com/poet.htm

Sonny gives Tim the history lesson on Henry inside the stone-and-mortar hut. Tim declared Sonny a fine storyteller. "He's an interesting fellow," Tim declared. "I could listen to his stories for hours."

We finished our evening by joining Frank and Jane and Leon and Donna Hill for a sunset chat on the pier. I'd show you the photo of the sunset but I forgot my camera. Bummer, dude.

Most of the time I can't remember a thing about what happened last week much less six years ago. But today I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing. Twenty-six years ago today, Tim and I were flying down the Banfield Expressway in Portland, me up on all fours, and Tim in a panic in 8 a.m. traffic with a wife laboring with twins.

Happy Birthday Ashley and Shelby! As you can see, Dad and I are much more relaxed than we were the morning you two were born. But as much as we enjoy this time together, none of this compares to the excitement and joy of that day. 

We  could not rouse Aunt Linda from her slumber no matter how hard we banged on the door or how many times we called on the phone. We finally calledl your aunt Gloria to please come get Stephan so we could get to the hospital.

 "Tim, my water broke! Better get up!" I said soon as I got up that morning.

Sure, he said, rolling over and putting the pillow over his head.

Thankfully, after a few more urgent pleas and a couple of cuss words, your daddy realized I was not joking and your Aunt Gloria was more than eager to take a day off work to be with her favorite nephew and await the birth of the family twins.

You two were like heirlooms to us all. A connection to Granny Ruth, who'd had twins but lost one in childbirth. Grandma Shelby was so worried I would lose one of you that she and Uncle Greg took off for the river early that morning and didn't return until after you two had arrived. Fishing has its priorities, Uncle Greg would likely say.

Beautiful, the peditrician declared. "I see babies all the time but these girls really are beautiful."

He meant it, too.

And if could only see you now. Twenty-six years later. So, so beautiful. Inside as well as out.

As Grandma Shelby always said, "Pretty is as Pretty does."

You girls are about the Prettiest Thangs  I've ever done in my life. I love you. I miss you. Happy, Happy Birthday!!!

(p.s. Daddy just woke up, stumbled into the kitchen and said, first thing, "Did you call our girls and wish them Happy Birthday?"