The Minute Magazine May June 2015

May / June 2015 Volume 10, Issue 3

FREE

magazine

All About

Family

Homemade Ice Cream Recipes Why Moms Never Get Anything Done 1

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Less waiting for emergency care (and a lot more care, if you need it).

In a medical emergency, every minute matters. So, at Northern Louisiana Medical Center, you’ll find faster care in the emergency room. We work diligently to have you initially seen by a medical professional* in 30 minutes – or less. And, with a team of dedicated medical specialists, we can provide a lot more care, if you need it.

The 30-Minutes-Or-Less E.R. Service Pledge – only at Northern Louisiana Medical Center.

NorthernLouisianaMedicalCenter.com *Medical professionals may include physicians, physician assistants and nurse practitioners.

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My first year as part of the Louisiana Tech Family was a memorable one; not because of the wins and the losses, but because of the incredible support from Lady Techster fans like you. I wish I could thank each and every one of you personally. Instead, I pledge my coaching staff and I will continue working tirelessly to revive and protect the legacy that the coaches and players before us created. Our goal is to build champions on and off the floor that will make you proud.

HEAD WOMEN’S BASKETBALL COACH LOUISIANA TECH UNIVERSITY

TYLER SUMMITT

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inside this magazine TIFFANY BYRAM

Owner/Publisher/Editor Graphics/Layout

VICKI CASKEY Sales Manager LAURA (MOM) & EMMA HORTON (DAUGHTER) Cover Models

HEATHER HAYS Hair

(of Alter Image Salon in Minden)

ALICIA ADAMS Make Up Artist (of Hers Bridal and Special Occasions in Minden)

JENNY REYNOLDS Founder

issue

10 From My Past to

Your Present by Guest Writer Sara Enloe

14 Why Moms Never Get Anything Done

by Tiffany Byram

18 Real Life Magic

by Chalaine Scott

28 From Vicki Caskey's Kitchen: Summer Sweets

by Vicki Caskey

32 Local Author Spotlight on Jennifer O. White

Office Phone: 504.390.2585 Ad Sales: 318.548.2693 Address: P.O. Box 961, Belle Chasse, LA 70037

Chris Broussard Tiffany Byram Vicki Caskey Shelley Duran Barbara Ellis Durbin Winnie Griggs Wesley Harris Liz Hines Ashley Maddox Jason McReynolds Kathy B. Nelson Rachel Pardue Judith Roberts Chalaine Scott Rosemary Thomas Darla Upton

36 How to Talk to Grieving Parents by Tiffany Byram

FIND US ONLINE!

For a list of locations near you, or to catch up on past issues, like us on Facebook or visit

www.theminutemag.com Interested in writing for The Minute or have a great feature story idea? Email Tiffany Byram at

theminutemagazine@gmail.com

The Minute Magazine is distributed throughout Caddo, Bossier, Claiborne, Bienville, Ouachita, Webster, & Lincoln Parishes in Louisiana. They are FREE for you to enjoy.

Take some to your friends, relatives or anyone else who needs a refreshing, enlightening “minute.�

Copyright 2015. All rights reserved. No part of this magazine may be copied or reproduced without permission. The Minute Magazine cannot be responsible for unsolicited materials.

The editorial content of The Minute is prepared in accordance with the highest standards of journalistic accuracy. Readers are cautioned, however, not to use any information from the magazine as a substitute for expert opinion, technical information or advice. The Minute cannot be responsible for negligent acts, errors and omissions. The opinions expressed in The Minute are those of our writers and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher.

The publisher has the right to accept or reject any advertising and / or editorial submitted.

F

amily. Such a small word to hold such meaning. This issue of The Minute Magazine reflects on the memories we've created with our families in years past. It also focuses on being grateful for the people who are near and dear to our hearts, both by blood and by choice. Because friends are just the family we choose. We have some great recipes for homemade ice cream on page 28. Now is the perfect time to make some new memories by getting together and cranking out a batch on a hot summer day.

I love this quote by George Moore, "A man travels the world over in search of what he needs, and returns home to find it." We encourage you to love fully. Find simple ways to show your family how much they mean to you. Speak kinder, show compassion, grant forgiveness, laugh louder. Because tomorrow is never guaranteed. From my family to yours.

Tiffany Byram

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headlines & hemlines written by Rachel Pardue

Decisions, Decisions

I

f you’re reading this, I survived the college admissions and selection process. Please give my mother a hug.

I have 14 days left to choose a college, and May 1st is sprinting towards me.

After a grueling but rewarding high school career filled with college classes, student council positions, varsity athletics, hundreds of volunteer hours, countless extracurricular activities, plenty of standardized testing, and working to develop my own business, I got into my dream school, Babson.

Not many people around here have heard of Babson, but for business with a focus in entrepreneurship (which is what I am going to study) they are #1 in the nation. In addition, Money Magazine ranked them #1 for return on investment above Harvard, MIT, and Stanford. I always imagined that if I were fortunate enough to get an opportunity like this, I would welcome the new change with excitement and confidence, but as always, life tends to be less simple in practice than in theory.

Many of my friends and classmates speak of college as an escape from high school and their families. Some of them eagerly speak of “getting out” as if their privileged lives and private school are a prison. I understand this harsh reaction to branching into adulthood is supposed to be natural. Maybe its nature’s way of making the separation from their parent’s easier, but if so it is an instinct I lack.

I love my school. Sure, after 14 years of going to the same place and wearing the same skirt, I’m ready for a change of scenery, but Cedar Creek has given me the foundation for a limitless life.

This goes so far beyond the amazing

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education I have received. Aside from studying all of Shakespeare’s great tragedies, memorizing countless formulas, and learning to build effective arguments for debates on controversial aspects of today’s society, Cedar Creek has been a second family. The friends that I have made continually inspire me, and the teachers and administration truly have our best interest at heart.

Instead of counting down the days until I move out, I am uncertain as to if I will attend Babson. It’s not that I don’t believe I can make it away from home. I experienced independence last summer when I studied in New York City, and I loved it. Babson is in Wellesley, Massachusetts, just outside of Boston--1,562 miles and two plane rides from home to be exact. It is hard to imagine a life where I am only home during holidays, and I don’t know if I could be happy that far away from my family. It’s even harder to imagine that this new life would start in only 4 months.

So the question must be asked, do I go for the number one education and rarely get to see my family, or do I get a great education in state and only be a short car ride from home?

Although this is the largest and most challenging decision I have ever been faced with, I am fortunate to have the opportunity to choose. From the time I was a young child, my parents have

always made me make decisions on my own. I remember when I was in 7th grade, I told my parents I wanted to quit taking piano lessons, and they said that it was my life and they would respect whatever decision I made. A year later when I said I missed it and wanted to start taking lessons again, my dad smiled and said “I knew you would come back to it”. My mom and dad withheld their own opinions of how I was giving up on a talent so that I could figure it out for myself, and make the right decision without it being forced upon me.

Fast forward five years later, and I have a much bigger decision to make, but this time I am afraid there’s no right or wrong choice. No matter what I choose, there will be advantages and disadvantages of my decision. Regardless, my parents are standing back with the same patience and wisdom that they did with my younger self, and with the same acknowledgment that it is my life and they will respect whatever decision I make.

I may not have college figured out yet, but I know that wherever I end up, I will be successful because of the independence, maturity, and values that my parents have instilled in me.

What I don’t know however, is how I was blessed with my parents. I am just forever grateful that God gave them to me.

Rachel is a senior at Cedar Creek where she is Student Council President, Vice-President of the Key Club, Secretary of the National Honor Society, Co-captain of the dance line, and a member of the Lady Cougar Basketball team. Rachel will graduate in May and will soon be deciding which college to call home.

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www. theminutemagazine. com a season of

becoming written by Shelley Duran Knowing Where You Came From

I

am from a five light town. It's not on a map. If you have no intention of visiting you will, as the saying goes, blink and miss it. Nineteen years ago, my dad piled us all into the car for a surprise trip. When he stopped at a wooded lot on a small paved road, he encouraged us all to get out of the car and announced THIS was going to be our new home. He had bought the property as an anniversary gift for my mother, who I should mention, did not express an interest in moving. Dad has always been a forward thinker, and so forward he took his family. Right into the woods.

My brother and I changed to the local school in town (there was only one to choose from) and mom took a teaching job there as well to make the transition a bit easier for all us. Living in a sleepy wooded town had its quirks. Animals seemed unaware people were there and we’d often wake up to something

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hanging out in the yard. As neighbors came and built, my childhood was picturesque where kids played outside until your mom sent you a sign that it was time for dinner by turning the porch light on.

I moved away from home at seventeen.

Choosing to go away to college, I didn’t get the experience of watching the town evolve. I would periodically come back to find new places and things cleared out to make way for new. I often walk into the door exclaiming things like: “When did we get a billboard?!” “We have a TACO BELL now!!” etc. The most recent development that has the town up in arms in that a new – a SECOND – grocery store has been built. I recently

ran into a guy from my small town at a bar, and we spoke about this second grocery store for an hour. AN HOUR. The older I become, the more I realize how much the town itself is my family.

It’s more than where my parents live.

I love it, protect it, fight for it, and challenge it. I look forward it seeing it as much as I look forward to seeing my parents waiting in the driveway. Yes, my parents often are waiting for me in the driveway. The trees, wildflowers and heck, even seeing the new billboard and grocery store are all part of the excitement I feel en route to the house.

It’s all about family – your hometown included. Let’s celebrate them the best way we can.

Shelley is a twenty something gal two-stepping in Lafayette, Louisiana. When she's not working as a Marketing Manager for the Chamber of Commerce, she can often be found running through her neighborhood in order to enjoy Cajun cuisine on a regular basis. Her beloved dog, Olive is often by her side. Follow her rants and quips on Twitter @shellbellduran.

FAMILY RULES DON'T Break Your Be

Promises

Happy

SAY PLEASE & THANK YOU

Always Tell The Truth Use Your WORDS

Bless Your Food Always TRY YOUR BEST

Love Each Other

TRY EVERYTHING ONCE Use Your Imagination

Take Time To PLAY

Be Patient, Grateful, & Kind Learn From One Another

Laugh Out Loud

FORGIVE Each Other's MISTAKES Give Without Taking In All Things GIVE THANKS 9

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Though I might be biased.

My Grandma Ruth plans most of them, and I honestly can’t think of a more exciting event in the summer. Especially when I was a kid. You know how some memories in childhood shine brighter than others? The kind of memories that start in your mind, take root in your heart and will not be shaken as time passes? They just get clearer and sweeter with age? That’s the place I am writing to you from, and I hope you can feel my pleasure in recounting to you some of my favorite reunion memories.

There I am, I am sitting in the backseat of my Grandma Ruth’s dark blue Pontiac Bonneville. We are driving to the lake for our family reunion. It’s 1990-something and everything is perfect in my 6-year-old world.

The sky is so blue and the sun is so bright. Looking out the window is blinding, but I just can’t turn my eyes away. Aunt Patti and I are playing a game. “What does that cloud look like?” she asks. I squint. “A couch,” I say. She looks infinitely pleased with my answer. “Good eye, Sara! Do you see anything on the couch?” I look back up to the bright blue sky. “A ball,” I reply. “Exactly,” she smiles at me. And we go back and forth until I feel like some sort of genius cloud interpreter, and before I know it, we’re pulling up the drive at Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Bob’s lake.

Most of the adults immediately start scrambling to set up the food stations and games and a tent, I can tell by the way they look at each other when I offer to help that they would rather I scram. No problem with me. The lake is calling my name!

I can see my cousin Chuckie. No, that’s not right. I can hear my cousin Chuckie. There’s splashing coming from the lake, and I’m headed to join the noise. “Hey, beautiful!” He comes running out of the water to greet me, a big grin stretched across his face. I brace myself for the sloppy kiss on the mouth that I know is coming. “Hi,” I say back, as he envelops me in the kind of hug that threatens to squeeze the life out of me. I love Chuckie. He is special – and not because he has Down Syndrome; he is special because he calls everyone “beautiful” and “hot mama” and “baaaaaabe.” Whether you’re a stranger or a friend, you will feel beloved when he’s around. He might be in his thirties, but he has a childlike wonder. Give him a baseball card and bubblegum and he’ll think you hung the moon.

You can’t enter his presence without smiling and leaving happier than you came. We play “shark” and I almost drown a few times, but it was worth it. Days with Chuckie are always worth it. Eventually my Dad and Uncle Darren come in and use me

as the ball in their game of catch. Mom is less than thrilled, but she knows I’m happier than ever.

The only reason we ever leave the water is for the food, or because our Bozo Buckets game is ready. I have watched Bozo’s Super Saturday enough to become a pro, in my own mind at least, so I get my game face on and sink balls in 4 out of 6 buckets. I am not satisfied, so they let me try and try again until I finally get them all. 6 for 6! WOOHOO! I win some candy and a dollar bill. Nothing is better in my 6-year-old world.

As the day goes on, more amazing games ensue: Bingo for White Elephants (you know, everyone brings a prize they don’t want that they have lying around their house…I excitedly choose a bar of soap as one of my first prizes). Then comes Egg Toss, the Three-Legged and Sack Races, a Bubble-Gum Blowing Contest, and Corn Hole.

As if that wasn’t enough fun for us kiddos, my late Aunt Lorraine created us another fun activity. She makes all kinds of 10-cent mystery bags, where we could drop 10-cents into a jar in exchange for a brown lunch bag filled with mystery goodies.

(The bags were stapled so we rascals couldn’t sneak a peek!)

Each bag was different, so I would always coerce family members to give me their dimes so I could snag a bunch of bags.

I’d tear them open and get so excited for new coloring books, tons of snacks, dollar-store make-up, and even noise-making kazoos. Cha-CHING. Jackpot! The treasures were all mine in my 6-year-old world.

I am now 28-years-old. My world is quite different now. But I hold tightly to the one I saw through 6-year-old eyes. And I can’t wait to pass on the fun family traditions that all started at our Koselke reunion. And mostly, I can’t wait to feel that way again, the way I did at 6-years-old, when I pull down the gravel road to Mike and Vanessa’s farm for this year’s reunion. I know I will be greeted with another sloppy smooch from Chuck while my Grandma Ruth lights up with laughter. Memories are the best when you make them with the ones you love. And they’re even better when you’re able to still make them together, each and every year.

Fluent in Spanish and in meowing, Sara is a Jesus-lovin' cat lady from the mitten state. You can find her singing, leading worship, writing and correcting you on your grammar (sorry about that). Follow her @SaraEnloe

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rants of an

old hen

written by Chris Broussard

Jewels In The Sun

W

hen I founded The Children’s Center some twenty five years ago, I had no idea the amount of joy that would come from this experience.

There were so many wonderful children that passed through the doors of the Children’s Center and they left me with some of the most wonderful memories and hilarious stories. (Some of the names have been changed to protect the innocent.)

One summer stands out in my mind.

We always carried the kids to Lake Bistineau State Park in Doyline.…Just a couple of miles from where I grew up.

The park had a great swimming pool area. It seemed that only the locals knew about this place. We basically had the pool to ourselves most of the time.

The swimming pool was situated right on the lake. We spent many summers there swimming and fishing with the kids.

On one of our trips, we set up the row of lawn chairs. Julie and I and a couple of other supervisors would position ourselves around the center of the pool so we would have access to both ends of the pool. They had lifeguards there but we always watched our own.

We settled in. Everyone was sun screened. The kid’s life jackets were all assigned. All the towels were draped over the fence behind us. We took our positions. We were sitting in our chairs and enjoying the sun and enjoying the banter of the kids in the pool.

There was a diving board on the deep end. The kids had to pass our swimming test before they could enter the deep water and be allowed to dive off the diving board. There was one little guy, Jimmy. He was a pretty good swimmer for his age. He successfully passed our swimming test and was ready to venture out into the deep end. He was so proud. This little kid was short and a little stocky. He had blonde hair, almost white.

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Now, the thing to note here is that the pool had strict rules. And one of those rules was that no cut offs and no shorts were allowed. Only appropriate swim wear was allowed. Jimmy loved to swim, obviously. But he and his older brother Mike were notorious for showing up on swim day without proper attire.

And this day was no exception. We found swimming trunks for Mike but we couldn’t find anything for Jimmy. Jimmy was devastated. As luck would have it, Jimmy showed up that day in a pair of shorts that for all practical purposes looked like swim wear. We decided that we would take our chances.

All the kids were required to dress back into their dry clothes before entering the van to go back to the Center. With no change of clothes for Jimmy, we decided that we would let him wear his shorts and leave his underwear in his backpack. He then had to agree to sit out for thirty minutes before leaving so his shorts could dry out. He agreed.

Now that everyone was happy and all problems solved, Jimmy was headed for the diving board. His little chest was poked out and he was just so excited to finally make it to the ‘big kid’s area.'

Jimmy climbed up on the diving board and walked to the end. “Hey, Ms. Chris, watch!” Jimmy made his first jump off the board. I waited for his head to pop back up so I could praise him. “Great job, Jimmy!”

Jimmy stood in line again. He made his way to the end of the board and hollered again, “Hey, Ms. Chris watch this!” I watched. This time he did the splits before entering the water. By this time, we had all decided we had gotten

by the watchful eye of the lifeguards who were already turning kids away who were not in proper swimwear. We were worried about Jimmy. While he made another big jump on the end of the board, I noticed something was wrong. There was something amiss with his shorts. As Jimmy swam to the side of the pool and hoisted his little body up, I looked him over and couldn’t see anything.

Jimmy spent the entire day on that diving board. After a while we gave our attention to the other children swimming. While glancing around I saw that Jimmy was on the diving board again and about to make his now famous split- legged jump. He had learned to jump even higher now.

He sprang off the board, split his legs and hollered as he hit the water. What was that? I thought. Something didn’t look right. Something was hanging from his shorts. I turned to Julie and told her to watch Jimmy to see if she could tell what was up with his shorts.

Jimmy made his way to the end of the board. He was so excited because now he had the attention of Ms Julie and Ms Chris. Jimmy jumped up and split his legs. Yep, Julie saw it, too. “Is that what I think it is?” Julie asked. “I think so.” Before we could converse about what we thought it was, Jimmy was up on the diving board again. “Hey, Ms. Chris, Ms. Julie, watch!” And watch we did. This time our eyes were focused on his crotch area. “Houston, we have a problem.”

Instantaneously Julie and I both saw it. “Are those the families jewels I see?” Julie said. It seems that Jimmy shorts had a hole in the crotch area

Chris Broussard, co-founder and chairman of the board of Cultural Crossroads is an artist, an entrepreneur and currently the art enrichment teacher for Glenbrook.

She started writing down her personal accounts of whimsical and heartfelt experiences in a blog called "Rants of an Old Hen." And will now share her favorites with Minute readers.

You’ve known her for so long. Now, suddenly, something has changed.

You’ve known her for so long. Now, suddenly, something has changed.

If you or a loved one is experiencing changes in the ability to cope with daily living, Senior Care at Minden Medical Center is here to help.

and because he had left his underwear off, things started to find their way out of the hole. “Surely, he can feel that when he hits the water,” I said. We watched his face as he surfaced and made his way over to the edge of the pool to pull himself out of the water. By this time all our eyes were on him and his reaction. We looked closely to see if others could see what we saw, especially the lifeguards. No one seemed to be paying attention.

We knew we had to do something quick. We didn’t want to embarrass him for sure. We called his brother Mike over. Instead of being direct with the situation, we asked Mike to watch Jimmy jump off the board. We instructed him to watch him closely. “What is that?” Mike blurted out.

“Guess?” we said. “Oh, no!” Mike said. We instructed Mike that he needed to take Jimmy into the boy’s bathroom and fix the situation before the lifeguards and the other kids caught on.

Senior Care is available to persons age 55 and over with a mental or cognitive decline that hinders daily life, who has become a threat to self or others, or is limited in selfcare ability. Our mental health professionals are available through our 24 hour referral line to discuss treatment needs and are devoted to helping patients get back to their optimal level of functioning.

Our services include:

• Free initial consultation • Thorough assessment • Customized treatment plans • Group, individual, and family counseling

• Management of secondary medical needs • Continued care planning and referral assistance

You’ve known her for so long. Now, suddenly, something has changed.

If you or a loved one is experiencing changes in For Quality the ability to cope with daily living, Senior Care at Minden Medical Center is here to help.

For more information If you or a loved one is experiencing changes in or to living, schedule a free, the ability to cope with daily Senior Care confidential assessment, at Minden Medical Center is here to help.

Jimmy and Mike made their way to the bathroom. Mike call us at 318-371-5646. had his arm around his little brother and he guided him Senior Care is available to persons age 55 and over with You have a choice it comes to caring for your health.

Make it a smart one, into the boy’s bathroom. Jimmy did not go when without a a mental or cognitive decline that hinders daily life, who fight. After several minutes, both boys emerged from the and choose the area hospital that was named one of the nation’s top performers Hope is only a phone call away. has become a threat to self or others, or is limited in selfboy’s bathroom. Jimmy immediately jumped in the pool on key quality measures two years in a row. care ability. Our mental health professionals are available and made his way to the deep end again. Mike made his through our 24 hour referral line to discuss treatment way over to us. “Don’t worry,” We’re Mike proud told us.

“Jimmy put by The Joint to be recognized Commission, the leading accreditor his underwear back on. We’re good to go.” Jimmy never needs and are devoted to helping patients get back to of healthcare organizations in the nation, for our achievements in quality… but forgot his swimming trunks again. www.MindenMedicalCenter.com their optimal level of functioning. we’re even more proud to be chosen by you. Minden Medical Center #1 Medical Plaza | Minden, LA Pictured: Kids from Summers at The Children'swhat Center understands matters most toOur patients and their families – safe and services include: effective care. We are committed to providing the highest quality care possible, • Free initial consultation Management of secondary along with the expertise and leading edge technology that you expect at • larger • Thorough assessment medical needs hospitals, all conveniently close to home.

• Customized treatment • Continued care planning plans and referral assistance • choose Group, individual, and Whatever your healthcare need, Minden Medical Center. family counseling www.mindenmedicalcenter.com

Senior Care is available to persons age 55 and over with a mental or cognitive decline that hinders daily life, who has become a threat to self or others, or is limited in selfcare ability. Our mental health professionals are available through our 24 hour refer al line to discuss treatment For more information or to schedule a free, confidential assessment, call us at 318-371-5646.

Hope is only a phone call away.

www.MindenMedicalCenter.com #1 Medical Plaza | Minden, LA

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That makes me a Chef. Maid.

Personal Shopper. Photographer. Chauffeur. Cook. Weight Lifter.

Referee. Body Guard. Waitress. Teacher. Counselor. Librarian and Doctor. I am also a Kisser of Skint Knees. Bedtime Singing Pop Star. Toy Fixing Super Hero. Cuddle & Tickle Monster Extraordinaire. But even with all of these job titles to my name, some days I still feel like I haven't accomplished a single thing when I lay my head down to sleep.

There has been a lot of talk lately about what women (or men if you prefer) do all day long while staying home and raising

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children. This concept has gone viral and now there are countless charts breaking down just how much a woman should be making for her daily labor of love. But to be perfectly honest with you, I feel like if I had any one of my "mom jobs" in real life, I'd get fired. The problem I have is simple. My life has ADHD. I often feel like a dog who has seen a squirrel. For every one task I have, there are tenfold distractions.

errands like checking your PO Box and grabbing a gallon of milk become an exercise in both weight lifting and flexibility. Pulling two kids in and out of their carseats and lugging them around can tie you in knots, both mentally and physically. Trips to the grocery store seem more like nascar races with my shopping cart rushing up and down the aisles while my arms flail about, grabbing most of what I need but never managing to get everything on my list.

Here's an example. Today I spent 20 minutes chasing a lizard around my house. The whole time I was yelling at him "I don't have time for this!" and "There are so many other things I could be doing right now!" Because Lord knows my to do list is plenty long without having to add chasing reptiles to it. After successfully sending the little critter on his merry little way, I returned to my previous activity of racing around the house frantically cleaning while pacifying my four month old every 4 and a half minutes. I'm pretty sure that the lizard was taunting me. He must have known how many deadlines I had approaching or that I had visitors coming in town for the weekend. My oldest (20 months) just started daycare part time so that he can interact with other kids his age and so mommy can try to get a little more work done. I was trying to get everything done before I went to pick him up.

Usually Palmer helps me clean. By today's math it takes me approximately three times as long to scrub the toilets, fold the laundry, and wash the dishes when he's "helping". He's a big fan of blue toilet water...

Now lets talk about the only part of the day that moms can get work done. The Sacred Naptime.

The urge to watch something other than Micky Mouse Clubhouse or take our own nap can be pretty overwhelming some days. But we know that getting a shower or paying bills won't be on today's agenda if we cant squeeze it into the hour or so that our child is resting quietly.

Here's another example. We'll use my amazing culinary prowess this time. (I am totally kidding about that... I have actually uttered the words "I burned the water" to my husband before... and meant it.) OK, it's time to get dinner ready. I get about half of the ingredients out of the pantry when I hear Palmer splashing in the dog's water bowl.

Pause the cooking. Clean up the mess. Change the boy's clothes. At which point I look over at my youngest (4 months) who has somehow managed to completely soak his pants. Outfit change number 2 for Deason. Back to cooking. Mom calls. Deason starts crying. Husband walks in the door. Dog starts barking. UPS has a package. And so on and so forth. Dang it! I burned the taco shells again!

Life is infinitely more difficult with children. (And yes, I know it is infinitely more rewarding as well but we'll save that for another article.) Simple

Speaking of showers, one of my personal favorite Time Bandits is bathing my babies and having them immediately poop on themselves, their clothes, their blanket and me. Or getting everyone up and ready for the day and having my oldest, who has somehow forgotten how to feed himself, dump the entire bowl of oatmeal on himself. Oh and we can't leave out having the pristine toy room demolished minutes before daddy walks in the door. I try not to think of how chaotic life will be when both my boys are running around causing a ruckus together. I have a feeling my level of unaccomplishment will be astronomical.

Even now, while I am typing this article with one hand, my newborn wants to be rocked. And I realize how much faster and more coherant this piece would have been if he'd slept a little longer.

In fact, I should just cut it off here to prove my point.

That I, as a mother, cannot get anything done.

It would be funny if I ended mid-senten... ce. Nah, I couldn't do it. Call me an overachiever.

Instead I'll end with this. I wouldn't trade my crazy, distracted life for anything in this world. My babies are the reason for my existence. I can't tell you how wonderful it is to sing my boys to sleep at night or kiss away their boo-boos. And it breaks my heart how fast they are growing up. With each new day and every new milestone they hit I realize just how lucky I am to not get anything done. They're only little for a little while. The chores will get done later.

Right now I've got some snuggling to do.

15

strangers at my

coffeepot

written by Darla Upton Summer Bummer

S

ummer at the bed and breakfast means we see certain types of guests for three months straight.

First, there are the parents traveling with children. I am one of these travelers and so it is for these poor souls I feel the most pity. They bring their sweet angels to a historic small town flush with historic homes and tales. When planning the trip they have visions of the darlings saying, "Oh cool!

Look at this!" However, complete with i-Gadgets out the wazoo the little brats couldn't care less about what that metal ring attached to the sidewalk was used for back in the 1800s. The parents take them on steamboat rides thinking they'll point at every crane and every lily pad.

Instead they complain after the first 10 minutes.

What the parents do not realize is travel by steam is really slow; much too slow for a generation that has everything at their fingertips in an instant. Eventually children and parents end up checking their emails or sending a text because it takes 15 minutes to pass the crane you saw land on a stump.

Upon returning to the bed and breakfast they all have a look of defeat. The children are cranky because one crane looks the same as the next and if you've seen one old house you've seen them all. The parents are irritated because they believe the children are ungrateful.

They mutter how they didn't get to go on trips to bed and breakfasts when they were young.

I know this feeling. I do. My angel face tolerates me carting him to antique stores and old homes in small towns because I bribe him with candy and milkshakes. And I pass this knowledge on when these families come in looking beaten.

Every old historic town usually has a general store loaded with candy, a

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soda fountain that can make a float or a milkshake, or a fudge shop. If you are lucky, they have all three like my little town.

start messing with the thermostat. They don't even attempt to cool down before they start fanning themselves and huffing and puffing.

I explain that if you hit every store on one block and turn right you can bribe them with the candy store at the end of the next block. That will hold them for another block, when you reach the toy store.

These guests often do not understand their counterpart is likely lodging in the room across the hall. The guest like me.

The one that sitting under a ceiling fan makes them wish they had brought a sweater. My feet are never warm. My hands are only slightly warmer than those of a corpse.

I give them the entire city route with sweets and junk and toys holding over the children. They come back to me with smiles....and sugar rushes.

But who cares! It's summer! The parents sit on the porch and the kids stay up too late watching movies. That is how summer is supposed to be.

Second, we get the guests who complain about being hot nonstop. My seester is such a guest. She loves summer, but hates the heat. She wants it cold. And by cold I mean she wants everyone in the house to need a sweater.

Whenever I go visit her in the summer I take winter pajamas. She keeps her thermostat at an unreasonably low temperature. She is not alone. A lot of folks are cranking it way down in the summer. I have no problem with that until those same people come to a historic home that has been tricked out with central air conditioning and want to keep messing with the thermostat.

They come in from a day on the lake and the minute they walk in they want to

Often these types of guests end up making each other miserable. It is like watching a bad sitcom. One will come out to the hallway and fiddle with the thermostat. An hour later the other will come out blowing into their hands and fiddle with the thermostat. Before we got the digital thermostat this back and forth could go on for hours. Our digital thermostat allows a guest to punch buttons, but unless a code was punched in prior to punching it reverts back to what it was programmed to do.

Now, each guest simply does whatever they need to do to adjust to the steady 72 degrees. The hot ones turn on the ceiling fan. The cold ones make use of the extra blanket. And those poor women having hot flashes we let have the code!

Finally, summer also brings the guests with tans. Fake tans that is.

I was a pale girl for most of my life. I colored my hair red so I stayed pale to make it more believable. After the red

Darla lives in Jefferson, Texas, where she raises her eight year old son, Atticus Gregory with her significant other, Hugh Lewis II. Hugh owns the Alley-McKay House Bed & Breakfast. Atticus Gregory is the Eloise of the McKay House.

Prior to being a self-employed, stay at home mom she was a Civil Litigation Paralegal for a defense firm in North Carolina.

She eventually returned to her hometown of Texarkana, Texas, where she met Hugh while working at the Texarkana Gazette as a production assistant. Girl meets boy, girl falls in love with boy, girl has a baby and gets a bed and breakfast? It happened.

So, she was smart and professional at one time and now she can't find her keys, has more toys in her purse than pens, can't decide if she should color her hair again and sometimes she burns the bacon. Luckily, no matter what life hands her, she has a good sense of humor, vodka and her typewriter.

years, not being in the sun had paid off with less wrinkles so I continued to stay out of the sun. Then a tanning salon opened four blocks away.

It wasn't until my 40s that I started tanning. I loved the Turbo bed! 12 minutes and I looked like I had been in the sun all day!

I shamefully admit that after the salon closed I bought my own tanning bed and sometimes get in it just to get warm. See earlier paragraph.

I get so much grief for tanning. The biggest advice I get is to spray tan or self-tan. I will never fake tan only fake bake.

I have porcelain claw foot tubs at the bed and breakfast and every summer I scrub fake tan rings off them. The first few times I saw one of these rings I was all, "what is this?!" I didn't make the connection. Each time I was so confused.

Normal looking, clean looking people leaving a ring around the tub like that! I was puzzled. Then it hit me after finding some tan in a bottle in a room! Fake tan must cling to a white porcelain tub in a way it doesn't to fiberglass. Or maybe they are exfoliating and soaking in those big ol' claw foot tubs too long!

Really, is there anything better than getting clean after you've been sweating in the Texas heat all day? Or maybe cranking the air down and stretching out under a ceiling fan is more your thing. Me? I like to drag my kid around looking at stuff while he sucks down ice cream.

Whatever you like make sure you do it all summer because it always ends too soon.

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Real Life Magic morning breakfasts with Nana. To goggle-wearing and ice-cream eating and TV-watching and frontporch sitting.

And I couldn’t wait.

I’d spend all summer in that blistering Louisiana sun if it meant being with my grandparents. I never laughed so loud or ate so much or loved so hard.

I sat there in my parents van.

Suitcases piled up high behind me in the trunk, my black lab Kaylee panted loudly in the backseat, and my mom sobbed quietly in the front.

Goodbyes were never easy.

It had been about a month since I sat in a van in my own driveway, waving goodbye to my parents.

That van had my grandparents buckled into the driver and passenger seats. I was headed to Louisiana, to workdays with Pop-pop and

18

In the afternoon, you could find my legs dangling from the front porch swing, my sister beside me, popsicle smeared all over our faces. Cicadas sang their southern songs, grass danced in the open field, the pool glistened in the setting sun, the pecans fell from the tall full trees and the roses bloomed along the fence line.

Maybe I’d help Nana husk corn for dinner. Maybe I’d wave from the backyard pool deck to the conductor on the passing train. Maybe I’d walk the driveway waddling along with my bright yellow duckling. Maybe I’d feed the fish in our pond or throw seedlings to our baby chicks. Maybe Poppop would pay me a dollar to scratch his back after a long day of work.

But no maybe, each night I lay my head to sleep, my heart was content. No maybes, each day I woke, my heart was happy.

You don’t realize the true value of something until you don’t have it anymore. Like the way that house meant so much to me as a little girl and looking back through the lens of adult eyes, how different it all seems now.

That house felt like a magical southern world I couldn’t wait to tell my friends back north about. But that field was just a backyard, that pond was just a makeshift fountain, that chicken coop was just thrown together wire fencing – even so, it was a magical place I felt lucky to visit.

When a place or a person or a set of grandparents have so much of your heart, nothing can take that magic away.

But even still, magic only has its place for a time. And just like that, my parents arrived, the van was packed and the map was routed. It was time to go home.

In those moments, the moments of leaving, of tears and hugging and wishing for another day together, we forget how lucky we are. How blessed we are to have loved so brilliantly. To have laughed so feverishly, dreamt so whimsically and shared so tenderly.

How lucky we are to appreciate a moment of goodbye with such longing that we wish to rewind all of our moments back. How lucky we are to have felt magic in the deepest parts of ourselves from sharing moments with those we hold in the safest parts of our hearts.

How lucky we are to know how magical a hello is, because we’ve had to utter a goodbye. Leaving people in rearview mirrors is one of the hardest things. But a piece of them travels with you wherever you go.

Year after year, I’ve carried the memories of my Louisiana summers with me. That’s the secret of magic. You don’t just create it; you keep it. There’s no wand to point or spell to cast or fairy dust to sprinkle, just the belief that wherever you go, no matter how long it’s been, you can feel it all come back. The sun warming your skin, the bug’s singing in the distance, the stars hanging in a pitch black sky, the flames blazing in a bonfire, the goofy face of your Pop-pop staring back at you from across the table.

Wherever you’ve welcomed magic and felt it throughout your life, don’t let it go.

Summer, winter, spring, fall. The years pass and the memories come. And the magic lives within us. Because where your magic lies, there we find your heart.

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a fresh perspective from rosemary's kitchen

written by Rosemary Thomas Summertime Bucket List

T

here is a line in an Eagles song that goes “It’s coming on to the end of August…

Another summer’s promise almost gone”.

I love that line but it makes me a little sad.

During the cold, dreary winter months we dream of summer and all the wonderful adventures we will have… all the projects we will finish… all the relaxation we will enjoy. And then summer comes – and we keep working our crazy schedules. We keep putting our adventures and projects and relaxation on hold (maybe we will get to it next weekend? …) and then here we are again at the end of August.

Well, I am determined that is not going to happen again this summer. Nope. I may not be able to afford a 2 week vacation in a condo on a white sand Florida beach… but I can embrace this season instead of looking back and wondering where the heck it went.

I have developed a Summertime Bucket List. (I do love a list!) These are mostly small ideas that may help me look back at the summer with less regret and more memories. I am sure I won’t get to do all of them, but maybe if I look at the list every few days and plan out one or two things a week….. ? Yes. I can make this happen.

This is my bucket list. Make your own. What will make you smile in August as you look back on this summer? ● Eat outside as much as possible. Heck.

Be outside as much as possible. ● Make homemade ice cream or sorbet ● Drink water from the hose ● Go to an amusement park or water park ● Host a pot luck cook out (wienies and s’more’s anyone?) ● Make and eat Jello Jigglers ● Build and decorate a birdhouse out of found objects ● Fly a kite ● Play croquet or horseshoes ● Go to the Farmer’s Market (plan menus around what is available each week) ● Clear the clutter (clean out closet or drawers or cupboards) ● Go camping (or rent a cabin with a group of friends) ● Eat popsicles and slurp sno-cones ● Go outside and play in the rain (no umbrella or raincoat allowed) ● Go to the public library and check out lots of books ● Have a water balloon fight ● Spend a day at the zoo (Caldwell Zoo in Tyler is well worth the drive)

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● Turn off the TV already (read books from the library instead) ● Get a summertime haircut ● Play in the sprinkler (yes – even if I am almost 59 years old) ● Nap in the grass under a shade tree ● Go on a picnic to a neighborhood park ● Stay up late and star gaze ● Grow veggies, herbs and flowers in pots ● Make time to have lunch or coffee with old and new friends ● Avoid talking about the heat ● Eat light (see some ideas for light summertime meals below) Remember that small and simple things can change your whole perspective. Many times it is not the large, dramatic events that have the biggest long-term impact, but rather the small everyday shifts in our actions and attitudes that change our lives for the better.

Embrace this summer – with both arms and all of who you are!

One tip I have for your summer cooking is to grill everything! Seriously. Just grill it. Get a gas grill. A small grill is all you need and you can whip up a wonderful meal in no time at all – and not heat up the kitchen!

Here are just a few ideas for light summertime meals. Remember the focus is on FRESH, FRESH, FRESH! Keep processed food to a minimum and eat as many fresh fruits and veggies as you can!

-------------------------------------------------------

radish and your favorite salsa (mango would be divine!)

Shrimp and Crunchy Slaw (grill, sauté or bake shrimp and add crunchy broccoli slaw with salsa)

Chicken and Mango (leftover baked or Rotisserie chicken with fresh mango and avocado!)

Grilled Veggies (Any veggie you have is fair game – squash, corn, peppers, onions, eggplant – Just add what you have, throw on some cheese and enjoy!)

-------------------------------------------------------

Omelets

I eat a lot of omelets in the summertime.

They are light, quick and healthy and perfect for a light summer meal. Pair with a slice of whole grain toast and some fresh fruit!

Sautéed mushroom and Kale (or Spinach) Tomato and Basil Pesto (or use fresh basil or any herb you have available) Veggie Omelet (my favorite! – fresh diced tomatoes, peppers, onions, sautéed squash, spinach or whatever you found at the Farmer’s Market!)

Steak and Cheese (use leftover sliced steak from last night’s supper!)

Tacos

-------------------------------------------------------

I love any kind of taco. Hard, soft, flour, corn … doesn’t matter. These go together so quickly and you can incorporate anything you have on hand. These are just a few ideas:

Fish and Avocado (grill, sauté or bake fish and add fresh avocado, slaw or sliced

Seriously. This is my favorite summertime meal.

A nice selection of cheeses (smoked gouda rocks) with fresh fruit, some nice crackers and a glass of wine.

Perfect meal for a summer evening.

Fruit, Cheese, Crackers & Wine

Rosemary Thomas is an avid cook and gardener who enjoys the challenge of owning a restaurant and working with her daughter.

She is an RN and continues to work several days a week in Shreveport where she lives with her husband, three dogs, two cats and 80 chickens.

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Speak It! written by Kathy B. Nelson

A Tale of Two Teachers

W

hen I think of May I think of all of the excitement I had as a child during that last month of school. There was a sense of anticipation in every classroom. Even at home we would be talking and planning what we would do during the summer. My favorite plans were always Vacation Bible School and going to see my cousins in Mississippi, Texas and Alabama! When we weren’t traveling, we played hard in the streets and yards of my neighborhood all summer. No fancy vacations were needed for my joy level to be maxed out.

In my reflection of those fun school days my mind took me back to two teachers I had during my elementary days that I will never forget. In Grenada, Mississippi, Miss Evans was my third grade teacher.

I thought she was so beautiful. She had red hair that was teased and had just the right amount of “poofy-ness”. It always looked perfect. I don’t even remember if she was married or not, but she was always Miss Evans to us. My family moved often because my dad was a football coach. When I found out that we were going to be moving at the end of May, I was a bit sad and decided to throw myself a going away party. Sad, I know. I told my friends Kathy, Melinda and a few others but neglected to tell their parents. Sometimes, our ideas do not have the best follow through plans.

So on the day of the party I waited and waited but no one showed up. I remember sitting out on the steps at the end of our sidewalk wondering what I was going to do with the candy bars I had bought for prizes. (I STILL love giving prizes!) Then all of a sudden a car pulled up to the curb in front of my house. I did not recognize it at first, but out stepped my teacher...Ms. Evans! I had mentioned it to her one day in class

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and she knew I was sad about moving.

So, she came to say bye - and not just to say bye - but to bring me a little gift.

It was a beautiful, colorful butterfly pin!

I wore it forever...until I lost it. I loved Ms. Evans already, but now I cherished her. She saved me in the best possible way from having a “no show” party. Her graciousness to me marked my life.

We moved to a small north Louisiana town and I was the new girl in the fourth grade. Daddy was the head coach of the football team, and I was excited about starting school and meeting new people. At some point during this fourth grade year we were given an assignment to make a poster that would benefit the school campus.

I have no doubt I probably told my mother the night before it was due, but none the less, I worked very hard on it. I decided to promote “no littering”. I dug stuff out of the trashcan and taped it to the poster board. I was a visionary with the 3D look. In the encyclopedia it said “rubbish” was another word for “garbage”, so I printed that word on my poster since it sounded a little fancier.

“Do not throw rubbish on the ground.” I was so proud. The next day at school I volunteered to show mine first and my teacher suspiciously asked “Do you know what rubbish means?” It startled me, and I panicked thinking – “Oh no! If she doesn’t know what it means, maybe it didn’t mean “garbage” after all!” So, I

stumbled around in my answer to which she quickly, and sternly, addressed the whole room as she pointed to my poster, “This is an example of how you DON’T make a poster.” Horrified and embarrassed I slowly put the poster in front of my face so no one could see me. I walked back to my chair feeling like a total loser. When my mother learned of this painful moment I would never forget her words. She assured me, as good mothers do, that my poster looked great. But, she also told me that my teacher had been through a very sad time recently. Her husband had recently left her, and she was trying to make it on her own. In my defeated moment, my mother taught me that sometimes a person’s pain shows up in places we don’t always intend. So, while that teacher’s words were hurtful, we needed to forgive. My fourth grade teacher enabled me to learn about mercy.

Grace, undeserved favor- learned from my third grade teacher. Mercy, not getting what you really deservelearned from my fourth grade teacher.

It seems to me that teachers of all kinds can help you learn about Jesus. His grace and his mercy changed my life, just like those teachers did.

Kathy is an author and speaker that loves to bring a word of encouragement to anyone that will listen.

Founder of Speak It Ministries, she has been sharing her faith and teaching God's Word for over 30 years.

She is a wife, sister, mom and Mimi to some great people and loves spending time with each of them.

You can follow her on FaceBook, Twitter @cckahy, Goodreads and Wordpress. She is best described by having a desire to live life, love people and laugh out loud.

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It’s almost Peach Festival time in Ruston!

The 2015 Louisiana Peach Festival presented by Squire Creek will be held the fourth weekend in June. This year’s theme is “American Peach.”

Beginning on Monday, June 22, the festivities will start with the now popular game “Peach Stops.” Players will have a week to visit each Stop to have his/her Passport validated with a stamp or sticker. Those players completing the entire Passport as instructed will be entered into a drawing for a grand prize valued at $1,000! Partially completed Passports may be eligible for other prizes. Details will be included on the Passport.

The Peach Hunt will take on a new format this year, still with a $500 prize to the winner. It will be a one-day “scavenger hunt” on location at the festival on Saturday, June 27.

Many new things will be included in the festival this year.

A second music stage has been added and 11 bands are scheduled including: The Molly Ringwalds (80’s), JT Hodges (country), Hydrogen Child (pop), Monty Russell (country), Zach O’Neil (country), Bethany Raybourn (Indie/ alt. country), Jimmy & The 45’s (garage band), Fiddlin’ Tim Trio (swamp pop/blues), Ricky Hendricks (American Idol), Shayliff (alt. rock), Judge and The Jury (delta blues) and Dash Rip Rock (roots rock/cowpunk).

In the Railroad Park area, a BMX & skateboard show will be happening. Visitors may bring their helmets to participate in demos. A display of skateboard deck designs by students of the LA Tech Art Department will be included. A water slide has also been added, along with a kids tent that will have activities provided by SciTech’s The IDEA Place and North Central LA Arts Council as well as photo opportunities with Captain America and Cinderella, face painting, and more.

LA Tech football players will be present on Saturday with the 2015-16 season posters. And of course there will be a peach eating contest, sponsored by Alpine Guest Care and SciTech’s IDEA Place.

In the Civic Center area there will be a music stage with five bands scheduled for Saturday, June 27, another kids activity tent sponsored by Super One Foods, the Backus True Value Children’s Expo, and the famous Beta Sigma Phi Arts & Crafts Show.

Both areas will include food vendors with traditional festival yummies and a few specialties such as Cajun Naked Chicken Legs, fried Oreos and Twinkies, home-made root beer, fried fish & shrimp, jambalaya, peach hushpuppies, peach bread pudding and much, much more. Of course the traditional peach ice cream will be available in both areas.

Each food vendor will offer a peach food or beverage.

Watch for new, fun additions such as the RE/MAX Results Realty stilt walker, the Thornburg Monuments hula hooper, a magician and a juggler. “Selfie Stations” will also be setup throughout the event for your social media activity.

One of the most exciting additions this year is BIG! Hampton Inn has been accepted by Guinness World Records to attempt to make the World’s Largest Peach Cobbler. The exact location is yet to be determined but will likely be at Railroad Park. With the help of several businesses and volunteers they plan to have the cobbler ready at Noon on Saturday. A crane will be brought in to weigh the tasty treat and a Guinness representative will do the official determination of the record breaking of the 13’ x 9’, one metric ton dessert! There will be a cobbler eating contest and the remainder will be sold with the proceeds going to a non-profit Ruston/Lincoln Parish organization.

Soon, Ruston can boast of the title “Home of the World’s Largest Cobbler!”

Another change will be the ability to use a debit card at the entrance gates. Daily pricing for the festival, including concerts is $10 and a weekend pass is available for $15.

Some rides and activities such as the water slide sponsored

by John E. Maxwell, bungie and rock wall sponsored by Blue Bell Creameries, etc. will require tickets. Admission is charged for ages 7 and over. Daily passes are $10.

Weekend passes available for $15. All passes include concerts, BMX & Skateboard Show, Kids Activity tent entrance and more.

Visit LouisianaPeachFestival.org for more information.

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Arts & Crafts • Parade Antique Car Show Fine Arts Exhibit • Live Music Rodeo • Kids’ Activities Sporting Tournaments Peach Eating Contest

Join us Saturday in an attempt to break the Guinness World Record© for Largest Peach Cobbler ever made!

Sponsored by Hampton Inn of Ruston

Featured Concerts

MUSIC LINE-UP

Friday & Saturday

Friday June 26th 6 p.m. Dash Rip Rock 8 p.m. JT Hodges

Saturday, June 27th Civic Center Stage

r! a e Y s i New Th skateboard & BMX

JT HODGES Live Action Friday • 8pm

Sports Show

Friday & Saturday

The Molly RINGWALDS

Saturday • 8pm

11 a.m. - Zach O’Neil 12:30 p.m. - Monty Russell 2 p.m. - Bethany Raybourn 3:30 p.m. - Jimmy & the 45’s 5 p.m. - Fiddlin’ Tim Trio

Railroad Park Stage

Noon – Judge and The Jury 1:30 p.m. – Ricky Hendricks 2:30 p.m. – Shayliff 6 p.m. – Hydrogen Child 8 p.m. - The Molly Ringwalds

1-800-392-9032 • Full Event Schedule at LouisianaPeachFestival.org

Produced by the Ruston-Lincoln Chamber of Commerce

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thirsty southern soul written by Judith Roberts

What Type Are You?

Our parish library and its employees are gems, and they’re not the only ones I’ve encountered recently.

rantic. Panicked. Anxious.

A relative had a procedure conducted at P&S Surgical Hospital in Monroe, and I have never met an entire staff that was so caring and helpful. From the custodian to the receptionist to the medical professionals that I encountered, everyone listened, answered questions before I even asked them, and even had a smile on their face the whole time.

F

Every triumph Alice has made in her little life has led to new changes for her father and me. She moved from baby purees to real food, and I started making dinners that she could eat, too. She began to crawl, so we babyproofed the house.

But when she climbed out of her crib during a weekend nap, we had no idea what to do.

This is our Olympic champion sleeper, who will sleep 12 hours at night and a solid three hours on any given afternoon. So when we heard the pitter patter of little feet and a, “Hi, Mom! Hi, Daddy!” in our bedroom while we were trying to nap, trepidation to the highest degree quickly settled in.

Taking my cue from Harry Potter’s Hermonie Granger, to the library we went.

A sign in the children’s section of the Lincoln Parish Library reads, “Keep calm and listen to the librarian.” I felt like that sign was made for me.

I hurried over to the help desk, and Mrs. Virginia seemed to be waiting just for me. I explained how Alice had just climbed out of her crib hours earlier, and we needed some reading material to help her with her transition to sleeping on her mattress on the floor until her big girl bed was purchased.

Within minutes, I had left the library with a handful of crib-to-bed transition books that Mrs. Virginia quickly found and acquired for me.

This is just one of the many reasons why I love our library. Not only does it have great programs and a large selection of reading material (and even movies), its employees are always helpful and available.

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Recently, our Sunday school teacher posed a question that I’ll have to paraphrase (but that’s okay, because I am pretty sure he cited someone else as the author of the question).

Basically, he asked if we were the type of people who, when entering a room, thought, “Here I am!” or were we the type of people who thought, “There they are.” The idea of the question

is simplistic: Are we more concerned about ourselves than others?

When I entered the library that day, I was more concerned with myself.

When I entered the surgical hospital, I was more concerned for my relative. I wasn’t thinking about how I could help or serve others – but those others were concerned about me.

Mrs. Virginia gave thoughtful insight and helpful advice to making Alice’s first night out of the crib successful.

The staff members at P&S were considerate and anticipated our questions and needs.

Here’s hoping I implement those qualities more often than not. When I walk into a room, I want to say, “There they are.”

My world is bigger than me.

Judith Roberts is a journalism instructor at Louisiana Tech University and a born and raised Louisianan.

She is an alumna of Tech, Grambling State, and the University of Southern Mississippi. She and her husband Kyle have one gorgeous and feisty child, Alice, and they are members of Temple Baptist Church.

Judith has run three half marathons and also enjoys reading and writing -- but not arithmetic.

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Marriage is God’s design. He has a battle plan, the power, and the resources to win. When a wife knows who God is and what He can do, she can trust Him to sustain her and her marriage.

Her joy will be complete as she allows Him to enable her to do more for her union than she can imagine.

Marriage requires more than a wedding ring, a beautiful gown, and "I Do". A new wife is seldom aware of the intense spiritual battle that threatens her hopes and dreams of a true “happy ever after” marriage. Often, a bride will enter her new marriage without the benefit of great examples, biblical knowledge, and mentors offering godly wisdom. The battle begins, the enemy attacks, and she is unarmed. She feels alone and hopeless. Can her faith survive? Will her marriage become another divorce statistic? Prayers for New Brides empowers new brides to seek to protect her heart and marriage by allowing God to take control.

Jennifer O. White writes with fierce honesty to every new bride from her own experience of one failed marriage and one rescued by the Wonderful Counselor. She admits she does not have life with God and marriage all figured out, but she has a passion for God and what He has shown her on this journey.

Picture sitting down at your favorite coffee shop and having a conversation with your best friend.

You seek advice, vent hurts and stresses, and listen to each other. God wants us to have this bold and open relationship with Him. Through prayer, careful listening, and open communication, He will show you that nothing is impossible, even for a marriage. Jennifer has experienced this type of relationship with God and that is why she is so passionate to share her story and helps to lead a new bride to truly trust in God’s authority and power.

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Prayers for New Brides has 40 brief chapters packed with teaching that helps women learn biblical truths about marriage with examples from practical life experiences, ways to persevere the spiritual battle when the enemy tries to win, prayer prompts, and applicable Scripture references. This book can be read one chapter at a time, used as a guide in a study group, or as a weekly devotional. Get your copy today and begin to experience the hope and possibilities that God’s supernatural intervention in your marriage will help you become a wife who bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things!

Available online at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Books-AMillion, ChristianBook.com, & FamilyChristian.com Read more about Jennifer and her book at

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ice cream & other things that should be discussed

written by Ashley Maddox

What's in a Ring?

A

s women we love our wedding rings. For me it reminds me that my husband loves me and it's a declaration to the rest of the world that I am not available. Other women may have different feelings about their ring and there is nothing wrong with that. A wedding ring can mean many different things to the wearer.

Wedding rings come in all different sizes, shapes, and colors. What works for you may not work for me. I have an identical twin and our rings couldn't be more different. She thinks mine is ugly and I think her's is ugly. No big deal because we each love our own rings.

My biggest issue is when people equate the size of the ring with the love in a marriage. A year or so ago I was getting on an elevator. There was a woman on the elevator with me whom I had never met before. She didn't even say hello.

All she said was "I guess you did say yes!" I said "Excuse me?" She said "Your ring is beautiful." I thanked her and left it at that but inside I have to say I was a little disgusted.

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My ring is not huge but it's not small either. Just a medium sized ring. I don't wear it to get attention. I wear it for what it means to me. This woman, whether deliberately or not, made me feel a little bit cheap. As if I simply said yes because of the size of the ring I was offered and not because I love my husband. It was a strange feeling.

A month ago a nurse where I work made the comment, "Your husband must love you a lot." As a matter of fact, my husband does love me a lot but that had no part in the ring he gave me. Of course I said something about how I wouldn't care if all I had was a band, which is true, but the nurse was more interested in looking at the ring.

Sad to think that the size of your ring determines how much your husband loves you. I don't think there is a ring

in this world big enough to compensate for how much many husbands love their wives.

Now I know these ladies were not trying to be hurtful, but it really demonstrates how caught up we are in material things. The bigger the ring, the better the marriage. The more stuff you have, the more successful you are. And so forth and so on. I'm not saying that I have never been guilty of this because I know I have.

At the end of the day, I think it's the size of the heart and the love in a marriage that is most important. It's our personal relationships that make us successful.

Material things bring happiness for only a short time. We need to invest in each other more than we invest in anything else.

Ashley is originally from North Louisiana but now resides in New Orleans, Louisiana. Her experiences growing up in the country and being transplanted to the big city give her a unique perspective into life's quirks and hilarities. She is active in the New Orleans lifestyle and she has a great group of friends from which to draw her inspiration. She is a member of the Krewe of Nyx, attends numerous Mardi Gras Balls, runs, and enjoys reading and ice cream. She is married to her loving husband Jerry (who may or may not have written this bio).

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The old saying goes "time heals all wounds". But for those of us who have traveled the path of child loss, we know this adage isn't completely true. Yes, the pain does lessen. But there will always be a gaping hole in our hearts that only our child can fill. It seems to me that as time passes I actually feel more isolated from others. No one knows what to say to a parent who has dealt with miscarriage, stillbirth, infant or child loss. Although I cannot speak for all grieving mothers, I can tell you what has brought me comfort since the loss of our three month old son in 2012.

1. Talk About It: Most people get tongue tied with this. But honestly, it's nice to know someone is still thinking of our loved one. Especially after a few months have passed and the flood of support has receded. The old stand-by of "I don't know what to say but I'm thinking about you / I love you / I'm praying for you" is pretty hard to screw up. In my experience it's ok to say the wrong thing if you are sincere.

2. Don't Try to Fill the Silence: So I know I

just said to talk about it. But my other tip is that you don't need to fill the silence. I know these two things sound contradictary but trust me on this. Silence often speaks much louder than words, especially when you don't know what to say. My Pastor (and Minute Columnist) Jason McReynolds spoke volumes by just sitting in the background on the days after our son passed. He was there if we needed him but he mostly just sat quietly off to the side. I will never be able to put in to words what a huge impact that had on me.

3. Hard Days: Birthdays and Anniversaries will

always be painful. Something as simple as sending a text on those days means more than you will ever know. Major holidays can be pretty difficult too.

Especially if you've lost your first or only child. A parent is still a parent even after a loss. But they may feel alienated on days like Mother's/Father's Day.

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4. You Can't Replace a Child: This one is tricky.

The natural tendency is to try and make someone feel better. To provide hope. Saying things like "You'll have another baby," doesn't make someone feel better. I lost my first born son. He will always be my first born.

5. Be Mindful of Strangers: One of the hardest things I dealt with were strangers. There are land mines everywhere with this one. Strangers were especially difficult when I was pregnant with my second son. The automatic question that pops out of everyone's mouth is, "Is this your first?" I will tell you that the tenth time I heard that was just as painful as the first. You never know what a person is going through just by looking at them. Just think about it before you speak...

6. It's OK to Ask Questions: Sometimes the parent will be emotional or sad, but that doesn't mean they don't want to be asked about their child. Try to pay close attention to their reaction to guage whether or not to continue. Or just ask them. But often parents like to relive the few memories they have of their child, good and bad.

7. Take Charge: Everyone offers the obligitory "Let me know what you need." But the people who just picked a task and did it were awesome. Drop off a meal, wash the dishes, mow the lawn. Whatever you think will be helpful is probably fine. If you arent sure, ask a mutual friend or close relative.

You might notice a dramatic change in the parents personality. The truth is that sometimes it will be difficult to be a friend to someone going through this burden. Stick it out if you can. A significant number of my relationships changed for both better and worse during our ordeal. Individuals I thought would be with me through thick and thin just couldn't handle it. At the same time, some of the strongest relationships I have ever made were kindled from the ashes of our tragedy.

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a novel approach written by Winnie Griggs

Building An Effective Author-Agent Partnership: Part 2

T

he Author Agent relationship can be one of the most collaborative and productive partnerships a writer can engage in. But in most cases this doesn’t ‘just happen’ and it isn’t maintenance free. It takes attention and nurturing and is based on mutual respect and a clear understanding and acceptance of each partner’s roles. In this series of articles, I’m going to give you some information and tips on how to make sure you find the right fit for YOU. Last time I discussed whether or not every writer needs an agent. This time we’ll look at when in their career an author should consider acquiring an agent and some things to think about before you do.

But first, let me repeat the caveats I made in the prior article: • I will be coming at this topic from the perspective of a romance fiction author.

While I think most of it translates well to other genres, I don’t claim any knowledge of how things work in other areas such as children’s literature, nonfiction, etc.

• I don’t claim to have done all of what I’m going to discuss with you myself.

Some of what I learned, I learned from doing it WRONG. I’ll also be drawing on the experience of other writers of my acquaintance, of tips I’ve heard in workshops or on the net and from reliable sources.

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WHEN SHOULD AN AUTHOR BEGIN TO SERIOUSLY THINK ABOUT ACQUIRING AN AGENT

THINGS TO THINK ABOUT WHEN DECIDING WHAT YOU WANT IN AN AGENT

As an unpublished author you should absolutely wait until you have a completed project before you start querying agents. Of course you can start researching agents before that, and we’ll talk about how to do that in the next article in this series. But most agents will want to know that you can complete a book before they’ll take you on as a client.

The number one thing you need to figure out before you start the research and query process is what you personally want from your agent. I can’t emphasize that enough. This is not a one size fits all proposition. An agent who is absolutely perfect for your critique partner may be the absolute wrong fit for you.

If you’re already published or have several projects under your belt, then the time to start looking is whenever the time feels right to you. When you’re not sure how to market your current project, when you feel the negotiations with your editor may move to delicate or even adversarial territory, or when you think you may be getting in over your head for any reason. Or when you feel the ‘business’ aspect of your writing career is adversely affecting the creative aspect.

In other words, any time you feel you might need a negotiator’s expertise, guidance and/or support.

Take some time to ask yourself a series of questions and be honest with yourself. Remember - there are no right and wrong answers. Each person needs to figure this out for themselves.

Below is just a sample list of some things you might want to consider to get you started • Do you know your own strengths and weaknesses both as a writer and as a business person? This will help you find an agent whose own skills complement yours.

• Do you want an agent who simply submits and negotiates for you or do you want someone who also gets involved in the creative and/or editing process with you?

Winnie Griggs grew up in south Louisiana in an undeveloped area her friends thought of as the back of beyond. She and her siblings spent many an hour exploring the overgrown land around her home, cutting jungle trails, building forts and frontier camps, and looking for pirate ships on the nearby bayou. Once she ‘grew up’ she began capturing those wonderful adventures in the pages of her notebooks. Now a multipublished, award winning author, Winnie feels blessed to be able to share her stories with readers through her published books. You can learn more about Winnie at www.winniegriggs.com or connect with her at www. facebook.com/WinnieGriggs.Author

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• Do you want someone who likes to chit-chat with you on a personal basis or would you prefer it be strictly business - in other words do you want an agent who will give you warm fuzzies through the process or a no-holds barred shark or something in between?

• Do you want someone who handles your work on a project by project basis or who helps you plan out your career long term?

• Do you want a powerhouse agent where you might be a little fish in a big pond or would you prefer an up and comer who will build their career along with yours?

• Do you know what your short range and long range goals are and are you able to articulate these? If so do you want an agent to help you build a roadmap to achieve these? If not, do you want someone who will help you develop these?

Knowing the answers to these questions will help you go into your search with more focus and a better chance of success in finding the agent that is right for you.

That’s it for now. Next time around we’ll discuss how to go about RESEARCHING various agents.

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39

the journey written by Jason McReynolds

The Best Worst Family Vacations

W

hat makes a family? It can be a husband and wife. That’s a family. They can have kids. That’s a bigger family. But family is more than just people. Family is everything going on with those people.

Personally, I think vacations are a great part of being a family too. And it’s not just the expensive trips that I’m talking about. A daycation is always fun too! Take the kids out of school for a day and just have fun at the park or ballpark or wherever.

It’s the memories that stick with you the most. Honestly, vacations come down to memories. This is why Disney makes bank… they’ve creatively and effectively figured out how to get us to pay for making those memories. Watch their commercials if you don’t believe me.

I’m not criticizing (though the prices could come down), I know from personal experience. A few years back the grandparents wanted to take our family to Disney. Who are we to disappoint, right? It was awesome!

Many memories were made. Every day without fail we’d get out to the bus stop as the bus was pulling away, which we thought was hilarious! The kids tried to make grandma throw up on the teacups, which everyone thought was entertaining. The dining environment was great because Mickey and the gang came out to see everyone and the kids wrangled autographs. But the kicker was when we stood in line for the princesses. It was much longer than I had anticipated but my little 4 year old wanted to see Cinderella. It was weird. When you finally arrived in the princess room they filed each girl to the three different princesses that were present – Jasmine, Snow White, and Cinderella. Each princess spoke to each girl individually and then shuttled them off. I didn’t think this was going to work out at all for my little girl. But then she arrived at Jasmine. My wife and I had never seen that look on her face. It was a face of amazement, awe, and excitement all in one. She took

40

her picture and moved to Snow White.

Same face. Then when she saw Cinderella she absolutely beamed. Her picture with Cinderella has a smile that we’ve only seen that once! We haven’t seen it since (unless we get into tickle fights)! If you don’t have kids then you’ll think we’re crazy but the whole trip was worth that one smile!

But it’s the rough trips that I look back on with fondness now, as well. At one time we had all three in diapers because they were so close in age. On our way back from a trip to Little Rock visiting family we were in the home stretch. We had just hit Hammond and were about the travel down the part of I-55 that we call the swamp bridge. Once you get on that part of the interstate you have to drive. You can’t pull over and there are no exits. Well, wouldn’t you know it, our baby girl decides that was the perfect time for an hour long blood-curdling scream. Halfway down the bridge our 2 year old decides it’s the perfect time to have explosive diarrhea that ricocheted out of the diaper up to his neck. Our oldest alternated between putting his hands over his ears and his nose screaming, “Loud!!! Stinky!!!” When we finally got home I may have just hosed the middle child off. It was easier. I’d never want to do it again but for some insane reason I’m glad it happened.

God’s funny that way.

Then there’s the worst trip yet. Yes, the last is tame compared to what is to come. My grandmother (the kids great-grandmother) was having heart surgery in Austin, TX and we decided to go see her beforehand. The kids are 3, 5, & 7. Around Lake Charles my 5 year old son hurls all over the car.

He bathed himself with wet-wipes, I

spent the next hour scrubbing the car down, and we shook it off attributing it to a bad hot dog. We were wrong. In Beaumont he did it again. It was late this time. We had to spend the night.

Except, my daughter wouldn’t sleep in a foreign hotel bed. So I drove her around Beaumont because we knew she’d sleep in her car seat. Have you ever seen Beaumont in the daytime?!?!

It’s worse at night. All night I drove til she slept, then parked, then she’d wake up 30 minutes later and we’d drive some more. We went home the next day. Can’t give great-grandmother a puking virus right before heart surgery, ya know? I wish I could say it ended there but this “bad hot dog” spread to each of us over the next week. The house was like a slow-plotted horror movie. Just when you think you were out of the woods here comes something terrible. We lived though, and now it makes a great and horrible story. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I don’t want to ever go through it again. But, I have to say, I’m glad it happened because it’s hilarious now. Sometimes God takes the seemingly worst things in life and makes us laugh later on.

What would my family be without these memories and the millions of others we’ve made over the years?

Boring. We’d be boring. That’s what I love about family. It can be hard. It can be fun. It can be frustrating, tiring, expensive, etc. But family is something that God gives us to spice up our lives.

It was the first institution that He created in Genesis with Adam and Eve. So go on a wonderful or horrible vacation with your family. No matter which it is, God wants to bless it and use it as an awesome memory!

Jason McReynolds is the pastor of New Orleans Community Church. He and his wife, Liev, have two boys and one little girl. Jason enjoys hanging out with his family and friends, watching and/or playing any kind of sports, and taking his wife out on dates. To learn more about him, or NOCC, visit: www.neworleanscommunity church.com

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41

from simplicity to

stilettos

written by Chalaine Scott My Kind of Perfect

N

estled somewhere in a little Massachusetts town is an old green house. At least, that’s how I remember it. Rumor has it my old green house has now become an old grey house. It’s amazing what a coat of paint can do.

I grew up in a middle-class neighborhood in an average-sized home, squeezed between two others built just the same. Mine had a white front porch with a black eagle nailed to the front. My great-grandfather gave the eagle its place decades earlier, so the story goes. I guess you could say my house was a hand-me-down, in a certain sense.

And it fit its hand-me-down name.

In some places, the shingles came unglued. Our house numbers were crooked, the floor creaked and the paint chipped. But it was home. My home.

And I thought it was perfect. Back then I’m not sure anyone could have convinced me otherwise.

In our little house on Stewart Street, we converted a pantry to a computer room, a bookshelf to a Barbie mansion and our living room to a stage for dance rehearsals.

It may not have been the prettiest, the largest or the newest house – but it met all of my standards. I had a cozy flowered blanket, a designated seat at the dining room table and a favorite bear sweatshirt tucked away in my dresser. I felt the sting of a spanking stick on my behind but knew the warmth of a hug from my Dad. The cabinets always had a snack and my lunchbox always had a napkin with a handwritten note from Mom. Somewhere in Massachusetts, two twin beds hugged the walls of a small pink bedroom. Two little girls wrapped up in matching comforters drifted to sleep after prayer time. A little brother did the same from his Batman room upstairs.

Somewhere in Massachusetts, a decade or so ago, my heart was content.

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It’s amazing everything.

how

time

changes

Years have passed, that old house now belongs to a new family. I don’t even get to live with mine anymore. When they tell you growing up is the best time of your life, it turns out they’re not lying.

I believed in everything. I believed in everyone.

Grow up, move out, prove yourself.

Those things are hard. And the lessons that come with each one are the hardest. They tell you that those you love will always be right beside you, they’ll be behind you in everything you do. That’s a lie. I have sat on my couch and cried into my dog’s fur on more nights than I’d like to admit. When you’re hundreds of miles from home

and your rent is due and the boy you like leaves you and the best friend you adored turns into someone you do not know, you’re alone. And you’ll never feel so more than in these moments.

These moments I wish so badly for cozy matching comforters and napkin notes in a lunchbox and a little brother who still believed he was Batman.

I wish so badly to see the world from my pink bedroom window again. An old garage full of bikes and toys, a swing set with a dented slide, a fenced off garden Mom fought to keep the dog out of.

I wish so badly to see the world just how I pictured it at 7-years-old.

In the fall, my dad would rake the biggest pile of leaves to jump down into from

A copywriter, novelist, and columnist, Chalaine lives by her pen. She is always traveling and never settling, making memories wherever she roams. Living off her dog's cuddles, her brother's humor, and sweet iced tea, she is just a girl in love with the simplicities. Mostly though, she is just a mess in stilettos, living off God's grace and living to serve Him, welcoming inspiration from wherever it comes and pursuing her dreams with whatever it takes. Follow her @Chaleezy

our slide in our playground. In the winter, he’d build the best snowmen with us. He’d set up orange cones in the spring to dribble soccer balls through. In the summer, he’d snap our helmets on for bike trips to get candy at the neighborhood store.

Every season, he was there. Mom too. Loving us, attending dance recitals and soccer scrimmages and basketball games and church choirs.

Every season, through chicken pox and first school days and the time I decided to cut my own bangs, I had two parents cheering me and believing me through life.

And even in their fighting, their problems and their mistakes, they were perfect. And you couldn’t have convinced me otherwise.

I cried tonight while mashing potatoes. I cried while putting a new trash bag in my empty can. I cried because I wish for it all back.

To see the world as beautiful and believe in it all again. To not be able to be convinced that my house and parents and world was anything but perfect. To not realize how fast time goes and how fragile life is and just how sweet it feels to be a kid sitting on your Dad’s lap singing along with him to his favorite CD in the living room.

“One day, you’ll wake up and you’re 50.” My aunt’s words pierced my heart. “And you’ll look around and the house is empty and your kids are grown and gone.”

I get it now. I understand.

But I wish I didn’t.

My perfect little world nestled in that small Massachusetts neighborhood is not the same one I know now. But the reality is that no one gets to live in the same world they grew up in, because we grow up. Things break and people leave and stresses come. Worlds get messy. Some place or some one will take pieces from us we’ll never get back. But the key is trying to salvage the pieces we still have and more appreciate the people we have left.

The key is believing in our world, the one we envisioned it being so long ago, with perfect houses and perfect parents and perfect seasons to welcome. The world where our dreams seemed attainable and friends plentiful and good times accessible. The key is believing and defending our perfect.

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43

a collage of southern stories and recipes:

seasoned moments written by Barbara Durbin ---------------------------------------------------Mindless Meatballs

Mindless Meatballs

not be opened for a long, long time.

Perhaps at the birth of my great, great grandchild and then again may not.

S

In any event if you too are going through the chaotic planning of a wedding, I will pray for you and in turn hope that you pray for me. I pray that somewhere in the midst of this time your sound mind decides not to play hide and seek. That it comes back to stay at least until after the wedding. Perhaps it might even tarry for a short while afterwards.

omething old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

Perhaps that rings a bell? Perhaps you can hear the ding-dong of bells; perhaps wedding bells?

The rush is in full season for roses, pictures, and blushing brides. Frazzled moms and dead broke dads fall somewhere between the groom’s proposal and the signing of the marriage license.

I would know. I have been one of those bewildered parents; one of those left reeling long after the newlyweds left for parts unknown. I believe my mind got lost after my oldest child married. I have continually attempted to locate the sound mind I used to have. It appears to be as elusive and lost as ever.

While I never had a huge wedding, I have seen and helped cater many.

I can certainly give praise to those families who apparently get through this ordeal with a sound mind. Truthfully, if I must give encouragement to those who are going through this; my words to you would be: “This too shall pass.”

Whether the groom looks bad with the mustache or the just cut hair, or the fact that he had no black socks, only white to wear with that tux; will soon be a thing of the past. Whether the tea was weak or the punch was bad, whether the bride had a veil or needed more blush will not be remembered. Those who do remember would be those who have nothing better to do with their time than harp on petty and insignificant things.

The only thing I do remember regarding that particular wedding is once it was over, all receipts, bills, and statements were sealed in an envelope. They will

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If not, you will just be the parents of the wedded couple. Everybody knows they don’t have much cents, I mean sense.

14 lbs. ground round 1 T. plus 1 t. Tony Chachere’s 1 T. plus 1 t. coarse ground black pepper 1 T. plus 1 t. Louisiana Gourmet Southern Seasoning 3 pkg. dry onion soup mix 4 ground bay leaves 2 racks of crushed saltine crackers 1 c. milk 4 eggs beaten Mix all ingredients well. Bake at 350 degrees until center is no longer pink.

Turn occasionally, makes 250-275 one inch meatballs. Cool. These meatballs store well in freezer bags for up to six weeks before wedding. Serve in B-B-Q Sauce or Sweet & Sour Sauce.

----------------------------------------------------

Barbara Durbin is a legal secretary and a published newspaper and magazine columnist. When not at her "real job", she works on her baskets filled with vintage books/china for "The Vintage Bee." She loves a walk in the woods and her time with God. Barbara and her husband have four children, five grandchildren and a dappled dachshund named Bella. Look for her on facebook and follow her "Pocket Full of Moment" comments.

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A love so profound as the moon and the sun’s That the sun took notice of the moon’s beauty Took notice of how she commanded the tides And how she moved in an endless dance How her grace shaped the earth The sun took notice of how others could not bask in the beauty of the moon And so the sun lent the moon its light each night So that she could shine on her own So her beauty could be known

Written by 16 year old

Madison Griffith

How the Sun Loved the Moon

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the toy lady candid thoughts of a child life specialist written by Liz Hines

Playing Catch Up

I

have now lived in NYC for 19 months. If you've read my column then you know that I make no secret about how hard it can be at times here. Like most people I just assume that it’s the hardest on me. Because duh- I’m the one living here. During my last visit home I realized that it’s pretty difficult for my family as well. I no longer live a one day’s drive away. But I also only see my family 3-4 times a year. And these instances are planned months in advance. It’s quite the toss-up about who has been more affected by my move here.

Since I have lived here things in our family look much different than they used to. While holidays were always important, there is now a bit of added pressure there. For my mom it’s making sure that she tries to feed me to death with all the food I can’t get in NYC. For my dad it’s making sure that he gets all the updates and most recent pictures of Charmin. As well as any technological help that he has been putting off until we are all together. For my brother it’s making sure that we manage to tell every story as elaborately as possible to catch each other up on the last few months- because he just does not “do” the phone.

But for me, coming home is not quite as relaxing as it once was. Now there is this pressure to spend enough time with each family member. That we are able to catch up, and reconnect, before my flight leaves again in 3 days. This looks different for every person, too. With my

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mom I can help her cook. With my dad we take long walks. With my brother, we make beer runs.

But then add to that the extended family we need to spend time with because I was not home for Thanksgiving. Or the Christmas before. Or for the family reunion last fall. Or the friends of mine who have inevitably gotten engaged, married, or pregnant since I last saw them and I didn’t make it to their party, shower, or wedding.

Oh I know, woe is me, too many people love me.

It does become painful after a while to have to tell someone no to “just one drink” at the bar because I have been up with my parents since 6 am and really all I want to do is go to sleep.

But how can they understand that?

Because to them it’s just one drink, one hour, and one friend. But to me I have to weigh staying up late to fit in one more person, and being cranky the next day with my family.

I feel torn in so many different directions when I go home. I know my family will always be there; but I can see the dynamic shifting as I hear about my parents going to Houston for something I should have been there for. Or when my best friend tells me she is pregnant-

over the phone. Or when I watch a friends engagement- via instagram.

I feel like an imposter in the south as well as in NYC. Which is home? It’s always the other one. When I’m in Texas, going home means my Brooklyn apartment.

When I’m in the city, going home means heading south. In both places I feel like there is always another life waiting for me somewhere else. Other friends and family that are waiting for me to come back, but also going on with their life without me. I am always playing catch up in one life or the other.

I know I chose this life, and I wouldn’t trade it. But I get homesick. Sometimes homesick stretches beyond wanting to roll the windows down and drive the back roads of north Louisiana. Sometimes homesick is wanting to go to sonic at midnight with a best friend. Sometimes homesick is never having to defend the use of “y'all”. Sometimes homesick is watching your friends babies grow up knowing they won’t remember you the next time they see you. To me being homesick is not just longing for a place or for a person, but trading one set of experiences for another.

“Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back”. – John Ed Pierce

Liz is a typical southern girl that decided to take on the big city. After taking the scenic route through college she packed everything up and decided to try out life as a New Yorker. Her dog, Charmin, is adjusting well and meeting lots of city dogs in Central Park. Liz is living her dream and is bringing a little southern charm up to the Big Apple.

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bringing back

the past

written by Wesley Harris Granddaddy's Farm...

A Childhood Memory

S

ometimes when I drive to work, I take the highway past the old homeplace where my father grew up.

Recalling visits to my granddaddy and grandma spurs a longing that the house and barn and the animals were more than memories.

It was a real country house. Small, simple. Clapboard painted white. Its one and only amenity was a front porch.

There was running water of a sort— at a spring in the woods behind the house. More conveniently, you could pull up a bucket of water from the well or scoop a glassful from a rain barrel.

The barrels sat along the edge of the house to catch rain as it ran off the tin roof. Grandma said drink from the well and leave the rain barrels for washing clothes and bathing. It was a long time before I realized we sat in the dark around the fireplace because there was no electricity.

Since the two-seater outhouse lacked lights or heat, you did not linger. It was a little scary to sit in the dark, smelly outhouse on a wooden seat and despite the known horrors below, you couldn’t help but peer down the hole.

With an abundance of tall flowers and oversized shrubs, the yard prompted jungle adventures. No need to fantasize about dangerous animals. Bees and wasps and dragonflies and all sorts of insects I could not name buzzed and hummed around the flowers.

And my head. The thought of being stung terrified me almost as much as being attacked by an enraged rooster patrolling the yard.

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Chickens—red, white, yellow, and speckled—ran loose everywhere.

When a chicken flew down out of a tree, I ran like a rabbit evading a hungry hawk. The chickens fought one another, squawking and stirring up dust, and I tried to stay away from them.

The feed store gave Granddaddy a calendar each year. The current calendar and last year's and the year before adorned the bedroom wall.

Each month pictured a different breed of chicken. I studied the calendars and examined the yard chickens to find those matching the pictures. Granddaddy had many chickens but he did not have all the chickens on the calendars.

I enjoyed gathering eggs even though the chickens made me nervous. I ventured from tree to bush to wooden box looking for eggs to place in my tin bucket. Just like Easter except all the eggs were brown or white. If a hen sat on her nest guarding her eggs, I left her alone.

Flowers covered the yard, substituting for the lack of grass picked clean by the chickens. Zinnias, daylilies, daffodils, chrysanthemums, and giant towering sunflowers. Some bloomed in the spring and some in the summer. I liked the four-o'clocks because they worked like a timepiece, opening and closing at different times of the day. It was easy to collect the four-o'clock seeds and

replant them at home.

A huge pear tree commanded one corner of the front yard. Daddy parked our car under the tree so my brothers and I could climb up and reach the pears. Even when plenty of pears littered the ground, it was more fun to pick your own off the tree. My brothers and I always ate too many.

Tin lard buckets containing pepper plants stood everywhere. Grandma made pepper sauce to flavor peas and turnip greens and everything else she and Granddaddy ate. Food came from the garden, not a store. I used my share of pepper sauce, too, and acquired a taste for a spicy condiment on most everything I eat.

The garden was always fun. Rows and rows of corn plants stretched tall toward the sky. Daddy said some of it was sweet corn for eating and some was called field corn. The field corn was for Nell the horse and the cows.

"Wanna go bust a melon?" Dad would ask and off to the garden we trekked.

The watermelons covered much of the garden because of their long trailing vines. Dad and I tried growing watermelons in our little garden at home but they never turned out good like Granddaddy’s. Dad said the soil was different and our garden was too shady.

Wesley Harris is a native of Ruston. Among his books are FISH OUT OF WATER: Nazi Submariners as POWs in North Louisiana during World War II and GREETINGS FROM RUSTON: A Post Card History of Ruston, Louisiana, available from amazon.com. Check out his Louisiana history blog at http://diggingthepast.blogspot. com. He can be contacted at campruston@gmail. com.

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Wound oms-IV

We ate watermelon in the garden.

Dad thumped melon after melon with his finger until he found the right one.

I thumped them too but I could not tell one from another. Sometimes I spotted jagged holes in the watermelons, right down to the middle, with red juice oozing out. Dad said crows had been eating them.

After Dad found the best watermelon, he snapped it off the vine, lifted it off the ground, and dropped it to break it open.

No knives, no spoons, just use your hands to scoop out the red stuff. The heart, the part right in the middle, was the best. If we ate all the middle part and wanted some more, we broke open another one because there plenty of melons and the heart is the best. When we finished, we left the remainder on the ground, hoping the lazy crows ate the leftovers rather than ruin another one on the vine.

Granddaddy almost never went to the garden with us. I guess he spent enough time there as it was. While we explored, he rested in one of his three favorite places. In the winter, he used a

CLAIBORNE REHABILITATION

rocking chair by the bedroom fireplace.

In good weather, he was on the porch in another rocking chair. On lazy summer days, he reclined on a feather bed in the screened-in breezeway running down the middle of the house.

Throughout my childhood, I thought Granddaddy's horse was named Nail.

What a strange name for a horse, I thought. I had never known anyone named Nell so only the word ‘nail’ was familiar. Nell pulled the plow in Granddaddy’s garden. Dad plowed sometimes while I watched. I could tell it was hard work. For Dad, I mean. He had to keep the plow headed straight and be careful not to plow up the plants.

Nell knew when to turn and start down the next row. Now and then Dad bent over and picked up a rock, inspected it a moment, and tossed it out of the garden. He said he found many arrowheads in the field as he plowed as a boy. I followed behind him looking for arrowheads in the freshly turned earth.

I never found any but he gave me some he had found many years earlier.

There is one place I wish I had spent more time. A little spring bubbled up at the bottom of the hill in the woods behind the garden. It was a quiet cool place, even in summer. You could not see the garden, or the pasture, or the barn, or the house from the spring. The water was cold and sweet and more fun to drink than water from the well or the barrel. A little dam had been built around the spring to create a pool. The water rushed out of the ground and spilled over the rocks, running out of sight into the woods The old homeplace belongs to another family now. The only landmarks I recognize as I pass are two large oaks that once towered over the front yard and daffodils that pop out every spring.

The house was torn down in the early 70s and Dad salvaged wood to build a barn for my 4-H livestock projects. The door to the only closet in the house was added to the barn. Now the door serves as a rustic coffee table in my den, reminding me of that simple old house, my grandparents, and childhood memories.

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