Minute Magazine October/November 09 Issue by The Minute Magazine

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

OCT/NOV 2009

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

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

OCT/NOV 2009

The Minute Mag’s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire. The Minute Magazine is distributed throughout Caddo, Bossier, Claiborne, Bienville, DeSoto, Red River, Natchitoches, Webster, Lincoln & Orleans Parishes in Louisiana and Columbia County, Arkansas. 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

DANA DENNY, LESLIE COYLE & APRIL WARFORD TIMMONS Photographers

ALLISON BARRON New Orleans Sales

JENNY REYNOLDS Founder

Circulation & Distribution: James “Shay” Callen Allison Kate Barron CIRCULATION OF 20,000 READERSHIP OF OVER 50,000 Contact Information: Office Phone: 318.382.1900 Ad Sales: 318.548.2693 Mail: 512 Fort Avenue, Minden, LA 71055 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~ Copyright 2009. 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. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~ YOU CANNOT CHANGE WHAT YOU WERE. YOU CAN ONLY CHANGE WHAT YOU ARE GOING TO BE.

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9 15 22 26 28 32 40 42 46 48 50 55 59 70 71 73

This One is Special by James Trey Palmer

Thankful by Jason McReynolds The White Elephant by Galen White For Good Memories by Margaret Tripp Mama Mia’s by Jackie Lewis Ghosts... do you believe? Main to Main Trade Days

Contributors:

On the Spectrum by Lela Robichaux Finding Food Through Fall by Melissa Toulet Most Mysterious by Tiffany Byram Antique Junkie by Donna Arender Street Lamps lit With Creativity by Allison Kate Barron Weeder’s Digest by Anita Goodson My Thanksgiving Prayer by Lynette Carter Sheets Confessions of a Hormanl Woman by Elizabeth Drewett 48 Years and Counting by Judy Wilson

The cover shot was taken by Jackie Lewis and Tiffany Byram in New Orleans, Louisiana’s St. Louis Cemetery No. 2. This is the final resting place of many interesting historic figures, including a Voo Doo Queen and a slew of Politicians. Read our Top Ten List in this issue featuring the top 20 most haunted sites in Louisiana to see why this cover is so very fitting!

Donna Arender Allison Kate Barron Dorothy Bowden Tiffany Byram Vicki Caskey Elizabeth Drewett Anita Goodson Jackie Lewis Jason McReynolds James Trey Palmer Lela Robichaux Lynette Carter Sheets Margaret Timmons Melissa Teoulet Galen White Judy Wilson JOIN OUR FACEBOOK PAGE OR VISIT WWW. THEMINUTEMAG.COM

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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.

OCT/NOV 2009

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

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

OCT/NOV 2009

The Minute Mag’s Purpose:

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

OCT/NOV 2009

s i e n O This Written by James Trey Palmer

l a i c e Sp

There

are but few definable moments in one’s life. You have the obvious: the first kiss, your wedding day, and birth of a child. But there are other moments too. Events that happen outside one’s natural progression through life that may be inspirational, discouraging or even shake a person to their very foundation. Events that are void of the normal discourse such as a near death experience, catching a home run ball at a major league game, or simply witnessing the smile of a 7 year‑old boy as a community wraps its loving arms around him. A 6 year‑old who’s in the battle of his life against the terrible disease of Leukemia, a battle he’s losing. And how this same community, and their high school football team, aspired to make his one last dream come true. His name was Shane Simms. His dream, his gift, and his story; this one’s special. It was finally over. The game, the expectations, and all the hard work involved. The dreams of the state playoffs were dashed. As the players continued filing into the visiting locker room, I heard someone yell my name. I was being summoned by Danny Anderson because he needed a pair of scissors. “Help me with this tape, Trey, before I rip my hand off.” I serpentined through

Photo by April Warford Timmons

the undressing players over to the equipment carry‑on locker where I quickly secured the requested instrument. When I returned a few seconds later, Danny made no motion whatsoever to gain the shears from my extended hand. Instead, he just emptily stared at the concrete wall erected 10 feet away. The realization had begun to sink in now. The same realization several of his teammates were experiencing as they paused between equipment and tape removal. The sound 28‑0 drubbing at the hands of the Grambling Kittens was actually much worse than the final score indicated. But more sobering than the defeat itself was the obvious awareness that, most importantly, any hope of making the state playoffs was gone. The state playoffs, a goal placed squarely at the top of every high school football team’s wishlist in North America, were washed away under an avalanche of torn jerseys, bruised egos and broken dreams. I finished clipping the tape from Danny’s hands and heard my name called again. This time I threw Timmy Simms the scissors and helped Terry Reeme pull his game jersey over his fractured shoulder pads. As an eight‑grade equipment

manager for the varsity team, this is what I did. Equipment repair, injury rehabilitation support, kicking tee retrieval‑ these were but a few of the tasks required of a young man who’s tenuous sacrifice was only eclipsed by the love of his football team. Before the season began, I had hoped I would be on the sideline of history, witnessing only the third Sarepta hornet football team to earn a berth in the state playoffs. Although we didn’t achieve that level of success, by all account the season was not a failure. While our team suffered through a few humiliating defeats, our record after nine games stood a respectable 5‑4 with one contest remaining. Our last opponent would be our biggest rival, the Cotton Valley Wildcats. As the players completed their changing regiment, Head coach John Kilgore moved intently to the center of the dressing room. Now was not the time for reflection

or penitence, because he had an important message for his team. “Pay attention a second, gentlemen. It’s imperative you understand that our season is not over. Not by a long shot. I have something to share with you but it’ll wait ‘till we get home. Just know this....that next week...our game against Cotton Valley....this one’s special....very special. Let’s get on the bus.” The trip from Grambling to Sarepta was approximately two hours long by bus. By the time we reached the interstate, most had already scarfed down their ration of two ham sandwiches, an apple and drink, and were fast asleep. Still, the indiscriminate whispers of a few repeated the burning question. ‘What does this one’s special mean?’ ‘Did someone from Cotton Valley make

OCT/NOV 2009

Coach Kilgore angry?’ “Could this be coaches last game?” Soon the harmonious vibration of the bus tires striking the road beneath us erased all questions as the Hornet football team, dejected and fatigued, gradually eased into sleep as their long, yellow taxi continued its trek toward home and their hometown of Sarepta. Sarepta, Louisiana is a quiet little community nestled between the city of Springhill and the town of Cotton Valley, located in the northwest corner of Louisiana. With a population around 1100 sprinkled across a landscape of farms, dirt roads and trailer homes, Sarepta is a Norman Rockwell painting personified. It is a true embodiment of southern life, as its hard‑working country folk pride themselves on being emotionally detached from the unforgiving, chaotic America raging just outside its’ township borders. Everyone is family in ole’ Sarepta. In this place, it’s friend-to-friend, and brother-to-brother. Evenin’ coon hunts, church fish‑frys, afternoon porch‑sittin’s- they’re all here, encased with an hypnotic charm that warms the heart and spiritually soothes the soul. Indeed, Norman Rockwell would be so very proud of this little community, except during the Sarepta Hornets high school football season. From September to November of each year, this engaging, lovable community transforms into a ferocious fan base whose spirited fervor may best be exampled by National Geographics “When Animals Attack, Part

6”. Sunday school teachers, school bus drivers, factory workers, and people from all walks of life come together in unison each Friday night to passionately cheer on their beloved hornets and severely castigate their “unworthy” opponent. In all of its transcendental glory, this is high school football in the deep south. It was just after midnight when the dingy yellow school bus rolled to a halt on the unpaved parking lot of Hornet stadium. Most of its players, already jarred awake by the familiar potholes that littered the connecting causeway known as Stadium Drive, began gathering their gear for the short walk to the teams’ locker room located directly below the grandstand. As the last of the players disappeared into a doorway with “THE SWARM” painted across the top of the outer frame, head coach John Kilgore again strolled to the center of the room, raised his hand, and before delivering the most important message of his life, asked his hard-nosed linebacker Mickey Ingle to lead his team in our post‑game prayer. We bowed our heads.

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John Kilgore became the head football coach of the Sarepta Hornets in 1977. Replacing the legendary Zolon Stiles, John arrived as a 27 year‑old drill sergeant in coaching shorts; he was a blood and guts motivator whose demeanor was reminiscent of Teddy Roosevelt. From the 245 pound girth he carried to the Levi Garret chewing tobacco he habitually swallowed, John knew no limitations, followed no‑one’s lead and believed that excuses and tears were unnecessary signs of weakness. Pure and simple, he believed in winning at all cost, even to a fault. Now, at 32 years of age, John Kilgore stood in silence as his linebacker continued with his overture. The disappointment of the loss earlier in the evening had long since been replaced by the news he’d received earlier in the week- the devastating news concerning the 7 year‑old brother of Timmy Simms, his team captain. He knew the challenge that lie before he and his players. A challenge he was now compelled to reveal. A collective “amen” washed over the locker room as Mickey completed his prayer. Then Coach began, “As most of you know, Timmy’s little brother Shane has been fighting Leukemia. His cancer had been in remission, but now has returned. I’ve asked Timmy if we can help in any way, and he said

Shane loves Sarepta football and has a special request. The request concerns our game against Cotton Valley. So to each and every man here, I say to you now, know that this one’s special. Shane Simms is very, very sick. Doctors say he won’t last ‘till Christmas. And his last dream is to see Sarepta beat Cotton Valley. We will beat Cotton Valley! And as God is my witness, we’ll do it for Shane. So prepare yourselves, gentlemen. This one’s special!” Shane Simms, son of Joe and Wanda Simms, was diagnosed with leukemia when he was two and a half years‑old. Because of a series of intense chemotherapy treatments and Shane’s unwavering spirit, his body was able to temporarily placate this deadly disease by sending it into remission for a period of two years. However, as the summer of 1981 approached, Shane’s leukemia had returned and would no longer respond to treatment. Barring an unforseen miracle, Shane wasn’t expected to live until Christmas. By the time Monday arrived, the news of Shane’s final wish had already reached

OCT/NOV 2009

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

monumental proportions, extending into teacher’s lounges, café chats and office coolers. While the game against rival Cotton Valley traditionally carried a special bragging‑rights significance, there was no escaping the fact this had become the most important football game in the history of Sarepta High. Young and old alike, people from all over the town repeated, ‘This one’s special. Very Special.’ On Monday afternoon, a bed sheet was lowered from the 3rd floor of the high school building with those three magical words hand written for all the world to see. Fund raisers were planned, a special pep rally was to be held, and the football team pounded it out on the practice field in preparation. For two years, I had served as an equipment manager for the varsity team. During that span, I routinely watched the team practice and studied the players, observed their body language, their emotion, eventually gaining an educated insight as to how they may perform during the upcoming game. It was this week, the first week in November 1981, that I first witnessed a true esprit de corps. There was a unity in this group of young men that I had never seen before, and have never witnessed since. It wasn’t about the fanfare, bragging rights, nor the glory of the

moment. It was completely, and unequivocally, for Shane. Every hand‑clap, every wind sprint, every bead of sweat was for something far greater than themselves. The young men wearing the Sarepta Hornet maroon and white uniforms had to win this gamewin it for Shane. And they knew they would. With every ounce of their being, it was an absolute certainty. Yes, this one’s special. As the week reluctantly succumbed to Friday, under an avalanche of emotion and anticipation, the crescendo of our week long concert was soon to be at hand. According to Webster, the definition of surreal is the disorienting and/or hallucinatory quality of a dream with a combination of good and bad. With all things being equal, I’m quite certain there is no other word in the English language that more accurately defines the state of mind exhibited by the people of Sarepta, Louisiana during the first week of November, 1981. Throughout the day, town residents frequented the school with donations and/or offerings of support. Normal classroom coursework was relegated to leisurely activities, such as creating signs for the pep‑squad and band buses. A few teachers even asked their students to voluntarily write a one paragraph essay on Shane’s wish and what it means to them. Most were entitled, appropriately enough, “This One’s Special”.

of tears that afternoon as students, cheerleaders, faculty, parents and players buried their heads in their hands and wept for a 7‑year‑old boy who simply wanted to do what his doctors said he couldn’tto live to be the age of 8. The Hornet players began reporting to the stadium between 4:30 and 5:00 p.m. to begin their early preparation. By 5:30, the player transport was fully loaded and the bus left the stadium for the 6 mile journey ahead. Cotton Valley, a town with a population of approximately 2,000 residents, was almost twice the size of Sarepta. While Cotton Valley High was considerably larger than it’s neighbor, the football John Kilgore contests between the rivals had been very Sarepta Football Coach, Nov ‘81 competitive, especially the dozen or so preceding years leading up to the encounter of 1981. This year, the Wildcats were then, at the height of this emotional thought to again be the better team, event, Coach Kilgore strolled to though they only carried a 4‑5 record the center of the floor and gave the into the season finale. Still, we were following speech. “As most of you talking about the Wildcats. They were know, ‘This one’s special’ represents big, very athletic and considerably the last wish of Shane Simms who is faster than their spirited opponents very, very sick. His wish is to see his from down the road. If the hornets Sarepta Hornets defeat the Cotton were to have a fighting chance, it Valley Wildcats in Cotton Valley would most certainly be attributed to tonight. Shane is returning from the picture‑perfect execution, the limiting trip of his d r e a m s, Disney World, of mistakes, and an unbridled belief and will be coming home later this in one another. A belief in a promise afternoon so that he can attend these young men made to a very sick tonight’s game. In honor of this young man. The promise to make his event, we will be wearing a special dream come true. A dream that had “spirit” towel on the front of our already made this one very special. uniforms with “This One’s Special” displayed specifically for this event. We arrived and began warming up We ask that you please join us with to a cool, crisp autumn evening. The his family in praying for Shane as leaves were beginning to abandon he battles for his life against the most of the trees surrounding Wildcat deadly disease of Leukemia. Again, stadium, leaving them half exposed folks, I cannot say it any other way. in the brilliantly captivating moonlight. This one’s special, so please come The Sarepta fans, making the 6‑mile out tonight and support us as we trip in full force, rapidly exceeded the support our inspiration and honorary visitors seating capacity until women captain, Shane Simms.” The emotion and children were forced to endure of the moment gave way to a river the enemy grandstand while their

“ToI sayeachto you every man here, now: this one’s and

special. Shane Simms is very sick. Doctors say he won’t make it past Christmas. His last dream is to see Sarepta beat Cotton Valley. And as God is my witness, that’s what we’ll do. So prepare yourselves Gentlemen, because this one’s special!

As 2 p.m.

Photo by April Warford Timmons

approached, all grades (K through 12) descended upon the high school gymnasium for the special extended pep rally. The band played as the cheerleaders cheered, and

”

OCT/NOV 2009

husbands scoured the fence‑row for a view of the game for the ages. The Wildcat stands were equally jammed, and many of their residents were reduced to standing in the back of the endzones just to gain a glimpse of the spectacle about to unfold. The atmosphere was absolutely electric as the enthusiastic howls and impetuous cheers battled for supremacy of the night air. The Hornets soon completed their warm‑ups and, after receiving some last minute coaching instructions, took refuge behind the goalpost of the south endzone. Customarily, this is the place where Coach Kilgore issued his motivational “us and against the world” diatribe that never lacked in intensity. During my 2‑year stint as manager, I had made it a priority to attend each one of these events, watching each player become pillars of adrenaline as their coach called down the thunder on

their opponents. But on this night, John Shane knew his players Simms were ready. He knew that in all his years of coaching, he had never witnessed a more focused group of young men as he had the preceding week. And now, as he steadied himself in front of his furious, m a r o o n uniformed armada, he knew exactly what to say. With a cracking voice, he yelled “it’s the little fella’s dream!” Like a volcanic eruption, the players exploded past the end zone until they arrived at the sideline in front of the frenzied grandstand. The coaches soon followed, and the stage was set. It was about to begin. There are many laws of physics that apply to the game of football. On November 6, 1981, two small town football teams put the theory of the irresistible force vs the immovable object to the test. Through the first two quarters, the fight for the line of scrimmage had escalated from a struggle to an all‑out war. Violent collisions exploded all across the field. Helmets flew and skirmishes broke out between each play. It was best characterized by a local sportswriter who later wrote “this was a battle between two rivals that really didn’t like each other. And they wanted to ensure everyone else knew it as well.” Indeed we

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did. Cotton Valley managed to find the endzone early with some timely passing and a grueling ground game. Trailing 18‑0 just before the half, Sarepta wide‑receiver Randy Hughes provided a much needed spark as he made a sensational onehanded grab of a tipped pass that brought the visiting Hornets within 12 points as the first half gun sounded. Numerous players from each team suffered injuries during the first 30 minutes of play. Shoulders, knees, and probable concussions all went untreated and unattended, mostly due to the players self‑imposed silence. This game was special, and they would not, under any circumstances, watch it from the sideline. I inconspicuously patched up the ones that would allow, gave water and encouragement to the rest, and listen to Coach Kilgore as he provided his final motivational moment of the season. “Find it in yourselves, gentlemen. You can do this. Find it deep inside and I promise, we’ll beat these boys”. One by one, they arose, strapped on their headgear, and prepared for the most important half of their lives. The Sarepta faithful, who had been gradually muted with every ensuing Wildcat score, now rediscovered their voices in unisom as they serenaded their Hornets with praise and bravado. As the warriors took the field, some looked to love ones, while other looked through the stands. He was there, and they knew it. Always with a smile. That was Shane. Then the kickoff came. Songs and poems have been written through the years for those who gave their all while facing insurmountable odds and about the place where discipline and character 1981 SAREPTA HORNETS (l to r) Front: Randy Bell, David Neal, Danny Anderson, Mickey Ingle, Dallas Bennett, Don Fuller, Jeff Odom. Middle: Rick Eason, Butch Deaver, Timmy Simms, Joey Norment, Dennis Keter, Joe Crumpler, Bryan Taylor. Back: Jimbo Tripp, Randy Hughes, Terry Reeme, Clay Adkins, Earnest Umphrise

merge into a unified path of selfdiscovery. As Albert Einstein once stated, “nothing worthwhile was ever attained by winning every contest. But to fight defeat even when he is upon you, makes even a loser the truest of winners.” This quote was never more applicable than in the hearts of these 27 young men of the Sarepta High School football team on the night of November 6, 1981. As the second half played on, I proudly and painstakingly watched as our beloved Hornets, bruised and battered, fought courageously to the very end. They gave every ounce of strength they could muster, but, on this night, it was simply not meant to be. The final horn sounded on the game, the season, and most importantly, the dream. The players gathered themselves, some requiring assistance, and embraced on the sideline. Then they came. Parents, teachers, classmates, and friends sprung forth with hugs and encouraging words of support. And, there among them stood a little boy. A very sick 7 year-old boy whose infectious smile touched the hearts of each and everyone in attendance that night. A smile that hung like a painting in the minds of the Hornet players as they made their way onboard the bus for their journey home. As Coach Kilgore joined his team, there were no postgame thoughts or season‑ending high notes. Among the players, a deafening silence enveloped them. No words were passed, no sentiment. There was nothing. As the old school bus completed its 6‑mile trek and labored onto Stadium Drive, no one spoke. No one stirred. There was nothing. The team finally disembarked and moved inside where they customarily sat and waited in front of their lockers. As I strolled through the door with the last of the equipment bags, I noticed Coach Kilgore emptily easing into the room. With watery eyes that glistened from the glint of a light bulb a few feet above his head, he asked Mickey if he would once again lead his team in the post‑game prayer. Mickey began, “Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for watchin’ over us this night. Heavenly Father, thank you that no one was seriously hurt. And Father, please be with........” At that moment, the path of discipline and character, winning from losing, the pride of a coach, the support of a town‑ it all seem to just fade away. That which remained was simply Shane Simms and his final wish. A wish of a Hornet victory. A victory he would never see. Mickey struggled to continue, but his voice finally surrendered to his breaking heart, and he openly wept . First came Timmy, then Clay and Terry-

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

from every corner of the locker room they came. Reaching out to each other with trembling hands and the heaviest of hearts, on bended knees they came, all crying and suffering for Shane. As I raised my head and peered through my drowning pupils, I watched as Coach Kilgore collapsed against a cinder block wall, then gradually drifted down until his hands found his face. With an thunderous release, he let out a deep moan and weakly relayed to his beleaguered team, “Sometimes you give all you’ve got, and it still ain’t enough.” He then lowered his head and joined his team. As I watched this emotional moment unfold, something magical occurred to me. Although our team failed to win the game of Shane’s dreams. They had succeeded, through his wish, in becoming a solitary unit- a band of brothers whose unqualified belief of love and trust in each other would carry on with them for the rest of their lives. They had forged an alliance of the heart, a faith that echoed the motto ‘the whole is truly greater than the sum of its’ parts.’ And as I gazed into the tear-stained faces that surrounded me that memorable evening, it was clear these young men had found something far greater than what they’d lost on the football field- far

greater than themselves. For they had found the gift of each other. It is this gift that a terminally-ill 7 yearold boy with an unconquerable spirit gave to his favorite football team on a cool, blustery night one November. And it’s this gift that deeply inspired the hearts and minds of an entire community as it wrapped its loving arms around its’ greatest teacher, Shane Simms. Shane still had some magic left after he brought us together in November 1981. He defied his doctors prognosis and lived past Christmas. Shane Simms succumbed to leukemia on January 29, 1982, but not before he left a lasting legacy of love and hope that will be passed from generation to generation. As for me, I left our little town of Sarepta in 1990 and currently reside in Indiana where I’m raising a daughter of my own. While I’ve periodically returned to our small town through the years, visiting with family and friends, my homecomings have gradually become less frequent, succumbing instead to the hectic demands of work and family. But occasionally, my memories of home are rekindled as I share stories of my youth with my daughter Jessica. Depictive, true-to-life tales of old dirt roads and fishin’ holes still possess

OCT/NOV 2009 my boyhood dreams. As Jessica listens intently, I let her a peek into a small-town southern life with a Robert Frost acquiescence and a Huey P. Long intensity. One evening last November, as we relaxed and watched the peachstained glitter of the setting sun, I suddenly felt the rush of a familiar cool, autumn breeze as it flickered across my cheek. In an instant, the years fell away to another November evening oh so many years ago. “Did I ever tell you the story of a little boy named Shane?” I asked Jessica. But her answer was not heard. In its’ place were the cheers of a spirited crowd, the emotional words of a footbal coach, and the whispered wish of a seven year old boy. His inspirational gift would live on in their hearts forever. “Before you begin, Dad. This story, I can tell that this one’s special,” she said. As I lifted my head and peered at her through my tear-filled eyes, I then took her hand and placed it in mine.

“Yes, Jessie, this one’s special. Very special.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This story is dedicated to the memory of Shane’s father, Joe Edd Simms who passed away August 5, 2009. Although he didn’t get the chance to read this story, he didn’t need to. He lived it.

Sarepta Hornets’ Coach John Kilgore patching up Mickey Ingle, linebacker, during the Sarepta Hornets VS. Cotton Valley Wilcat’s High School Football Game on November 6, 1981.

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Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

OCT/NOV 2009

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ress in your formal best and deadly worst simultaneously at this year’s annual Artscare benefit for artspace. Slightly different from prior years’ as a Halloween costumed event, this year’s Artscare has been deemed a “ZOMBIE PROM.” Break out the old prom dress and ugly tuxedo and come to the prom you always wanted to attend and experience what you were afraid could happen. The event will take

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place at artspace, 710 Texas Street, Downtown Shreveport, on Friday, October 23rd, beginning at 7:00 pm. Tickets for the party are $25 per person or $75 a couple including a Boo-tin-eerie and Curse-age. Tickets can be purchased online in advance at tix.com. Now all your dreams - and nightmares - can come true in one night.

is held annually to support the continuing operations a n d exhibitions that make artspace the “Destination for Arts, Food and Fun” in Northwest Louisiana. Enter the ranks of the “Living Dead” to be a $1,000 Artscare Sponsor or join the “Prom Committee” for $250 and make a difference in keeping the arts alive in the West Edge of Downtown Shreveport. The Dead-line to become an Artscare Sponsor is Friday, October 16th, for more information contact Lisa Reeves at (318) 673-6500 or email to lisa@ shrevearts.org.

Donna Poimboeuf, the Chair for this year’s Artscare, is joined by Co-Chair Rhonda Dossett, in heading up the planning and preparation committee. They have put in dedicated hours to make 2009’s Artscare the best fundraiser for artspace yet. Artscare

On Friday, October 23rd, artspace will be transformed into a classic setting of the American high school prom, complete with the school gym (where the prom is typically held - complete with basketball goals); the school cafeteria with the lunch lady you still

can’t forget; the forbidden teacher’s lounge; and the ever-threatening.... detention hall. All of these elements will be a twist of the macabre at this annual devishly delightful debauch. Entertainment for the evening will be provided by the “retro rockabilly with a little Beach Boys” band, Dragstrip Phantoms, back by popular demand. Among the evening’s events, attending Zombie’s will enjoy drinking a “shocktail,” drawing on the school lockers with glow-inthe-dark chalk, watching classic black and white driver’s ed. movies, purchasing a handcrafted “bootin-eerie or a “curse-age” for your date, boogy-ing to eerie live music or impressing the “cool kids” with your Scare-oke rendition of “I Will Survive,” walking through the lunch line to grab a bite to eat, sneaking into the teacher’s lounge, bidding on a decorated petite skeleton, having your prom picture taken, voting for the Prom King and Queen, and purchasing a Boo Bag in the Boo-tique ($50 each that contain anywhere from $50 to hundreds of dollars worth of stuff. Each Boo Bag has its own custom created pumpkin that comes with each purchase). However, smoking in the bathrooms will not be allowed. . .

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OCT/NOV 2009

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OCT/NOV 2009

The White Elephant

by Galen White

HEARIN’ DEVICES WORK VERY WELL

ave you seen the TV commercial advertisin’ the miraculous ear device that’s supposed to improve your hearin’? I said, HAVE YOU SEEN THE COMMERCIAL ADVER……., oh, ‘scuse me. I couldn’t tell if you didn’t hear me the first time or if you were just ignorin’ me. Regardless, the miraculous ear contraption advertised on TV looks like a blue tooth device, which, as you know, is a thingamajig you stick in your ear so you can talk on your cell phone as you eat a burger, drink a Nehi bellywasher, comb your hair, punch an address into a GPS unit, scratch your back, read the newspaper, and weave side to side while drivin’ merrily down the highway. And if you ain’t drivin’ your vehicle, the blue tooth device allows you to make fools of others who hear you talkin’ and think you are talkin’ to them. They answer, and then realize you ain’t talkin’ to ‘em after all. They usually leave redfaced, but in some instances, you leave with a blue tooth device shoved up your nose hole. The advertised miraculous ear doomafatchie is supposed to greatly improve your ability to hear things. The ad claims you can hear the caller at a bingo game call out B 3. However,

the ad makes no claim that you can hear B 1 or C 1. Of course, if you hear a bingo caller calling out C 1, you’d better lay off the Dr. Tichenor’s. Either that, or the miraculous ear doomafatchie ain’t gonna help you none no way! You will “B 1” whether you want to or not! About thirty years ago they…., and I ain’t got the foggiest idea of who “they” are, but “they” came out with a bionic ear. The difference was the bionic ear utilized great big ear phones or ear muffs that fit completely over your head. The ear phones were wired to a handheld contraption that looked like a small satellite TV dish. The idea was to place the ear muffs over the ears…., that’s why they call ‘em ear muffs, you know. Anyway, you pointed the device in the direction of whatever conversation…., uh…, the direction of the “sound” you wanted to hear, and the dish picked up the sound vibrations, sent them to the amplifier, and the amplifier sent them to your ears. It was up to you from there on. Both devices, I’m sure, will amplify sounds. I can speak confidently about the bionic ear ‘cause ol’ Galen was gullible…, I mean, smart enough to purchase one. Hey! It was for huntin’! I wanted to hear that big ol’ buck as he tippy-toed away from me after he’d heard me first. If I coulda heard him sneakin’ away, at least I’d have known there had been one in the same parish I had been huntin’ in. Otherwise, I had about as much chance of seein’ a good ol’ big ‘un as I had seein’ a rangutang…, uh, a orangetung…, of seein’ an orange monkey! As I said, I bought my bionic ear

for huntin’. The very first time I used it, I climbed in my stand, got ready for that good ol’ big ‘un to walk by, quieted down, and donned the device that guaranteed me to hear things I’d never heard before. Sho’ nuff, I heard somethin’ I’d never heard before. At first, it sounded like a whole army of soldiers marchin’ in unison across a parade ground. Thrump, thrump, thrump, thrump! I commenced to lookin’ ‘round, tryin’ my best to figure out what in the name of thunder I was hearin’. Took me some time, but then I saw it. Right there in front of me and crawlin’ along the edge of my deer stand was a thousand legger. Now, in case you ain’t country enough to know what a thousand legger is, it’s a worm-lookin’ creature that has a thousand legs; also known in the “white coat” circles as a centipede. Anyway, the bionic ear amplified the sound of its feet to such a point……, okay, okay. You know I’m pullin’ your leg. It

The Minute Mag’s Purpose: really wasn’t a thousand legger causin’ the ruckus, it was a bunch of soldiers marchin’ through the woods and…., okay ag’in. I’m just jokin’. Seriously, the thing about enhanced hearin’ doodads is that they work. Of course, that airplane flyin’ from Atlanta to Shreveport at 18,000 feet over your head is amplified to the point that it sounds like it is only 18 feet over your head. That truck travelin’ down the road a mile off sounds like it’s right there beside you. Each and every little sound is amplified at the same time each and every other sound occurs. It would be great if you could isolate individual sounds, but that ain’t the case. To my knowledge, most similar devices have an internal loud noise cancellation feature. With my bionic ear, I could snap my fingers near the hand-held dish, and the device would cut off before the loud snap could register in my ear. You can just imagine what would happen if you were wearin’ such a device which failed to have the noise cancellation feature, and pulled the trigger on a 7mm Magnum rifle. As I said, sound amplifiers work, but it is also safe to say that ol’ Galen ain’t gonna buy another such device. While it may be true that I’m gettin’ hard of hearin’ in my old age, you’ll just have to learn to speak louder! And if’n that don’t work, write it down on a piece of paper and hand it to me! Maybe I won’t forget where I put it.

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FOR GOOD MEMORIES, WE ARE THANKFUL

WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BYMARGARET TRIPPTIMMONS

As for the feed sacks, after all the wear was gotten out of our shirts, skirts, dresses, pajamas and gowns that could possibly be gotten, they were tossed into the quilt scrap box. Mama would go through what was left of the dresses and salvage buttons, zippers, and then cut the fabric into quilt pieces. When she had enough, she would set to quilting, turning our feed sack dresses into keepsake quilts.

On cold winter nights, before we turned out the light, we’d sit up in our big, old double beds with the iron bedstead, and look at our

o you remember the feed sack dresses that we used to wear? I’ll never forget them, myself. I was going into my senior year in high school before I ever had a ‘store-bought’ dress.

With seven girls to sew for, we would have had to own a textile mill of our very own to keep us all clothed. We didn’t, but we did have the next best thing. We had a couple of cows that ate feed, which came in colorfully printed feed sacks. When washed and ironed, these feed sacks made perfectly good materials for our dresses, shirts, blouses and pajamas. When I think of it, it was those dresses that first sparked compassion for my fellow man. The girls at school would come up to me and say, “Hey, where’d you get that dress?” Then they’d look at each other and grin. “My Momma made it!” I’d say proudly. “Where’d you get yours?” I’d ask politely.

girls blouses and a shirt for Jimmie. This led to an incident that Jimmie remembers to this very day. Jimmie hastily got ready for church one Sunday morning along with his many sisters. Upon reaching the church and rushing inside, he was greeted with howls of laughter. Puzzled, Jimmie wondered what all of the fun was about, when his buddy, T. Wayne pointed to his white ‘shirt.” I seems that Jimmie had put on one of his sister’s puffed sleeved blouses instead of his own shirt. I think that was the last time he wore a white shirt for many years!

A WRITTEN HISTORY OF THE CARNELL & LONNA TRIPP FAMILY OF CULLEN, LOUISIANA.

I don’t remember Mama being much over three feet high. That’s because she was just about that height while sitting in the chair at the sewing machine. She was always there... kind of like God... “In the beginning there was God.” If someone were to write about Mama like that, they would say, “In the beginning there was a sewing machine, and Mama was there.”

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“Ours are store-bought! Our Mamas don’t make homemade dresses,” the girls would say, but their grins weren’t quite as wide anymore. I felt so sorry for them. “Their mamas must not love them as much as Mama loves us,” I’d think to myself. It seems like it took forever to get enough feed sacks to make one dress. Sometimes Mr. Curtis would get in a shipment of feed, but the sacks wouldn’t match the ones that Mama already had. Then we’d have to wait for another batch to come in before she could make our dresses. Sometimes, Daddy would go without Mama and would pick the wrong sack. I remember going back to Curtis Brother’s Store with Mama, with the feed sack like she needed in her hand, to make sure she got the right color and pattern. We bought our feed at Curtis Brother’s Grocery and Feed Store in Cullen, Louisiana. The feed store was in the back of the store, and Daddy had to drive the Chevy Station Wagon around there and

back up to the big, wide door. It was there that he loaded the feed into the car. The big, old room was on a concrete floor and was about 2 feet high off the ground. It was dark inside, but had all sorts of interesting things for us kids to look at while we waited for Daddy. When Mama had pointed out the sacks that she wanted, Daddy would throw a fifty pound sack of feed over each shoulder like they were filled with air. He would then carefully toss them into the back of the station wagon. When we got home, he would life them out, carry them to the barn to the feed room, and empty them into the big, old feed barrels. He would then bring the empty sacks, still smelling of sweet molasses and corn, to the house to Mama. Mama would take them, carefully undo the side and bottom seams, and wash them in hot, soapy water to get any of the sweet feed out of them. She would hang them on the clothesline outside to dry. When they were dry, she would bring them in and iron them. Now they were ready for her to cut out and make our dresses. Somehow, she would

find enough extra money to buy yards of Ric-Rac or lace to fancy up our homemade blouses, skirts, dresses, pajamas and gowns. We sometimes had enough sacks in certain patterns to make kitchen curtains and dishrags. As one sister outgrew her dress, it was handed down to the next one to wear. Rachel had it pretty good because she was the oldest and got first chance to wear the new dress. I guess Judy had it pretty good too, because her hand-medowns came from the twins. She got 2 of everything. I guess Joy would have it next to best because she didn’t get any hand-me-downs. It wasn’t that she was special or anything. It was because I was so rough on clothes that by the time I had crawled through a few barbed wire fences and briar bushes I had so many holes in my dresses that I looked like I had been shot with a scattergun! I remember one time that Mama had splurged and bought a bolt of white material from the store. She worked feverishly to make all of us

quilts. “Hey, here’s a piece of my dress,” one sister would whisper. “And see those purple grapes? They were curtains in the utility room,” another one added. “There’s Jimmie’s pajamas... the ones with the green stick figures of cowboys and Indians. And here’s your pajamas. Remember the ones with ‘Alice and Jerry’ on them?” another sister said as she touched the pieces and looked at the sister who had the pajamas. Gradually, we weaned ourselves away from feed sacks, to polyester knits, silky leopard skin, and whipped creme for our dresses. Permanent press and no-iron materials made their debut and quickly replaced the 100% cotton feed sacks. But you know, I’ll always treasure the precious memories of Mama, her effort, and sacrifice of time making those dresses and other articles of clothing for her seven girls and little boy. It is those precious memories that are lovingly etched on the pages of my heart and those that are woven into the very fabric of those old feed sack dresses. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OCT/NOV 2009

The Minute Mag’s Purpose:

written by Jackie Lewis

Page Right: Pat Cordaro and a pot of simmering Spaghetti Sauce at Mama Mia’s in Shreveport, La.

Mama Mia’s

(Shreveport, Louisiana)

LOCAL LIVING W

ithin five minutes of meeting Pat Cordaro, you feel like you’ve known him for fifty years. His wide, genuine smile and zest for life draw you in like a moth to a flame. Knowing this, it’s no wonder that at Mama Mia’s, Pat’s charming and family friendly restaurant in Shreveport, even first time guests are anything but strangers. In a time where corporate restaurants dominate American cities, Pat offers something a little different. Here, at Mama Mia’s, nothing is generic. The food is homemade, the prices are more than reasonable, and the atmosphere is so laid back that you almost feel like you’ve walking into a friend’s home at dinnertime. You know immediately when you step through the doors that you’ve found a one-of-a-kind hideaway, a place where you can come with kids in tow

and not worry about keeping them quiet and out of the way in a corner booth. Here, it’s perfectly acceptable (and even expected) for you to break away from the table to throw a coin or two into an arcade game and go for a new high score. But the Family-friendly dining and a fun atmosphere are not the only things that Pat Cordara has to offer: he has another delicious trick up his sleeve. The same spaghetti sauce, garlic spread, olive salad and Italian salad dressing that local customers have grown to love and crave are available in Louisiana, Texas and Mississippi in grocers such as Albertson’s, Kroger’s, Brookshires, Super Foods, Sams and Walmart. Expanding Mama Mia’s product line to grocers’ shelves wasn’t exactly a stretch for Pat. His family, former owners of Shreveport Macaroni, has been in the wholesale food industry for generations. But it all really began to happen for Pat in 1974, when he opened his first business on Market Street in Shreveport. 35 Years later, Pat’s successful company is going stronger than ever, and he’s not shy about giving away his personal formula for success.

“We made more profit in 2008 than Chrysler and General Motors combined!” Pat’s quick sense of humor sums up his outlook on the business world. “We have no debt. If you live on the margin, you might die on the margin. If you put yourself in peril with lenders, you can’t keep steady jobs for your employees.” When asked about what recommendations he has to give new entrepreneurs, he answered immediately. “You have to decide: do you want to work for yourself, or do you want to work for someone else? if you load yourself up with debt, you have to get a job, which means you can’t chase your dreams. Keep no debt. Instead of getting a new car, get a used car. If you can start out living humbly, then you can afford to be an entrepreneur. You’ve got to plan your work, and work your plan.” Mama Mia’s is a rare business indeed. Not only are they family oriented, but they also run their business in a way that we seldom see in the business world. Pat’s enthusiasm is evidence of a life lived far from the sticky hands of high

This small business with a big appetite serves up their Spaghetti Sauce, Garlic Spread, Olive Salad, and Italian Dress‑ ing to stores and markets all across the south. And they do it all debt free!

interest loans. “Debt is the dragon. It’s the 800 lb gorilla in the room. You’ve got to ask yourself: are you working for yourself or working for the bank. Some people live by debt. My definition of having a couple of bucks and no debt leaves you with options. When I see something that I really need, I have the option of buying it because I’m not loaded down.” This business plan is definitely working for Mama Mia’s. Their plans to open a new 10,000 square foot building are right on time, too. Between their restaurant, kids’ play area and wholesale food ventures, Pat is planning his work and working his plan. “There’s a nitch for regional products that are made properly,” Pat proudly confesses. And we at The Minute Magazine couldn’t agree more. Pat Cordaro is not only providing our area with a line of delicious foods, he’s also promoting a happier, debt-free lifestyle. That’s one lesson that none of us can afford to ignore.

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hauntings in an attempt to gather scientific data, the purpose of SOULSFEST is to help others gain an awareness of the world around them.

here are many things in life that scare me. I am afraid of snakes and needles, to name a few. But when I was a child, few things could scare me more than the sound of coyotes howling outside my bedroom window at night. I would lay in my bed, hidden beneath a pink and yellow paisley quilt, unable to move

a muscle until the growls and rustling leaves faded into the distance. Years later, I know that it wasn’t the 20 lb. coyotes that scared me. It was the unknown- the howl in the darknessthat lit my imagination on fire. The unknown unifies mankind through a bond of fear. We are afraid of what we cannot see, what we cannot understand, and of things that cannot be rationalized. It is our ability to foreshadow that makes matters even worse. Not knowing morphs our everyday thoughts in paranoia, and sends our fears spiraling out of control.

My fear of coyotes, though irrational, pales in comparison to others’ fear of the paranormal. The unknown surrounding the question of life after death has been addressed by almost every culture on earth. According to a 2005 CBS News Public Opinion Survey, 48% of Americans believe in Ghosts, and 22% claim to have either seen a ghost themselves or felt the presence of one. We, as a society, are obsessed with all things paranormal. We want to know why things go bump in the night, and we want to know that we’re not crazy because we’re the only one that

noticed. If you’re addicted to all things paranormal, then we’ve found something that you cannot miss. The very first Southeast Texas Paranormal Convention will take place at the Julie Rogers Theatre in Beaumont, Texas on October 10th, 2009. Whether it is an attempt to gain insight into the afterlife, or a simple curiosity about the unknown, it’s easy to find a reason to make the trip to Beaumont. Hosted by S.O.U.L.S. Paranormal, a group of ghost-hunters that investigate

At SOULSFEST 2009, some of the biggest names in the paranormal community will be speaking. Guests scheduled for the event have years worth of experience in the field, and have been featured on radio, television, and in the publishing world. This is your chance to meet Steven A. LaChance from The Discovery Channel’s “A Haunting.” Donna Lacroix, from TAPS Ghost Hunters and Ghost Hunter’s International, will also be on hand to share her wealth of knowledge in the field. Whether you’re someone that wakes up in the middle of the night frozen in fear, or someone that has always been interested in the paranormal, SOULSFEST 2009 is an event that you don’t want to miss. So what exactly is S.O.U.L.S. Paranormal? This ghost-hunting team, made up of both believers and skeptics, puts the world of the paranormal to the test. Their intention is to document paranormal activity and, when possible, either debunk rumors or give scientific confirmation of its’ presence. And they do it all for free. S.O.U.L.S. Paranormal is available to help anyone that finds themselves experiencing unexplainable events. For more information about S.O.U.L.S. Paranormal or SOULSFEST, visit www. soulsparanormal.com.

Story by Jackie Lewis Photo of Jodi Peacock S.O.U.L.S. PARANORMAL Ghost Hunter from Beaumont, Texas 2009 SOULS PARANORMAL members from Beaumont, Texas. (l to r) Front: Jodi Peacock, Tammi Roy. Back: Tony Valero, James Russell, Mike Peacock, Ray St. Seer, John Johnson.

OCT/NOV 2009

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OCT/NOV 2009

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Life’s fleeting moments...

he chilly teeth of autumn bite into the late summer evening so abruptly that the mighty oak tree in my neighbor’s yard shivers and sends the first wave of leaves parachuting down to the ground below. As I sit at our outdoor dining table, nestled in the nook between the garage and my office, I realize how priviledged I am to experience yet another of God’s magnificent Autumns.

by jackie lewis

Things haven’t exactly been easy this year. My stepMother spent her spring and summer taking rounds of chemotherapy, and then had a series of setbacks and strokes just before the leaves began to change into the beautiful shades of orange, burnt amber and velvety red that characterize the season. She is now struggling to re-learn things that we all take for granted- basics like how to move her arms and legs, talk, walk, and sit up.

a town of 12,000 people. Something about the deep, dark woods has always scared me. I don’t like the idea of a wild creature sneaking up, or the possibility that I might be bitten by something poisonous. But Donna taught me that even a city girl can connect with nature. These lessons were cut short by something completely out of our control. Melanoma is not discriminatory. It snuck up on Donna as she was beginning the autumn of her life, and the best that we can do is sit back, pray, and believe that everything would turn out okay. But with cancer, nothing is a given.

It all began early this year. The mole appeared uncer‑ emoniously on her neck early in January. Within a few weeks, it resembled a dot from the tip of a black perma‑ nent marker.

The skin is our largest organ. I now know to watch for signs of melanoma in myself and my loved ones, and to take small dermatological chang‑ es very seriously. It can happen to you. It can happen to your children, your parents, and to anyone else that you know. And it can happy very quickly. If you see a new mole, assume that it needs to be treated. And make an appointent with your Doctor immediately.

“Donna, you should go to the Dermatologist and let him check it out. I’ve always heard that a black mole is bad.” We gave her our piece of advice and dropped the subject, not in the slightest bit understanding my our words.

Donna had her first visit with her Dermatologist only weeks after the little black spot appeared on her throat. No one in our family could have ever predicted then how rapidly the situation would progress.

In January she was diagnosed with Melanoma. In April, she was sedated so that a small port could be installed below her left collarbone, a precursor to the chemo‑ therapy to come. One year of treatment as a precau‑ tionary measure to make sure the Melanoma’s satellite nodules didn’t make their way into her bloodstream, and everything would be fine. The chemo would tire her out, they said. And they were right. She began treatments five days a week for the first month, driving into Ruston for the daily shots and necessary bloodwork. We were completely devastated until she reassured us that she would be fine. She would be up and fishing again soon, racing around the dock with a bag of shiners in one hand and a fishing pole in the other. Or so we thought.

Skin protection is crucial. The sun’s rays are more in‑ tense than in our parents’ and grandparents’ days. Ac‑ cording to The American Cancer Society, “Melanoma is currently the sixth most common cancer in American men and the seventh most common in American wom‑ en. The median age at diagnosis is between 45 and 55, although 25% of cases occur in individuals before age 40. It is the second most common cancer in women be‑ tween the ages of 20 and 35, and the leading cause of cancer death in women ages 25 to 30.”

If there is one thing that Donna is known for, it’s being “outdoorsy.” While I was being taught how to hold a teacup with my pinkie pointing out and how to curtsey before a crowd at piano recitals, she was knee deep in mud way out in the woods learning how to stalk a deer with a bow and arrow. Donna’s deep appreciation for nature awakened something inside of me. I’ve always considered myself a city girl at heart, even if the “city” means living in

Nine months after Donna’s initial diagnosis, I share her story with you. Melanoma can happen to you. During the last few months, we learned that nothing in life is guaranteed. Nobody is protected from Melanoma’s dangerous grasp. So call your Dermatologist today and schedule a cancer screening.

For more information on Melanoma, visit the American Cancer Society’s website at www.cancer.org. And please join us in praying for Donna.

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all brings about new challenges each year. We have to get used to new teachers, new classroom aides, new students, and new rules. This year, however, a lot stayed the same. My son will have the same teacher and classroom aides. We are hoping this will be a good thing. We have done considerable chang‑ ing this past summer and we are re‑ ally seeing good things happen. School never excites anyone around my house, especially not my son. He has always disliked school. I could never really figure it out and I’m still trying to understand his aver‑ sion. My husband and I are both big on learning. See, I was the nerdy student who actually ENJOYED learning new things and I actually liked homework. Not that I would have ever let anyone else know that; I also had a reputation to uphold, you know! But now that I have my own child in school, I’m liking it less and less every year. My son has been to 3 different elementary schools in 5 years. At each school, it is the same story; they don’t know what to do with him. He is extremely intelli‑ gent, however, he can’t sit in a regu‑ lar classroom with 20 to 30 other kids because he is highly sensitive to the noise level and to the general stim‑ ulus of all that energy in one small

room. He has a great deal of diffi‑ culty maintaining his sanity around that many other 10 year olds (and can we blame him? I would come out of my skin if I had to be around that many 10 year olds on a daily ba‑ sis!). So that leaves us with the only option- the special education class‑ room, where my son is miles ahead of the other students. He ends up doing group work by himself because there is no one else that matches his level. We have also found that a lot of elementary school teachers really don’t like it when the student is smart enough to hack through the security on the class computers the first day of school…

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has difficulty just greeting someone. If I pull him away from a school set‑ ting, he will lose the contact with oth‑ er kids that he needs to learn how to interact appropriately. It seems like most of the time we are in a no-win situation. Leaving him in the public school setting leads to all manners of stress for me. I jump every time I hear the phone ring, thinking it is the school calling again because Trent has tried to run away or has been screaming at the top of his lungs over not being able to sit in the same seat he has always sat in. I constantly worry that my boss at work will even‑ tually get very sick of me leaving all the time to go to IEP meetings at the school, therapy sessions, doc‑ We have been in regular education tor appointments, and emergency classes, special education classes pick-ups at from school. So, every and classes designed specifically year when school starts, I approach for kids with high-functioning autism. it with growing abhorrence. None of these classes are a good fit for my son. I find myself full of guilt I take comfort in knowing that I can because I cannot find anyone that reach out and help other parents can provide a better education to who are just now entering this lab‑ my child- an education he is most yrinth of confusion that is special deserving of and has every right to education. Each year, I find myself pursue. My child will most definitely talking to parents about insisting on go on to college, obtain a degree and the supports that the law says their eventually move out on his own and child is entitled to so that they can be able to support himself. That is be educated alongside their typical‑ our hope, anyway. I war with myself ly-developing peers. I encourage constantly on whether to pull him parents and guardians to educate from the system and educate him themselves on the laws, local and myself, the way I know he deserves, federal, that protect their children. I or leave him where he is so he can encourage them to stand up against experience the much-needed social the bullying school systems that find arena that school provides. He is, it much easier not to even have to and will always be, sorely lacking in deal with their kids than to have to understanding of social nuances. He spend time and money to make the

environment ideal for them. I make sure the child advocates in our area are kept very busy in helping en‑ force these laws and make sure our kids are able to work to their poten‑ tial. There is extreme potential there – and we have to fight just to let oth‑ ers to allow our children to be able to share it. It is my job to fight for my son’s right to be respected and to be educated. It is my job to be his voice. I hope and pray every day that my son is looking at my example and learning to fight for himself in a world that is programmed to keep him hid‑ den away and pushed back in the “special” room reserved for kids who don’t fit the cookie-cutter mold society has insisted our children fit into. My anger brings tears to my eyes as I think about a world that looks at him in disgust because he thinks, learns, talks and sees things differently. We celebrate difference in our household. The world would be a very boring place if everyone were the same. Difference is what makes the world go ‘round. This is something we have told my son since he was five years old- since he first started noticing that he is not the same as everyone else. We in‑ sist that he should not want to be the same as everyone else, that he is unique and special and he has gifts to share with the world. If I have learned nothing else during our time in the school system, I have learned that no one else in this world cares as much about my son as I do.

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OCT/NOV 2009

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Brian Lassiter leads a group of 15 to 17 men and women who travel from El Dorado, AR, Shreveport, Ruston, Winnsboro, Farmerville, West Monroe, and Monroe, to make the music happen. Lassiter states, “The dance and fundraiser proceeds will be used to keep Big Band music alive and kicking in Northeast Louisiana! We play for the appreciation of the music and want to share and pass it along to other lovers of the “sound” and public, who want to dance or listen to the music of Glen Miller, Frank Sinatra, Tommy Dorsey, Benny Goodman, Les Brown, and the rest.” The Louisiana Big Band is a non profit organization. A Cash Bar and Snack Bar will be

Louisiana Big Band. Keeping the Music of the 40s and 50s Alive!

The

Louisiana Big Band continues its dance and fundraiser series with a fall event, “Swing Into Autumn”. Saturday, October 17, 2009, from 7 – 10 PM, the place to be will be the West Monroe Convention Center at 901 Ridge Avenue, West Monroe, as this area

band will bring the music of the 40s and 50s for your dancing pleasure. The dance will be a tribute and memorial to one of its own, Ralph Pierce, a trombonist with the band since its inception. Pierce was an instructor at Louisiana Tech and was a member of the famous Tech Deboniers in Ruston.

available and plenty of parking and security will be provided Tickets are available at Zeaglers Music on 18th Street in Monroe or at the West Monroe Convention Center office. If you purchase tickets ahead of time, they are $12.50 ea. or $25.00 a couple. At the door on October 17, the price will be $15.00 each. To reserve a table for 8 or to order tickets by mail, contact Judy Wilson, Louisiana Big Band Publicist, at 318-342-8807 or 318-235-6595 Cell or e-mail her at jwrew@bellsouth.net. Please make check to Louisiana Big Band and send a self addressed stamped envelope to Judy Wilson, 6011 DeSiard, #40, Monroe, LA 71203 Sponsors for this fundraiser are Angel Ministries Hyperbaric Solutions, Cypress Inn, Minute Magazine, Renee Stadius, CPA, Brooks Florist & Greenhouse, Cooley Printing and Specialties, and “Get Noticed, Call Judy, Publicity Consultant. The next Louisiana Big Band Dance will be “The Holiday Party and Dance” on Saturday December 5, 2009 at the West Monroe Convention Center. This is the Big Party of the year, so make your plans early.

by Judy Wilson

OCT/NOV 2009

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The South Arkansas Sigma Pi Alumni

Association would like to invite all alumni of Southern Arkansas University back to Magnolia for Homecoming, October 17th, to cheer on the Muleriders as they battle the Ouachita Baptist University Tigers. After the game, join your fellow alumni across the highway at the

Columbia County Fairgrounds for a

private social for SAU alumni only. A band will play and security will be on the grounds. Admission is $10/person.

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

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a personal preference about flowers just like antiques...they either love them or they don’t. Also like antiques, flowers can be passed down from one generation to another. They bring pleasure to their current owners and with the right care-takers, they can be preserved for many future generations.

the true confessions of an

ANTIQUE JUNKIE

first glance flowers and antiques don’t seem to have alot in common. But if you put a little thought into it, you might just find some similarities. Most people have

To me, working in my flowerbeds is a relaxing and therapeutic pastime. However, I’m certainly not a professional gardener. What little bit of knowledge I do have about flowers came from my mother & grandmother who were self-taught gardeners. They have passed along

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their love of nature, flowers, and the great outdoors to me. This passion of ours seems to be genetic and passed down in our family for several decades. My great grandfathers on my mother’s side were avid gardeners, too. My Granny Hinckley (my mom’s mother) loved to doodle in her flowers or work in the yard. After she retired, you could find her almost year round somewhere outside. I remember staying with my grandparents in the summer when I was a kid. I was always following Granny around outside in the yard. She was so patient with me, showing me what were weeds t h a t needed to be

pulled and what were flowers. She even taught me how to save seeds from petunias, merigolds, and other flowers so we could replant them the next year. I was infatuated to put a tiny seed in the ground and watch the stages of growth until it actually bloomed. Seeing the brightly colored flower for the first time was “the fruit of my labor”. Antiques and gardening seem to compliment one another. Antique junkies, like myself, love to salvage old garden pieces such as tools, trellis, watering cans, birdhouses, and such and decorate with them. We call it “bringing the outdoors in”. These days, it’s just as popular to accessorize your yard and garden with antique items that are usually found indoors. Iron bed frames are used as actual borders for flower beds, primitive tables are turned into potting benches, old window frames are cleverly put together as small greenhouses, and even mismatched cups and saucers create unique garden ornaments. Among antique collectors, there are a variety of gardening items that are often sought after. Flower frogs, old sprinklers, vintage vases, concrete statues, aged flower pots, and time worn lawn furniture that have survived the natural elements are some of the most popular. No matter what your antique decorating style... Victorian, English, Colonial,

Encourage, Enlighten, & Inspire.

written by Donna Arender

style... Victorian, English, Colonial, Primitive, or something else... they all seem to blend well with vintage gardening pieces. There’s just something about that aged and weathered patina that lends itself to the eye. There are “imitations” out there but they can’t compare to the character that the true vintage pieces possess. Afew of my favorite flowers are actually “heirlooms”. They were passed down from my grandparents and I treasure them as much as some of my prized furniture pieces. For instance, I have three althea bushes that came from three very special people. The light pink ruffled one came from my great Grandma Sessum’s old homestead. The other two are purple, but different varieties, and they came from Granny Hinckley and a very dear family friend. My mother was able to take a branch from each of the original plants and “root” them. When they grew big enough to transplant, she passed them along for me to enjoy. I also have several kinds of flowering bulbs such as daffodils, day lilies, and irises that came from my dear sweet mother. As the ones she retrieved from Granny’s original flowerbeds multiply, she is generous to share them with me. I also have ferns and monkey grass that thrive in the shade

of the big tress towering over my yard. When I found out that a very close friend of mine was moving, I actually went and dug up a little red wagon full of monkey grass and ferns. I started by making a border for the flowerbeds on each side of the front steps. When it multiplied, I thinned it out and created more borders in different areas. Ten years later, and I’ve completely surrounded our house and most of our yard with what started out as a few clumps of money grass and a few sprigs of fern. Another favorite and perhaps the most special is my hydrangea bush. Long after Granny died, I was visiting my Papa Hinckley (who was well in his 90’s) one day and he gave me a section of the bush that grew in the back corner of their house for as long as I could remember. I brought it home and babied it like someone would a brand new puppy. I watered it, fed it miracle grow, and pampered it to the best of my ability. It was a little scraggly thing...but I thought it had a decent chance of making it. I went to check on it one day while Mike and I were working out in the yard. Much to my HORROR - all I found was a bare stem a few inches long poking from the ground where my “beloved hydrangea” once stood! Mike had mistakenly weed-eated it... and we almost got a divorce over the whole ordeal. But the next spring, I was pleasantly surprised to find a few green leaves starting to appear on the poor little twig that was still protruding from the dirt. Then, something miraculous happened. That bush began to grow & flourish like we had given it steroids. Next thing I knew, it was staring at me

OCT/NOV 2009 with big blue blossoms...right at eye level. This thing was huge! Not only did it survive, but it grew in leaps and bounds. Needless to say, I swallowed my pride and apologized to Mike. And he still “brags” that his wonderful “pruning skills” contributed to the magnificent growth rate. It has been a joke between us for years now. And I’m happy to say that I was able to take a beautiful bouquet of those big blue flowers to my Papa when I visited him in the nursing home...just a few weeks before he died. I’ll never forget that sweet smile he gave me when I told him my plant had survived. It was as if to say “a job well done”. I’ve mentioned before that I have actually found wonderful treasures thrown out by the curbside, waiting on trash collection day. But furniture isn’t the only treasure that can be found along the roadside. There is a vast array of wildflowers just waiting to become part of a family of domestic flowers. My mother & I have spent many days traveling the back roads in search of our living treasures. One summer we spent countless hours driving and digging...sweating & giggling. But it’s not always as easy as one might think. You wade through tall grass and prickly briars, watch for snakes, swat at bees and wasps, and even get charged by mean-looking bulls. Yep! You would know that as I crawled under the barbed-wire fence (that belonged to a neighbor & friend) to retrieve a pink running rose, I didn’t notice that I had invaded the bull’s territory. He tried to “sneak-attack” me while I wasn’t looking. Fortunately, mom was standing at the fence and

forewarned me in enough time to safely scramble back to the other side. I did get the rose and it blooms every year, around Mother’s Day, and I am reminded of all the special times I’ve had with my mom and the memories we’ve made. The entry to my garden spot invites you in with an arbor that Mike built one year for our anniversary. We defined the space with a white picket fence in front and added a taller lattice fence on the side to give boundary to the property line. I have named it my “Memory Garden” in honor of all those who have shared their plants, shrubs, bulbs, and flowers. I’ve created a walkway and several borders around flower beds with antique bricks that came from the ole home place in Coushatta. Birdhouses, wind chimes & antique gates are carefully placed in different areas of my garden. There’s even an old rusty water pump that looks as if I still use it to water the flowers that are flourishing below. I have several concrete benches and a big wooden swing that welcomes you to sit and stay a while. After all, gardens are just an extension to your home. They create an outdoor living space that’s peaceful as well as pretty. While it’s true that I love antiques, being outdoors and surrounded by God’s gift of nature is an even greater treasure. My life just wouldn’t seem complete without feeding the birds, filling up the birdbaths, refilling hummingbird feeders, and of course...digging in the dirt. Ahhhh, now that’s what I call “the good life”. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Successes mark Angel Ministries Hyperbaric Solutions

Angel Ministries at 509 North 2nd Street in Monroe is the home of two mild Hyperbaric Chambers. Linda Tripp, Founder, states “Introducing everyone to the large range of possible uses for these chambers is one of the highlights of my career with Angel Ministries.” Hyperbaric chambers have been used for many years to treat specific conditions. However, the opportunity for individuals to be able to incorporate mild Hyperbaric Therapy (mHBT) as part of their personal health and wellness program is a recent development. Several testimonials from parents of children with problems, attest to the effectiveness of the chamber. Kolson, age 2 was diagnosed in August with autism spectrum disorder and ADHA. After only 3 treatments, improvement is ongoing. He can now say bye-bye, mine, thank you and dog. It may not seem like a lot but after only 3 treatments it is amazing. He is more affectionate, laughs more, and can drink from a cup with a straw. There is still a long way to go, but the results are tremendous. John David’s parents state: “Our son has speech and social development delays and we believe in the healing power of the Hyperbaric Chamber. In the past four months, we have witnessed such ongoing progression and believe the

Hyperbaric Chamber has been the key factor. There is no doubt that it Works! After 60 sessions we are seeing more and more verbal communication and he is aware of his feelings and the feelings of others. John David is now actively engaged with other children and approaches other children in stores, playgrounds, etc. and asks “How you doing?” Cassey was born at 25 weeks gestation. She only weighed 1 lb. 14 oz. and was 13 inches long. She was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy and developmental delays. Since getting into the chamber, she holds her head up and looks where she is going. She walks faster and has better balance and control when she walks.

written by Judy Wilson

photos by Barbara Cook Photography

Kolson

John David

Reasons to use the chamber vary. We provide hope for individuals with a wide range of conditions to see if they can be helped with this treatment. Some examples are: ASD, autism, stroke, brain injury, fatigue, headache, sleep problems, and diabetic conditions. Basically, the pressurized environment of the mild hyperbaric chamber allows for an increase in oxygen saturation helping on many levels by allowing more

About us... A

ngel Ministries was founded by Linda Condrey Tripp in 1998 to dem‑ onstrate Christian charity throughout Ouachita Parish and the State of Loui‑ siana. In 1997, Linda’s son, Taylor, was struck by an automobile while rid‑ ing his bicycle. He could have easily been taken, but God spared his life by sending an angel to save him.

To honor God’s great mercy, Linda founded Angel Ministries . It is a nonprofit foundation that exists to glorify God and to demonstrate the love of Christ through service to others. We serve persons throughout Louisiana with disabilities, the elderly, and people without access to public assistance— essentially, our mission is to serve those who “fall through the cracks.” We help by providing personal care at‑ tendants to care for them in emergency situations. For every $100 donated

to Angel Ministries, we are able to provide approximately ten hours of care for those in need Angel Min‑ istries relies on the goodwill of oth‑ ers through donations and volunteer work to fulfill its mission to the com‑ munity. The umbrella which covers all our various companies carries our ulti‑ mate philosophy, “Sharing the Car‑ ing.”

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The Angel Ministries Network provides personal care attendants to care for persons in emergency situations. For every $100 that is do‑ nated to the agency, we can provide approximately 10 hours of care. We also provide assistance to displaced persons in need of cloth‑ ing, household items and other goods through our Community Closet. Each year, the Angel Ministries Network has several fundraising opportunities to help provide these services. Please check out all of the programs on this website to find out the different functions that we offer in order to give back to the community. We are here to provide a hand up to those who are doing all they can to survive. While we cannot prevent financial difficulties from occurring, TOGETHER we can provide a beacon of hope. With your help we can make sure that if and when the need arises there will be a place for all in need to find help.

Cassey

Hannah

Sharing the caring!

oxygen to reach cells, tissues, and bodily fluids. Blood flow is increased/restored to restricted areas allowing wounds and injuries to heal more rapidly. Recovery from surgery is much faster. Also, Bacteria, Virus, and Yeast cannot survive in an oxygen enriched environment. If you or a member of your family need help and feel the mild hyperbaric chamber might be the answer, call and set an appointment. There is a waiting list, but with the purchase of more chambers, more people will be able to be helped. All of the treatments are done at no charge, but the participants and their families are asked to secure donations to keep this program going. Anyone wishing to donate may do so by calling Jody at 318-388-5100 or toll free 1-888-426-0036 or by going to the website www.sharingthecaringnetwork. com. Donations may be mailed to Angel Ministries, with Hyperbaric Chamber in memo line and sent to 509 North 2nd Street, Monroe, LA 71201. Angel Ministries is a 501-c-3 non - profit organization and any donations are tax deductible. Other ongoing projects of Angel Ministries are the food program that helps the public buy top-grade frozen meat, fresh produce, and staples at a greatly reduced price on a monthly basis and Cruise for A Cause 3 that offers a portion of the cabin reservations to go to Angel Ministries and Hyperbaric Solutions. The elderly, disabled, and impoverished are also helped with caregiving service, household activities, and shopping, when they need assistance. This is for those people that “fall through the cracks”.

Hannah was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder on Dec. 28, 2006 at 17 1/2 months. She has benefited from many early interventions and therapies, but mild hyperbaric oygen therapy has obviously been one of the most beneficial therapies thus far. She is extremely engaged in her environ-ment, getting into everything! Hannah’s pretend play skills have dramatically improved. and her speech therapist The said that Hyperbaric she’s been Chamber more verbal and cooperative this summer. These are but a few of our success stories, and this is only the beginning for us! Hyperbaric Chamber Treatments are making a difference in the lives of Louisiana Residents. If you or someone you know has a condition that may improve with the use of a hyperbaric chamber, this non-profit organization might be able to help you. If you are interested in making a donation to keep this program going,

Meet Scott... Scott... Meet

Scott began his hyperbaric chamber treat‑ ments on April 30, 2009. After about ten treatments, we began to notice a change in his bahavior. He has been much calm‑ er. His stemming has subsided by half. His cognitive reasoning level has greatly improved. He is much more aware of his surroundings. He has an interest in more complex ideology. He takes more initative in many of his daily chores. The chamber has truly improved his quality of life in so many areas. Scott is 37 years old and is deaf and autistic.

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photo by Leslie Coyle

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For the month of November...

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SCENES FROM THE STREET in Monroe, Louisiana. By Cindy Ingram.

L to R: Sherrelle Strogen ,Cheryl Young, Barbara Norton, Candace Welch and Shalanda Watkins at a Sunday Evening Social & Birthday Celebra‑ tion at Bijou Downtown Shreveport In the Red River District.

S S

the

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ociety ection

Back Row: Joe Morgan, Mark Gloer, Kenny Bryce, Eddie Robertson, Brent Hunt, Jason Perot, Jeff Reynolds, Don Branton, Jodi Shaw, Wendy McCall; Middle Row: Caye Bryce, Catherine Hunt, Lee Branton, Christi Robertson; Front Row: Liz Morgan, Jodi Mueller, Summer Perot “Geaux Tigers!” Syndney, Morgan and Isabella Young (yes, we’re triplets) at their very first LSU Football game in September.

Francille Lowe transferring a caterpillar at the Butterfly Festival in Haynesville, LA.

Kyzer Brazzel and “Paws” Greer at the Enoch wine stomp and festival.

The grand opening of Terry Gardner’s Orleans on Main in historic down‑ town Minden, Louisiana.

New Vision Community Outreach (l to r) Apos‑ tle Cornell Hamilton, Bishop C.L. Howard, Mayor Cedric Glover and Honoree Stanley Marshall. C.J. Smith and Gloria Bramlett of Arcadia, Louisiana at C.J.’s surprise 90th birth‑ day party.

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(l to r) S’port City Council Monty Wal‑ ford, Sandra Welch, King Apollo XXII Paul Weiss and Patricia Presley.

(left) Carolyn Thomas sent in her clothesline photo after reading our article ‘Laundry’s Dirty Little Secret’ in the August Issue. (right) Melvin Teutch, 1931 graduate, at the Evergreen High School Reunion on August 8th.

The Krewe of Akewa The Krewe of Artemis

(l to r) April Timmons, Sarepta Former Students’ Association Treasurer; 1st Vice Presi‑ dent of the SFSA, Allison Farley Maxwell; Adam Jones of The Levees; 2nd Vice Presi‑ dent of the SFSA, Kellie Strong Harper; SFSA President, Renee Andrews McCluskey.

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g n i v i g ks

r e y a r

n a y Th

ear God, thank you for this beautiful day, with the golden sunlight and for the true blessing of a cheerful husband. I am so grateful for this life I have lived. It has been a good life, not spectacular, but there have been a few glorious moments to ponder. The night I held my firstborn, a daughter, who brought to me a depth of feeling I had not felt before and then years

later, as I struggled to understand why there was not one thing I could do to save my dying son, you gave me a ray of sunshine in the form of a granddaughter. Thank you for the peace I felt as you allowed my son to show me he was on his way to be with you as he entered death’s door. Thank you for the marvel of holding my last grandchild when he was just minutes old and for feeling such awe as he stretched, planting his feet on my lap and looking me in the eyes with an unblinking stare, as though he was saying, “Look at me, I am one of God’ s magnificent creations.” Thank you, God, for my illustrious

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daughters, Tanja, (Tammy) with the heart of gold and the work ethics of a Trojan and Cindy who shares my talent for decorating and gardening, my wonderful grandchildren, Danielle, who has always been able to make me laugh, and CJ, a miniature version of his papaw, who warms my heart with his gentle and caring nature and Justin who can run like an elk and talk the horns off of a billy goat. Thank you for the joy and blessing they bring, but even more, I thank you for my own parents who gave me life and who worked so hard to provide a comfortable home, warm bed and a full stomach for all their seven children. God, I thank you for the talents you gave to me; the capability to write stories, to decorate on a shoestring and for the natural ability to share the feelings of others. I might not be wealthy with an abundance of money and possessions, but you have given me so many other riches, how could I complain? I ask you to continue to help me understand and make use of each and every magnificent opportunity that comes my way. I do not want to waste any of the gifts you have given to me. Sometimes when people believe life has a meaning they risk these gifts, instead of waiting to freely receive them. God,

please help me to have patience and not to rush through life finding false messages. When I look back on my life and think about all those things that went wrong and all the times I failed, allow me the ability to suppress my aggravation. Let the change of the seasons pull me and continue to show me the beauty and the why of each season. Help me to understand why the short cold days of winter are necessary, help me remember that they will always make me appreciate the warm days of spring even more. Thank you God, for this unique life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To all who ask why I have not continued the series of “ Home Town Heroes” I will say, “To all, some rain must fall and my rains have been full size shower’s lately.” Unless these showers turn into thunder storms I will continue the series in the next issue of “The Minute Magazine.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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OCT/NOV 2009

Confessions of a Hormonal Woman: The pursuit of happiness and the words of Benjamin Franklin

I’ve had a paradigm shift. Ever had one? I looked at life, health and happiness the way I’ve been raised to look at it. And then, after a lifechanging situation rocked my world, I saw everything differently.

Actually, I’ve had several lifechanging, rock-my-world situations over the years. I don’t think I’m unique in that regard, but I want to share with you the silver lining that illuminated my most recent cloud. Most of my life, I believed the prescription for good health was this: get sick, go to the doctor, take all prescribed medications, get well, and go on with life. I guess you could call it a “treatment-focused” way of thinking. Now that I’m a little older and have two children for whom I am responsible, I find myself wondering, “What can I do to PREVENT my children from being sick?” And with the looming threat of the worst flu season in decades, that curiosity about prevention is echoing loudly inside of my head. I lived in Pheonix for nearly 15 years. One thing unique about living out west was the embrace of naturopathic medicine. If this term is new for you, let me give you a definition: try a natural remedy first. For example, some research shows that honey is a very effective cough suppressant. A physician in Arizona advised me to try that with my child first before trying an over-the-counter medication. It worked. I’m certainly not in favor of abandoning all prescription medication, but I am guilty of rushing to the pediatrician in hopes of getting my child well as quickly as possible because of some upcoming committment instead of letting a cold run its’ course. Aren’t we clamoring for any pill that can end the misery in 24 hours or less? It’s a symptom of the world we live in. We’re all in a hurry to be somewhere. I am guilty of this more times than I ever want to admit. AN OUNCE OF PREVENTION IS

WORTH A POUND OF CURE Benjamin Franklin said it best when he coined the phrase that’s been repeated for generations, “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” Former Surgeon General, Dr. Richard Carmona echoed Franklin’s advice in an opinion published by the Arizona Daily Star. “Sadly,” says Dr. Carmona, “in the United States spending to treat preventable chronic diseases accounts for more than 75 percent of the approximately $2 trillion we spend each year on health care. Americans spend more money on health care than any other nation, yet rank 42nd in life expectancy worldwide, down from 11th two decades ago. While our federal and state governments spend hundreds of billions of dollars a year on treating diseases, they spend less than $10 per person to prevent diseases. We are a treatment-focused society, when the real benefits to health and happiness come from preventing diseases before they ever occur.” Startling, isn’t it! Reading Dr. Carmona’s words reminded me that my pursuit of wellness is worth sharing. We need to jump off the bandwagon of a treatment-focused society and jump into the pursuit of wellness. So here we go - five suggestions for the pursuit of wellness. Are you ready to jump in? EVALUATE YOUR DIET Do you make good food choices? Are you overweight? The latest statistics indicated that 58 million Americans are overweight, 40 million are obese, and 4 million are morbidly obese. The vast majority of illness is caused or complicated by being overweight. EVALUATE OUR ACTIVITY Do you exercise? I confess. I don’t

by Elizabeth Drewett exercise as much as I’d like. It’s really hard during this season of my life to have time for myself. But I’m learning to incorporate physical fitness into my life in different ways. I park further from the grocery store entry and WALK. I take the stairs, much to the chagrin of my kids who LOVE the elevator. I stop working at the computer for 5 minutes and do 50 sit-ups. All these little bits of activity add up and encourage me to pursue bigger bits of activity like an hour of tennis or a bike ride with the kids.

doesn’t get as much sun, the best source of Vitamin D, as generations before us. The level of cold and flu increases in the winter largely due to the decrease of Vitamin D in our systems. If your physician doesn’t evaluate your Vitamin D level, go to one who will. A supplement might not be enough to boost your Vitamin D to an adequate level, so seek the advice of a doctor. Medical research even suggests that Vitamin D is the BEST prevention for flu - even better than the vaccine. To learn more about Vitamin D, visit us online at www.seasonswc.com.

HAVE A WELLNESS CHECKUP DECREASE YOUR STRESS When is the last time you saw your physician for an annual physical? It’s easy to procrastinate. Who likes to get stuck by a needle? Annual blood-work screenings are an important part of pursuing wellness. Ladies, get a mammogram and do monthly breast self-exams. And men, turn your head and cough. A healthy prostate will save you a lot of heartache (and groin-ache) in the future. MAKE SURE YOU ARE GETTING ENOUGH VITAMIN D More and more studies are indicating the importance of Vitamin D in disease prevention. Our generation

Stress is the enemy. Don’t spread yourself too thin. Take time to smell the flowers. My best de-stresser is weekly Bible Study. Yours might be different, but I promise my method works! I also love to read. I don’t have a lot of time for reading, but I carry a book around with me just in case. Good luck with your pursuit. And with any luck, you and I will pursue wellness and find happiness.

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nited Methodist Women (UMW) of the Memorial United Methodist Church at 401 Sherrouse in Monroe are getting out the secret recipe and cooking up their famous chicken and shrimp gumbo for the 48th time this year. The Gumbo Dinner and Bazaar has tempted the appetites of 1000s of Northeast Louisiana residents since its inception in 1961. This year the big day is Thursday, November 19, 2009 in the fellowship hall of the church. UMW Bazaar Chair, Betty Farr, states, “ We will have plenty of gumbo dinners, barb-que brisket sandwiches, ham and cheese sandwiches, slices of pie and cake, and a complete bazaar of baked goods including cakes, pies, sourdough rolls, candy, cookies, pepper sauce, and jams and jellies. There will be a gift shop of Christmas decorations and Thanksgiving decor, gift items, and plants. Gumbo is pre-sold in frozen pints for $7.00 per pint, so get your tickets early. The day of the sale, meals consisting of a bowl of gumbo, rice, crackers, coleslaw, and iced tea or coffee will be on sale for $7.00. Tickets may be bought at the door or purchased from the church office or church members. Sandwiches are $2.50 each and dessert slices $1.50 to $2.50 each. Frozen gumbo may be picked up from 8 am -7 PM on

OCT/NOV 2009 that knows the “secret recipe” states, “Many people have tried to get me to reveal

Nov. 19 only. All frozen gumbo tickets are presold. Paul Mallett, Head Chef and the only person in the church

the ingredients in the roux, but all have failed.” It does no good to ask anyone else either, as the new pastor, Rev. Rollie E m e r s o n states. “I have been here only 3 months and people have asked me if I know and have even tried to bribe me, but I just tell them I don’t know and “mums the word”. The one thing not to worry about is what is in the gumbo. We know there is

chicken and shrimp, but as for the rest, just sit back and enjoy the best gumbo in N. E. Louisiana! The bazaar opens at 8 am until 7 PM and gumbo is served from 11 am to 2 PM and from 5-7 PM. Tickets may be purchased at the church office between 8 – 2 PM daily or from any church member.. For further information, call 318-343-3033 or send self addressed stamped envelope with check made out to UMW Memorial UMC with memo line stating gumbo tickets, and the tickets will be mailed. The address is Memorial United Methodist Church, 401 Sherrouse, Monroe, LA 71203. Everyone is invited to attend or buy the frozen gumbo. This fundraiser supports the church and its missions both locally, nationally, and across the world. As Mallett comments, “When you consider that most of our members have been doing this for 20-40 years, it is a real honor to be involved. We cook two days a week for 3 weeks in October every year and make over 1500 plus pints of gumbo from scratch each year just to keep us going. This is an act of love and charity that keeps us getting up and doing this every year”.

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