Minute Magazine May June 2016 by The Minute Magazine

S E R V I N G N O R T H LO U I S I A N A F O R O V E R 6 5 Y E A R S

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issue

inside this magazine TIFFANY BYRAM

Owner/Publisher/Editor/Graphics/Layout

VICKI CASKEY Sales Manager SHELLEY DURAN CHALAINE SCOTT

Feature Writers

JENNY REYNOLDS Founder

8 Sweet Summertime by Shelley Duran

16 A Knack for Nutrition

by Beth Fontenot, new columnist

24 The Uncommon Housewife by Leslie Albritton, new columnist

26 What's Your Story by Chalaine Scott

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

Leslie Albritton Shelley Duran Barbara Durbin Sara Enloe Beth Fontenot Winnie Griggs Yvette Hardy Elizabeth Hines Jason McReynolds Kathy B. Nelson Melissa Teoulet Rosemary Thomas Darla Upton

by Yvette Hardy, new columnist

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

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Copyright 2016. 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.

hildren laughing in the backyard. A slice of fresh watermelon dripping juice down you arm. The creak of an old porch swing. The smell of hamburgers cooking on a grill. The sound of an old fashioned ice cream maker laboring in the hot summer sun. A cold glass of lemonade beading with sweat on the patio side table. Summer has come, bringing with it sweltering temperatures and a plethora of memories, old and new. My sweet baby boys are growing like weeds. They are finally old enough to take full advantage of their "big boy" swingset. Fair skinned or not, I have a feeling that this momma will be spending a great deal of time outside this summer. Won't you join me? Slather on some sunscreen and let the early morning rays warm you at the start of a brand new day. We have some great stories for you inside this issue. We also have a ton of great recipes for homemade ice cream starting on page 8. Chalaine Scott issues us a photo challenge on page 26 and the Minute Magazine has gathered some spectacular prizes for the winner of the "Snap Your Summer" Facebook Contest. Check us out on Facebook for more details. We also introduce several new columnists to our Minute Magazine family. Happy summer from all of us to all of you! God bless.

Tiffany Byram

Speak It! written by Kathy B. Nelson

Lessons in Love and Oreo Truffles

ave you ever had one of those “I can’t believe that just happened!” kind of moments? A moment when something happens and leaves you a little speechless? Those make for some of the greatest stories, so I wanted to share with you one of those moments that happened to me. This is not an earth shattering story. It’s not a life and death miracle story. But, none the less, it is a crazy good story that I hope will make you smile and be encouraged. It started with a Bible study I was preparing for a group of college girls. The book we were going through was called “You’re Already Amazing!” All of us were eager to learn together and the students came each week with great questions. Their enthusiasm for sharing and discussing each week would make any Bible teacher fired up and inspired to come with their “A” game preparation. In the lesson for this particular week the author shared a personal life experience God had used to teach her about how debilitating it was to compare yourself to others. She had learned how that habit can rob you of joy and contentment. This particular struggle had come in the form of her abilities in baking. She had been asked to make some Oreo truffles for an event at her church. This would have been a non-issue under normal circumstances in that she felt fairly confident in her baking skills. However, this particular treat had been perfected and served regularly by another lady in their church. Everyone always raved over how wonderful this ladies Oreo truffles were and how they were the best they had ever eaten. So now the pressure was on to try to measure up to the standard that had been set by this lady who could no longer help due to declining health. After days of worrying she finally agreed to make the infamous Oreo truffles. Needless to say, hers turned out wonderful and everyone loved them. She realized how comparing her abilities with another almost paralyzed her love for baking but also her love for serving others.

Since this illustration was such a crucial part of the chapter we were studying that week, I knew I just had to make some Oreo truffles to hand out at the end of the lesson. Being one that really doesn’t bake very often, but believing that it couldn’t be that hard to do, I set out with a goal of making these Oreo truffles - the day OF the Bible study. I do a quick Google search of how to make the truffles, after all they can’t be that hard, right? Wrong! On my way home to being this venture, I stop by one quick mart to get the ingredients and they have one of the items, but no Oreos. So, now I am a little anxious, but feel sure the next quick stop store will have Oreos – because doesn’t everyone carry Oreos? Clearly, they don’t. No Oreo’s at the next stop, which was the last stop on the way to my house. It is now crunch time and I am thinking about other options for treats. My lofty goal begins to dissipate. What in the world could replace the Oreo truffles the lesson was talking about? To make matters worse, I had already called the other leader and told her of my plan to make the Oreo truffles and she was so excited because some of the students had called and wanted to bring some Oreo truffles themselves, so she would let them know that I was planning to bring some. Now I am preparing to have a total fail in my big plans for the study that night. What good are substitute peanut butter cookies going to be when everyone is expecting Oreo truffles? I now have about thirty minutes to get something and get out to the host home for the Bible study on time.

What about Social Bites? I can just run by Social Bites, a bakery that has a reputation for some of the best baked goods in the state, and buy whatever she had in the store and be done. Never once did it occur to me that it was Monday and they were closed on Mondays. Until I rounded the corner downtown, pretty much on two wheels, to find the lights off and Heather, the owner, and some helpers moving a large appliance into the store. My heart dropped. This was my last hope – and they were not even open. I would just apologize to all of the girls and share the sad, lame story of my attempt to bring Oreo truffles. (Maybe leaving out the part that I had only started to work on making them about two hours before the Bible study time). I pull my car up in front of the store with such gusto that two tires jump the curb and the other two are in the parking spot. My wild approach garnered the attention of my friend Heather. She so graciously walked out to greet me at the car. I didn’t even get out of the car but lowered my window on the passenger side of the car and with all of the desperation I could muster begged, “Heather, I forgot you were closed today, but I am almost late for a Bible study and I needed to take something, anything, for a dessert for the girls! Do you have ANYTHING?! I mean, seriously, I will buy anything you have that is already made, even if you made it in the last few days and you are about to throw it away.” In her kind and gentle way she said, “Hey Mrs. Kathy. I am not sure if we have anything, but I will go look and see.” Now, I am just praying that there is some remnants of

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.

baked goodness in a big ole baggie that she can just toss in the car and I can be on my way. But, wait, I see her coming toward me with one of her signature big pink boxes! Praise the Lord! She had something! Resolved to take whatever it is and cut each item in half if we need to so everyone gets a bite. Heather walks to the passenger side window, leans down and looks in at me and says, “Mrs. Kathy, I’m sorry but this is the only thing we had in the refrigerator.” She opens up the big pink box and tells me “Here are a couple of dozen Oreo truffles. I hope that’s okay.” “Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think...” Ephesians 2:20 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Written by

Sweet

Shelley Duran

Time

One word comes to mind when I think of summer in Louisiana: MELTING. Whether it’s makeup, sweat or a sweet treat, Louisiana heat is unforgiving. Growing up, my parents were the type that monitored most of the food given to their children. None of the fun snacks my fellow students got to have were allowed in the Duran household. The one thing that was allowed was ice cream. And thus began my lifelong love of ice cream. Living in a small town, we didn’t have many ice cream options to choose from. Typically mom bought a giant no-brand tub of vanilla. Even if it didn’t have much flavor, I often found myself stashing it in the garage freezer so my brother wouldn’t find it. On special occasions we would get the southern staple, Bluebell, but it was a rare and exciting time when that golden lid made its entrance in our freezer. As I became older (and smarter) I’d throw in additions to my no-brand tub ice cream to make it more fun and flavorful. Marshmallows, peanuts and cheerios – nothing was off limits. These concoctions sometimes got me in trouble, especially if the ingredient I stashed was on reserve for another recipe. Everyone has their own ice cream memories. I’ve got tons of great memories like sitting on porches with my ice cream cone covering the floor due to the heat and staring at a tub of Bluebell chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream until Lent was over (giving up ice cream for Lent was hard!). I will never forget my niece having her first ice cream as a baby and trying to change her clothes to hide the evidence before my brother came home. Now as an adult, my love for ice cream hasn’t waned. As much as I’ve changed my eating and lifestyle to be healthier, I make sure to allot calories for ice cream. In fact, it’s the only dairy I allow in my diet. With my love for food and cooking, it was no surprise to anyone when I started making my own ice cream. My boyfriend equally loves food and making things and surprised me one day with an ice cream maker and a challenge to create something amazing. Initially, custard based ice creams seem daunting, so we tried focusing on non-custard based recipes. It proved difficult to find recipes that didn’t have some sort of stabilizer so ready or not, custard based seemed to be the way to go.

We discovered how much science goes into ice cream making. Too much fat can mask other flavors in ice cream and can weigh heavy on the tongue. For that, we’ve found that cream cut with 1 or 2 percent milk makes a great balance. The use of salt is extremely important. Not only does it amp up flavor, it sometimes causes the chemical reaction needed in a specific ice cream recipe. Too much sugar can make ice cream too soft for freezing. Too little eggs used can make ice cream icy over time. See what I mean about the science involved?! While I experimented with heat, sugar and amount of eggs per batch, my boyfriend served as head taste tester and chief googler. I made batches, logging differences until he and I agreed on ingredient amounts. Like everything else, the quality of ingredients mattered. For us, that means shopping locally and spending the extra dollar on the good vanilla and bittersweet chocolate. After some intense trial taste testing, we began to pass batches around to close friends and family as gifts. Although he and I speak about grand future plans, an ice cream business was not an initial goal. It all started with an upcoming work party. A coworker had a birthday looming so our department had made the decision to do a potluck lunch for him. I mentioned my ice cream making and I could bring some to accompany the cake another coworker was bringing. I brought Mexican chocolate ice cream, bittersweet chocolate mixed with cinnamon. They didn’t just like it, they LOVED it. At the next party, I made cheesecake ice cream. Then bananas foster. Then brown sugar bourbon. The more company celebrations we had, the more ice cream I was asked to bring. My co-workers from the first batch would suggest I sell batches to others. They, too, came up with grand plans on how this could become a reality. Then the orders came. It began for their family, then a coworker bought some to use as gifts, then I began selling to strangers. Currently, I’m consistent in selling multiple orders a week through where I work. It’s helpful that my office is multi-leveled has over 500 employees in the building. The sharing factor has always been my favorite thing about loving food. Of course I want what I’m eating to be delicious, but sitting across from someone you love is the greatest. It’s the same with making ice cream. When you’re making ice cream, you’re making it to share – unless it’s been a hard week and to that I say, GIRL I FEEL YOU! I’m excited to see where this sweet hobby can go. Hopefully this is more than just your average sugar rush.

Base Mixture Ingredients:

(1 Quart)

2 cups heavy whipping cream 2 cup 2% milk (1% is also a great option) I cup sugar 4 egg yolks A good pinch of salt

Directions:

1. In a small pot, simmer heavy cream, milk, sugar and salt until sugar completely dissolves, about 5 minutes. 2. Remove pot from heat. In a separate bowl, whisk yolks. Whisking constantly, slowly whisk about a third of the hot cream into the yolks, then whisk the yolk mixture back into the pot with the cream. 3. Return pot to medium-low heat and gently cook until mixture is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. Any longer and you will be scrambling eggs. 4. Strain through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl. 5. Cool mixture to room temperature. Cover and chill at least 4 hours or overnight. 6. Churn in an ice cream machine according to manufacturersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; instructions. Serve directly from the machine for soft serve, or store in freezer until needed.

Vanilla Ice Cream

Add 1 Tsb vanilla paste in cooled mixture. If you add vanilla while on heat, it will cook away.

Chocolate Ice Cream

Add 1/3 cup unsweetened coco powder

Mexican Chocolate Ice Cream

Add 1/3 cup unsweetened coco powder and 1/2 tsp of cinnamon (more if you want!)

Add - Ins Basic Add-Ins

If you would like to add cookie dough, chocolate chips, nuts or any other mix in ingredient, make sure to add it after the base has been in the maker for some time. Adding it before the base has started to freeze, will make the ingredients settle to the bottom of your container later. Or just wait and top your ice cream after it's made. Anything goes! Try a crazy combination like strawberries and balsamic for a luxurious, savory option.

Cheescake Ice Cream

Pistachio

Add 1/4 cup pistachio's and 1/4 almonds to mixture while heating your base mixture (you want to steep out the flavor) Strain mixture and discard pistachios and almonds

used

In a coffee grinder (or chop yourself) use 1/2 cup pistachios, 1/4 cup brown sugar and 1/4 white sugar and mix together. Add this mixture when ice cream is firm enough for mix ins.

Strawberry Reduce the amount of sugar in the base mixture to 1/2 cup

Feeling ambitious? Just add a few slices of storebought or homemade cheesecake to your ice cream after it's frozen and viola! I bet you thought it was going to be complicated.

Bananas Foster Ice Cream 1/4 cup butter 2/3 cup dark brown sugar 3 1/2 tablespoons spiced rum 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon 3 banans, peeled and sliced lengthwise and crosswise 1/4 cup coarsely chopped walnuts

In a large, deep skillet over medium heat, melt butter. Stir in sugar, rum, vanilla and cinnamon. When mixture begins to bubble, place bananas and walnuts in pan. Cook until bananas are hot, 1 to 2 minutes. Serve at once over vanilla ice cream.

Add 1/2 jar of preservatives to chilled sweet cream base (heat will make it melt) *If you use fresh strawberries I've found that over time the water from the fruit creates ice. But you can always use them as a garnish.

A Few Visuals, Tips & Tricks

1) Steeping milk and sugar 2) Separating egg yolks 3) Bubbles around the edges are a good sign 4) Pinch of salt and sugar help the yolks mix 5) Whisking the hot milk and eggs together 6) Here's what the line should look like 7) My newest love: Breville BC1600XL Smart Scoop Ice Cream Maker 8) Viola! Cinnamon Vanilla Ice Cream with Salted Almonds and Dark Chocolate

Traditional No Cook Ice Cream Recipe Ingredients

2 cups sugar 1 can evaporated milk 6 eggs* 1 tablespoon vanilla Whole milk

Directions

With an electric mixer, cream eggs and sugar. Add evaporated milk, condensed milk, and vanilla. Beat well. Pour into an ice cream churn. Add whole milk to fill line. Insert dasher. Pack cooler 1/3 full with ice. Add a layer of rock salt. Repeat layering with ice and salt until full. Dont overfill. When machine starts to labor or shut off, remove the dasher and drain water. Fill with more ice and salt. Cover with a towel and let harden. *This version contains raw eggs.

Fresh Fruit

(Satsuma, Peach, Banana)

For fruit ice cream such as strawberry or peach: 2 cups sliced fresh fruit covered with 1 cup sugar. Add to mixture before whole milk, and mix well. Pictured : Nostalgia Electrics 4-Quart Wooden Bucket Electric Ice Cream Maker

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LOUISIANA PEACH FESTIVAL June 24-25, 2016 in Ruston, La

Arts & Crafts & Parade & Rodeo & Kids’ Activities Sporting Tournaments & Live Music $1000 Prize Peach cobbler eating contest Antique Car Show & Fine Arts Exhibit Featu r ed H A PPEN I N GS

FRID AY satur DAY

live action friday and Saturday

5 PM - 10 PM 8 AM - 10 PM

LIVE MUSIC

dinosaurs!

Friday, June 24th

sat 11AM - 4PM 4pM - 9PM

6:30 PM & W.A.I.L. 8 PM & The Chee-Weez

Featu r ed Co ncerts THE Chee-weez Fri @ 8pm dylan scott sat @ 8pm

Saturday, June 25th 11 AM & Roadhouse Band 1 PM & Zach O’Neil 3:30 PM & Katalyst 5:30 & LA Swamp Donkey 8 PM & Dylan Scott

Produced by

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& Full event schedule at louisianapeachfestival.org

FUN FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY The 66th Annual Louisiana Peach Festival will be the place to be on June 25! This year’s theme is “A Peach of My Heart.” Youngsters can begin the fun on Friday and go for the big catch at the Lincoln Parish Park Kids’ Fishing Tournament. There will be prizes and refreshments. The tournament is open to children age 12 and under. They need to bring their own fishing pole, bait is provided. There’s no entry fee or pre-registration, just show up!

mini ramp for the little daredevils. There will be plenty to keep the little ones happy in the kids tent filled with lots of activities with The IDEA Place, North Central LA Arts Council (NCLAC), LSU Ag Center/4-H, Lincoln Parish Library, and Junior Auxiliary. There will also be a juggler, the Thornburg Monuments hula hooper and the RE/MAX stilt walker.

After the “A Peach of My Heart” Parade Saturday morning, Dinosaurs will be in Downtown Ruston! Bring your kids to pet them at the Civic Center between 11 a.m. and 4 p.m. or at Railroad Park from 4 to 9 p.m.

Taking the place of the traditional peach eating contest, in honor of being hailed the Guinness World Record holder for Largest Peach Cobbler, Hampton Inn will sponsor a peach cobbler-eating contest. Contestants should pre-register. Not only will the winner receive an official Cobbler Eating Championship Belt, $1,000 is at stake! How much can you eat?

By request, the BMX & Skateboard show is returning this year. Visitors may bring their helmets to participate in demos. There will also be a

Champ and LA Tech football players want to meet you in Railroad Park Saturday afternoon from 3 to 6 p.m. Chat and take photos with the Bulldogs.

Admission is charged for ages 7 through adult. Friday, $10, 5 p.m. – 10 p.m. Saturday, $10, 8 a.m. 10 p.m., or Weekend Passes are available for $15. Concerts are included in Admission, as well as the kids’ activity tent, skateboard & BMX Show, kids fishing tournament at Lincoln Parish Park and more. Pets other than service dogs are not allowed at the festival. After hearing the concerns of festival goers regarding the nuisance of standing in line to buy tickets needed to purchase food, the Louisiana Peach Festival announces No More Tickets! Vendors will accept cash (some will also accept credit/debit cards). Find more information on www. LouisianaPeachFestival.org and connect on Facebook.com/LouisianaPeachFestival, Twitter @LaPeachFest and Instagram @LaPeachFest.

admission for ages 7 - adult

&&&

FRIDAY

$10, 5 PM - 10 PM Saturday

$10, 8 AM - 10 PM WEEKEND PASS

$15

a knack for

nutrition

written by Beth Fontenot, MS, RD, LDN

Expiration Date

ave you ever tossed an unopened container of food because the “use by” date was last week? If so, you’re in good company. So have over 90 percent of Americans. Dates on food products are confusing. Sell by. Use by. Best if used by. What does it all mean? You might be surprised to learn that these dates have nothing to do with food safety. There is no federal law that requires food products to have expiration dates (except for infant formulas), and there is no uniform standard for food dating. The dates you see are chosen by food manufacturers. There are several types of dates stamped on food packages. “Sell-by” dates are found on perishable items like meat, poultry, seafood, and dairy. This date keeps retailers on their toes rotating stock and lets them know how long to keep the product in stock. You should buy the product before that date, but eating it after that date is not a safety issue as long as the item is stored correctly. For example, milk will usually be good for about a week past the sell-by date if it’s been refrigerated properly. Ground beef can be stored in your refrigerator for up to two days after buying it, even if the sell-by date comes and goes during that time. An unopened block of cheddar cheese is good in your refrigerator for six months and can be stored in the freezer for a year. Eggs can be used three to five weeks after

you purchase them, even if the sellby date comes and goes during that period. If a food product expires in your pantry, the product should still be safe and of good quality if unopened and handled properly. The “Best if Used By” or “UseBy” date is the manufacturer’s estimate of how long the product will stay at its absolute best quality when unopened. It is not a safety date or a purchase date. These dates are generally found on shelf stable foods like ketchup, mustard, and peanut butter. After that date, changes in the color, texture, or flavor of the food may be noticeable, but as long as you’ve stored it properly, you can eat it beyond that date. An unopened jar of mayonnaise is good for three to four months after the date on the label, but this does not mean it goes bad after that date. It is still safe to eat if it has been stored properly and the jar has not been damaged, but it may not be at its best quality. Peanut butter, if unopened, is good in the pantry for two years, and even opened, it’s good to eat for three

months. Even after that, it can be kept in the refrigerator for another three to four months. (Who takes that long to eat a jar of peanut butter anyway?) Despite the confusion over these dates on food packaging and the fact that foods are generally edible beyond the date on the label, anytime a food develops an off smell, flavor, appearance, or texture, it should be thrown away. According to a recent study, food waste makes up the largest amount of solid trash in landfills and these misunderstood dates are part of the problem. It is estimated that up to 40 percent of the country’s food supply is thrown away unnecessarily each year at a cost of $165 billion or about $455 per household. If you are in doubt about how long to keep a food product, whether opened or unopened, there is a Keep It or Toss It database at www.stilltasty.com that should answer all of your questions. If you still don’t like the idea of using an unopened food item past the date on the packaging, don’t toss it out. Donate it to a local food bank.

With her life and time divided between the swamps of south Louisiana and the piney woods of north Louisiana, Beth Fontenot is a registered dietitian, a licensed dietitian/nutritionist, a freelance writer, and a watercolor artist. Though she’s been known to indulge in a certain Texas brand of ice cream or a fried seafood dinner, she does believe that good nutrition is the foundation of a healthy lifestyle. When she is not busy writing, painting, or working on the homestead she and her husband are building in Gibsland, she spends her time loving her large family and high-school sweetheart.

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a fresh perspective from rosemary's kitchen written by Rosemary Thomas The Garage

ummertime in the South. Nothing quite like it. It comes down to a lovehate relationship for many. I lean far more to the love side than the hate side. I was born and raised in the South, so if I am not used to hot weather by now, I would say it is just too late. Now I admit that by August, I have had about enough, but I will still take it any day over the cold, gray days of winter. I was raised in the Houston, Texas area (Pasadena, or as local folks called it – “Stinkadena” because of a nearby paper mill), so it was a tad toastier there than here in north Louisiana. I have so many wonderful memories of growing up in the suburbs and the freedom that came when summer finally arrived. We went outside in the morning and came back at dusk, maybe stopping by the house a time or two in between for lunch or a snack. There were a slew of kids on our street, and I had 2 sisters and a brother close in age, so there was always someone to play with. No TV. No phone. No electronics. No games organized by adults. The more I thought about summertime on Gary Street, the more I realized what a central role the garage played in our adventures. Our house was small. I didn’t realize it then, but the times I have driven by it now it seems so very tiny. (Sad to say, the neighborhood now is worse than bad. Crack house city. There are still a few trees left that we planted when we were kids, but the rest has gone to Hell in a handbasket.) We had a one car garage attached to the house with a one car driveway leading up to it. Typical suburban house for the 50’s. But – and this is the important point – it was enough. It was all we needed. It was perfect. On one wall of the garage, my Dad mounted several chalk boards at kidlevel, so we could play school. I don’t know why we wanted to play school when we were out for the summer, but we did. We took turns playing the teacher and the rest of the students would sit on milk crates or woven lawn chairs and act as the students. Sometimes we would act up in class – not that we would ever do that at real school – just to make it more fun and

have to be sent to the corner. My older sister, who still likes to be the boss, was a natural. She would get that teacher tone of voice and make you sit up straight and put your nose in the corner and write lines on the board. She was good at explaining things too, so it is no wonder that she and my little sister both became amazing teachers. Go figure. We also played “Spy” a lot. We would make up a secret code and leave each other notes on the chalk board that only those in the game could decipher. If nothing else, we could just color and draw on those chalk boards. Endless hours were spent on that side of the garage with nothing but a piece of chalk and our imagination. The garage was also a center for neighborhood games. If it was just too hot (rarely the case for us kids) or raining, we would set up a board game on a card table in the garage. The neighborhood kids would all come over and take turns playing. If one kid got tired of playing, another would take his place. Sometimes these games would last a couple of days, and Mom and Dad would let the car stay in the driveway or the street until we were finished with our game. We usually played Monopoly (I always wanted to be the little Scotty dog), but sometimes we would play Risk or Battleship. The kids just took a spot at the table. It didn’t matter if that spot was winning or losing. The rest of the kids – if there were more than 4, would just sit around and watch the others play. Does that… Could that happen today? The garage floor – which was always swept and clean by the way – was also the perfect place for an impromptu game of pick up sticks. I don’t know if they even have Pick Up Sticks today. These pick up sticks were brightly colored pieces of plastic with VERY sharp pointy ends. Can you imagine someone letting a child play with these today? Talk about poking your eye out! We also played a lot of Jax on the

garage floor. It was smooth and just perfect for the little red ball to bounce on. I remember the garage floor feeling good because it was cool on my bare legs. I'm trying to imagine myself being comfortable on a cold concrete floor now. Even more so, I'm really trying to visualize myself getting up from a cold concrete floor now. I digress. Along the back of the garage was my Mom’s washer and dryer and my Dad’s little shop. That is how we looked at it – that the W/D was my Mom’s domain and the shop belonged to my Dad. I think Mom got the raw end of that deal. I did a lot of stuff on the top of that dryer though. One time I had a slug collection. Really. Every morning I would gather slugs out of our compost pile (my Dad had a garden) and keep them in an aquarium on top of the dryer. I think they escaped one time too many and my Mom finally put a stop to that project. I also tried to raise tadpoles into frogs. I had a big pickle jar that I filled with water and caught some tadpoles in the ditch behind our house. I remember getting some up to where they sprouted legs, but I don’t know if any of them ever made it all the way to frog-hood. My Dad’s shop was a tiny little enclave – maybe 3 or 4 feet deep and 6 or 8 feet long… but it was magic. The workbench was dented and scratched and splattered with paint. My brother had taken the staple gun and stapled his name into the top of the work bench. I don’t think Dad was very happy about that. The shelves had lids screwed to the underside so little baby food jars hung down like rain drops – each filled with some interesting screw or nut or gasket. But the best part of the shop was the Chemistry Set and the Wood Burning Set. These were really my brother’s toys, but the boundaries were a little blurry about what belonged to which kid. I was in love with the chemistry set. It was made of metal and stood up on end, when you opened

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.

it up there was a cornucopia of little tiny jars all filled with amazing colored powders, and a little tiny spoon for dipping into the contents of those jars, and a burner for heating stuff up. I mean – who would have that now? The two things I remember making the most were disappearing ink (useful when we played the spy game) and Stink Bombs. Oh lord – the smell of rotten eggs was so much fun! We got in some serious trouble – probably more than once – for making Stink Bombs in the shop. The other toy my brother had was a wood burning set. Who would buy this for their kid now? Did we get burned. Sure. All of us. But, we just went in the house and Mom put some butter on it, and we went back out and kept making our “Keep Out” signs for our bedroom doors. On one side of the shop was a tall metal can of what we called “hand goop”. Oh this stuff was so creepy! It was used for removing grease and I am sure it was full of ingredients that would now be banned. Occasionally Dad would make us dip our hands in the can while listening to us shriek and scream at how weird it was. I don’t think our hands were really all that greasy, but he knew we wanted to do it – even though we said we didn’t. Complex stuff. My parents understood the complex stuff.

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. 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. In the corner of the garage were our homemade skate boards, Our services include: made with – well yes – skates, and a pair of homemade stilts. There was also a rag-bag that hung on the wall between my • Free initial consultation • Management of secondary Dad’s Shop and my Mom’s Washer/Dryer (sorry Mom). It was • Thorough assessment medical needs an old duffle bag my Dad had when he was in the Navy. If was filled with old rags and towels and sheets. Very useful • Customized treatment • Continued care planning stuff in there for all kinds of forts and projects. We had a box plans and referral assistance of craft items that included cotton balls, Elmer’s glue, glitter • Group, individual, and and pipe cleaners. The garage door became a stage door (of family counseling course it had to be manually lifted up and down) for when we had our Ukulele concerts. No – we didn’t really know how to play the Ukulele, and we only knew a couple of songs (You Are My Sunshine and Home on the Range), but that didn’t stop us For more information If you or a loved one is experiencing changes in from setting up lawn chairs in the driveway, charging a nickel or to living, schedule a free, the ability to cope with daily Senior Care a person and singing our hearts out to whoever was dumb enough to attend – usually Mom and Dad and maybe one or confidential assessment, at Minden Medical Center is here to help. two other gullible kids who scrounged up a nickel. The outside call us at 318-371-5646. of the garage is where we would pull back the grass and see if Senior Care is available to persons age 55 and over with we could find baby snakes (which we always did). You have a choice when it comes to caring for your health. Make it a smart one, a mental or cognitive decline that hinders daily life, who and chooseisthe areamy hospital that was named one of the nation’s top performers Hope is only a phone call away. The only bad memory I have of the garage when brother has become a threat to self or others, or is limited in selfdecided to torture me with Cicadas. I was a tom-boy, was measures on but key Iquality two years in a row. care ability. Our mental health professionals are available really scared of cicadas (even though I did have a collection through our 24 hour referral line to discuss treatment of their dried husks). My brotherWe’re caught some cicadas and by The Joint proud to be recognized Commission, the leading accreditor tied string around their bodies so they could still fly, but he needs and are devoted to helping patients get back to healthcare in the nation, for our achievements in quality… but could guide them where he wantedofthem to go.organizations He then lured www.MindenMedicalCenter.com their optimal level of functioning. even moreme proud by you. Minden Medical Center me into the closed garage and startedwe’re dive-bombing withto be chosen #1 Medical Plaza | Minden, LA these cicadas he had on a string. I was cowered in thematters corner, most to patients and their understands what families – safe and Our services include: screaming in terror until I was rescued. My brother got in effective care. We are committed to providing the highest quality care possible, serious trouble for that one and I am sure he had to explain • Free initial consultation Management of secondary himself to Saint Peter before his entrance the Pearly along withthrough the expertise and leading edge technology that you expect at • larger • Thorough assessment medical needs Gates. hospitals, all conveniently close to home. • Customized treatment • Continued care planning In the garage we learned how to re-web lawn chairs, get along plans and referral assistance with other kids, share, clean up after ourselves, be the boss, • Group, individual, and Whatever your healthcare need, choose Minden Medical Center. make stink bombs, not be the boss, play the ukulele (not really), family counseling raise tadpoles, pretend, take turns, be creative, do laundry, work it out, and most of all, entertain ourselves. None www.mindenmedicalcenter.com of that would have happened had our parents been hovering about, organizing our games, making sure we played fair, interrupting For more information our thought processes, and telling us the rules.

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.

Summers are magic. You don’t have to “make” summer magical for your kids. They will make it magical for themselves if you get out of their way. Limit their electronics, kick them outside and leave them alone. Trust me when I tell you they will thank you for it someday. Thank you Mom. Thank you Dad. And thank you for our garage. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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 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

a collage of southern stories and recipes:

seasoned moments written by Barbara Durbin

Kinsman Visits

ver the past few weeks I have been reminiscing family relationships and how they affect a person’s life. I remember visiting relatives as a young child and recall only joy when family came to visit. Since we had no phone, the social calls by kinsmen were always a surprise. What job one was attending to, stopped when company came by. Visitors were important. Aunt Mattie and her boys, or our same age niece, Cindy, or cousin Betty and her crew were our most visited folk. Many times our visits alternated, we to see them or they to see us. We had no computers, no gaming devices, and many of us had no television. There were no considerations given to lack, we couldn’t miss what we never had. For us belongings weren’t a matter of importance. We just didn’t care about what we didn’t have. What we did have was a new day and playmates we knew. Cast outside once the well-mannered hellos were spoken, we children all made that eye contact that only children can make. Our gleaming eyes were aglow with great adventures waiting to unfold. Out we ran, giddy with excitement. No, there was no lack, but we as youngsters did have a heart knowledge of a wonderful outdoor world. Awaiting us were pleasure places full of unknown exploits and quests. Imaginations were jam packed with adventures and treasures; all of which we intended to find. The open air was our amphitheater, the trees and pasturelands presented the

stage background, and we the children offered the parts of the play. Depending on whether it was boys, girls, or both, our tree strung hammock became the rigging for our 17th century ship or a cradle for our babes. A small grove of trees was turned into our ship’s galley or our home’s kitchen. There we cooked mud pies and filled burritos made from leaves. Kites were flown in the grassy meadows while we kept an eye on the gray Brahma bull who watched our antics from the far end fence. Our dusty farm road saw many pair of feet ramble to the old barn in search of things to do. Daddy’s bridle hung on a huge square head nail and often we were allowed to ride the infamous horse, Buck. Buck, so named, because his fast pace twisting turning buck began as soon as a rope was put on his neck. Daddy finally bridle broke him. To help saddle break him and teach him the right and left ways of a bridle, our dad hitched him to a railroad tie. Buck would pull that tie all across our garden plot with my father guiding him from behind with long plowing reins. Round and round they went for seemly hours. Sometimes turning left other times turning right. Eventually daddy would mount the tired horse with little trouble and there were only a few half-hearted attempts

by the horse to unseat him. Day after day this happened until eventually Buck became use to a man on his back. There came a day when the railroad tie was released and Daddy having taught the horse his weight, rode him in a full trot down the road and back. Mission accomplished. Soon he became a pass time for us brave riders Murder in the Dark was the infamous game kept for the warm summer nights. Fearful delight came as dusk gathered. We panicked within our swift beating hearts as we quickly sought a safe place to hide. The anticipation of being found as the hunter searched high and low for us kept us on our toes. Safe base was always the light pole in the front yard where moths and June Bugs flew into our laughing faces and heavy breathing bodies. Of course, no family gathering was complete without food. Preparation for meals began at the beginning of a visit. Preparing food for our large family and company was no small feat. Sometimes we ate salmon stew, cat head biscuits and garden fresh vegetables. Other times it was old fashion fried salt pork with eggs, smothered potatoes, and again those absolutely light and flaky biscuits. Many times it was fish and fries with homemade hushpuppies. If Aunt Mattie came to visit or we were at

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.

her home, her famous yellow cake with its creamy ultra-luscious raisin icing; was that special dessert for a happy ending to a good meal. Whatever was placed upon the table may not have been politically correct in the healthy eating industry, but it filled hungry stomachs and voracious appetites. Truly, I can say that the food was just a special addition to the comfortable homey feeling friends and family presented when visiting. Our earthly goods were few, but love and food were a part of the legacy instilled and handed down by many who have gone on. What kith and kin did was leave me with the satisfaction that I was well and truly loved. That I was cared for and cared about. Those times of play and visiting were an intricate part of what made me who I am, what made me see the world through rose tinted glasses, what made me feel I belonged and taught confidence before I needed it. Those childhood visits always left me with a sense of fullness and well-being.

Those times, even now, are teaching me to realize the importance of stopping the busyness of any season in order to visit and catch up on another’s life. Something I can find hard to do. I daily must check my heart to see if I am stopping along life’s way to give others a sense of fullness and wellbeing. I must choose to have a merry heart even if my world is not necessarily cheerful because a merry heart doeth good. I must choose to be the catalyst that causes another’s heart to heal because I took time to share a sunny moment. I have no PhD’s behind my name and no letters to identify me in an unidentifiable world. I do however have the ability, should I so choose, to affect and bring joy to someone’s life. I so choose! Then when my play upon this earth is done, and I take my last bow before an unseen audience; my prayer would be that my days would have been well and truly lived, for I know that by them I will be judged.

---------------------------------------------------Aunt Mattie's Raisin Cake 1 yellow cake mix; prepared and baked in two- 9 inch cake pans, according to directions. Cool on wire rack. Icing 1 large can of evaporated milk 1 stick of butter 1 heaping cup of sugar 1 t. vanilla 1-12 oz box raisins- ground Combing all icing ingredients in a large sauce pan; Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly. Allow to mixture to come to a rolling boil, reduce heat to low and cook until mixture begins to thicken (4-5 minutes). Let cool slightly before spreading on cake. Place one cake layer on a plate; working quickly, spread with 1/3 of the icing and top with remaining layer. Spread remaining icing over top and sides of cake.

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housewife written by Leslie Albritton Here's to the Class of 2016 Parents!

t’s that time again, when a few million incoming freshmen will be leaving the safety net of their parent’s cocoon and head out into the exciting world of college life. And, while this is an exhilarating time in a young person’s life it can be gut-wrenching agonizing torture for the parents they leave behind. At least it was for me. When my daughter Nicole left for Bulldawg Country in the fall of 2013 I unknowingly turned into dun-duh-dunnn Stalker-mom! I was completely lost without having her around to mother and fuss over. The past eighteen years my life has been scheduled around my daughter and her various activities. Now suddenly I had all of this free time on my hands and no earthly idea what to do with it all! So, I over texted, called and Facebooked. I popped up for surprise visits way more times than was probably sociable acceptable, even for narcotic parents. A few months into my new found profession as the weird creepy parent that hung out on campus, I had a meeting with one of her professors. During our meeting her professor told me that I was what they called a “helicopter parent”. The confused look on my face prompted him to explain that a helicopter parent is someone that is much too involved and over focused in their child’s daily life. “I try my best!” I said, delighted the professor recognized my devotion to my child. Seeing how I was taking this as a compliment he went on to say “It’s a term we use to describe zealous over-parenting. A parent, who is overprotective, overcompensates and tries to hand-hold their child through college.” The kind professor said as mildly as possible for my benefit. Like any southern lady affronted with a false truth, I quickly placed my hand over my heart and as delicately as ever shook my head no. “Well, that

just doesn’t sound like me at all.” I responded in my best Blanch Deveraux (The Golden Girls) impersonation. I then slowly turned to my daughter sitting beside me to confirm this as an absurd allegation, to which in horror, I found her vigorously nodding her head yes! “Mrs. Albritton, don’t you think it’s time to let the baby bird fly from the nest?” Feeling as if I had been given several jolts from a defibrillator, I quickly sat up, took a sip of water and cleared my throat. “I’m sorry; I don’t believe I heard you correctly. What was that you were saying?” The meeting soon ended with me and my baby bird on our way. Being an only child’s mother it seems as though I did not make the transition from high school parent to college mom. During my daughter’s senior year in high school, I was constantly bombarded with handouts, emails and meetings related to any and all things college prep. However, in all the mounds of paperwork, deadline notices and scholarships applications there was absolutely nothing to be found to help prepare me for my sudden outbreak of empty nest syndrome. Along with the college financial aid information the school should have slipped in a prescription for Prozac and the 1-800 Empty-Nesters hotline number. Now, that would have been helpful! I somehow muddled through my daughter’s first year away at college thanks to a few sappy Nickolas Sparks’ novels, re-runs of Parks and Recreation

and a couple bottles of red wine. On the upswing, that first year my sweet husband let me add a few new animals to the ever-growing menagerie on our farm out of pity. That was a nice perk! I even started jogging in hopes to lose some weight, but I would have had to run farther and faster than Forrest to shed all those unwanted pounds. As time went by, I managed to make new friends due to extra time from my involuntary termination from Stalkermom Inc. It took a while but eventually I adjusted to my new normal and discovered something called “me-time”! For the parents of small children reading this, me-time is time spent unwinding and relaxing alone as opposed to the constant demands of fitting your 28 hour marathon day into 24. Nicole will soon be a senior at Louisiana Tech University and I could not be prouder. Seeing the responsible young lady she has turned into since leaving the nest was definitely worth the emotional turmoil, gray hairs and new formed winkles of that dreaded first year. My advice to the Class of 2016 parents, hang in there, you can do it. I know it seems just like yesterday you were carting them around in strollers trying to find a secluded spot to change their stinky little diapers. And now here you are packing them up sending them off to the great unknown of university life. As much as you want to lasso them in with your apron strings, fight the urge and cut those strings or at least give a little slack. I promise, you will be okay and if not call me. We will talk about it over a great bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon!

Leslie Albritton is a simple girl living in a country world. She is married to Brent and lives on a small farm in Farmerville with their daughter Nicole. They raise mini donkeys, mini horses and mini goats, hence the "small" farm. A runner, biker and kayaker she enjoys all things outdoors, especially the furry and four legged kind.

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"Photography is the story I fail to put into words” - Destin Sparks

1,154 miles. Five states. A lot of highway. There’s a lot of distance that separates my sister and I. But I see her everyday. Her smile brightens my kitchen counter. When you live thousands of miles away from someone you love, a picture can mean a lot to you. It’s a constant reminder of home. Of a heart that’s beating out there in the world that knows you and cares about you and loves you.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words; I think it’s also worth a thousand feelings. It can take you back, it can move you forward. It can make you smile, it can make you cry. It can make you feel lucky, blessed, thankful. A million memories are stacked under my bed. That’s all a picture really is. There are boxes full of pictures, yearbooks and photo albums. Once in a while, I take them out and sort through them… And I hear the crowd of my high school roar as the buzzer sounds and my shot swishes through the basket. I remember the knots in my stomach on an early Saturday morning and can hear coach yelling “run another!” I see cloudy air through the lens of a pair of oversized goggles and feel bare skin sticking to the water slide of my Uncle Al’s inground pool. I smell hamburgers grilling and hear my uncle’s deep belly laugh as my Pop-pop tells a joke. I see Dad cannon balling off the diving board.

I notice Mom’s face light up and watch as the tears pour from her eyes as her aunt walks through the doors of her surprise 40th birthday party. I laugh at awkward hair and the butterfly clips of a 9-yearold Chalaine. I thank whoever invented the straightener. I question the sanity of double polo shirts and popped collars. I gag at the taste of crayfish from a Louisiana crawfish boil. I go back to dewey grass on a damp soccer field of a chilly, fall Massachusetts morning. The mountains are still waking in the distance and through the fog, I glance to see my parents clutching coffees in hand on the sidelines. I hear the bubbling and rushing of streaming water at the creek that ran alongside our cabin in New York. The rocks are smooth under feet as the water runs along them and I catch my balance over and over as I skip from rock to rock. The trees whisper above cousins and siblings adventuring through uncharted territory. I smile as I hold a little baby boy, his first hours to ever view the world and in a few of those first minutes, he spent some looking up at me. I don't remember exactly how it felt that moment I became a big sister. But I'm sure glad God made me one. I'm sure now how blessed I am to be one. And I'm sure glad for photos to remind me how lucky I am. I smile at my life. Pictures are a great reminder that the one I’m living is 1,000 times better than what I ever deserve. Pictures are a great reminder that I know some amazing people – people that I’m lucky to not have only met, but people that I’m lucky to call my own. People that I’m so grateful God gave me. People that God knew I needed to get through this life and people that He knew would make it all the better.

Maybe God gave us pictures because he knew we’d need reminders. He knew that once in a while, we’d need something to hold on to, and even more important, a reason to move forward. On my best days, I see the photo of my sister, beautiful brown hair clinging to her cheeks, white teeth and a perfect smile. I’m thankful to have watched her grow and mature. And on my worst days, I see the photo of my Chandelle, my little sister with ringlet curls and footie pajamas and a lisp when she spoke. And I’m reminded that she knows my heart, she is my heart. And I know she believes in me. And I wipe tears, thankful she’s here to help me keep growing. God knew what he was doing when he gave us our people. He knew that seasons would come where we would celebrate alongside them. He knew that seasons would come where we would rely on them to get through. He knew that we could always use a little reminder of the best times in our lives and the best people we’ve shared them with. So we fill our walls and our bookshelves and our desks – our lives a living storybook of all our frames. Because our lives are a constant snapshot…a story waiting to be remembered. And it’s less about what our story is, and more about the people who are in it. So create an album this summer, throw on a pair of sunglasses and teach your grandma about a selfie. Get outside and share the sunshine with an old friend. Have a picnic, have a neighborhood block party, have a dinner with your love. Remember it for years to come by snapping a photo. Don’t let the annoyance of taking pictures or the embarrassment of how you look stop you from recording your best life. Make memories and record as many as you can. Because if you don’t think photos are important now, wait until they’re all you have left.

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strangers at my

coffeepot

written by Darla Upton Plan Accordingly: August 30 is National Toasted Marshmallow Day

don't know why but I love themed things to do. I like to plan most everything around a theme of some kind. I once took a road trip with my then newly in college niece and we road tripped from Wisconsin to Texas eating the "best" burgers and visiting the "worst" murder sites. You may not know this, but you hit Illinois and Wisconsin and you have hit serial killer territory! I blame it on the long winters. I once road tripped from Texas to North Carolina eating at mom and pop pie shops. Don't get the wrong impression. I'm not a clipboard carrying mom with too much time on my hands. I'm more of a drinking and swearing mom who needs to occupy my surly 10 year old with something fun. Ya see, it pretty much takes two hours coming and going for us to do anything. We live so far off the path Walmart is a "trip to town." I'm an adult and I don't want to make the trip. I'm ready to go home and we haven't even started running errands. Atticus is no different. He doesn't mind the drive so much as the going in and out. He tends to slow down the process of getting things done and us getting out of there. It falls under that theory of if he worked as hard doing the task as he does getting out of the task, we could've been done by now. Often my little family of three almost comes to blows on aisle four at Lowe's. SWAT has never been called but I'm sure it is in our future. We are snippy as soon as those sliding doors part and aren't over it until we reach our front door. Just yesterday we had to go shoe shopping. We have a trip planned to D.C. and everyone needs walking shoes. Well, this was our second trip out for this item as our first trip ended with no shoes and no one speaking on the ride home. We tried three more stores before finding shoes. By store number two the following sentence was said: "Hugh! Do you really want to get into this right here in front of this nice lady at the Sears about shoe tying? Do

you? Because you saying something like that to me right here in the middle of Sears leads me to believe you want to do this right here, right now!" We did not discuss shoe tying again the rest of our time in Sears. It is just hard getting it all done and making good memories, too. Often, I just feel like the only memory my kid is going to have is me yelling "come on!" or "Son, really? Pay attention!" That's where themes come in. There are lots of hours to fill during summer vacation so take an idea where you can. Here's how it works. On any given day it is National Something. Take that something and work it into what you need to get done that day or make it the thing that gets them off XBox. Working a theme around your shopping trips or even your vacation means a little entertainment. Now, don't be fooled. If you have a pre-teen or teen a sigh and an eye roll will be given, but it is just because they have no other response to anything you suggest. That response is automatic so just keep pushing forward.

the outing will include a cookie store purchase or a stop to purchase ingredients to make sugar cookies and you now have a somewhat happier kid in tow. National Paper Bag Day (July 12) means you can force them to do some crafty paper bag stuff. I'm not very crafty and my son, bless his heart, isn't either but we can bond over failing miserably when we attempt origami with colored paper bags. June 17 kicks off National Fruit and Vegetable Month. I don't know about you but that sounds like a trip for seeds to grow some veggies and if you just so happen to pick up any other supplies you need at the gardening center, well then, now you are seeing how this game is played. June 24 is U.F.O. Day. Hot days bring cool nights. Go lay under the stars and look for a U.F.O. June 25 was the day the Hungry Caterpillar was born. You can either eat your way through everything the caterpillar ate with your picky eater or maybe go read to kids at the hospital or both!

For example, tell a kid it is National Sugar Cookie Day (July 9) and that Darla lives in Jefferson, Texas, where she raises her son, Atticus Gregory, with her significant other, Hugh Lewis II. Prior to being a self-employed, stay at home mom she was a Civil Litigation Paralegal for a defense firm in North Carolina. After leaving North Carolina, she lived in Houston for a short time. She eventually returned to her hometown of Texarkana, Texas, where she met Hugh while working at the Texarkana Gazette as a production assistant. When they met, Hugh was the owner/operator of the Alley-McKay House Bed & Breakfast. Girl meets boy, girl falls in love with boy, girl has a baby and gets a bed and breakfast? It happened. But after 10 years they decided to get out of the business. They purchased a historic building right smack in the middle of downtown Jefferson and started over. Renting the bottom portion to businesses and living upstairs means lots of opinions from the locals about everything from paint colors to flowers to plant. Darla now spends a lot of time attempting DIY renovations and yelling off her balcony at friends passing by below. Her once hectic life in hospitality has now slowed to gardening and gossiping. Atticus Gregory who was once the Eloise of the bed & breakfast is starting to show signs of a mustache, has a voice deeper than his father's and is getting texts from little girls. Luckily, no matter what life hands her, she has a good sense of humor, vodka and her typewriter.

August 24 is National Banana Split Day. Do I need to say more? You can spin the holiday however you like. My version of roughing it on National Camping Week (June 26) would be to build "tents" in the living room or in the backyard, fire up the grill, build a campfire and never leave the comforts of running water and toilets. If you travel, work some of these holidays or even history dates into your plans. Louis Armstrong was born August 4 in New Orleans. His birthplace was torn down in 1964, but you could still take the opportunity to explore the area. If you are traveling near Armstrong's burial site in Queens, New York, you can see one of the coolest tombstones. His has a trumpet carved on top of it. The kids get a little free culture. You get to educate yourself and them. If you have trouble finding a holiday that works there's always the "Best of..." List. No matter where you travel or live there's a "best of" something! I've eaten more than my share of the best burgers in the Midwest. While traveling through Tennessee I had five cupcakes from five shoppes all claiming the "Best" title. Ya gotta eat, right? Summer is supposed to be fun but often it flies by and you only have a four day weekend at the crowded beach to talk about when you are old. Get out there and do some stuff that will be worth laughing and talking about later. My niece still talks about our Serial Killer and Killer Hamburgers Road Trip. Usually she is laughing because all she wanted to do was have some Crackle Barrel and I wouldn't let her eat breakfast. But why eat breakfast when the best burger in Kansas is a few hours away?! Check out www.scholastic.com for more dates and ideas. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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a season of

becoming written by Shelley Duran A Spring in Your Step, Sweat Down Your Back

or a Louisiana native, it can get sad, saying goodbye to our version of spring before the sweltering heat smacks us into summer. There’s nothing like walking outside to immediately begin sweating. There are a few things I’ve been doing to take full advantage of the current weather before saying “Au revoir!” Something about the sunshine makes me take my time, in a good way. While I haven’t exactly been sleeping in, I’ve been enjoying weekend mornings over brunch and leisurely planning the day with a handsome man by my side.

decadent scoops for others. On the fruitful but still sinful side, I’ve been taking fruit and making sorbets to scoop into booze. You read that correctly. Sipping slow and letting the concoction melt, makes the most delicious way to enjoy a sunset. My most recent drink includes grapefruit sorbet with a generous glug of whiskey. Taking my time also means going old school on reading – I’ve ditched my Audible subscription for good oldfashion books. I’m the kind that buys what looks good and then stashes them in bookshelves, forgetting to read them. I’ve collected a small stack to place on my bedside table for nightly reading before bed and am determined to get at least 10 minutes of reading in before turning the lights off.

Because I love my afternoons and this extra daylight we’ve got, I’ve moved my workouts to before work instead of after. I’m learning to love a little less sleep for a little more tone. I’ve recently taken up cycling, and have made a couple playlists to get me in the groove. Adding intervals during choruses or all out sprinting for a time period keeps my heart rate up and its fun to watch the miles add up by the end of a session. What are the ways you’re enjoying the end of springtime? I hope whatever they are, they are filled with sunshine, a quench-thirsting drink while wearing a figure flattering romper. Here’s to enjoying the outdoors before the heatstroke ahead. ----------------------------------------------------

We recently went plant shopping and constructed a few plant boxes to hang off the apartment balcony; the closest thing to farming we can muster for now. We’ve got three herb boxes, some succulent collections and one tomato plant to begin. After a few weeks of realizing we might be able to grow these suckers, we got risky and added some hanging flower plants to the top. Who knows what their future holds, but it’s been a sweet edition to discuss plants and whose turn it is to water “the garden.” The handsome man recently splurged on a new kayak for his birthday, gifting me with his previous one. These matching piraguas have been such a fun edition to the family. There are plenty of docks available in Lafayette to use, making long Saturdays on the water an easy achievement. I have grand plans to add Olive the puppy to the mix, but haven’t bought her a doggie lifejacket just yet. Paddling down the Vermilion River is a great way to see my city. It’s also a great way to check out some beautiful waterfront homes and daydream of one day owning similar property. I’ve been making lots and lots of ice cream these days, a hobby turned side business which is really exciting. I’ve scoured the internet for the loveliest vanilla and get giddy when I can buy fancy chocolate on sale to make

Shelley is a twenty something gal two-stepping in Lafayette, Louisiana. When she's not working as a copywriter for LHC Group, Inc., 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.

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the journey written by Jason McReynolds A Pure & Peaceful Home

ave you ever imagined how you can be a family that lives in a home filled with characteristics like love, joy, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control? It sounds impossible right? It isn’t. All of these things come from being pure. In the bible “purity” refers to the thoughts and motivations of oneself. It is purity of heart and purity of conscious. People who are pure stand out in this world like a spotlight in a dark theatre. Now, I don’t know too many people who think they are pure. In fact, reflecting on purity often reminds us of who we think we aren’t. We say, “That’s not me. I’m not pure.” We look at little children and see them as pure but not us. We’ve been through too much. We equate many of our regrets with impurity. We associate what we did in the past with our loss of purity. We changed ourselves for someone. We did something, drank something, thought about something, that we regret. Unfortunately this is all very true and we know it. Everyone wants a pure heart. Everyone wants a pure body. Everyone wants a pure mind. But for many of us we think we’ve lost it so long ago and it’s impossible to get it back. That’s a lie. If you have a relationship with your Father in Heaven then you are pure in His eyes and He is making you pure each and every day. (Psalm 119:9-10) If you want to feel pure again then trust that Scripture knows what it’s talking about. Seek God in every area of your life. Don’t stray when times get tough. The Holy Spirit works with that and makes you pure. We don’t see from His perspective but we can. The inner character of God Himself is complete purity. When we had our first-born we realized how desensitized we had become. Anyone who said “stupid” or a commercial that hinted at something sensuous would make my wife and I cringe inside. Why? Because there was someone in the room who was pure and who didn’t need to be exposed to it. It was and still is our responsibility to protect them until they are old enough to make wise decisions about those things. This is why we parent to the heart with our kids and not to the action. Everything you do comes from what is in your heart. (Prov. 4:23) This is what God looks at too. (1 Sam. 16:7) Now, in the spiritual sense you and I are the ones that don’t need to be in the room. But we stay in the room because we don’t want to be uncool or the party poopers. But the fact is we don’t need

to be exposed to it. Could you play that tv show at church and not feel awkward? Guess what? If you are a Christ follower your home is to be a place of purity just like your church. You need to be sensitive to the Holy Spirit and not desensitized to the world. The former brings you closer to God while the latter pulls you away from Him and makes you more like the world. Purity is often associated w/ cheese in our culture and we don’t want to be cheesy. We want to be cool. But what’s wrong w/ watching things that are pure and don’t have sex and bad language and violence and ungodly social situations? What’s wrong with placing ourselves in environments that are pure? What’s wrong with having self-control with what you allow into your heart and mind? Unless you are a monk or a nun you are going to be in the world enough with work and family and friends. When you have a choice of what to do with your time, choose the pure activity, the pure show, the thing that puts pure thoughts into your heart and mind. This is why, in our house, we’ve whittled our tv watching down to almost nothing. Living a pure life won’t turn you into a prude! It will, however, give fertile ground for the Holy Spirit to work in. We need to be pure in heart (because everything comes out of the heart) and when we do that God promises that we’ll see Him. With Christ we have a pure heart and a pure body and a pure mind. We just have to be able to take hold of that and act out of how He sees us. The other thing we have to do to achieve a pure and peaceful home is be a peacemaker. Now this is what everyone wants in their home but it can be very difficult to achieve. Sin causes conflict. We all have sin and so conflict is a lot easier to have than peace. There are a lot of different ways to have conflict in your home. Peace doesn’t just mean an absence of trouble— it is seeking the highest good. You may have a right to be angry or offended or hurt. But you can’t use your right as justification to put yourself first. Putting yourself first is putting peace last.

Peacemakers are not peacekeepers. UN Peacekeepers enforce the peace after it has been established. This doesn’t work well in the home. Sometimes a peacekeeper is someone who will avoid conflict just to keep the peace for themselves. But those people don’t contribute to actual peace in the house. That’s selfish. Peacemakers embrace conflict to make peace. I love this role. I usually know when people in our church family are in conflict and I’ll let them ride it out unless it gets unhealthy. Why? Because the current generation refuses to embrace conflict! They run. But if you are embracing it there is no need for me to get involved. It’s healthy to have conflict and resolve it… in person, not by text or Facebook. Peacemakers reflect the Prince of Peace. Jesus didn’t stick his head in the sand. He attacked controversy and conflict with love instead of anger or hate. How do you attack with love? You have to love with determination and perseverance until peace takes root and can grow. That may be tough love, patient love, give-themtheir-space love, or just a hug to let them know they are loved. A Christ-centered home isn’t a conflict-free home. In fact, in premarrital counseling we don’t marry people who have not been in a good fight. They’re not ready. They’re not the same person. They both have sin. If they haven’t been in a fight and worked through it, then they either haven’t been together long enough or are not really that into each other. They haven’t gone deep enough to find where they are really different and it ticks them off. Peacemakers will be called children of God. You are to look like God in your actions and thoughts and heart. You can’t really be a peacemaker in your home without having pure motives for everyone. You are made in his image. You never look more like God than when you radiate purity and make peace.

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

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.neworleanscommunitychurch.com

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cooking simply

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written by Melissa Teoulet Grandmother's Strawberry Shortcake

ell hello there summer. Long time no see, for me anyway. I hear from family and friends that warmer weather has been happening in Louisiana for quite a while but it only just arrived here on Long Island. You know, I never used to understand why the first day of summer was in June, but now I get it. Up here it really doesn’t get hot until then… no really. Now that summer has arrived, so has the bounty of summer produce. I speak specifically of strawberries of course. Oh man do I love me some strawberries. It’s almost my favorite berry. My absolute handsdown favorite is actually the blackberry but strawberries are a close second… very close. When the trucks start lining up on the side of the road selling farm fresh strawberries, I can’t help myself. I’ll bring home an entire flat a week if not more often. And what do you do with all that deliciousness just waiting to be eaten. Why you eat them of course! My grandmother’s favorite method was strawberry shortcake. Every Sunday morning, you’d find a fresh strawberry shortcake sitting in her fridge. Cold, creamy, sweet and bursting with strawberries, we couldn’t get enough. Now I’ve come to realize over the years that strawberry shortcake can be many different things to many different people. Some think strawberry shortcake is topping the small yellow sponge cake that you find in the produce section of a grocery store with whipped cream and strawberries, others think the cake is more like a sweet scone or biscuit, and still others like my grandmother consider strawberry shortcake to be a white cake layered with sweetened whipped cream and strawberries. This could be due to my upbringing but I think I prefer my grandmother’s version. Who doesn’t love cake after all? Not that long ago, I decided to recreate my grandmother’s strawberry shortcake. I had gotten a great deal on strawberries at the store so there were about two pounds of them lying around waiting for me to make something delicious. It had been quite a few years since I had eaten this cake but

I was pretty sure I remembered it well enough. She probably used a white cake mix and I usually do as well. You can make an excellent cake from a box mix, but this time I wanted to make it from scratch. I had no idea if she used something like Cool Whip or if she whipped cream by hand but I figured if I was making the cake from scratch, I might as well make the whipped cream too. I did make a small change though. I decided to macerate the strawberries. Macerate just means to add a little sugar to fruit and let it sit for a bit. The sugar will draw out some of the liquid from the fruit and create a sort of glaze that coats the fruit. I absolutely adore strawberries this way and I thought it might add to the cake nicely. So one Sunday morning, I set about on my task. First things first, I sliced up all my strawberries, put them in a bowl and added a couple of spoonfuls of sugar. After stirring it, I set it aside to do its thing. Then I grabbed my biggest bowl to begin the cake batter. Following a recipe I got online, I first put in all the dry ingredients and then the wet ones. That was when I realized that I forgot to mix the shortening and sugar separately using a method called creaming. Creaming helps to make a light and fluffy cake. This turned out to be mistake #1. Mistake #2 involved cutting the shortening into the dry ingredients as if I was making a pie crust. Eventually I just decided to mix all the ingredients together and call it a day. The batter was incredibly dense and thick as I poured it into the cake pan. I was pretty sure this was not going to be the light and fluffy moist cake I remember so fondly but I did hope that it would be tasty at least. While the cake was in the oven, I discovered that there was no whipping cream in

my house. I did have a box of instant vanilla pudding but I wasn’t really keen on the idea of pudding and since it was raining, making a trip to the store wasn’t going to work either. After a decent amount of soul-searching, I decided to try pouring a little half & half in the cake and change it to a strawberries and cream cake. The cake had cooled so it was now time to test this weird make-shift idea. I sliced the cake into 2 even layers. On the bottom layer, I poured some half & half and let it soak in. Then I spooned on about half of the strawberries and the glaze. I repeated this with the second layer and topped it with the rest of the strawberries. It was tasty, tasty and dense. This cake was the exact opposite of light and fluffy. The half & half helped a lot giving a moistness to the cake and the strawberries were divine but I totally blew it with the cake. My grandmother would not have approved, not at all. The next time I felt brave enough to conquer this tradition, I used a box cake mix. I wasn’t brave enough to try it from scratch a second time. This cake turned out beautifully, so light and fluffy. Using a hand mixer, I made some whipped cream with whipping cream and added some sugar for sweetness. After cutting the cake into two layers, I spread some of the cream and spooned half of those macerated strawberries on the bottom layer. I put the second layer on top and frosted the entire cake with the whipped cream. Then I spooned on the remaining strawberries and placed it in the fridge to chill. This cake was amazing. It was even better than I remembered, cool and creamy and sweet. Forget the scratch-made cake, I’m sticking to this method from now on. -------------------------------------------------------

Melissa is a happy-go-lucky, thirty-something from Chalmette, Louisiana who recently moved to Long Island, New York. She studied culinary arts at the Chef John Folse Culinary School at Nicholls State University. Between spending time with her family and immersing herself in books, she lives for exploring new places, bringing smiles to everyone she meets and sharing her passion for Southern cuisine with that unique Cajun twist.

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a novel approach written by Winnie Griggs

The Art Of Backstory – Part III

his is the third in a series of articles I’m bringing you about Weaving Backstory Into Your Work. In previous articles I discussed what backstory is and what and how much should be included in your manuscript and when to include it. This time around, and for the next several articles in this series, I’ll be discussing how to effectively weave backstory in without being guilty of info dumps or over-sharing.

So how do you do this? First, keep in mind that revelation of Backstory is most effective when it both unveils the past and adds to the present situation. So, once you’ve made the determination, that yes, this particular bit of backstory is needed at this particular point in your story to move it forward, just how do you proceed? What you want to do is weave your information in unobtrusively, as a natural outcome of your story, characters and action. There are several ways to do this. In this series I’ll discuss seven of them, starting with the most overt and moving on to the most subtle. Keep in mind that none of these methods are inherently good or bad ways to introduce backstory. The key is to know which method best fills the need of this particular part of your story. For all of these methods, no matter which you use, keep in mind two directives: • Pare your information down to the bare essentials of what needs to be revealed.

• Always provide some relevance to the current situation

Pros and Cons of Omnicscient Narrative

So this time around, we’ll discuss the omniscient narrative method.

• One problem with using an Omniscient Narrator, of course, is that it is very author-intrusive and can be distancing to the reader. Readers, especially readers of romance, like to be tapped into their characters. Omniscient POV limits the ability/opportunity to relate to the characters.

Omniscient Narrative Method This is revealing backstory by out-andout telling about a historical incident from a source other than one of the on stage story characters. This can be done in a number of ways: • One method is what I call “The News Flash” approach - this involves using an excerpt from some source - such as a news report, a letter or email, a reference book such as a history text or biography, etc. - and dropping it on the page to provide an account of a backstory element Think of the opening of the original Star Wars movie with the scrolling text that starts out “A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away..” • Another method is to use an Omniscient Narrator - Some outside entity simply states what has happened prior to the ‘here and now’ of the story action. For those of you who saw the first Lord Of The Rings movie, it opened with a narrator telling the audience the history of the ring, compressing thousands of years into a few minutes of narration and setting up the story conflict.

• On the other hand, it can provide a quick, objective set-up for your story or scene. And it can provide information to the reader that your characters may not be aware of at this point in your story

A Final Note If you do decide to use an Omniscient Narrator, it’s best to use it only as an introduction to a book or section of a book That’s it for our discussion of Omniscient Narrator. Next time around I’ll discuss the use of Flashbacks. As always, feel free to contact me at Winnie@winniegriggs.com for questions on this or any other aspect of novel writing. And feel free to look me up on facebook as well. ----------------------------------------------------

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

blissful chaos written by Yvette Hardy Legacies... Mine, Yours, Hers

prayed over every stitch for the new life that would soon be wrapped in it.

verywhere I look, she’s there. Everywhere I go, something reminds me of her. The smell of fried pork chops and sweet cornbread…they bring me back to her table. The way we used to all try to be the first to get a corner piece of her cornbread because it was the crispy part and all of our favorite. She never went for those pieces, she’d just leave them for us. I wonder if she even liked the corners. My guess is she probably did. Probably the same way she’d have liked the last piece of chocolate in the house or the fresher Dr. Pepper. But she never acted like it. Shoot…it hasn’t really been that long since my feet were under her table. Seems as though it was just yesterday I was sliding my chair out from under her table to make my way to the sink to start cleaning the supper dishes, while she’d be saying…”Now don’t do those, I can get them in the morning. Let’s visit.” At the same time, it seems like many moons ago.

My sister went to the doctor’s office the other day and it was the same one she had used. The nurse said, “I remember your mom. She sent me a thank you note for some phone calls I had made for her.” She went on to say how no one does that anymore…thanks people for just doing their job.

It’s a contradiction in terms, in my emotions and in my head. I know that May 25, 2015 was the last time I held her soft wrinkled delicate paper-thin skin hand. But if I close my eyes I can feel her soft hands wrap her bony little fingers around mine. I can feel the warmth of her cheek as she puts it up to my face and tells me everything is going to be alright. I can still smell the Aqua Net in her beautiful peppered dark hair that was beginning to turn salty colored. I can still feel, taste, smell, and touch all these things in my mind because it’s only been a year this month since she left us for her heavenly home. And yes, as sure as I know my name, I know that’s where she is at. Not because she was one of those “never say a bad word or always do the right thing” kind of people. No—she was not perfect. She was as “real” as they come. But she always quickly got back to doing what she knew to do. She got back to creating her legacy. Oh, I doubt that she realized that’s what she was doing but it was. She got back to cooking for the sick, delivering home-baked goodies to the ones in the nursing home, writing a note of encouragement or sympathy or just a “Hey…I’m thinking of you today” kind of card to more people than I even know or to quilting baby blankets as she

Since her funeral, my sisters and I have had more people than we can count tell us what a difference she made in their lives. How her notes meant so much. How the home-cooked meal she brought them just filled their stomachs with goodness and their hearts with love. How her prayers for them enveloped them like a warm blanket. All of these things were her legacy.

A young high school girl came to her funeral and cried as she told me how she was her prayer partner at church when the girl was younger. She still had all the notes Mom had written her. She said it was a real tough time for her growing up and Momma’s words and prayers were comforting to her as a young girl. The garbage men that picked up her trash weekly know of her legacy too. Although they’ve never met face to face with her, they know a kind person with a generous heart lived there as she left them a cold drink each week in a little ice chest by the garbage can. I’m sure they can feel her absence when the temps reach over a hundred in this thick Louisiana heat, and I have to believe that the garbage men are thankful to have known someone like her. Someone busy going about the work of God. Her “ladies” as we all called them, (many older than her) feel her absence each

week as they meet for Sunday School without her. They knew her legacy from the lessons she taught. Her hours of reading and writing (notebooks full) and studying to prepare for her Sunday School class was evident to all who have ever sat in her class. She didn’t just get the teachers edition and read it. She studied, planned, prepared, and wrote with no help from a computer, mind you! But more than preparing for the lesson physically and mentally, she was prepared spiritually. She “lived” it. My Daddy was all the more blessed because of her choice to live out God’s plan for her life. Even if it put her in a not-so-glamourous position most days. After his massive stroke in 1992, she chose to keep him at home and tend to him completely. And she did this for 16 long, hard years. She gave up a huge portion of her life to make sure his was as good as it could be. Her past brought her through some of the toughest times a woman could see. She wouldn’t want us to dwell on the negative at this point in the story. In fact, she wouldn’t want this to be a story at all. She had no idea I would ever write for a magazine and certainly would be proud. But she would never feel her life, her legacy, would or should be the focus of our attention. If she were reading this, she’d want me to tell you right now, how this was not her that was the comfort and the love these people felt but the Lord’s. And yes, she’d be right. But she allowed the Lord to work through her. She was that willing vessel. She was living out God’s plan for her. She started each day anew asking for His guidance and mercies and set about His business. People I’m telling you, we should focus more on being like my Momma. We should turn our attention to what she did, how she lived. We should strive to be more like that. Because to be more like her would, in turn, mean being

Yvette is a mom to 3 brown-eyed beauties, a wife to a hard-working "Louisiana oil-man," a sister to two crazy gals, an aunt to many, and a child of the One True King. These are just some of the titles she holds humbly, and near & dear to her heart. She's still chasing a few dreams (even at her age), and trying to live intentionally! Yvette is a lover of all things old, southern hospitality, a gypsy at heart and happy in boots or heels! She is a nurse and the owner of Fashion on the Fly online boutique with a mobile fashion truck on the way.

more like Jesus. Before you go thinking in my arrogance and pride that I’m comparing my mother to Jesus, I’m not. I’m not comparing her to Jesus by any means. She was human. She made mistakes. But in this world, she was a rare breed. And this world needs more people like her. Maybe you know someone like that or maybe you are someone like that. I think the biggest blessing yet, would be, after reading about hers, for someone to consider what kind of legacy they are leaving this old world. To be intentional in doing good. Even when we don’t feel like it. She wasn’t born of privilege and wealth yet she told me before she died that she felt rich. Rich when she looked in the eyes of her children and grandchildren, rich with the blessings of best friends and ladies who loved her. She never went on a mission trip to Africa or Haiti or anywhere for that matter. She never raised a great sum of money to go to a worthy cause. People all over the world didn’t know her name. What she did do was serve God daily by serving others. She ministered to the sick, the downtrodden, the poor and the lonely. She was God’s hands and feet and she, in turn, created a legacy that will be remembered by all those who were blessed enough to know her. She will be forever famous to us. She stored for herself treasures in Heaven not on Earth. Momma, I’m wishing you a Happy Mother’s Day from here this year. I know it will be your best one yet. This year you can have all the corners of the cornbread, all the chocolate and anything else you never got down here. We love you and we miss you. We’re fine so don’t worry about us. You’d be happy to know we are all striving to be more like you…taking care of each other. We just can’t wait to see you again. Thank you, Momma. Thank you for showing us what real love looks like. For letting us see God through you. We are all the better for having known you. Save a place for my camper by your mansion! Until we meet again… ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

www. theminutemagazine. com Life Outside the Boot written by Elizabeth Hines Uganda Heartache

eaving Uganda was much more difficult than I thought it was going to be. I thought I would go, have a great time, and then leave and finish up my time in Africa and head home. But after the first week I realized this would not be the case. I willed the days to slow down. But they would not. Before I knew it, I was sitting there, dressing kids and putting them to bed for the last time. On the way to the airport I found myself trying to commit everything to my longterm memory, for fear that I may one day forget. As I ran through so many memories made in such a short amount of time. As I ran through all the thoughts in my head, I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even realize that tears had started to fall down my cheeks. As we drove past the hills of Kampala, I tried to burn the images into my mind. I thought of every child that I held and put to bed every night. I thought of every nasty, poop-filled diaper I changed. I thought of every baby I bathed and rocked to sleep. I felt every tear I wiped away in those 12 days. I heard every giggle. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the feeling of every chubby little cheek my lips kissed goodbye just a few hours before. A few days after arriving here, I was angry. I was frustrated. I was just plain old pissed off. This was only one orphanage of many in the world. And yet it was full to the brim of children without families. Who could desert their children like this? I heard

stories from the director of children that had ended up on their doorsteps that I wont even tell here. Or to anyone. Because no one should have to be subjected to that kind of knowledge. Because no child should die the way some of these children have died. No child should have to live the way some of these children live, and yetâ&#x20AC;Ś.. Here I was. Right in the midst of the definition of a fallen world. I remember a verse I was initially going to be putting on my fundraising shirts. I went back and read it, but it held a different meaning to me this time.

addressed the end. I simply thought that not being "polluted by the world" was like everything else. Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t fall to sin. But today it held a different meaning. It meant to continue to care for these babies. Holding them, feeding them, loving them, putting them to sleep, without letting my heart be polluted with the sin that brought them there. To love them, and not hate their parents. To love them and not hate their circumstances. To only love them.

The first time I read it, I thought it was simply a call to look after orphans. Which is what I was doing. Cool.

Today I am back in Ethiopia. My first night back I slept 13 hours. Being in Uganda exhausted me emotionally and physically. Today I scroll through Facebook and see that everyone is all up in arms about bathroom rules in the states. It's hard to be upset alongside them. It's hard to think it even matters. Because all I can think of are the 50 little children on the other side of the world, who just want someone to rock them to sleep. And it takes all of my self-control to only love them, and not be angry at those who left them there.

But less than a week into being in Uganda, I saw it differently. I had not

Ethiopia changed my perspective. But Uganda ruined my life, for the better.

James 1:27 "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in theirs distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world".

Liz is a typical southern girl who is taking on the world. After following the scenic route through college at Louisiana Tech she moved to New York to work as a Child Life Specialist. Recently she took her next big leap by taking a hiatus from her career to travel to the other side of the world to live in Kenya, Africa. After that? Who knows! But wherever she ends up outside of the boot, a part of her is here. Follow her at tradingbootsforpearls.blogspot.com

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