The Minute Magazine Aug Sept 2010 by The Minute Magazine

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

AUG / SEPT 2010

The Minute Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

AUG / SEPT 2010

The Minute Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire. The Minute Magazine is distributed throughout Caddo, Bossier, Claiborne, Bienville, DeSoto, Ouachita, Red River, Natchitoches, Webster, Lincoln & Orleans Parishes in Louisiana. They are FREE for you to enjoy. Take a few to your friends, relatives or anyone else that you think might need a refreshing, enlightening “minute.” For a list of locations near you, viwit www.theminutemag.com today!

JACKIE LEWIS & TIFFANY BYRAM Owners/Publishers Regional Editors Graphics/Layout

VICKI CASKEY Sales Manager

TIFFANY BYRAM New Orleans Sales

JENNY REYNOLDS Founder

Circulation & Distribution: James “Shay” Callen Contact Information: Office Phone: 318.382.1900 Ad Sales: 318.548.2693 Query Email: lewisfamily1908@bellsouth.net (write QUERY in subject line)

Mail: 512 Fort Avenue, Minden, LA 71055 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~ Copyright 2010. 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. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~

Don’t count every hour in the daymake every hour in the day count!

IthisNSIDE issue... AUG / SEPT 2010

6 7 8 11 14 18 19 20 30 33 34 35 42 44 48 49

P. J.’S Point of View by Phillip J. Volentine Life’s Blessings by Vicki Caskey Blueprint for Preservation by M. Lord For Good Memories by M. Timmons

Eating the Rainbow by Sarah Mantsch The Decorating Diva by Enid Harvey The Journey by Jason McReynolds Contributors:

War Bonds by Jackie Lewis Hormonal Woman by Elizabeth Drewett Insurance Tips by Laura Horton Antique Junkie by Donna Arender Southern Women and the War Effort by R. Henry Games Weeder’s Digest by Anita Goodson My Love... by Lynette Carter Sheets

Donna Arender Dorothy Bowden Vicki Caskey Elizabeth Drewett Rebecca Henry Games Anita Goodson Enid Harvey Laura Horton Sharon Jackson Jackie Lewis Megan Lord Sarah Mantsch Jason McReynolds Lynette Carter Sheets Margaret Tripp Timmons Phillip Volentine Galen White

The White Elephant by Galen White Me and ESP by Dottie Bowden JOIN OUR FACEBOOK PAGE OR VISIT WWW.THEMINUTEMAG.COM TODAY!

The cover shot is of Bennie Hixon, taken during WWII. Graphic Layout by Jackie Lewis. Turn to page 20 to read this inspirational story of friendship.

This bi-monthly magazine is FREE! However, you can have it mailed to your home or business for $20 a year to cover postage and handling. Call 318.382.1900 or send your check and mailing address to The Minute Magazine, 512 Fort Avenue, Minden, LA 71055.

AUG / SEPT 2010

================== MILL POND ==================

ike most small towns in our area, we had a favorite swimming hole. Our swimming hole was called Mill Pond. It was named Mill Pond for the mill that was there long before my time. Men, women, boys and girls went there to cool off in the cool clear water on hot summer days. Families went there from time to time but the Mill Pond was claimed by the boys in town. Each spring or early summer

“the boys” would meet at Mill Pond and clean out the swimming hole. We would pull out all the grass that had collected during the winter. Several boys armed with garden rakes, slingblades and machetes could usually clear out the pond in one afternoon. The hardest and most dangerous job was scouring the bottom, all 50 yards long and 30 yards wide, for broken glass. Almost every liquid came in a glass container at that time, but beer bottles were the most common we found. I asked one of the older boys how so many of the bottles got broken. He said it was people who were too lazy to hunt, but thought they had to shoot something before returning home. They would throw an empty bottle up stream and shoot at it as it passed by. That is one “sport” I’m glad didn’t make it to the Olympics. After we cleaned Mill Pond, most of the time it would

The Minute Mag’s Purpose:

stay clear of debris until winter when “bottle” season opened again. Most of the boys including me went as often as we could. It was about a mile from town, not a long bike ride, if you had one, I didn’t. So if you could hop in the back of an old pick-up that was the best way to go. Riding in the back of the pickup had its drawbacks too. The boys who had pick-ups were several years older than the boys from my class; we were 13 or 14 years old at the time. It was summer, after a little league ballgame, when one of the boys who graduated in May of that year, offered me and several of my friends a ride to Mill Pond. We jumped on the back of his old truck and shortly were on our way. When we arrived at Mill Pond the boys who had on cut-off pants went swimming in them. Two of my friends and I

stripped down to our skivvies and went in like we usually did when there were no women or girls around. Now the fellow that gave us a ride was the same fellow who hit us on the head with his new class ring at school every chance he got. That should have given us a clue of how mischievous he was. We soon learned graduation hadn’t changed him any. As soon as we got in the water, he grabbed our clothes and jumped in his old truck and took off. He did stop at the top of the hill long enough to say, your clothes will be waiting for you in front of the post office. At that time the post office was across the street from the First Baptist Church. It was Tuesday and the Deacons were having a meeting. The meeting had ended and the people were leaving the church when one man saw someone tossing clothes out of a pick-up on the side walk across the street. Well, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what that was all about. He gathered our clothes and met us about halfway between town and the Mill Pond. A few minutes later we were sorting through a pile of clothes hoping it was all there and it was! It must have been a slow news day because the gossip line worked over time. I heard three different versions of what happened to us before I went to bed!

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

AUG / SEPT 2010

jealousy, gossip, condemnation, self doubt and the list could go on and on. I examined myself that day standing in my kitchen. Is my core crisp and fragrant? Or is it rotten and spoiled? I had to be honest with myself. There are parts of my core that are as rotten as that apple’s core. Just as I took the knife and carefully cut around the rottenness of the ugly core there was beauty to be found still there. Since this little incident I have chosen to look at myself a little closer. To check myself if you will. To trim around the ugly parts of me so that the good parts shine a little brighter. Oh I am not perfect; just ask my husband and daughter, friends or maybe my mother. They will assure you I have an ugly side.

================== Do You Like APPLES? ==================

o you like apples? I love red

or green, big, juicy, fragrant, crisp, tart apples. Recently I brought home a beautiful bunch of apples. That afternoon I picked out a big one, gave it a good washing and got out a knife and the peanut butter. Yes I like peanut butter with my apples. As I slid the knife down the center and the fragrant scent rushed to meet my nose my mouth began to water. However, much to my surprise, I was shocked to see that the core of it was rotten. YUCK! My immediate thought was to throw it out, and then I decided, it just might be able to be salvaged. Carefully I cut out the ugliness and found there was still plenty juicy goodness left to devour.

As I was coring this apple thoughts began to race around in my head. When I was a child I would sometimes hear my mother and grandmother make this comment when they would meet someone new, “I wonder if she is as pretty on the inside as she is on the outside.” While coring that apple this is what I thought about. How many of us are as pretty on the inside as we are on the outside. Only we ourselves know for sure. Within each of us there is a core. What our core is rooted in only we know for certain. I appear to be a sweet, loving, kind, generous, caring person. And for the most part I am. But I do battle with thoughts of envy, greed,

But I honestly want to be on the inside the person everyone sees me as on the outside. My apple that day appeared perfect in every way until that first slice. My attitude and actions are clear notes to those I surround myself with what type of person I am. I am grateful that the good Lord and I are the only ones who can see my core. It will take daily sessions with my paring knife (well not really a knife, but you know what I mean) to make sure the people in my life only see the good fruit in me. And if you run across a bad apple, take a second look, I promise there is good in every apple, ya just have to core them first.

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The Minute Mag’s Purpose:

BLUEPRINT FOR PRESERVATION Megan Lord holds an M.F.A in Historic Preservation and is finalizing an M.A. in Architectural History from the Savannah College of Art and Design. She lives and works in New Orleans and thoroughly enjoys exploring the city with her husband and son.

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Calling all Questions! Have a question about preservation or old house repairs? Send me an email at minutemagazine@ gmail.com. Each month Megan will feature a brief Q&A with real-world problems and practical solutions appropriate for your old house. ---------------------------------------

’m willing to bet that your household maintenance and renovation projects have taken a backseat to this Louisiana summer heat. So, since you’re probably squeezing out the last few days of your summer vacation, or at least the last few days of your summer stateof-mind, I thought I’d give you some light reading material to inspire the around-the-historic-house projects you may be planning for the fall. If you’re like me, you prefer easing out of lazy summer mode with small, do-able projects. Trouble is, with an old house, the smallest project can often turn into the biggest headache. Trying to match what appears to be simple shutter hardware can take an Act of Congress. Finding a specific color of historic glass is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Unless of course, you have the right resources. Historic homeowners often start their search for old house parts at big box stores like Home Depot and Lowe’s. While these stores are handy for general construction supplies and tools, they’re not the best resource for specific period or reproduction hardware and architectural details. Don’t settle for the stock pieces they have to offer. Remember, it’s the little details that give your historic house its unique character. If those details are too damaged to be repaired, you should first try to replace them with authentic, salvaged parts that cannot be found at a big box retailer. Architectural salvage stores are usually your best option for period hardware and architectural details at a reasonable cost. Granted, you may

have to scrape paint off old window sashes and pry open old shutter hinges, but the effort is well worth it. In New Orleans, the Preservation Resource Center’s Salvage Store and The Green Project, both located in the historic faubourg Marigny, are treasure troves for old house parts. I recently found 5 pair of wooden curtain rod brackets, nearly identical to the originals in my 1920’s house, for $0.50 a piece. Compare that price to $15 a pair for new, inferior brackets from a big box store and you’ll find I saved $65 by shopping salvage! Other salvage stores in New Orleans include Ricca’s on North Solomon Street in Mid-City and The Bank Architectural Antiques on Felicity Street off St. Charles. If you don’t live in New Orleans, a weekend trip to the city for the sole purpose of salvage store shopping can be quite the treat. There’s something about wandering through warehouses filled to the brim with old doors, windows, chandeliers, brackets, shutters, ironwork and columns that inspires creativity and exudes character. If a drive to New Orleans isn’t feasible, don’t fret! There are most likely other accessible resources for old house parts in your city or town. While they may not be designated salvage stores, Habitat Restores, are located throughout the United States and sell home improvement goods such as furniture, accessories, building materials and appliances. Locations for Habitat Restores in Louisiana include the cities of Alexandria, Baton Rouge, Hammond, Lafayette, Lake Charles, Mandeville, New Orleans, Slidell, and Thibodeaux. While Habitat Restores don’t specialize in old building materials and parts, they don’t turn them away, and should not be overlooked as a resource. It’s important to think beyond the box when searching for salvaged house parts. Even if you are conveniently located near a great salvage store, they may not always have the item you need. Antique stores are also great places to search for historic house parts. Whether they sell fine

antiques or are a glorified junk shop, I’m willing to bet that almost every town has at least one version of an antique store. Dig through the bins in flea markets and make friends with the owner. If he doesn’t have the specific piece you’re looking for, he may know where you can find it. Even better, he may keep an eye out when new inventory is acquired. Check your local paper for yard sales and make estate sales a priority. Not only is an estate sale a great way to check out historic architecture in your area, you’re bound to find some prize hardware and period details that may be just the piece you need. My mother, an old house junkie like me, recently attended an estate sale where they literally sold everything…including the kitchen sink! She purchased some historic casement window hardware, not because she needed it for her own house, but with the intention to return it to the new owners once the estate sale house sold! She couldn’t bear to see the hardware separated from the windows! My point: Anything and everything is sold at an estate sale, right down to the window crank hardware off the original, existing windows. You won’t find what you’re looking for unless you attend. Nearly as great a resource as estate sales are attics and garages, especially those of your grandparents if they’ve lived in their house for a significant period of time. I’ve found old 1920’s suitcases (perfect for decorating), light fixtures, and wood windows in several attics of old houses. Recognized as valuable materials but deemed out-of-style, original architectural details may have been removed and stored in the attic or garage when the house was “updated” years ago to reflect more modern tastes. It may be a hot and sweaty search, but you’re almost always guaranteed a worthwhile find. Last, but not least, keep your eyes peeled as you’re driving. I’ve found some of the most amazing

old windows and doors thrown out in a trash pile on the side of the road. Although it’s sad that these character-defining original features will no longer grace the walls of their original buildings, 99.9% of the time the wood is in perfectly good condition, making them perfect (and free!) candidates for restoration and reinstallation. Consider this and the above salvaging methods a form of recycling on a much larger scale. Refer to last month’s article for tips on restoring old wooden windows. What if you’ve looked everywhere and you can’t find the salvaged items you need? For reproduction models of old house parts, House of Antique Hardware and Rejuvenation Hardware are excellent sources (see resources list below). Here you will find shutter hinges, doorbells, doorknobs, lighting fixtures, drawer pulls, window pulleys….the list goes on and on. All the hardware is new, but reproduced from historic patterns to retain an authentic look. Searching through the thousands of beautifully crafted items these companies offer is a humbling reminder of the amount of time, the attention to detail, and the craftsmanship that went into the original pieces. So take some time to focus on those little details of your house that need attention. I’ve given you a roadmap of ideas, so be creative and make your search an adventure. And remember, don’t sweat the small stuff….unless you’re searching for discarded architectural treasures in your grandmother’s attic! Resources to Get You Started: • • • • • •

PRC Salvage Store: www.prcno. org/shop/salvagestore.php The Green Project: www.thegreenproject.org Ricca’s: www. riccasarchitectural.com The Bank Architectural Antiques: www.thebankantiques.com Antiques stores in Louisiana: http://www.usantiquedealer.

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire. • • •

com/in/louisiana House of Antique Hardware: http:// houseofantiquehardware.com Rejuvenation Hardware: www. rejuvenation.com A great link to numerous other house parts sites: www.historicproperties.com/ resources.htm

Tips for Shopping Salvage: •

Have the measurements of the item you’re looking for on hand. Make sure you know the dimensions of the window, door, shutter, etc. for which you’re searching. Even if it’s the right style, a window that’s too large or too small won’t do you any good. Not only will it be a hassle to haul back to

•

the store, they may not take returns! Research the item as thoroughly as possible before you start searching. If you’re looking for a part to repair an antique appliance, know the make and model. This will ensure your search is concise from the get go. Keep a picture of the item you’re searching for in your phone, along with its measurements and any important information you may have found during your research. This way, you’ll always have the information handy. Because, don’t we always find what we’re looking for when we least expect it?

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The Minute Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

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FOR GOOD MEMORIES, WE ARE THANKFUL

------------“The Miracle of Our Bread and Fishes” -------------

t was so odd to have Daddy around the house. It was even stranger to see him sick. Daddy was not a sickly man. In fact,

he was 225 pounds of pure muscle. His arms were like strong tree limbs. I can remember him holding his arms straight out from his side and letting us kids grab hold and swing on them. But Daddy was sick. He was so sick he couldn’t work, sleep, or anything else. In fact, he was in pure misery just sitting still. He was covered from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, inside his body as well as outside his body, with the most horrible, thick patches of rash a person can ever imagine. His tongue was so swollen, it would hardly fit inside his mouth and his ears stood out from his head like stiff flags. The rash was so bad, it affected his heart, lungs, and all internal organs. It was now a matter of life or death. That’s why he had not been able to work. When Daddy didn’t work, he didn’t get paid and when he didn’t get paid, there was no money to pay bills or buy groceries. This was the place where we were at this time. When everything was as it should have been, every penny had its’ place. Mama had gotten some advice from her friend, when she and Daddy had first come to Springhill and he began working at the International Paper Company.

“Lonna,” her friend said, “Always give God his ten percent first. After that, put ten percent away for hard times. The rest is yours for whatever you need. But always give God his ten percent first.” Mama had always followed her advice. At times, it wasn’t easy. With ten of us to feed, and bills to pay, Daddy’s paycheck from the paper company only stretched so far. The weekly grocery bill was twenty dollars. In those days, that twenty dollars would fill the back of the old Chevy station wagon with groceries. Now, Daddy was sick. He hadn’t been able to work for several weeks. Groceries, as well as everything else, were getting very low. Mama used the canned things that she had put up from the garden. We still had fresh milk from the cow and fresh eggs from our chickens, but we would need to buy some more chicken and cow feed right away. Our cupboards were looking pretty bare. Mama did what she could by adding more water to the soup bone and more gravy to the sparse pieces of meat. She still made her big, delicious biscuits as long as the flour held out. Stretch and save as best they could, the day finally came when almost everything was gone. The cupboard was practically bare. There was no soap for bathing or washing clothes; flour, sugar, and cornmeal were

down to nothing; we had no fruits or vegetables. The homemade breads were a thing of the past. In short, we were close to desperation. We needed a miracle! Early one morning, Mama made an appointment in Shreveport, about 60 miles from our house. The appointment was for Daddy to see a doctor who had treated Dad’s bad knee. Mama and Daddy had somehow put two and two together and found out that when the doctor drew fluid off Daddy’s bad knee and injected it full of cortisone, the horrible rash and whelps would get much better. This was why the trip to Shreveport was planned. So, we all loaded into the old Chevy station wagon and headed to Shreveport. It took us an hour to get there. Usually we kids would stay in the car. Daddy would park close to a big tree where it would be shady. This way, we could get out and play a little until Daddy’s visit with the doctor was over. Finally, Daddy was finished at the doctor’s and we were headed home. While passing through the big city, we would get an occasional whiff of some delicious aroma drifting from some of the restaurants. I can remember a small man pushing a tiny little cart and selling hot, fresh, roasted peanuts. Oh, how good they smelled! Our stomachs growled and ached, but there was no money for such things.

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We rode the hour back home in almost total silence. I know the same thought must have gone through Mama’s mind a thousand times while driving home, “What am I going to fix for all of us to eat when I get more? I don’t have anything left.” “Fear ye not, therefore, for you are worth more that many sparrows… your Heavenly Father knows the things you have need of, even before you ask.” So Mama knew that God could, and would, provide. The fifty-seven Chevy station wagon pulled down the lane that led to our house. Daddy stopped at the side of the house to let us all out before driving the car on into the carport behind the house. We all stood outside and waited for Daddy to come and unlock the door so we could go inside. Mama, Daddy and some of the children went to their rooms to change clothes before starting the evening “meal.” “Mama! Mama! Come here!” called one of the little ones. “Not now,” Mama answered. “I’m changing my clothes. I’ll be there in a minute,” she said. “But Mama! Come quick!” joined in another voice. Mama jerked on her house dress and buttoned it as fast as she could while making her way to the kitchen where the voices came from. She must have had visions of a cut finger, or a skinned knee, as she rushed into the kitchen.

As she walked through the door, she froze in her steps. There, on the LONG, BIG table were bags and bags of groceries. The whole top of the table was covered from one end to the other with all kinds of food and supplies. There were sacks of flour, cornmeal, and sugar. There were loaves and loaves of fresh bread. There were cans of fruits and vegetables. There were even boxes of washing powder and bars of soap. It was as if someone had read the list of “needs” that Mama would have gotten if she had had the money. NOTHING was lacking. In fact, there were “special” things that we hardly ever got for ourselves. Tears slid silently down Mama’s cheeks as she looked at Daddy and said in a low, trembling voice, “Where did all of this come from?” We searched for a note. There was none. We looked for a sign as to who might have come through locked doors and left such and abundance of exactly the things that we needed. We found nothing. To this day, we still don’t know what or who God used to supply our needs. We don’t try to figure it out. Some things are better left a mystery. But we will never forget the kindness of our anonymous donor.

The Minute Mag’s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

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The Minute Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

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The Minute Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

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The Minute Mag’s Purpose: and many more can go on and on. By sharing your thoughts with a professional, you’ll definitely be on the right track – both with your ultimate decorating decisions and your budget! After you’ve answered these critical questions, you can begin making some firm decisions about the four major elements in the room – flooring, walls, windows and furniture.

re you “tired” of your living Room? Maybe it’s time to redecorate! Sprucing up a “tired” living room will definitely give your spirit a lift! But, where do you start? Well, as the song says, “Let’s start at the very beginning!” And the beginning for any new decorating project is the creation of a master plan – one that will help guide you through all the decorating decisions you’ll be making over the coming months. First of all, determine how much you are interested in investing in

your project. This figure will be a great help to you as it will guide all your decisions. Should you buy new furniture, flooring, draperies, lamps, accessories? Or can you keep some pieces, buy a few new, and spruce up what you’re keeping. Once you’ve established a figure you’re comfortable with, then it’s time to take an inventory of your room – an inventory with a critical eye. This is where the help of a professional decorator is so very important. Take a look at your room. What is it used for? How much traffic does it get? It is a sanctuary or a room which will welcome many guests? How is the room’s lighting? Do you like your current furniture arrangement? Do you need to change the wall color or treatment? Are your window treatments dated? These questions

Flooring options are wide and varied. If new carpeting is in your plan remember that it will provide your room with the greatest expanse of color. Wall option selections – whether papered or painted, will give the room its excitement and splash. Window Treatments can either take center stage, or be a soft backdrop to your entire design plan. There is nothing, dollar for dollar, that can do more for a room that a beautifully designed window treatment. Furniture – whether wood or upholstered, besides offering you beauty and comfort will also help pull all your design elements together when blended well with flooring, wall and window treatments. With our master plan leading the way, decorating your tired living room should become a real pleasure!

About Enid... Enid Harvey is a Certified Interior Decorator with Decorating Den Interiors. She is a Window Fashions Certified Professional, a Green Certified Consultant, and has the career of her dreams. She is the owner of Decorating Den Interiors in Shreveport. She is from Puerto Rico, and loves to take time to smell the roses. We are delighted to have her as part of The Minute Magazine Family! For more information about Enid, visit her online at www.decdens.com/ eharvey

For more information contact: Enid Harvey,CID,WFCP,GCS, call her at 318-798-2214 or visit her webpage at: http://enidandtom. decoratingden.com

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

-------------Smarter. --------------

’ve been getting smarter lately. I’m getting smarter because my brain is getting bigger. I know this because my head is getting bigger. No, I don’t measure my head. That would be weird. I know my head is getting bigger because I can visually see that my forehead is getting bigger. Some may say it’s a receding hair line but I choose to believe that all the knowledge and observations and application of life lessons that I’ve learned in my 30 something years are just adding up. Isn’t that how those martian guys get such big heads? It’s cause they’re smart, right? Now before you turn the page, I want you to think about something other than whether you think I believe in aliens or not. You know you are. I don’t, unless they land in my backyard. In which case, I would. I want us to think about how we can be smarter. I’ve been thinking about this a lot over the last few years and have a few thoughts. First, I think we associate being smart with one of two things wittiness or being a genius. We think of wit because of the tv shows we watch. We watch characters banter dialogue back and forth and think to ourselves, “I wish I could have a repertoire like him” or “Wow, I wish I could be quick with my tongue like her”. There’s a problem with this, though. IT’S NOT REAL!!! No one

talks like that. Just because you saw it on The West Wing four years ago and are still impressed doesn’t mean it happens in real life, because it doesn’t. The other association is being a genius. Well, that would mean that I’m out because I’m no Stephen Hawking (he believes in aliens). We associate being book smart and learning with being smart. Why is it then that some of the smartest people in the world still have jacked up lives like the rest of us? Shouldn’t their smarts raise them to the top of the smarts food chain? Shouldn’t they have a leg up in the “better life” department? Why do they get divorces, or overdose, or have wacky-out-there theories on the world that everyone else knows is borderline insane? I would like to inject that being smart has little to do with those and everything to do with your decisions and choices. When people look at your life and evaluate you they aren’t looking at how much knowledge your brain holds or whether you’re quick tongued. They’re looking at the decisions that you have made in your life. No one ever says that someone who is using drugs is smart. No one ever says that someone who cheats is smart. People look at your life and see the choices you make. This is why people who make wise choices in life rise to the top. I’m not talking about some wise old man that sits on top of a mountain and spurts out sayings that seem profound (he just got those off the internet anyway). I’m talking about the average guy or girl, man or woman who makes everyday wise decisions. This is why some of the smartest people I know have no education past high school. They make wise choices. In the bible there was a guy named Solomon. He is credited with being the wisest man to ever live. Here is how it happened. One day

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God told Solomon to ask for anything he wanted. What a deal huh? If it were you, what would you ask for? Money, health, fame? Solomon could have asked for more money but he was a king and already had a lot of that. He could have asked for women but again he is the king. He could have asked that the world be his but he realized that he was having problems governing his own kingdom. So he asked for this an understanding heart. Solomon asked for a heart that was discerning. I’m not making this up. Seriously!?!? Look it up yourself. It’s in the bible in 1st Kings Chapter 3. This is wisdom. This is the epitome of being smart. God granted him this wisdom and by making wise choices Solomon ruled a kingdom peacefully and had everything he needed or wanted. For a while anyway. He did still make a few unwise decisions. He got involved with a girl he shouldn’t have. This began his downfall. We’ve all been there or seen how the wrong person can screw up our lives. He started making himself bigger than God. In doing so, he wore out the people who served him. We’ve all been here too. This is called selfishness. It’s when you put yourself and your wants before God and His call on your life. Solomon explains in a book of the bible called Proverbs that wisdom involves having a disciplined and prudent life. It involves having knowledge and discretion. It requires you to get advice and guidance from people who are wiser than you. It requires you not listening to the rest of the world but listening to the only one who has total control over this world. It requires faith. Faith that is complete trust. It requires a trust in the Lord that involves giving your heart and life over to Him because, just like Solomon, He can guide your life down the correct path. That is, if

you make wise choices, if you deal with the big things and the little things through the filter of wisdom. If you choose to make unwise decisions, well, you’re on your own. Wisdom is about making wise choices. It is almost always about the long-term and not the short-term. It sometimes can be painful in the short-term but it is always rewarding in the long term. Wisdom is rarely flashy but is always fulfilling. Wisdom seems complex but actually only requires that you lean on the One who has all wisdom. If you do, then maybe, like me, you’ll realize you’re just losing your hair.

Jason McReynolds is the pastor of New Orleans Community Church. He and his wife, Liev, have three children.

learn more about him, or NOCC, visit: www.neworleans community church. com

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After that, the draft went into effect.”

n 1929, when Bennie Hixon and D. B. McKay were in first grade together in Mangham, Louisiana, they had no idea that one day their devotion to country and friendship would take them across the world, where they would meet in a newly liberated POW Camp. And though that day did not happen by chance, these two amazing men were part of a journey that is nothing short of inspiring more than sixty-five years later. Not bad for a couple of small-town boys born only a few weeks apart. “We weren’t the closest of pals, but we were good friends and played football together,” says Bennie Hixon of Monroe, Louisiana. “Everyone from a small town like Mangham knows each other. We were friends, even though we had never run together, and I was worried about him.” And Bennie had a lot to be worried about. After enlisting in the Army on the last day of voluntary enlistment in 1942, Bennie knew that the war against the Allies was serious. “I went through Basic Training at Camp Chaffee in Fort Smith, Arkansas, and then through my first year of training with the 14th Armored Division.” When asked about his voluntary service, Benny chuckled. “I was sworn in the service on the last possible night, right at midnight.

While Bennie was in Basic Training, he found out the fate of his childhood friend while reading a letter from his mother. “D. B. had enlisted while he was at LSU, and I knew it. Mom wrote a letter telling me that his plane had been shot down over Germany, and he was in a POW Camp.” In November of 1944, I left for the south of France. We moved through free France into Germany, and somewhere during that time my unit became attached to General Patton’s Army. “When the war ended,” says Bennie, “we were in southern Germany. I wanted to find my friend D. B., so I started looking for him in the liberated POW camps that we’d pass through.” “Do you know D. B. McKay?” I’d ask. “No,” was the usual answer. But then the day came that Bennie heard something different. Bennie was still attached to the 14th Armored Division in Germany, also attached to the MPs, when somebody finally told him that his friend DB was in Moosburg, Germany. “I asked my Commanding Officer if I could hitchhike back to Moosburg to see DB in the prison camp. When he arrived, all of the German guards were gone and Patton’s tanks were around the camp. “D. B. McKay,” Bennie yelled as he passed through the rows of barracks in the POW camp. “He’s right back over here in this building,” somebody said in the

The Minute Mag’s Purpose:

moments before Bennie and D. B.’s reunion. “Years later,” says Bennie, “D. B. told me that he hadn’t heard his name called in two or three years.” “The German Guards called all of us Mac, short for Military Combatant,” says D. B. “I was surprised (to see him) because I had no idea where he was or what he was doing, but after he told me what outfit he was attached to I understood. He was attached to one of Patton’s Outfits, and he knew I was there. He just made it a point, every time they came to camp, to ask around and try to find someone that knew me. Somebody finally knew where I was.” Although D. B. was surprised to see Bennie, Bennie wasn’t surprised at all to see his friend D. B. “When you set out to do something like that, you’re gonna do it,” says Bennie. “The most surprising thing to me was that somebody actually knew where he was. But after that, after I found out his location, I was determined to see him. “We were classmates all the way from 1st grade to graduation and knew each other real well,” confesses D. B. “I had been a bombardier on a B-17, and I was shot down in August of 1943. For a while, I was in a POW camp named Spalag Luft #3. In German, Spalag means prison, and Luft means Airman.” “I was afraid of what I might find

when I got there,” says Bennie. “He was captured early in the war, and I had been told that he had been burned in the crash.” But after finding his friend after a more than two year search, Bennie was surprised to see that D. B. was okay. “D. B. parachuted down and landed in a field where German farmers where harvesting the crops. A farmer there kept him until the German soldiers arrived to take him to a POW camp.” “The people were upset because of the bombing, and you can’t blame them,” said D. B. about the incident. “You can realize how upset they were, because they were tired of being bombed.” Over the farmer’s fields on that day, D. B. was shot down by German fighter planes. “The farmers brought in a civilian doctor to take care of my wounds. I was afraid they were going to kill me, and they could have,” says D. B. By the time Bennie came along nearly two years later, D. B. had gone through a lot. “I sure wasn’t expecting him. I was pleasantly surprised, and we had a good visit. I was glad to see him. We were liberated by that time, in fact we had been free for about 2 or 3 days before I saw Bennie. The Germans were all gone. We were just being managed by a tank corp that one of the advance units out of Patton’s army had sent up. We were mostly worried about getting something to eat. There wasn’t a lot of food.” Sixty-five years later, both Bennie and D. B. love to talk about their experience. “Eventually, I became

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

the Principal at Mangham High School, and I even taught D. B.’s children,” laughs Bennie. The two have remained lifelong friends. Bennie came home from the war in November of 1945, and was out of the army in December. Immediately he went back to Tech and finished his degree in Social Studies Education, then he went to LSU and got his Master’s Degree in Education.

to college on the GI Bill, took up farming using the GI Bill, and farmed for about a year. Then he went to work in the Clerk of Court’s Office in Richland Parish, and ran for the office of Clerk of Court

AUG / SEPT 2010

ten years later. D. B. was Richland Parish Clerk of Court for 24 years. But that, my friends, is another story.

“The war changed me, because it made me realize what a big world it is,” says Bennie. “I got to see so many things that a little boy from Louisiana wasn’t accustomed to. The thing I remember most was when the war was over, we were waiting to be shipped back to the United States, and then we figured we’d be shipped on to the South Pacific. We thought we would be involved in defeating Japan. One of my greatest memories was the news of the Atom bomb. We were in France when we got the news, and a few days later the war was over and we were happy because we knew we wouldn’t have to go to Japan.” After being liberated from the POW Camp, D. B. returned home about a month and a half later. “Never lose hope,” he says sixty-plus years later. “No matter what, never lose hope.” After the war, DB went

Bennie Hixon during WWII

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The Minute Mag’s Purpose: Sharon Jackson is a Certified Personal Trainer from Ruston, Louisiana and the founder of Sharon’s Slamming Boot Camp. She is passionate about empowering and shaping the lives of women. Her Boot Camps are held weekly in Ruston and Arcadia, Louisiana. For more information on Sharon, visit www. stayingfitwithsharon.com.

================== Achieving Peak Vitality ==================

ost all individuals want to live a life of optimal wellness. God

created this awesome body of ours with the ability to self-heal. It is up to you to uncover the tools and methods to accomplish living a life of peak vitality. Vitality means life and energy. If your life revolves around energy, then creating, maintaining and balancing your body energy is crucial for a life full of happiness and unlimited joy. There is no other way to achieve peak

vitality without wellness. What is wellness? Wellness means different things to each person. You can be fit, eat only healthy foods and be disease free, but still lack wellness. These are the things that you can observe in your life to determine if you are living a life of peak vitality. Take a step back and view your life from a third person perspective. Where are you at with physical

wellness? Do you exercise regularly? Does your routine involve strength training, endurance, and flexibility exercises? Nutrition is another major factor. Food is energy. The right type of foods are going to give you energy and life. Change to a organic diet. Begin to eat whole foods. Processed foods have added chemicals that will reduce your shelf life.

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire. My favorite way to live a life of peak vitality is using wellness talk. It is amazing that your health and energy can be increased by the words that you speak. Decide now that you will speak positive about your health each day and claim great health no matter how you feel. You can empower your life by speaking positive, not negative. It is so important that you get enough sleep. This factor makes a tremendous difference when it comes to your health because melatonin is released. Melatonin has been reported to have significant effects on recovery, immune health

and overall wellness. The last quality for living a life of peak vitality is living a balanced life. You can start by asking yourself what can you eliminate from your life that is not working? Only you know the answer. Learn to listen to your body. You deserve to live a life of wellness and vitality. If any of these components are missing, do whatever it takes to gain control of your health. Wellness is a choice! So choose to live a life of peak vitality.

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The Minute Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

AUG / SEPT 2010

The Minute Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

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The Minute Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

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Confessions of a Hormonal Woman:

The Minute Mag’s Purpose:

by Elizabeth Drewett

What I learned during Summer Vacation...

o you remember the first day of school? It seemed like every year, in a new classroom with a new teacher, the same old question came up. The question was always a derivative of these: summer activities, summer learning, what I did, what my family did, vacation destinations, etc. Sometimes the question involved an essay. I always enjoyed the essay. My husband? Not so much. Not an essayist. A great storyteller in person, for sure. But I am definitely the English-minded one of our family and he is solidly the math/science guy. Putting pen to paper and developing the line of the summer tale was, I think, an activity we all enjoyed, but at the same time, dreaded. It was great to tell of your summer travels and hope they sounded more interesting than those of the child in the neighboring desk. But jumpstarting the brain into putting all those sentences together on the first day of school was, well, let’s just say it required coffee but I was too young to drink it.

As the summer winds down, once again I put pen to paper. Well, actually, I put fingers to keyboard. And the tale begins. What have I learned during summer vacation? Honestly, the learning comes from the parenting. As mom to two precious kids aged 11 and 5, I dare say that I learn more from them than they learn from me. Don’t get me wrong. I love a great teaching moment with my kids when chance offers me an opportunity to share a pearl of wisdom that hopefully lasts a lifetime. But by and large, this summer I have done the learning and my babes have done the teaching. So my backto-school essay will be entitled “What I’ve Learned From My Kids This Summer.” 1. Dream Big. We’ve heard it before. It has come out of my mouth a million times. But it’s watching the big dreams unfold that is inspiring. My son has played baseball since he was three. There’s nothing cuter than the tee ball pile-up. All the little kids run for the ball and have more fun making a pile than actually catching the ball. Every year for the last eight years, springtime means evenings at the ballpark, lawn chairs, extended conversations with other moms in between our kids’ at-bats, siblings playing, and dads coaching. It’s a springtime ritual that I’ve grown to love. Well this spring ended on a

high note. After a super-exciting season in which our team (Drewett + Brenden Architecture) placed 1st for the league and 3rd in the seasonending tournament, Langdon was selected to play on the 11 year-old All-Star team. He was so honored to have earned a coveted spot among this group of boys. Our summer of All-Star practice and tournaments was like dessert over and over -SWEET! He’s now planning how he’ll practice and prepare for next year’s baseball season. The AllStar team finished third in the state. But the best part was the smile on my boy’s face when the big dream became reality. 2. Laugh More. I’m a pretty serious and focused person. Yes, I have a sense of humor. And I married the funniest person I’ve ever met. But being as goal-oriented as I am, I tend to get lost inside of my focus and forget to enjoy the life I’m living. My daughter is the cure for that. Every day, she reminds me that laughing is a key part of life. Dinnertime has become a ritual of the same old jokes told in slightly different ways. She’s just young enough that she thinks her knock-knock jokes are funny even when they don’t make sense. All we can do is laugh. And kids say the darndest things (wasn’t that a TV show?). Here was our conversation last night. Me: Oh, Reagan, you’re sleeping with Mickey and Minnie Mouse. Reagan: Yes,

mom. They got married yesterday. Me: Oh, that’s wonderful. Are they going to have a bunch of little mouse babies? Reagan: Well, Minnie is only pregnant on Thursdays. [I’m laughing all over again.] 3. Pray Daily. The economic fallout of the last two years has been devastating for so many. I’m thankful to be in Louisiana where we seem to be so insulated from the national economic woes (but certainly not those of hurricanes and oil spills). And my heart aches for Arizona, where we spent 14 years living life with wonderful friends and family. Arizona has felt the impact of the Great Recession so severely that the state currently operates on 70% of it’s 2006 income. It drives me to pray daily for those who are suffering. I’ve always said that it’s the valleys in life that help us appreciate and give thanks for the mountains. The tough times remind me that I am not in control. And I am thankful for the One that is. Praying daily reminds me that my life remains in the capable hands of a creator who made something from nothing. Every night after prayers, my family shares one or two things for which they are thankful that day. Hearing those sweet words from the lips of my babies is another reminder of the many blessings, undeserved, that God has heaped into our lives. 4. Play Outside. You know, southern girls don’t sweat, they glisten. I’m not

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire. a big fan of glistening. Once I get the hair done and the makeup just right, I’m done for the day. A redo is not on my agenda. But the kids entice me to join their fun. One Sunday afternoon this summer, my family got dressed and headed to the tennis courts. Yes, it was terribly hot. But ice water poured on your head will cool you down quickly. Our afternoon swatting at tennis balls and mostly chasing the ones we missed was a much-needed and long-remembered family bonding. We all got some much needed Vitamin D from the sun we soaked up, and the exercise was great for the body and the soul. I was gently reminded on this day that any girl can get motivated for anything (even 95 degree heat and impending sweat) if she has the right outfit. There’s just nothing cuter than a tennis skirt. I’m sure there’s more learning to come. I think a lot about how to be a good parent. I consider constantly what my actions are teaching my children. But this summer, it seems that their actions were the defining part of my summer. They reminded me to live. And to enjoy. And to be thankful. And to soak up the sun. And that, my friends, completes my essay on “What I Learned During Summer Vacation.” I wonder if Mrs. Barmore (my fifth grade teacher)

would give me an A?

About the Author: Elizabeth Haynes Drewett is a hormonal woman rumored to be somewhere between the age of 30 and 50. Her job: Operations Manager and Marketing Director for Seasons, with medical clinics in Monroe, LA, Ruston, LA and Knoxville, TN, and spa locations in Ruston, LA and Monroe, LA. Her training: bachelor of arts in journalism degree from LSU and a bachelor of fine arts degree in piano performance from LA Tech University. Her life: wife of Ruston architect C.P. Drewett, Jr. and doting mother to Langdon, age 11, and Reagan, age 5. Her passions: the state of Louisiana - as Miss Louisiana 1992 she devoted her year of service to breast cancer education and the importance of early detection; lover of music - invested 10 years as a piano teacher into the lives of the most wonderful kids in the world; lover of a good game - job experiences include communications at PING Golf Equipment and public relations with the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Her favorite things: an underdog who overachieves, a good laugh, a good book, a good word, and a good hair day.

AUG / SEPT 2010

The Minute Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

Preserve Your Choices with Long-term Care Insurance By

Laura Horton

State Farm®

hoices. Most people value the ability to make choices. Whether choosing the car you drive or where you live, choices mean flexibility. You probably want that same flexibility when making choices about your future- especially when it comes to health care. Having long-term care insurance will help preserve your ability to make these important choices. What is long-term care? Simply stated, long-term care refers to the services you may need when you’re no longer able to care for yourself and need assistance with the activites of daily living. You may need assistance after an injury, illness, stroke, or disease. Long-term care insurance can help pay the cost of care for services in your home, in the community, or in a nursing home. Paying for long-term care services could affect your future plans and choices in health care if you aren’t properly prepared. If you weren’t able to care for yourself, would it be important to have the flexibility to make choices and control your independence? With proper planning, you may have the ability to receive care in your home, in your community or in the facility of your choice. In my opinion, serious consideration should be given to long-term care insurance as part of a solid financial plan. This means taking steps to help protect what you’ve worked so hard to accumulate through saving and investing. Anyone, no matter what age, may need long-term care: 49 percent of people receiving longterm care services are workingage adults under age 65. (Source: General Accounting Office) More than 70 percent of people over the age of 65 may be in some form of home health care. (Source: Lewin Group)

agent

Most Americans are unable to save enough to cover the high cost of long-term care servics on their own. Nationally, the annual cost of a nursing home stay is about $56,000 and is expected to quadruple by 2030. (Source: Health Care Financing Administration) Long term care insurance can help pay these costs and allows you to maintain control while preserving your choices. With the possibility of needing long-term care and the high costs associated, the next question is how will you afford it? Will you pay for it yourself? If you have a large estate, you may be able to cover potential costs on your own. However, for most people, long-term care services could quickly devastate income, retirement savings and other assets. Will you depend on Medicare or Medicaid? Medicare does not cover most long-term care services. Medicaid is designed to help the poorest in our community; you would have to meet strict guidelines for your income and assets. Will you depend on your family? For many people, this may be the only option. Talking with your family will help you decide if they have the resources, expertise, time and willingness to provide for your care. Should long-term care insurance be a part of your plan? Many people are choosing a long term care insurance policy to help pay the cost of their care. It can be a cost-effective way to ensure you have choices in your health care. As a State Farm agent, my mission is to help people manage the risks of everyday life, recover from the unexpected and realize their dreams. I believe long-term care insurance is part of this mission. Even if you don’t talk to me about long-term care insurance, talk with someone. It’s that important. To learn more about preserving your choices for care, contact Laure Horton at 318-377-5556 or call a State Farm agent where you live.

AUG / SEPT 2010

AUG / SEPT 2010 pair of boy shoes I have are little black hi-tops. For some reason I could just imagine they would be similiar to ones my dad might have worn when he was a toddler. The most recent addition to my collection is a tiny black pair of lace up shoes. Even though I liked the shoes when I first saw them, it was a “note” that was tucked away in side that made me have to have them. On an old scrap of paper it reads:

the true confessions of an

ANTIQUE JUNKIE

by Donna Arender

Evelyn-1st shoes Walked 14 months Slid-shoe worn off grately

suppose as long as there has been “stuff” to collect, folks have been collecting. And the reasons people collect certain thing, varies as much as the things they call treasures. Some people collect things of value, and others collect things just because it touches their heart or brings back fond memories. Some find things of interest and others like the “thrill of the hunt” of hard to find items as much as the treasure itself. My personal collections vary greatly but they all make me smile, thus, the reason for surrounding myself with the things I enjoy. One of my most unusal collections is shoes. Yep - I said shoes! Now I know alot of you are thinking that most women have a lot of shoes taking up room in their closet and you’re wondering what’s so special about that. But I’m not taking about shoes for me. I’m talking about baby shoes. And not just any baby shoes, I collect vintage baby shoes. It’s hard to explain “why” I am drawn to them. It’s just one of

The Minute Mag’s Purpose:

those things that speaks to my heart. I somehow feel connected to the past... like walking back in time. When I look at those tiny little shoes, I often wonder what sweet baby used to wear them. Were they from a rich family that lived in a huge victorian house and dressed their children in all the finest clothes? Or were they from a poor farm family that passed them down from one baby to the next? One of the first pair of shoes that I bought are from the victorian era. They were once white, now darkened with age. A very dainty little pair with buttons instead of laces. Then there’s the tiny pink shoes that almost look like ballet slippers. I can just imagine the little girl that wore them looking almost like a baby doll. The only

Sure enough on the back heels of both shoes the leather is worn away where baby Evelyn slid her feet. What amazes me is that not only have the shoes survived for all these years, but the hand written note somehow stayed hidden away as well. I guess that’s what I mean when I say something “touches my heart”... it really has a story to tell. And this story wouldn’t be complete without sharing the following. My grandparents grew up in the Great Depression era before WWII. On my dad’s side of the family, we all have copies of a family photo of Grandpa Woodell and his siblings. In the photo none of the children had on shoes and I doubt they owned any. My aunt tells me that grandpa and his brothers used to fish on the lake all night, and then go sell or deliver the fish before school the next day. Since they were but fishin’ they didn’t need any shoes. And

even as poor as they were, they fed alot of the families in the surrounding community with the fish they caught and the vegetables they raised in their garden. I love to sit and listen to these stories that connect me to the past. In the “disposable” world we live in, no one would probably ever think twice about a pair of shoes. It’s easy come and easy go. But that wasn’t so just a few generations back. My Aunt Ruth shared the story of her first pair of cowgirl boots with me. She said my daddy bought them for her when she was 13 years old. She wore them everywhere she went and still had them when she got married. What sweet memories she has of those well worn boots and the special brother that bought them for her. I remember that we used to get new shoes every year when we started back to school. It was so exciting to go shopping for school supplies, clothes and shoes. Looking back now, I realize that I took for granted that we had this privilage. Things were so different for my parents and especially my grandparents. They might have gone without shoes because they didn’t own any. But going without shoes when I was a kid meant summer had finally arrived! I loved getting to kick off my shoes and play barefoot. Something about that sand between my toes or the grass tickling the bottom of my feet just made me happy. Of course, there were times I’d run into a patch of stickers, then i would wish I’d kept my shoes on. But for the most part, being barefoot in the summer was just as essential as having a coat in the winter. So the next time you put on a pair of shoes, remember that they might one day have a story to tell. They could tell of the places they’ve been, the hard work they’ve endured, the fun times they’ve had and the firends they’ve met. I’m sure we’ve all had a “favorite” pair of shoes at one time or another. And parting with them is almost like saying “Good-bye” to an old friend. They might have danced at a wedding, or witnessed the birth of a child. They might have been there on graduation day or carried us through days we’ve walked alone. You know how the old saying goes “If the shoes fits, wear it”. But don’t forget “Don’t judge a man until you’ve walked a

mile in his shoes”.

Until next time... Happy Treasure Hunting!

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

Written by Rebecca Henry Games

The year: 1942. As America’s young men answered the call to defend our nation’s shores, young women also felt a need to contribute to the war effort. With war production needs escalating, and young American men marching off to war, there was a huge vacuum in the workforce. Wartime posters encouraged women to step up to the challenge to fill the void, and they accepted courageously. Southern women, in particular, were targeted with these messages. Southern women have a reputation for being brave and aren’t afraid of hard work. By the tens of thousands, young southern women took special training courses, then headed out to factories far from home. Some, like Athens High School graduates Vina Greer Henry and Inez Feazell Thompson, made B-24 Liberator bombers at Willow Run in Ypsilanti, Michigan. Others were contributing in war industries such as tank production, shipbuilding, steel production, and munitions. Some were even test pilots for the bombers the women manufactured. On Saturday June 5th, my mom (Vina Greer Henry) was honored in Ypsilanti, Michigan, for her contribution to the war effort. Vina Greer Henry died on June 14, 2005, at the age of 81. For the last 57 years of her life, she was a resident of Bernice, Louisiana, and a property owner in Union, Lincoln, and Claiborne Parishes. Her obituary mentions that she worked at the Willow Run bomber factory and that

she was proud of her service to her country during the war. She always said that, next to her family, she was proudest of her contribution to the war effort. Vina was married to George Wayne Henry, a Marine in the Pacific Arena during World War II. Together they had five children: Shirley Henry Lykins, Rebecca Henry Games, Vicki Henry Harris, Jimmy Marvin Henry, and Barry Wayne Henry. Women like Vina Greer Henry and her friend Inez Feazell blazed the trail for their daughters, encouraging them to get a good education and to seek a career that is rewarding. We owe much to their courage. The first week of June, my sister Vicki Henry Harris, her daughter Monica Harris Morrow (both of Bernice, LA) and I traveled to Ypsilanti, Michigan. Joining us later in the trip was cousin Robert Lee, former resident of Bernice, LA Tech graduate, and now resident of Michigan. We were there to attend the dedication of the Vina Greer Henry Conference Room/Rosie the Riveter Exhibit of the Yankee Air Museum, honoring all women who proved to be a vital part of the “Arsenal of Democracy”. Immediately upon arrival at our hotel, we inquired if there were any restaurants from the World War II era that were still doing business. Much to our delight, there were two. One was called “The Bomber”. In keeping with Ypsilanti and Willow Run’s role in the producing B-24 Liberator bombers during World War II, this locally-owned and operated restaurant---really more a diner---still served the fare it had almost 70 years ago. A couple of items we recognized from my Mom’s repertoire---fried bologna sandwiches and corned beef hash on toast. (These were two dishes none of our friends mom’s

AUG / SEPT 2010

made when we were growing up.) The next morning we set out to find the Bomber Restaurant and soak up the ambience that had been part of my mother’s environment during the two years (1943 and 1944) that she worked at Willow Run as a “Rosie”. The restaurant looked as though it had not changed in the decades since my mother had been a regular customer. (photos from the Archives section of the local historical society proved that to be very much the case.) The walls of the restaurant were decorated with authentic relics of the era, and some of them looked like they had hung there for many years. There were military weapons and uniforms, posters, photos, and age-yellowed newspapers announcing the war’s end. Excited about our reason for being there, my niece announced to the young waitress that she was there for the Yankee Air Muse-

um dedication ceremony recognizing her grandmother as representative of all the Rosie the Riverters aka women in the war industry. Then she opened her phone to a 1943 photo of her grandmother and her grandmother’s three fellow Rosies that boarded with a local family in Ypsilanti during this momentous time in our nation’s history. The young waitress stared at the photo and said “That picture looks real familiar to me.” Then she turned and pointed to one of the memorabiliafilled walls and pointed “There she is! There’s you grandma right there on our wall!” Sure enough, there she was right there on the wall of The Bomber Restaurant. A few moments later the owner of the restaurant came over and told us the story of how the photo had ended up on their wall. It went something like this. The sister of one of my mother’s roommates vis-

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certain this would be my last visit to this place that offered such refuge to my mother during those days when she came home exhausted from a long shift of riveting on the center wing of B-24s, I walked around the house to the back yard. There, sitting with her feet propped up and absorbed in the novel in her hand, totally oblivious to the ring of a distant doorbell, was a young woman named Sarah. Sarah, ited the restaurant a number of years ago and told the owner probably still in her twenties, about how her sister and three had just bought the house four other young Southern women months ago and was ecstatic to had gone to Ypsilanti to work at learn about this part of its histhe Willow Run bomber factory tory. She took us all through making bombers for the war ef- the house and we explored fort. They had stayed with a the upstairs bedrooms where wonderful family, the Furtneys, the boarder family would have who treated them as though stayed, and looked out the winthey were their own daughters. dows where they would have After the visit, this sister sent hung their newly laundered the photo of Helen Fielden (her lingerie. Sarah asked for phosister, from Tennessee), Ethyl tos of the boarder family and a Parker (from Smackover , Ar- copy of the photo of my newkansas) and Vina Greer and lywed parents under her oak Inez Feazell, both graduates of tree. Through Sarah, a comAthens High School in Athens, plete stranger to us, we saw the LA). Helen’s sister said that kindness of the Furtneys to their they had all gone to a school in “boarder family”. Shreveport to take a course in assembly of bombers, and were On Saturday, June 5, 2010, grateful for the kindness shown the Yankee Air Museum honto them in a state so very far ored not only one North Louifrom their southern homes. siana woman, and not only the She then sent the framed photo many Southern women who anto The Bomber to add to their swered the call, but all women whose courage took them to already impressive collection. the production lines of the war After this eventful breakfast at industry. The museum exhibit The Bomber, our pilgrimage included sections on the lives of took us to the first home of the the women involved in the war young women in Ypsilanti. The effort, tools of the Rosies, war Furtneys lived on Oak Street brides, factory life, and a video when the “boarder family” ,as of the life of a Rosie. Among they were affectionately called those present was Donna, came to live with them. Lat- leen Lanktree, president of er they---all of them--- moved the Rosie the Riveter Asacross town to a house on sociation , who presented Sherman Street. Following in a special contribution to their footsteps, our entourage the exhibit. Also among located the lovely old white those present was frame home on Oak Street, Sarah and her mother, complete with an ancient oak and two women who tree out front---the same oak grew up in the house tree under which my parents, on Oak Street---conGeorge Wayne Henry and Vina tinuing the legacy of Greer, posed for their wedding hospitality. photos (actually taken a few women weeks after their wedding). Young Anxiously, we rang the bell and like Vina Greer knocked loudly, eagerly antici- Henry made a difpating some kind of greeting to ference throughbe followed by our respectful out the entire war request to make some photos industry. Not only on their front lawn, under the were they making old oak tree. A car was in the bombers, but they drive-way; the windows were were involved in tank open; a dog was barking from production, ship buildwithin. Alas, no answer. Feel- ing, steel production, ing somewhat emboldened, and

The Minute Mag’s Purpose: and muniPhotos, clockwise beginning on left Photo 1: Vina tions. At the Greer Henry at The Yankee Air Museum in Ypsiwar’s end--lanti, Michigan, in October 2003. The museum as our soldiers is located in the same complex as the Willow returned to the Run plant. You can see the absolute joy homefront---Vina in her face over going back to the place and most of her that played such a huge role in shaping peers quietly retreatthe woman she became. Photo 2: the ed to more traditional entrance plaque/sign for the section roles. But ---make no mistake---they were forof the museum housing information ever changed. Because specific to the Rosies The photo during this time----when was made on June 5th of this they answered the call and year at the grand opening of made a decisive impact on the exhibit. Photo 3: Rebecca production in a war-time indusHenry Games, speaking at try----they discovered that they the dedication ceremony really could make a difference. of the exhibit recognizing Vina Greer Henry----and the leand honoring the role of all gions of “Rosies” just like her women who proved to be ----left a legacy to their daughters a vital part of the “Arsenal and granddaughters. We---the of Democracy”. Photo 4: recipients of that legacy-----grew Vina Greer Henry, and her up with a keen desire to take husband, George Wayne advantage of opportunities for Herny---both 1942 graduhigher education, to strive for a ates of Athens High professional career, and to give School. This is their back to the community through “wedding photo” made volunteer work and church projin 1943 This photo---their ects designed to help others. first together---was made On June 5th, the Yankee Air Mua few weeks later when he seum saluted this courageous was on leave, en route to group of women who blazed the war in the Pacific. He the trail for future generations. showed up at her doorstep ===================== (The exhibit is a continuing one, a growing one, that will be a teaching tool and an inspiration for young Americans, particularly young girls.)

in Ypsilanti in full dress uniform!

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

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The Minute Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

AUG / SEPT 2010

The Minute Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

AUG / SEPT 2010

The Minute Mag’s Purpose: basil, coriander and some varieties of lavender. Keep in mind, growing herbs indoor, they don’t like the cooking fumes and fluctuating heat in a small kitchen and the hot, dry air directly above the heat vent. You can root rosemary, basil, and thyme in water. When the plants form an abundant root system, transplant them to soil. I plan on trying more herbs in this way. You can join a local herb society, or at least attend a meeting or two. Gardeners are renowned for their friendliness.

hose herbs which perfume the air most delightfully, not passed by as the rest, but, being trodden upon and crushed, are three; that is, burnet, wild thyme and watermints. Therefore, you walk or tread. ~ Frances Bacon Cultivating a culinary herb garden is an excellent way to blend gourmet cooking and the art of gardening. You can produce savory dishes by using the freshest herbs, grown outside your own back door. Using and planting herbs from your own culinary herb garden can be easy as well as save you money at the grocery store, and it also tastes sooo much better. Make a list of what herbs you cook with and how often you eat dishes that contain them. Write down what herbs are in the recipes. Plant herbs you frequently use in your recipe list along with common kitchen herbs such as basil, mint, cilantro, and dill. If you choose not to cook with herbs simply enjoy them by making potpourri. The foliage and fragrance is also pleasing to brush against when walking along paths by the herb bed. One of my favorite tricks is to plant mint under the faucet. Simply stepping on it when you need water is absolutely fabulous.

The best location for placing an herb garden will be right outside your kitchen door. This way it won’t be too hard to get to when cooking. You will use the homegrown herbs more frequently when they are easy to access. Of course you have to harvest before winter, but during the summer they are much better fresh. Herbs need at least 10 hours of sunlight a day (full sun). Many will thrive in much less. If ground isn’t suitable, you can grow them in a bright window sill. Plant herbs in colorful pots on your porch. Be sure each variety of herb gets the correct light and water at the

intended location. Use containers that are at least 8 inches deep and 6 to 8 inches across for each plant. To group several like plants, with similar needs- in one container, simply allow 6 to 8 inches between plants. Buy small herb plants at a greenhouse or nursery for an early harvest. You can easily start herbs from seed. You can get also get an early start with a cold frame or even use a heat pad for plants. Herbs like the heat so August will be the perfect time to plant from seed. There will still time to harvest before frost. First, decide which herbs you want to grow. If planting in containers, fill with a quality, well draining, potting soil, mixed with coarse sand and mushroom compost. Ensure good drainage by setting the pots on a tray filled with gravel. Set new plants into their new quarters at the same depth they were growing in their nursery pots and water well. Follow directions on seed packs if planting from seed. Be careful not to overwater. A good soaking once or twice a week is sufficient. When plants are actively growing feed once a week, using seaweed extract or fish emulsion. Be sure your dogs don’t get into your pots if using fish emulsion. They seem to like the fishy smell or any other nasty smell if you get right down to it! If you can’t find the seaweed ask your local seed store to order it for you. They will be more than happy to accommodate you. It really makes a difference in your plants. Harvest herbs with care. Clip outer leaves or sprigs as you use them, but always leave plenty of vigorous growth on the plant. Last week I was picking my tomatoes, I have a basil planted at the bottom of one, a bee was buzzing the blooms unnoticed by me, up my shirt he went and stung me three or four times. I had to peel off my shirt to get the bee out. My husband just laughed at me when I came inside without a shirt. From now on I will be trimming the basil before it blooms. This will actually make a bushier growing plant and hopefully prevent the bees from stinging me again. Actually I was in his territory. By the way, we live secluded way out in the country. If it wasn’t for the bees we wouldn’t

have seed. You can save the seeds from basil for the next years planting. The many varieties of this herb have seeds that can germinate after 10 years. I keep my seeds in the freezer labeled in zipper bags with dates on them. Basil is an annual so you will have to plant it every year. The frost will kill it in our area. Basil is a member of the mint family, native to central and tropical Asia and Africa (some say it originated in India). It is an important ingredient in Thai, Vietnamese and Laotian cuisine. It is a must have on my pizza. Today it is cultivated commercially in California, Bulgaria, Hungary, Germany, Israel, Egypt, Morocco, Italy, Madagascar, India, Mexico, and in my backyard! It has been grown in areas around the Mediterranean since antiquity, but Britain did not begin using basil until the 16th century. In addition to culinary uses, basil is also used in perfumes, soaps, shampoos and dental preparations, In Mexico it is supposed to keep a lover’s eye off others, and is considered a powerful protector in Haiti. During British colonial days in India, magistrates would have Hindu witnesses swear on this holy herb. It is recommended by Herbalists for the relief of dysentery, gas pains, nausea, and as a cure for worms and warts. The ancient Greeks and Romans thought basil would only grow if you screamed wild curses while sowing the seeds. Salome hid John the Baptist’s head in a pot of basil to cover up the odor of it’s decomposition. It is a strong and unforgettable scent if you have ever smelled it. If you ever use it fresh you will never go back to dried from the store again. It is that special to grow your own, so much better than store bought. Sort of like the rain water and well water, very different, like night & day. In general, bushy perennial herbs, such as rosemary, thyme, oregano, sage and winter savory, perform better indoors than those with soft stems, such as mint and tarragon. Scented geraniums make wonderful, fragrant herbal roommates, as do lemon verbena,

Books you may be interested in reading: Cooking with Herbs: 100 Seasonal Recipes and Herbal Mixtures to Spice Up Any Meal by Tina James. Rodale Press, 1999. Garlic Lovers’ Cookbook by The Gilroy Garlic Festival Association 1980, Celestial Arts. Jeanne Rose’s Herbal Guide to Food by Jeanne Rose. North Atlantic Books, 1979. Cooking with Herbs from the Good Earth, Simple & Delicious Herb Recipes, by Toni McArthur. According to the LSU Planting vegetable calendar it is time to plant for August: snap & lima beans, beets, Brussel sprouts, cauliflower, cabbage collards, mustard greens. Late August carrots, kohlrabi & lettuce. September plant beets, lettuce, broccoli, cabbage, carrots, Swiss chard, & Irish potatoes. Late September plant radishes & parsley. This is a recipe I pulled from The Seedling a newsletter for the Master Gardeners, submitted by Billy Tillman. Herbal Cheese 1 box of cream cheese (8 oz.) 1 cup margarine or butter Fresh or dried herbs of our choice* (2 tsp. fresh herbs equals 1 tsp. dried herbs) Minced garlic (optional) With the cream cheese & margarine at room temperature, mix well. Add garlic & herbs mix well. Cover & chill overnight. Add a sprig of fresh herbs on top when serving. Good with crackers or celery sticks. Recipe makes a little over 1 cup of herbal cheese. * Note: Use a total of 5 to 6 tsp. of fresh herbs or ½ that of dried herbs. Snip some fresh herbs from your garden or use some of dried herbs for this recipe. Also, you can use low fat cream cheese, if you like. It’s great on many vegetables. It is a great time to start a compost pile for Autumn and spring. Remember to have fun gardening, put on your bonnet and at least SPF 50 sunscreen before going out in the sun. Any questions or comments contact the Minute Magazine. Be sure & check us out on Facebook.

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

AUG / SEPT 2010

Written by Lynette Carter Sheets

good life is judged by the quality of it. There are three things I learned early in life that I feel contributes to a good life. First, “Love.” The more you love, the more you will be loved. We are all born to love and be loved. Second, “Give of yourself.” The more you give, the more you will recieve, and third, “Laugh.” When you can laugh at yourself and your failure, life becomes less dramatic, more enjoyable. Recently I had a discussion with my daughters about how the photographs shown at a funeral service revived stored memories and retained experiences from life’s past times. While we were talking, my oldest daughter, Tanja, told me she wanted me to gather the pictures I would like used for Tommy’s and my services. She then threw a shocker my way by saying, “By the way, since you are the writer in the family, you need to write your obituary, too.” I expected to take care of Tommy’s, but my own? A few weeks later, I decided to go through old photographs, and as I would sort through those old mental impressions, I would sometimes inquire of my husband, “Do you remember this?” The extremely realistic images brought back a number of good memories, with some funny times and a few that nearly broke my heart. I met my husband, Tommy, when I was fourteen. It was the night of the Doyline School Halloween Carnival. For the end of October, it was a really warm night with a big harvest moon hanging overhead. One of my duties on the particular night was to try and sell tickets to the Turkey and Dressing dinner. I was dressed in a short black skirt and a red satin off the shoulder blouse. I felt very alluring as I walked around asking people at the carnival if they had their tickets for the dinner, and if they didn’t have one I would remind them there was still time to purchase one.

It was getting late, almost time for th pageant to begin when some of the older boys walked up to ask, “Why don’t you go over and ask those guys standing at the cafeteria door if they want to buy some tickets?” In what strange ways destiny moves. I had no idea that my future was being sealed as I was introduced to the dark haired, blueeyed stranger. Life is so full of suprises, but that was something I had yet to learn. I did recognize that he was not like the rest of the boys I knew. I later learned he had just been discharged from the Air Force and he was staying with his mother and stepfather. There were from the state of Virginia.

The Minute Mag’s Purpose:

My Love, M

Six months later he called me to ask about a date. Had I known he was asking me out because of a bet, I would have played “hard to get.” But I didn’t learn about that until some time later. It seemed some of the boys from Doyline had told him, “Lynette won’t go out with you,” and he said, “How much do you want to bet I can get a date with her.” Needless to say, he won the bet. On that first date we double dated with one of my girl friends and one of Tommy’s younger brothers. The date started late and I had to be home by eleven. It was decided that we would go to Lake Bistineau State Park and listen to the radio. It was a beautiful, star filled night, very romantic. We took our shoes off and danced in the sand. Later, when Tommy walked me to the door, he told me he enjoyed it and he would see me later. He didn’t even try to kiss me. I will admit, I wasn’t used to that and, “He definitely had my full attention,” but as it was several months before he asked me out again, I soon forgot about him. It seemed that when he was told my age, he had decided it was best to leave me alone. A few months later I was cheering at a home game, (I was a cheer leader for the Doyline Panthers) when I looked up to see Tommy and some friends walking into the gymnasium. I smiled at him and the next day he called to ask me for another date. During the next few months we were together more and more. The following spring and summer was a magical time for me; a learning experience. I was learning to care for someone other than my mother, father, and siblings. I had fallen in love. By August we had decided to get married and even though I was still in school we were mar-

ried in September. We had given my mother two weeks to plan a wedding. I don’t know how she did it, but we had a beautiful wedding. The two weeks before we were married, Tommy had found us a house to rent. During those two weeks he worked for an oil company in the daytime and at night he painted the inside of the house and stained the floors. He had it finished by the day of our wedding. By November, my new husband had started working for the bowling alley in Minden and I was going to school in the daytime and studing at night. The owners of the bowling alley had decided to send Tommy to AMF school in Chicago. He was to leave the day after Christmas. When the day came for him to leave,

I was hysterical, with uncontrollable tears. He made the decision to take me with him. I was making my foolish self sick with all the crying. Years later when he was travling most of the time, I learned to keep myself busy so I wouldn’t stay depressed, but at that point in my life I just couldn’t see me without him for three whole weeks. We went to Chicago driving on what is referred to as “bald tires”, with just enought money for Tommy to eat and buy gas. We should have been afraid, but we both lacked the good sense to be frightened by the situation. We were in love. While in Chicago, I had one meal a day. Tommy faired better as he had breakfast every morning before school started. By the time we left Chicago, I had started

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Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

My Faith, My Happiness

pototoes, pork chops, hot biscuits, and pinto beans waiting for me. (At the time it was one of my favorite meals.) Tommy and I married on September 10 and the following August 29th our first child, Tanja, (Tammy) Rene was born. She was born on her daddy’s birthday. The following year our second child, Cynthia Kay made her appearance on November 16. Tommy and I, with our small family, had moved to south Louisiana. He was once again working for an oil company. We were not supposed to have moved there, but on the eighth the hot water heater went out in the apartment where we were living and the two babies and I ended up in the hospital from inhaling carbon monoxide. Tommy decided it was best if we moved to where his job had taken him. After almost two years of living in south Louisiana, we left Hammond and went to London, Kentucky to live. After a week of living in motels with two small children, one being a year old and the other two years old and me being pregnant with our third child, we decided to move back to Minden. The prospect of staying in a motel for several more months did not appeal to us. There was a housing shortage in London, Kentucky. Our third child, a boy, was born the following April. He was born on a Wednesday, making him a child of woe.

dreaming about food. In those dreams, I was always tring to get to food, but about the time I would reach it, I would wake up. There was one dream in particular that stood out. I was climing a hill, trying to get to the food sitting on the front porch of a big white house. When I would finally reach the food, it would disappear. Mashed potatoes were one constant in those dreams--mashed potatoes with lots of butter melting on top. Back then there were no televisions in motel rooms or at least the one where we stayed didn’t have one, just a built in stereo system. From Monday to Friday of each week, I was confined to the room with nothing to do. Tommy was either at class in the daytime or studing with other guys at night. I wouldn’t have wanted to go out anyway, the police sirens were constantly blaring. We

did do some sight seeing on the weekends. On our way to Chicago, we had stopped in Little Rock to pick up a couple of men who rode with us to the Windy City. It was a frigid Saturday morning with snow on the ground when Tommy, the two men, and I left Chicago. Somewhere south of Chicago, Tommy decided to stop at a store to get some cold drinks. All three of the men went in. I remained in the car. As they entered the store a police vehicle pulled up and parked beside the car. The two policemen remained in their vehicle. Finally, one of them got out, came over to our car, and tapped on the window. I rolled the window down and he inquired, “Are you ok?” I told him I was fine. He asked me several more time if I was all right and he

questioned me about the men who had gotten out of the car. I didn’t know anything about the two men we had with us, except that had been going to the same school my husband had been attending. I couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t believe that I was okay. I was becoming scared. Finally Tommy came back out and they started asking him questions. They questioned him for about thirty minutes. He had gone into the store without his coat and before they let him go he was shaking from the extreme cold. The finally told him why they were questioning us. It seemed a girl had been kidnapped by a couple of men and her descricption fit mine. Tommy finally convinced them that we were who we said we were, and they let us go. I was so glad to make it back home. When I got to my parents’ house, my mother had mashed

By then I was tired of living in other people’s houses and Tommy and I bought our first house. For the next few years I stayed busy wall papering, painting, gardening and trying to raise three children by myself. It was a full, sometimes hectic life. During those years, I traveled with Tommy to all parts of the country. I remember on our first trip to California, Tommy became extremely ill with strep throat. He had to go to the emergency room in Bakersfield, California. The next time we got to El Paso, I was running a high fever and shaking all over. I almost gave up on going to California, but I did manage to make a couple more trips to the west coast without either of us being sick. There was always something happening on those trips, like the

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the night in Florida when I just knew we were both going to die or end up crippled. An eighteenwheeler had started around us on a hill when two more eighteen-wheelers topped the hill. My husband told me to hold on as he took to the ditch. The truck coming around us could not slow down enough to fall back before the trucks going south would have hit him. No, I wasn’t scared that night, I was literally terrifed. As we rode that ditch, with Tommy trying to keep our vehicle from losing control, I could hear one of the drivers on his CB exclaiming, “Now that is some driving.” They were all thanking Tommy for getting over in the ditch. If he hadn’t reacted so fast, we would have all been killed. I will never forget the time we were crossing over an over pass in Alabama. We were on our way home. As we were traveling on the over pass we met an eighteen-wheeler traveling west bound. There was another truck behind our vehicle, pulling a new mobile home. The road was extremely narrow. I asked Tommy, “ What would happen if the two vehicles touched each other?” He replied, “They would crash,” and about that time, he said, “Oh my God, they hit.” As Tommy has always loved pulling tricks on me, I didn’t believe him and I told him so. He said, “No, they really did hit and one of them has exploded.” By that time he was stopping and I turned around to look. It was true, there was a big fireball off of one side of the over pass, and Tommy was saying the other truck went off the other side. Tommy ran back to try to help and about an hour later he came back and said, “Miraculously they are all alive.” Ove the years Tommy has told me some fascinating and very captivating stories. The way he can tell them had me either rolling with laughter or almost crying. I was always telling him I was going to write about those road trips, but he insisted no one would want to hear them. By the 1980’s, Tommy and I were managing a trucking company. We worked together, him as the manager and me as his “righthand” helper. Soon after we took over, one of the drivers started calling me, “Bossett. Maybe that was the best description of my position. Even though we worked long hours to get the company back on its feet, we were happy because for the first time in our marriage, we were together. All

of the years before Tommy traveled and now he was with me, sometimes 24 out of 24 hours a day! People would ask how I stood living and working with my husband. I have to admit, “It took a little getting used to, but then we settled into a routine and I liked it.” We worked hard and before too many years we increased our employees from seven to around thirty. By then our children were leaving home and before long we were faced with the worst nightmare a mother and father could face. Our youngest, our son, was very ill and most likely would not survive the illness. For three years we endured what I would describe as hell on earth. The ups and downs, the feelings of despair, and the hopelessness each day would bring cannot be totally described. Only those who have endured this misery could understand the hurt and sorrow of losing a child. The one joy or happiness, if it can be described as happiness, was knowing our son was saved and wasn’t afraid to face the unknown. A lot of marriages fail when a child has died, and I still don’t know why ours didn’t. Maybe it was because I was so stubborn, or maybe it was Tommy’s laughter. But then, maybe it was God’s will. Whatever helped us through that awful time, I am so thankful and grateful. A few years ago Tommy was introduced to what became a huge challenge for me. He lost his heart and mind over a piece of property in Claiborne Parish. Anyone who read that story should recall what a horror the house was. It was unbelievable, but I endured that trial and for the most part am happy with our latest home and with my life as it is today. I am not the delusional type. I live in reality, and realistically I know that someday this house with the huge yard will become too much for us, but today I have been given the responsibility of caretaker and I will enjoy it as long as possible. We all must find meaning in one another and in our faith. My love, my faith and my happiness are my family and my friends. Without my family and friends, life would have no meaning.

The Minute Mag’s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

AUG / SEPT 2010

The Minute Mag’s Purpose: To me, though, a bee was a bee was a bee, and bees would sting you if given half a chance. As I began this article and thinkin’ of the carpenter bees of yore, I also began to wonder about the bees one sees flyin’ around the house in the springtime. You know the ones I’m talkin’ about ‘cause they have a big ol’ white spot right between their eyes; hence, the “white faced bumble bee”. You may also have heard the white faced bee cannot sting. It was always fun for me to capture one, tie a thread around its midsection, and let him lead me around on his “leash”.

=========================== BEE’S NEST BUSINESS ===========================

ne hot summer day, waaay back when my only concerns were occupying my time with something fun to do, I found myself playin’ around our hay barn. I’m pretty sure I was in my Tarzan mode, fightin’ off rabid lions and man-killin’ rinoseruses...., ryenoser..., man-killin’ monkeys. One particularly large lion, eyes filled with fire and steam comin’ from his nostrils, seemed intent on makin’ a lunch outta me. As he crouched to leap in for the kill, I grabbed a piece of wood and cracked it over his noggin’ when he was in midleap. This, of course, didn’t kill him, but stunned him long enough for me to pull my rusty..., er, my trusty knife, and commence stabbin’ him to death. Now, I know some of you are thinkin’ that I’ve either killed my dog, Dixie, or Mr. Virg White is now short one milk cow. Well, rest easy for neither one is the case. This was an imaginary fight and no one lost any life, any blood, or any hide. Well, that ain’t exactly true ‘cause I lost a bit of hide when the piece of wood I swung broke and a chunk flew back and rapped me upside the head. Guess it’s a good thing some of us are hardheaded! The cows standin’ ‘round hardly looked up at my antics, havin’ already learned to ignore the young frecklefaced human. They had passed the word ‘round that he might be noisy and aggafrettin’, but he wasn’t gonna hurt no one. ‘Bout the worst thing he would do is utter some unrepeatable

words after steppin’ in -- or worse -fallin’ in a pile of fresh cow manure. I can’t prove it, but I highly suspect the cows got a good laugh when that happened. Anyway and after I had slain the man-eatin’ lion, I heard a slight buzzin’ noise. It was very faint, and I wasn’t too sure it wasn’t comin’ from between my ears after the chunk broke off and popped me on the noggin. I soon realized it wasn’t me that was buzzin’, but it seemed to be comin’ from the rafter that I had broken the piece of wood over. With extreme caution I inched closer to the rafters. I used extreme caution ‘cause Tarzan wasn’t a fool; maneatin’ lions and monkeys he could deal with; he didn’t know about the unknown. What if it was some outer space creature like the one in the movie “Predator”? By the time I was within a few inches of the rafter, the buzzin’ had stopped. Most everyone knows curiosity killed the cat (I told you I didn’t do it!), and it was a sure thing that I had a whole truck load of curiosity. So, I picked up the chunk of wood that had broken off, and again hit one of the rafters. Sho’ ‘nuff, I heard the buzzin’ again. Upon closer inspection and right where the buzzin’ was comin’ from, I spied a hole in the wooden beam. As I watched the hole, the buzzin’ slacked off and finally stopped. Another rap on the rafter and the buzzin’ began anew. It only took a few minutes of my hittin’ the rafter and the buzzin’ buzzin’ afore a great big bumble bee backed outta the hole my eye had been glued to. Now, Tarzan or not, ol’ Galen wasn’t hangin’ ‘round long enough to see if the bee was mad or not. Tarzan could handle fightin’ rabid lions and maneatin’ monkeys, but ol’ Galen had felt the sting of a bee before and as a result, had no hankerin’ whatsoever

to feel another one. Quicker’n Tarzan could swing from one tree to another, I lit a shuck outta the neighborhood and toward safer territories. Later on, I told my dad of the encounter with the bee hive in the rafter. He explained that it wasn’t a hive, but these were carpenter bees. Of course, I knew what a carpenter was ‘cause my dad was a better’n average one, and two of my brothers were well-known for their home buildin’ abilities. Dad explained that carpenter bees bored a hole into wood and set up house in the hole.

All this thinkin’ made me do a little research, and I was surprised to discover the white faced bee and the carpenter bee are one and the same. And, it’s true the male bee of this species cannot sting as he does not have a stinger. However, the female can sting if you tick her off. Kinda reminds you of the human female, don’t it! Anyway, it just goes to show you, you are never too old to learn something. Still, white faced or not, bees and me just don’t see eye to eye. A bee’s nest can mean serious business, and the memories of their sting can last a lifetime.

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire. The year: 1942. As America’s young men answered the call to defend our nation’s shores, young women also felt a need to contribute to the war effort. With war production needs escalating, and young American men marching off to war, there was a huge vacuum in the workforce. Wartime posters encouraged women to step up to the challenge to fill the void, and they accepted courageously. Southern women, in particular, were targeted with these messages. Southern women have a reputation for being brave and aren’t afraid of hard work. By the tens of thousands, young southern women took special training courses, then headed out to factories far from home. Some, like Athens High School graduates Vina Greer Henry and Inez Feazell Thompson, made B-24 Liberator bombers at Willow Run of in you Ypsilanti, ow many believe Michigan. in ESP? I didn’t Others know that Iwere did, contributing in warday… industries until that memorable such as driving tank production, ship I was along Louisiana building, steel production, and Highway #1 Some betweenwere my home munitions. even and Natchitoches , Louisiana test pilots for the bombers the, where I was going to a merchant’s women manufactured. drawing to see if I had won the $500.00 Grand Prize. I had On Saturday June 5th, my qualimom fied for the drawing by finding my (Vina Greer Henry) was honored rural box holder number in a local in Ypsilanti, Michigan, for her bank’s window, contribution to thereby the warwinning effort. a $25.00 prize. Vina Greer Henry died on June husband making 14, My 2005, at thesaid agethat of 81. For the 25 mile trip was a waste of the last 57 years of her life, time, but I wanted to go anyway. she was a resident of Bernice, I was just riding along, listening Louisiana, and a property owner to the car radio, and notClaiborne thinking in Union, Lincoln, and of anythingHer in particular, when all Parishes. obituary mentions of a sudden, a most at joyous that she worked the feeling Willow sweptbomber over me! factory My heart Run andbegan that to pound, and I of felther a heightened she was proud service to awareness everything around her countryofduring the war. She me. Years later, I can still in always said that, next toseeher my mind’s eye the scenery at the family, she was proudest of her exact spot on to thethe highway contribution war where effort. IVina became aware that was married tosomething George good wasHenry, going ato Marine happen. inAnd, Wayne the I felt thatArena the “something good” Pacific during World wouldII. beTogether that I would win five the War they had Grand Prize. children: Shirley Henry Lykins, In Natchitoches , all ofVicki the Rebecca Henry Games, $25.00 winners gathered in front Henry Harris, Jimmy Marvin of the drug the shopping Henry, and store BarryinWayne Henry. center. I could barely contain my excitement. Women like Vina The Greerofficials Henry first announced $25.00 winand her friendtheInez Feazell ners. Then they put those names blazed the trail for their in a box, shook it up, and had daughters, encouraging thema child from the audience draw to get a good education and toa name. a career Before that she is withdrew her seek rewarding. hand, I knew the name was mine. We owe much to their courage. I smiled as the master of ceremonies first announced, the The week of “Winner June, myof sister GrandHenry Prize goes to Mrs. Vicki Harris, her Dorothy daughBowden”! ter Monica Harris Morrow (both What a LA) pleasure win the of Bernice, and to I traveled much appreciated $500.00.! But to Ypsilanti, Michigan. Joining more important was realizing I’d us later in the trip was cousin been given the “gift of knowing” Robert Lee, former resident of ahead of LA time! I do believe and that Bernice, Tech graduate, what resident I experienced was ESP, We exnow of Michigan.

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trasensory perception, which my dictionary says is “perception outside of or beyond normal sensory perception”. I have experienced these phenomena on a few other occasions, but never so clearly and joyously as this first time. On that day, I also learned a valuable lesson in human nature. As one friend congratulated me, she said, “Now you will find who your real friends are. Your real friends will be glad for you. The others will just be jealous!” It was so. My real friends said things like “It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person”…, etc. But a few Yes, it all added up to one memoshot resentful looks in my direc- responsible! rable day! Money won; a “gift of knowtion, and one emphatically said, ing” I didn’t know I had; and a “I never won a thing in my life!” making me feel I somehow was valuable lesson in human nature.

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The Minute Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

AUG / SEPT 2010

The Minute Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Purpose: