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issue

inside this magazine TIFFANY BYRAM

Owner/Publisher/Editor Graphics/Layout

VICKI CASKEY

Sales Manager

RUSTON FLORIST & BOUTIQUE

Cover Arrangement Provided By

8 Manners Matter

by Vicki Caskey

12 A Lesson On Chivalry

by Chalaine Scott

14 Easy Easter Eats

by Rosemary Thomas

LUCY DOUGLAS BEN SIEGMUND DAVID A. KAUFMAN, M.D.

20 Bee Fever: A Timeless

JENNY REYNOLDS

21 Try the Honey, Honey

Guest Writers

Founder

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

Epidemic by Ben Siegmund

by Lucy Douglas

30 Save the Handwritten

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

Note by Tiffany Byram

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

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s

outhern Charm. I love this quote from Dee Jackson describing it: "Not a tangible thing, but an attitude which has been ingrained in southerners forever. It’s a feeling of being sincerely welcomed as a guest or a long lost friend; a way of life that lets people be as warm as the climate. It’s an easiness in speaking with total strangers or anyone, a unique friendliness encompassing the whole way of life in the deep south. It’s not something one does, it’s the way one is."

We hope this issue encourages you to bring out your southern side. Put on your pearls, pour a cold glass of sweet tea and go write your momma a thank you note for teaching you how to be a proper southern lady (or gentleman). And if you think you've missed the boat on charm and class, dont worry, our contributors have a few thoughts on the subject to set you straight.

Tiffany Byram

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headlines & hemlines written by Rachel Pardue

Old Manners, New World

F

or many people, southern charm means the 1940’s and a young southern gentleman asking for permission to take his love on a date.

It’s a lady in the kitchen cooling a pie on the windowsill with a row of pearls draped around her neck, or an elderly couple sitting on their porch sipping sweet-tea and greeting every passerbyer by name. It’s living a simple life but living it well.

As time has changed; the world moves at a sprinting pace, and women have emerged from the kitchen. Is chivalry really dead?

Truthfully, the origin of southern charm is forgotten and this picturesque idea of the 1940’s is over-romanticized.

Men paid for dinner because women were financially dependent. Men drove their ladies everywhere because women did not have any means of selftransportation as their only job was in the home. A man asked for permission to marry his girlfriend because she belonged to her father and lived in his house until another man came to claim her.

Today, many women leave home at age 18, have careers, and are independent in every sense of the word. With this progression of society, the idea of chivalry has changed drastically. It’s no longer a mandatory social act but a rare display of character, and it certainly isn’t dead.

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A few weeks ago, I had a terrible cold, but I was alone and away from home. I stopped by a drugstore to pick up overthe-counter cold medication. I waited in line looking like death as I clutched my purchase of cold medicine, tissues, and orange juice, but when I tried to pay, the cashier asked to see my driver’s license.

Seeing that I was seventeen, she refused to let me buy non-prescription medication. Too weak to protest, I just asked to check out with my other items.

A young man behind me, however, began begging the cashier to let me purchase the medicine as he argued that I was visibly ill, and it was highly unlikely that I would do anything too crazy with DayQuil.

After the cashier still refused, the young man took the medication and handed her his driver’s license and money. Much to his dismay, the cashier was adamant about me not having cold medicine, but despite his inability to save the “damsel in distress”, a complete stranger proved to me that chivalry isn’t dead.

Although it may be harder to find, I would take today’s southern gentleman over one from the picturesque time of Frank Sinatra and swing dancing.

Today, if a man opens a car door, it’s

because he wants to. Chivalry is now a complex understanding of women’s values and independence while offering the courtesy of behaving like a gentleman.

For women, southern charm is a little more complicated. It’s amazing that many young females are offended by acts of chivalry. In some way, this gesture of human kindness has been misconstrued as an insult to females’ capabilities. I believe that a true southern lady can hold her own in the professional world, and still expect her dates to open the door. Manners and social politics of the sexes should not be related in today’s modern times. No one should have to choose between being treated like lady and becoming a successful woman; they should be synonymous.

Southern charm is rare, but it is certainly alive and more valuable than ever. It’s no longer a mandatory social behavior, but a choice of class that extends to every area of life. After travelling to Yale and New York to study business over the summer, I can testify that a warm smile, confident handshake, and a touch of southern charm will earn the respect and admiration of even the shrewdest businessmen.

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

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Written By: Vicki Caskey

When I was a little girl my grandmother often came and stayed extended amounts of time with my family. She became a widow when I was two years old and never remarried. We did not have a guest room in our home so she always shared my room with me. I miss her daily and cherish those memories. What I would give to have her here with me now.

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I was not born to a family of money nor does my family tree show monetary wealth on its limbs and leaves. Fortunately, I did have a grandmother who was determined that I learn, at a young age, that class and manners could not be bought no matter how much money you or your family had.

On her visits with me, she always made time to “tutor” me in certain things. I can’t tell you how many hours I walked around with a book on my head to correct my posture, how many times she made me spit out my gum because it was not ladylike, or the many times she knocked my elbows off the table without warning.

I remember one time when she sat me down to look through her jewelry. She shared with me that she could never afford real pearls. She explained she had a really nice set of imitation pearl earrings and a necklace. She stressed that pearls went with everything, you could dress them up or down, they were always in style. She explained simple is better and when your funds are limited, less is more. I never appreciated her during those

times. I mostly was annoyed by her constant reminders. It would be many years later when I would come to realize these strands of gold woven with threads of silver she shared with me would define the kind of woman I would become.

Many years later, when I became a mother, I caught myself teaching my daughter many of the same things my grandmother taught me. Ruby was very young when she became involved in sports and I soon realized she was going to need lots of guidance in the class and manners department. So I did what many Southern mamas do, I enrolled her in etiquette class. Twice. She went once in elementary and back for a refresher in high school. It was the best thing I could have ever done for her. While I had many words of wisdom and lessons stored up from my grandmother, you just can’t beat formal etiquette training. If it is available near you, I highly recommend you invest in it for your children.

I see the payoff firsthand. My daughter is 20 years old and always a lady. She plays basketball in college and most days is sporting a make-up free face, ponytail and workout wear. But she is a picture of class in her actions, no matter where she is or what she is wearing. Contrary to popular belief, class has nothing to do with what you wear or how much money you have.

My daughter and I are blessed to both have a couple of sets of real pearls. They are not the most expensive ones you can buy, but they are real. My grandmother would be so proud.

My favorite pearls to wear, though, are the imitation ones she gave me so many years ago. They have a special box of their own where I keep my jewelry. They might have been the cheapest pearls you could buy back in the day, but they are priceless to me. By far the most valuable piece of jewelry I own.

The true definition of class is how comfortable one makes other people feel, from the most exalted to the least among them. A classy person never flaunts what they have, belittles, humiliates or demands. A classy person does not have an overdeveloped sense of entitlement.

Class has nothing to do with elegant clothes, impressive financial resources or finer things. Anyone, of any social or economic standing can have class.

If you were raised in the South, chances are your mothers and grondmothers instilled plenty of lessons on you. They knew a thing or two and we would be wise to carry on their traditions with our own children. In today’s society where so many things are brushed off and overlooked, make note of those that stand out around you. I bet you consider them to have “class.” We are none perfect but how dare we quit expecting the best of ourselves and our children.

My grandmother always said, “It’s the little things that matter and kindness goes a long way.” She was right.

Do unfold the napkin on your lap as soon as you sit down Do Not come to the table with gum in your mouth Do wait for your host/hostess to start eating before you begin Do Not take a cell phone into a dining situation Do pick up your napkin if you drop it Do Not put your elbows on the table Do pass serving plates to the right Do Not drink through a straw Do try a little bit of everything Do Not slurp, burp or make any noises with your food Do take your time, no gulping or gobbling Do Not reach over someone’s plate to get something Do keep the table around your plate as clean as possible Do Not divorce the salt & pepper- always pass them both,

no matter which was requested

Do

say, “Excuse me for a moment, please” if you need to leave the table

Do Not ever, ever, ever use a toothpick (at least in public) Do say “Please” and “Thank you.” Over use of these are just

fine and not just at the table

Do Not leave the table until all are finished Do tip graciously when dining out

You should not wear white before Easter or after Labor Day. I know, I know some will disregard this but I can’t. When it is hot as Hades here in Louisiana and the week after Labor Day and I grab my white linen blouse to wear I can hear my grandmother gasp from heaven and I just can’t bring myself to put it on. If you are one who chooses to forgo this rule, well bless your heart!

"Bless her heart" can mean many things.

"Give me some sugar."

If a Southern woman says to you, know this is an order not an option.

A Southern lady always says

"Yes Ma'am" and "Yes Sir."

When a Southern woman has nothing else, she has her manners.

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www. theminutemagazine. com a season of

becoming written by Shelley Duran

Growing Roots

I

was scared to sign my name on the line. I carried my apartment lease in my bag for two weeks before finally signing on the dotted line. Seems silly, but for me, this is the first time in years that I’m not changing something.

As soon as I was handed my high school diploma, I made my way out. I fought to go to college farther away than what my parents wanted, only winning by snagging a Resident Adviser job where my room & board was paid. I got used to packing up my things every year to move to a new dorm where I would introduce myself and try to convince my residents that I was indeed older than them (even though I wasn't) and some sort of authoritative figure.

I carried my love for packing up shop to New Orleans where I made a promise to myself to live in every neighborhood I could. In my four years there, I made it through four different neighborhoods,

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each distinctly different than the one before. While some hate finding boxes and packing, I find it thrilling. I love knowing I’m going to a new place. It doesn't take long for me to give up a feeling of home for a new one.

So it took everything I had not to look for a new place once I was notified my lease was coming to an end. Nothing is wrong with where I live, in fact I quite like it. My rent wasn't going up either, so I couldn't use that as a reason/ excuse to leave. The thought of staying instead of leaving is a scary one. It’s been one year since my return to this city and signing that lease again made it even more real. I decided to stay. I am

staying. Staying can feel just as good as leaving, sometimes. This is what I am learning.

Although spring is here and it signifies change for so many, this year, this season, my change is looking like staying. What does planting roots look like in my life? What does sticking it out feel like? What if I didn't change my address and everyone knows where I am? That doesn't seem so bad. I’m here and I’m happy about it.

Settling down doesn't have to mean it’s the end of something. In fact, it’s only the beginning. Here’s to a season of planting myself and watching my roots grow.

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

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Board certified in FAMILY MEDICINE, Dr. Webb cares for patients of all ages. She treats everyday illnesses and chronic conditions. Services include: women’s health care, school, work and camp physical exams, immunizations, lifestyle modifications, health maintenance and preventive health services. “Caring” is the one word she uses to describe herself. She chose the medical field because she saw people in need and knew she could make a difference.

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We seek a prince, but we settle for a joker instead.

When we let the world convince us that chivalry is dead, be aware it’s because we’ve killed it. If you want chivalry, it’s still very much alive. to make me feel good about myself. He kissed my lips and held me in his arms but I hardly felt close to him. The bad always outweighed the good. Water & oil, he called us. The hurt lingered in my heart.

I always grew up thinking I’d get the prince, believing I deserved the prince. Isn’t it amazing once you settle for less, somehow you tell yourself that’s all you’re good for? That’s all you’re really worth? You spend your whole life pretending to be Belle, only to wake and up realize the Beast you chose never changed. And never will.

And that line plays over again and again in my head. “It’s not my job to make you feel good about yourself.” And it wasn’t. It was MY job. And I’d failed at it.

Somehow, I had put so much effort in trying to find someone to love me that I felt happiest when he was offering me affection or giving me attention. And when he wasn’t, I was feening for it. I was trying to get it. I was making excuses for the things he said and the way he was and the person he’d become. And in reality, I was making excuses for the person I had turned into. A person who needed another’s affirmation to feel good about myself.

Tolerating certain behaviors and making excuses for someone’s behavior says a lot about who you are, and who you’re not. When you settle for something or someone, you don’t believe you’re good enough for better, you don’t have the patience to wait for what’s to come and you’re not resting in the fact that God knows what’s best for you. You compromise because you lack confidence.

Recently, I went on a date with a guy who offered me his jacket in the cold Michigan winter air. He held my hands and warmed them in his pockets. He walked me to my car and kissed my forehead goodnight and woke me with good morning texts. He paid for everything. He was kind. He complimented. And crazily, I thought it was too much.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved every minute. But in my mind, I thought it was over the top, that he was trying too hard, that he must have other intentions. What a sad society we live in that this is no longer the standard of relationships, that instead we long for the bad boy and hard-to-get romance. That girls often reject this type of behavior and this kind of character instead of welcome it.

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But remember, to have a gentleman, you must be a lady.

That’s where we very often fail. We have so many standards that we want in a partner but we don’t live up to them ourselves.

We jump to conclusions. We hide things and then get mad when they lie. We say we’re fine when we’re actually not fine at all. We play detective and then get mad when we discover. Oh, to be humans.

Our society has adapted our minds to what we deserve.

It has redefined what marriage is and how relationships work and what you should really expect from your partner. I spent too long believing the lies. Thinking you can change someone. Trying to adjust myself to make him happy. Not believing I deserved the compliments and date nights and the flowers just because. I convinced myself that wasn’t how real relationships go.

The world can tell us all it wants and feed us all the advice it has on relationships, but there’s one thing I won’t budge on. Chivalry.

People love nice people. People love generous people.

Selfless people. Kind-hearted people. Isn’t that what chivalry is?

My friend always tells me that the reason I’m single is because I still believe Prince Charming is going to come sweep me off my feet. He often reminds me that my life isn’t a Disney movie. I’m well aware – I don’t live in a castle.

Kids and mortgages and diseases remind us all very quickly that life is no fairy tale. But chivalry shouldn’t be a thing of the past or a trait only found in fictional characters. It should be in all of us. Because it isn’t just an act of how we love; it’s a reflection of who we are.

We shouldn’t only act this way to the person we’re in a relationship with, we should portray this trait to all we encounter.

Husbands, pull out your wife’s chair. Buy the flowers.

Spend the time. Wives, show your husband love. Make the sandwich. Watch the game. You reading this, smile at a stranger. Say thank-you to a cashier. Hold the door.

Be a fair lady. Be a knight.

And don’t let anyone, anyone, tell you that you deserve anything less.

Where Boho Meets Glam 116 Park Ave. Ruston LA 71270 318.251.0990

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E A S Y E A S T E R E AT S E

aster is here! Finally! I LOVE Springtime. I Like Summer a lot. I Like Autumn a lot. I don’t care about Winter so much. I don’t tolerate the cold weather… It is such a pain to cover and move plants….we have to turn the water line to the chickens off and back on… there are too many gray days. I am being so whiney, I know. I’m not even the one that has to turn off the water. My better half does that, not me. I am just cranky in the winter time. Maybe that is why I love Easter so much. It represents Spring. Easter means winter is over and everything gets to begin again. Of course, I think Easter being the most important day of the Christian calendar makes it a holiday that is special to everyone in one way or another.

Easter is a sweet time. I mean, bunnies and chicks and little lambs. Pastel colors. What is sweeter than that? Coloring eggs and eating the ears off of chocolate bunnies and cute spring dresses and sunrise service. What's not to love?

I have wonderful memories of Easter. The day before Easter, we would dye Easter eggs. My two sisters and my brother and I would sit around the kitchen table which had been covered with many layers of newspaper in the event of disaster (which was inevitable with the combination of four excited kids and colored dye). We would have coffee cups full of colored dyes and little copper egg hooks and spoons at the ready. We each had a dozen eggs of our own that we could decorate however we wanted. I loved to color on them with crayons and then dip them in the dye to reveal the design. My brother, who was the oldest and more patient than I was, would hog the dyes by leaving his eggs in them for an unreasonable amount of time to get a darker color. At the end of the coloring when everyone was finished, he would combine a lot of the colors to see if he could make new colors. Usually he ended up with a lot of brown eggs. On Easter morning, we would find a basket hanging on our bedroom door with chocolate bunnies and Pez Dispensers and other little toys and treats nestled down in fake plastic green grass along with some of the eggs we had colored the day before.

Then came the Easter Egg Hunt! My parents would make us stay in the den and promise not to peek while they hid the eggs in the back yard. And you know, we never did peek. Not once. We would sit on the sofa and anxiously wait for our parents to come back in and tell us it was time.

They would take us aside and tell us to be sure to leave some for Laura, who was the youngest, which we always tried to do. Then, with baskets in hand we would rush out into the back yard as fast as we could! We would find eggs hidden under overturned pots, stuck in the ends of the swing set poles, and sitting on top of the chain link fence. They would be in plain site on the ground, or hidden high off the ground in the crook of a tree. After we found them all, we would repeat the adventure more than once. When my parents got tired of hiding eggs, we would hide them for each other. Those eggs stayed out all day long. If we cracked one we would just eat it and keep going with the rest. How we didn’t get some sort of food poisoning, I’ll never know!

While we were hiding eggs for each other, my Mom would start Easter Dinner. Baked ham, sweet potato casserole, green beans, fruit salad, and my Dad’s favorite… deviled eggs! For desert we always had coconut cake… and of course Chocolate Bunny Ears.

Whatever your tradition is for Easter… enjoy it with family and friends. Make some new traditions if your old ones don’t work for you now. Change it up. I still like to dye Easter Eggs, but now I like to use natural dyes. (See recipes on next page). The most important thing is to do something that represents this season. Go to a sunrise service if that speaks to you. Do a craft with the kids. Just get outside and enjoy some fresh Spring weather.

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CORN BREAD PUDDING This isn’t really “pudding”… but rather sort of like a dressing. Really good stuff here. I can eat my weight in this, which is only a slight exaggeration. And it is so very easy to make!

1 pkg cornbread mix (I usually use a 6 0z bag of Martha White Yellow Cornbread Mix) 2 eggs, beaten 1 onion, finely diced 1/2 cup water 2 cans cream style corn 1/2 stick butter or margarine 1/4 tsp each salt and pepper 1 Tbsp sugar 1/4 cup fresh parsley chopped (or dried if you don’t have fresh) 1/3 tsp each thyme or sage (dried or fresh will work) Melt butter in a 2 quart casserole.

Mix all the other ingredients together and pour in the casserole. Cook at 325 for about 1 hour until browned and set. Don’t hurt yourself. This stuff is good!

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MANDARIN ORANGE SALAD

FROM

ROSEMARY'S

KITCHEN RUTH'S COCONUT CAKE

Written By: Rosemary Thomas

I was really surprised when I got this recipe for my Mom’s cake. I always assumed that it was made from scratch … but was pretty delighted when I found out it used a cake mix. Yes. I can put this one together in a hurry. Don’t tell anyone it is made from a mix.

If they ask if it was made from scratch just say something vague like… “Oh Please” and act sort of shocked that they would dare suggest such a thing!

1 box white cake mix (Duncan Hines – but I am sure any brand will do fine) 1/4 cup vegetable oil 3 eggs 8 ounce sour cream (not low fat) 1-15 ounce can cream of coconut. (like Coco-Lopez or Coco Casa). SHAKE well!

Just mix all this stuff up with your hand mixer. Bake in a 9X12 pan at 350 degrees for about 45 min. Let cool.

This recipe comes from my Aunt Austa. It is such a pretty layered salad, can be made ahead, serves a crowd and is easy to make!

2 pkgs orange Jello – dissolve in 2 cups hot water.

1 (6 ounce) can frozen orange juice - thawed 1 cup cold water 1 small can crushed pineapple drained 2 cans mandarin oranges – drained Combine dissolved orange Jello, orange juice, water, pineapple and mandarin oranges. Pour into 13 X 9 pan and let it set up in fridge.

Topping 1 pkg lemon Jello pudding – make according to package directions 1 cup whipped cream or Cool Whip (note that my Aunt Austa – or my Mom – would NEVER use Cool Whip, but I give you permission to use it. Mums-the-word!)

Combine Jello pudding and topping and spread over set jello.

Sprinkle with fined grated cheese if desired (I know that sounds weird, but it really is good!)

Return to fridge and let stand until ready to serve! We would always cut this in squares and place on a pretty lettuce leaf.

Cream Cheese Icing 8 ounce cream cheese – softened 1 pound confectioner’s sugar 1 Tablespoon vanilla extract 1 – 2 Tablespoons milk

SARA SUPER SALAD

Blend together until well mixed. You want this to be fairly thick but spreadable. Spread over cooled cake and top with sweetened flaked coconut.

This was my daughter Sara’s favorite salad when she was growing up, so we renamed it for her. This is so easy --- and looks so pretty on a spring table with the light green color!

otherwise known as

PINEAPPLE PISTACHIO SALAD

1 can (15-17 oz) crushed pineapple 1 box pistachio pudding 1 tub cool whip 1-2 cups pecans Mini marshmallows Marachino cherry halves Coconut shreds Combine 1 can of crushed pineapple with juice and 1 box pistachio pudding mix. Stir until pudding mix is dissolved and incorporated with pineapple. Fold in 1 tub cool whip, a cup or two of chopped pecans and a few handfuls of mini marshmallows. Mix it up. Fold in some well-drained (patted dry) maraschino cherry halves. You can also add some coconut if you want! Let it set in fridge for a couple of hours. That’s it. Pretty. Springy. Delightful. Super Salad.

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rants of an

old hen

written by Chris Broussard

Digging for Gold

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went to The Farm* recently to check on the place. It was cold and wet and the ground was still soaked from the heavy rains. I walked around the barn and there in front of me was a patch of white flowers. They were blooming on the fence row under the shadow of the huge pecan tree. I smiled and thought of Zenobia** immediately. The paper whites that normally bloom in February were all in bloom...just in time for her birthday. I could smell their fragrance and a flood of memories rushed through my head.

I love daffodils. I love the way they surprise everyone in early spring. When my son Ben was little I would strap him into his car seat and we would drive the back roads near our home looking for old house sites. Only a huge oak tree and a spray of yellow gold on the ground was usually all that remained of many old house sites that sprinkled the back roads of Claiborne Parish. When we would find ‘gold’ I would pull over, spread out a blanket for Ben, grab my shovel and begin to dig. I wouldn’t take them all. Just a couple of shovels full.

After which I would fill the hole with dirt and we would be off to the next old house site.

During the time that we were cleaning up the landscape at the Farm, we discovered ‘Gold’ there too. It wouldn’t be uncommon to go to the Farm on one of our many work days and find a new batch of flowers blooming. They were everywhere. I got so excited about the prospect of identifying all of these wonderful flowers and possibly cultivating them to sell to support the Farm. I also came to recognize that some fairly rare heirloom bulbs had been planted there by Zenobia’s mother and her two aunts who lived on the Farm.

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On one morning a few years back, I made one of my routine checks of the Farm. I drove up and something was different. Someone had been there.

The ground was all churned up and there were huge holes all over the back yard and bulbs were turned over and exposed. I was livid. Who would do this? Who would destroy this beautiful place? We had just landscaped the backyard and transplanted a multitude of bulbs around the old pump.

I called Chief T.C. Bloxom and explained what had happened. He immediately sent a police officer out to the Farm to take pictures of the destruction. The police officer was just as puzzled as I was. “Do you have any artifacts out here?” the officer asked me. “Do you think that someone might have been using a metal detector and dug the ground up looking for artifacts? “ That could be possible I replied because the house and the site did have some historical value but I couldn’t imagine a history buff destroying anything historic even if it was just dirt.

I had even thought that perhaps someone had realized as I did that there were many rare and valuable heirloom bulbs. Maybe they dug some up. But that didn’t make sense either because people who love bulbs are far too respectful to leave such destruction behind.

I left to visit the Chief about the incident.

I walked into his office and he had the photographs of the Farm grounds on his desk. He leaned back in his chair and while placing his hands behind

his head, he declared “Chrissy, they're pigs!”

“You got that right, Chief! The worse kind of pigs.” I fumed. To which he responded “No, no, I mean real pigs!”

The Chief went on to share his experience with pigs and declared that the damage that had been done to our Farm property was done by pigs. “Good grief! Where would they come from?“ After talking with all the neighbors, no one had pigs around us. Where could this pig have come from? We called Heath Balkom with the wildlife and fisheries office. Heath came out and walked the property and checked out the destruction. He agreed with the Chief that it appeared to have been done by pigs. Heath erected a huge pen and set the trap for the pig. Heath even speculated that it might be a sow and baby piglets based on the damage.

The grounds behind the Farm were still very grown up as was the adjoining property. For days, Heath would make his way to the Farm to see if the trap had been sprung. We continued to monitor the Farm. I got a call one day from Health. “We saw him.” “Saw him or caught him?” I said. I made my way to the Farm to see what was up. As I arrived, they were repairing the trap where the pig had torn his way out.

“Our pig is not a pig!” Heath proclaimed!

“He’s a hog!” A big 350 pound black hog. We never caught the hog but he also never came back. Everyone speculated that he had made his way

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

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

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

to the Farm by way of the little creek that runs behind the Farm. We don’t know if he just moved on or if someone had been successful in capturing him and….eating him!

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

Each spring when the front yard of the Farm looks like butter and the many little clumps of green around the Farm are packed with ‘Gold,’ I remember fondly my days of digging for gold and the day that the hog came to dig as well.

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

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

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

Our services include:

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

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

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

* 'The Farm' is a four acre historic site owned and managed

by Cultural Crossroads, a local non profit arts organization For more information If you or a loved one is experiencing changes in that uses the Farm as their official festival site for their or to living, schedule a free, the ability to cope with daily Senior Care annual Spring Arts Festival ChickenStock and other art/ confidential assessment, at Minden Medical Center is here to help. agriculture related projects Located on Hwy 80 East in Minden. The Farm is open on Tuesdays and Thursdays call us at 318-371-5646.

Senior Care is available to persons age 55 and over with from 9am-1pm. “Stop by and if you are lucky, you can You have a choice when it comes to caring for your health.

Make it a smart one, a mental or cognitive decline that hinders daily life, who catch us planting more bulbs. and choose the area hospital that was named one of the nation’s top performers Hope is only a phone call away. has become a threat to self or others, or is limited in selfon key and quality measures two years in a row. ** Zenobia West is the former owner of 'The Farm' care ability. Our mental health professionals are available donated the land to Cultural Crossroads. through our 24 hour referral line to discuss treatment We’re proud to be recognized by The Joint Commission, the leading accreditor needs and are devoted to helping patients get back to of healthcare organizations in the nation, for our achievements in quality… but www.MindenMedicalCenter.com their optimal level of functioning. we’re even more proud to be chosen by you. Minden Medical Center #1 Medical Plaza | Minden, LA understands what matters most toOur patients and their families – safe and services include: effective care. We are committed to providing the highest quality care possible, • Free initial consultation Management of secondary along with the expertise and leading edge technology that you expect at • larger • Thorough assessment medical needs hospitals, all conveniently close to home.

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

Hope is only a phone call away.

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In addition to honey, Aaron also sells candles, lip balm, cold cream, moisturizer, jams, and jellies. “I definitely caught bee fever,” says Aaron referencing the 19th century movement where interest in beekeeping was at an all-time high.

Aaron also stresses the importance of other pollenating insects like butterflies and bumblebees. It is a very important process because it benefits both the pollinator and the plant. As he learned more about bees he also learned to appreciate natural products. “Most honey is actually imported,” Aaron remarks “which means you never know how much is actually honey.”

Large farms feed their bees sugar and the bees process it into a honey. Because of this, most store bought honey is actually more sugar than honey and loose labeling laws can often be misleading.

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Aaron however, takes his 100% natural labeling very serious.

“My goal is long-term sustainability” he says, “pesticides weaken the bees genetics and my main focus right now is in breeding strong queen bees”. This all-natural approach makes for a better taste, self-sustaining beehives, and a healthier product. “This method does call for extra time and energy because of no treatment”, he says, “but the end product is worth it”. And he has a loyal group of customers to prove it.

he world has seen great and unpredictable change throughout the last 100 million years. Civilizations have risen and fallen, entire species have become extict, and the worlds geography has even changed. Anything that can withstand this transformation and development is a living artifact worth great reverence. Through all of earth’s history, honey has been a staple in mankind. Its non-perishable abilities preceded any invention of conservation. Archaeologists have discovered bee fossils dating back 100 million years and even found edible honey in King Tut’s tomb. Honey has left a sticky but sweet imprint throughout all of mankind’s history— from ancient Egyptian civilization, to a modern-day North Louisiana town.

The naturalistic movement is at an all-time high and Aaron is a strong advocate, “A lot more people are becoming aware,“ he says, “our progress [in the food industry] made us lose diversity in plants in animals.” Not only is it beneficial to human health, but also naturally developed products tend to taste better. Grocery stores and coffee shops want to carry his products because of the high demand for non-processed food items.

Aaron Jennings has been a successful massage therapist for ten years in Ruston, Louisiana. In 2012, Aaron was looking for beeswax to create an all-natural lotion. To his dismay, he found that almost all beeswax is contaminated with pesticides that would harm his customers. In this moment, he decided to purchase and harbor his own bees to sustain his need for allnatural beeswax. Three years later, he now offers 6 different naturally made products and they can be seen all over North Louisiana store shelves.

Although Aaron is very proud of his commercial success, he still prefers to stay out of the limelight. He models the work of his own honeybees in his determination of providing better and healthier products for his customers. “Eventually I would like to give guided tours of the beehives,” he says. He wants people to see their age-old techniques in action. Like any good boss, he wants to show off his employees and give them their credit because they have earned it over the last 15 million years.

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W

ith the incidence of chronic disease such as diabetes and heart disease on the rise in the United States, we are fatter and sicker as a country than ever before. The current generation of children is predicted to not out-live their parents due to the alarming rates of early obesity. In light of this depressing information, one might feel discouraged, but there is hope! There is a growing army of people who desire to take back their health and the health of their children by embracing a more natural lifestyle. Raw honey is a little jewel that is gaining popularity among those wanting to keep things close to the dirt for its potential health and beauty benefits.

Honey in its raw form is far more than a natural sweetener.

It is a “functional food”, which means it is a natural food with health benefits. It contains natural antioxidants, enzymes and minerals including iron, zinc, potassium, calcium, phosphorous, magnesium and selenium. Vitamins found in honey include vitamin B6, thiamin, riboflavin, pantothenic acid and niacin. In addition, the nutraceuticals contained in honey help neutralize damaging free radical activity. Commercial honey is often heavily processed and may even have been chemically refined. Excessive heat used in the pasteurization process destroys the natural enzymes, vitamins, and minerals in honey. Filtering and processing eliminates many of the beneficial phytonutrients including pollen and enzyme-rich propolis. The only way to achieve the potential health benefits is by using raw honey, preferably from a local beekeeper.

Honey is an acid product, with a pH of between 3.2 and 4.5, which is low enough to inhibit the growth of many pathogens.

It is also antibacterial because of its ability to attract water.

The water molecules become bound to the sugar molecules in honey, thus denying potential microbes the water they need to survive. The honey produces the antiseptic hydrogen peroxide which is derived from glucose oxidase, an enzyme added by the bees. The floral variety Manuka has been recognized in New Zealand as a natural remedy for generations. Its strong antibacterial properties make it effective for treating minor cuts, burns, skin infections, and more.

Honey is also well known as a cold and cough remedy, usually combined with apple cider vinegar, whiskey, or lemon.

Try a tablespoon of Bragg’s apple cider vinegar, one teaspoon of fresh lemon juice, one to two tablespoons of raw local honey mixed in 2/3 cup of hot water and sip to soothe a sore throat. For a cough, mix a syrup consisting of 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper, 1/4 teaspoon ground ginger, 1 tablespoon raw local honey, 1 tablespoon Bragg’s apple cider vinegar, in 2 tablespoons water and drink. It has also been suggested that local honey may benefit those with allergies. The premise being that ingesting honey made from the pollen of local plants can improve tolerance to those pollens. Take a tablespoon of local raw honey after each meal to decrease sensitivity!

The possible benefits to this ancient treat are endlesssofter, clearer skin, improved immunity, fewer allergies, and decreased inflammation are just a few. But do be wise; because honey can cause a dangerous disease known as botulism in infants, children under the age of one should never consume honey, raw or pasteurized. Remember to shop local to find the best honey that has not been commercially pasteurized and enjoy!

(318) 243-2772 RUSTON, LOUSIANA jenningsapiaries@gmail.com

Find us in Ruston at Gibson's Natural Grocer, Marsh Market, Parish Press, Rosemary's Kitchen, Ruston Farmers Market, Social Bites & in Arcadia at Caskey's Feed.

jenningsapiaries.com 21

Speak It! written by Kathy B. Nelson

Confessions of a Foolish Gardener

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I remember several years ago I was going to host a big event at our home and the flower beds around our patio were what you might call…lacking or just plain pitiful. We had lots of green bushy things, but no color, no zip, no wow factor going on. In my desire to have a burst of color and create a happy place, I went to a local nursery and purchased several flats of beautiful pansies and some other plants that I don’t know the name of, but they were colorful. After I got home with these new beautiful plants and placed all of the flats around the patio at strategic locations in order to expedite the planting, I was already tired. I was so tired that I just decided (since I really just wanted some pretty color for this event I was hosting) to put the flowers in their plastic containers on top of the ground in the flower beds and just cover the plastic containers with pine straw. They would have the illusion of a fragrant, colorful garden, but it would not take too much energy and work on my part. And you know what? It did look colorful and pretty for that event and for a few more days after that event as well. But, then one day I came home from work and they were all laying over dead, on top of the pine straw. Yes, ALL of them. I quickly moved aside the straw to see if I could water the plants and bring them back around, but it was too late. Every single flower was gone.

What a waste – of money and potential beauty for the entire spring.

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It didn’t take long for me to see that this “gardening technique” is a picture of how we try to develop our faith journey as well. I did a little research to see what it takes to really have a beautiful, thriving garden. It seems the key was good soil. It’s the dirt, the foundation that makes your plants thrive and produce more good fruit or flower. That soil requires a good, balanced mixture of these three fundamental ingredients: 1. Clay – to retain water 2. Sand – to drain water and avoid “root rot” 3. Organic Material – for nutrients (basically all of your dead stuff, your trash} That’s when I was struck with a most profound spiritual truth – God has said in His word that our hearts are like soil and in order to have a harvest of great produce we must: 1. Retain the instructions that He gives us, like the clay.

2. Learn how to discard what is given to us that is not truth – like sand filters it out.

3. Remember that He has and always will use the dead, rotten junk of our lives

to help create this fresh new life that only He can give. He makes beauty from ashes.

It is a remarkable encouragement, at this time of new beginnings, to be reminded that all great gardens are great because someone worked very hard to get the mix right and plant at the right time and nurture the seed all along the way. So it is with our lives as well, it takes tremendous sacrifice and discipline to remember what we are to do and practice living those things out.

We also need to throw off the lies and unhealthy elements that try to invade our “heart soil”. It means handing over the ugly, dead parts of our lives to the Master Gardener so he can work it and

by His divine tilling, make us into this beautiful, thriving person.

Just like that shallow gardening only gives the illusion of beauty, I learned that an illusion will soon wither away.

But, the investment of time, patience and hard work will produce what lasts.

I am going for the long haul, so watch out, I’m about to start chunking out the dead, rotten stuff of my life so God can use it for my good.

Kathy is an author and speaker that loves to bring a word of encouragement to anyone that will listen. Founder of Speak It Ministries, she has been sharing her faith and teaching God's Word for over 30 years. She is a wife, sister, mom and Mimi to some great people and loves spending time with each of them. You can follow her on FaceBook, Twitter @cckahy, Goodreads and Wordpress. She is best described by having a desire to live life, love people and laugh out loud.

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Written by: David A. Kaufman, M.D. To schedule an appointment call 318-221-3584. www.BreatheAmerica.com

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pring is in the air, and so are billions of tiny pollens that trigger allergy symptoms in millions of people.

Spring is in the Air.

This condition is called seasonal allergic rhinitis, commonly referred to as hay fever. Hay fever can affect your quality of life. It can lead to sinus infections, can disrupt your sleep and affect your ability to learn at school or be productive at work.

Symptoms include: • Itching in the nose, roof of the mouth, throat, eyes • Sneezing • Stuffy nose (congestion) • Runny nose • Tearing eyes • Dark circles under the eyes

Asthma is sometimes triggered by allergies (although most people with allergies do not develop asthma). But if you do have asthma and your allergies aren't well controlled, you may be more likely to have asthma attacks, which can be dangerous and even lifethreatening.

Also, if you suffer from migraines and could swear you get more of them when your allergies attack, you might be right again. Recent preliminary research linked nasal allergies and hay fever to an increase in the frequency and severity of these painful headaches.

At this time of year (March and April), pollens from birch, cedar, cottonwood, oak, and pecan trees are the prime culprits. Later in the spring and in the early summer, the pollens most likely to be irritating you will be from grass, including Bahia, Bermuda, and Johnson grasses. Ragweed will appear in the late summer and fall. Molds grow quickly in heat and high humidity, so they do very well here in Louisiana!

Hay fever (Rhinitis) cannot be diagnosed by history alone. An allergist/ immunologist can diagnose your allergies, and determine the specific triggers that cause them, through simple tests.

Steering clear of allergens is the best way to reduce symptoms, but that's tough with billions of tiny pollen particulates in the air. Shutting the windows can help, along with showering and changing clothes after being outdoors.

However, most of us cannot avoid being outdoors, or perhaps even enjoy outdoor activities regularly and do not want to change our lifestyles.

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Treatment is then accomplished by medications, allergen immunotherapy, or a combination of both.

Most medications work best if taken before pollen hits the air. Ask your doctor when you should start treatment; some allergists recommend treatment about two weeks before symptoms typically surface. These medications include nasal corticosteroid sprays, antihistamine pills, nasal antihistamine sprays or decongestant pills. Some of these medications are now available over the counter. When over the counter medications don’t seem to be effective, your allergist can give you guidance and strategies to enhance the benefits of the medication, while reducing the chance of possible side effects. Also, prescription medications are available that may be more effective.

Medications only work as long as you are actively taking them. This frustrates many patients as their rhinitis continues year, after year, and medication costs can really add up. Fortunately, there is one treatment that actually can be curative: allergen immunotherapy. The traditional “allergy shots” are given weekly for 6 months, then monthly, and usually for a duration of at least 3 years. Studies have shown decreasing symptoms of allergy and better quality of life with each successive years on immunotherapy. If a course is completed, most patients maintain a remission from their symptoms for many years afterward.

In most cases, allergy immunotherapy is a cost effective way to treat hay fever (rhinitis), with fewer doctor visits, medication use, and missed days of school or work due to allergy flare-ups. ______________________________________ Dr Kaufman is board-certified in Asthma, Allergy and Immunology and has been practicing for 10 years. You can reach Dr Kaufman at the BreatheAmerica Center in Shreveport. BreatheAmerica is an outpatient airway disease center for patients of all ages that suffer from asthma, sinusitis, rhinitis, COPD and other respiratory disease, as well as their allergic and non-allergic causes. The clinical model is based upon principles developed over ten years in a leading university medical center setting.

BreatheAmerica-Shreveport

does your child does child haveyour asthma? have asthma?

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Children may qualify if they: • Are 4 to11 years of age

Children qualify if least they: six months • Have had may asthma for at • Are had 4 to11 years of age • Have asthma bad enough to see a doctor in the last 12 months • Have had asthma for at least six months

• Have had asthma bad enough to see a doctor in the last 12 months

There are other study requirements that will determine whether your child may participate in this clinical research study.

There are other study requirements that will determine whether your child may participate in this clinical research study.

• There is no placebo (sugar pill) in this clinical research study

• There will be no blood draws (no needles) during this clinical research study • There is no placebo (sugar pill) in this clinical research study

• Qualified study participants will study medication no charge • There will be no blood draws (noreceive needles) during this clinicalatresearch study • Health insurance is not needed participate • Qualified study participants will to receive study medication at no charge • Reimbursement foris time and travel may be provided • Health insurance not needed to participate • Reimbursement for time and travel may be provided

For More Information Contact: ForJ.More Information Contact: Stacy Smith, MSHS Stacy J. Smith, MSHS Phone: 318-562-2536 Phone: 318-562-2536 Cell: 318-393-6596 Cell: 318-393-6596

www.BreatheAmerica.com

www.BreatheAmerica.com

Allergy

Allergy

AsthmA

AsthmA

sinus

sinus

respirAtory

respirAtory

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strangers at my

coffeepot

written by Darla Upton Sugar Spoons Aren't For Stirring

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here are people who never hang up their clothes or fold their laundry. Can you believe that? I have close friends who suffer from this inability to fold clothes. I have let these friends watch my child! They appear normal in every way. Just don't open their linen closet or any closet for that matter. They take the items out of the dryer and put them in a hamper and pull things out of the hamper as needed. It isn't just a matter of not having mastered how to fold the fitted sheet, I understand a great number of people can't do it, bless their hearts. The fitted sheet was probably the gateway that led to this 'get dressed out of the hamper' nonsense. There are people who simply do not find it important to fold, hang and put away their laundry.

I'm concerned about them. I'm pretty sure the next evolutionary break will be between those who have mastered laundry and those that have not. I do believe evolution posters will have a picture of those that are crouched at the hamper trying to find clothes and then those that are upright looking in a closet. If you wad up your fitted sheet and push it into a linen closet and shut the door quickly you should not expect to evolve with the rest of the species. I just hope the evolutionary break divides over laundry and not something like ceiling fan blades. Am I the only one that would rather turn the fan on high so you can't see the dust rather than get up there and clean it?

You see, I have learned something being in the bed and breakfast business and that is everyone was raised differently and something like not hanging up laundry may blow me away but may not phase you a single bit. When I first started the bed and breakfast I would rant about guests for a plethora of reasons. I couldn't believe they didn't rinse the sink, or put a glass on the furniture without using a coaster, or held their spoon like a shovel. Now, after almost ten years, I don't even notice half the stuff people do.

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One guest brought a gun to the breakfast table. I don't know why.

Maybe he thought I looked dangerous.

Regardless, I rounded the corner from the kitchen and he was fully strapped and sipping coffee! I'm not sure how you were raised but growing up guns weren't allowed at the table. Apparently, he was raised differently. I once had a guest use some dessert plates in my dining room to warm up dog food in the microwave. Another guest brought her dog to the breakfast table to sit in her lap and eat off her plate. Growing up with pets, and with my mother, I knew not to bring a pet to the table or to use one of her plates to feed it. These days, restaurant owners allow their pets in their restaurants. There are so many things I was taught growing up and I guess I just assumed everyone was getting the same polishing. Obviously they were not. I used to really let it get to me but I eventually just came to the conclusion we were all taught what our parents felt was important. What was important in my family may not have been in yours.

I used to be surprised by how many people left a table and wouldn't push their chair in after they got up. I am now surprised when people actually do remember to push their chair in. I am no longer irritated by lipstick on my cloth napkins. I no longer have the expectation that potted plants will not be used as ashtrays. I don't expect anyone to use a coaster. Things my mother drilled into me now seem trivial to so many. I think it is because there were

so many rules that the next generation said, "to heck with it!" Take for example when my mother used to spank me.

She used to spank me, lecture me and then at the end when she'd ask me if I understood her punishment she'd make me say, "yes, ma'am" to her. When I was a kid this used to drive me up the wall. It would make me furious to not only get in trouble but then to have to say, "ma'am" when I was seething. I do believe the reason I have so many wrinkles in my forehead today is from glowering at her when I had to do this.

As a result, my son is not made to say "sir or ma'am." He isn't allowed to answer with a "uh-huh" or "yeah"; he must answer with a "yes" or "no." I have been pleasantly surprised to discover who he doles these symbols of respect out to. I know you are probably shaking your head in disbelief because after all this is the south and "sir" and "ma'am" are as much a part of the culture as sweet tea and grits. If it makes you feel any better he does know to hold the door for others and to say "excuse me" when he needs to interrupt a conversation. He may put his feet in the chair when watching television and we may all tend to yell between rooms at each other like we were raised by gorillas, but we all manage to chew with our mouths closed and hold our forks correctly. Like I said, every person is different and every person discards and retains pieces of the etiquette lesson taught to them. Most people may not have every rule down pat but they have a few. Most of the time for the brief time people are in my home the conversation

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

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

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

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

is fun and the food is delicious and no one is usually doing something so inexcusable I can't overlook it.

Now, don't get me wrong I have encountered some people with absolutely zero home training of any kind and I'm pretty sure they have no clue there are even such rules out there. I also have a couple of things that when they are done it makes me assume the person is just a barbarian in all aspects of life.

Like, stirring their coffee with the sugar spoon and then putting it back in the sugar. I don't know why people do this. I have stirrer spoons out right by the sugar bowl. It never fails though.

At least once a month someone will scoop sugar into their cup using the antique sugar spoon and instead of grabbing a spoon sitting there to stir their coffee they will use the sugar spoon to stir and then put it back in the sugar wet with coffee where it will then clump with sugar when the next person tries to use it. When I find this has happened my eye starts to twitch. I feel like how Joan Crawford must have felt about wire hangers. I just want to shout dramatically, "no stirring with sugar spoons!" But I don't, because that's rude.

And really when you roll your eyes at someone for not minding their manners you yourself arent minding your manners. You're being rude. Once I had a guest who was a retired employee of the White House. Her job was to make sure all dinners held at the White House were done properly. She inspected every place setting. She knew proper etiquette for every course and country. She never said a single word about my place setting or that it lacked a water glass. She knew the best thing a person can be taught is to not point out the shortcomings of others. Stressing to a child how important it is to be kind is so much more important than harping on them to push their chair under the table, don't you think?

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Save the handwritten note

live in a world dominated by instant communication. In the digital age of cell phones, text messages, emails, facebook posts and tweets, there are plenty of opportunities to "talk" to one another. With all the new technology trends out there, the written word seems to be losing the battle for effectiveness. We are constantly bombarded with pings and rings of incoming dialog. And 9 times out of 10 we press the mental delete button as soon as we open our screens. So how do we break through all the clutter? The answer is as easy as picking up a pen.

One of the most sincere forms of interaction is the handwritten note. There is an indescribable thrill that happens when we find a card or letter in our mailbox mixed in with bills and credit card offers. We instantly recognize these squares as special. They have value.

Whether for love, gratitude, condolences, business, congratulations or just because, a handwritten note strikes an emotional chord and can strengthen both professional and personal bonds.

These days, correspondence is viewed by the newer generations as an antiquated practice. Many of us were taught that we should write thank you notes but we often just can't seem to muster the effort. Recognizing the importance of sending handwritten notes should outweigh any fears or hesitations we have in writing them. Few of us genuinely enjoy writing notes and getting started can be a bit intimidating. But keep in mind the feelings you have when you receive a personal correspondence from someone. I'm fairly certain that you aren't criticizing the writer's penmanship or even the words they have chosen. Instead you appreciate the effort. You do not doubt the sincerity of the words because an investment was made. And even though we're only talking about a few dollars, that little bit of extra effort goes a long way in making the recipient feel important.

I can think of no good reason as to why we shouldn't join in the resurgence of the handwritten note. Illegible penmanship, difficulty with straight margins, smeared

30

ink or simply conveying your thoughts cohesively cannot be used as excuses. Can you think of one instance where someone sent you a note and you wished they hadn't based simply on these reasons? I can't. In some respects the intention outweighs the content. As the old saying goes, "It's the thought that counts."

Handwritten notes make an impression. This day and age they are a rare commodity. But therein is the silver lining. This medium is appreciated more than ever before by its recipients. There are many personal reasons to send someone a handwritten note. "It was nice to meet you," is a nice surprise and begins a relationship on a high note. "Thanks for my birthday gift," or "Thanks for cooking me dinner after my surgery," offer the gifter praise and encouragement for their thoughtfulness. "I hope you are doing well since you moved away," shows that you still want an individual to feel like they are part of your life. Genuine gratitude and emotion doesnt always translate via a text message or an email. A card tells the recipient that you took the time to not only choose your stationary, but also to write out your thoughts, address the envelope, stamp it, and put it in the mail.

If you want to stand out in business, send a handwritten note. Not only is it good etiquitte, but it reflects how you will handle future dealings with them. Whether crafting a letter to a potential client or acknowledging an employee's service, these short quips show you care about the smallest details. It's also a very simple and classy way to move to the top of a clients list. How? Easy.

Handwritten notes are psychologically more difficult to throw away. And if they keep it where will it go? When you stack papers which ones do you put on top? The smallest ones of course!

If you want to inspire kindness and pay it forward then take some time to figure out how to incorporate writing notes into your life. Showing gratitude and thoughfulness never goes out of style. I'll leave you with this quote from Leslie Harpold. "People like being appreciated, and if they feel you actually notice the nice things they do for you, they're more likely to give an encore performance."

When you care enough to send the very best.

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written by Ashley Maddox We're All Eeyore

I

read the following quote on Facebook: "One awesome thing about Eeyore is that even though he is basically clinically depressed, he still gets invited to participate in adventures and shenanigans with all of his friends.

And they never expect him to pretend to feel happy, they just love him anyway, and they never leave him behind or ask him to change......"

I wish I knew who this quote was from because I would love to give them credit for it. This is such a strong message.

How many times do we give up on people who decline our invitations or stop inviting people to hang out because they are depressed or maybe even shy? We may not be doing this out of malice or spite but we still do it and forget to consider how this makes people feel.

When we bring people into our lives and become friends/significant others, etc. we are supposed to accept those

32

people for who they are. We forgive them our shortcomings as they forgive ours. That's how it is supposed to work but so many times we expect people to change to become who we want them to be. We want our anti-social friend to come out to a party and dance and then feel so disappointed when they decline or come and then don't have a good time. Then we decide not to invite them the next time. How selfish of us. That's right, selfish. We forget that people still want to be invited even if they don't want to go. We don't appreciate that they came to the party even though they knew they wouldn't have a good time.

I forget at times that people may not like me. I am loud and opinionated and brutally honest. All of my friends know not to ask me something unless they want the absolute truth. I would be offended if one of my quieter friends asked me to tone it down or not dance like an idiot. That is just who I am as a person. I expect to be taken as I am. I want to be loved warts and all, as the saying goes. I think it's time I make sure I extend that courtesy to everyone in my life..... We are all Eeyore at some point or maybe even multiple points in our lives...........Make 2015 the year you love people for who they are and not who you want them to be.

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

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cooking simply

simply cooking

written by Melissa Teoulet Fast and Easy Weeknight Meals

M

y daily life probably looks a whole lot like everyone else’s right about now. I don’t get off of work till 7 so I usually get home around 7:30. By the time I get a meal on the table, its 8:30. Without a dishwasher, dishes tend to take a while. By the time everything is cleaned up its now 9:30 and I’m in bed by 10. At this rate, I have very little, if any time, to relax at the end of a long day spent at work. This sort of schedule doesn’t leave me a happy camper either, having time to relax and unwind is very important to me. To fix the situation, I’ve been exploring recipes that can be cooked in a slow cooker or made up ahead of time so all I have to do is pop it in the oven when I get home. I’ve had some failures like the slow cooker roast chicken but most of the time the dishes turn out relatively successful. And for the record, a roasted chicken cooked in a slow cooker has none of the qualities of a good roasted chicken.

It’s not pretty or golden, the skin is not crispy, the meat is basically falling off the bone and you end up breaking it up just trying to pull it out of the pot. So since I’m not sharing that recipe, here are some of my recent favorites instead.

---------------------------------------------------Honey Mustard Chicken This dish is incredibly easy and quite delicious. It’s the rosemary that really makes the dish. If you do not like rosemary, thyme would be a good

36

substitute. The first time I made it, I made so much that we ate it for half of the week. It reheats well by the way and makes a deliciously satisfying lunch. I usually make this up in the morning so all I have to do is pop it in the oven in the evenings.

1/3 c. Dijon Mustard 1/3 c. Honey 1 Tbsp. Olive Oil Salt & Pepper to taste 3 lbs. Chicken Thighs, bone-in and skin on 2-3 Sprigs Rosemary In a small bowl, combine the Dijon mustard, honey, olive oil, salt and pepper. In a casserole dish, arrange the chicken pieces so that they are in a single layer. Pour the sauce over the chicken, turning the chicken to fully coat all sides leaving the skin side up.

Tuck the rosemary around the chicken.

Cover the dish with plastic wrap and put in the fridge for at least 4 hours to marinate. The longer it sits the better.

I give it 8 or more hours to marinate.

Preheat oven to 350°F. Bake for 40-45 minutes until the chicken is done. The skin will have gotten crispy and juices from the chicken will have mixed with the marinade to create a lovely sauce.

This chicken is best served over rice so all that delicious sauce can be soaked up.

---------------------------------------------------Slow Cooker Chicken Fajitas These things are so easy to make. It’s almost scary how easy... but easy and tasty are my kind of foods. Depending on how busy (or lazy) you are on any given day, fresh vegetables can be swapped for frozen and vice versa.

1 lb. Chicken Breasts, skinless and boneless 1 16oz bag of peppers and onion frozen vegetable blend (Or 3 bell peppers and 1 large onion, sliced) 1 package Taco Seasoning Tortillas, flour or corn Toppings such as sour cream, guacamole, lettuce, cheese, salsa, etc…

In a slow cooker, place all the peppers and onions down. Layer the chicken breasts on top of the vegetables.

Sprinkle the taco seasoning over the chicken. Cover and cook on low for 6-8 hours. Remove chicken and shred with a fork. Add it back to the pot and stir to combine with the vegetables. Serve with the tortillas and your choice of toppings.

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

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

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37

thirsty southern soul written by Judith Roberts

Growing Up With ‘The Voo’

H

e wanted a Siberian husky.

I wanted a Chihuahua. So we compromised and got a Chihuahua.

Kyle and I had talked about buying a dog since before we were married.

We pictured a fun little puppy running around our New Orleans apartment. It was a picturesque dream. Five months, Hurricane Katrina, and a marriage license later, we purchased a six-week old Chihuahua whose ears hadn’t perked – Vicki.

For months, we joked that she wasn’t a real Chihuahua because she loved people, never bit, and again, her ears still were droopy like a hound dog. Her puppy best friend was another Chihuahua, who taught her (no joke) to howl like a hound dog, too. It was quite amusing to hear this “aaarrrooooouuuuggghhhh” coming from a two-pound brown creature.

As time went on, Vicki found her “person” (me) like most Chihuahuas do, her ears did finally perk, and she adopted a very high-pitched bark that she uses all too frequently, even when a leaf blows across the yard. She still has a clean biting record, even allowing my toddler to trample all over her on a daily basis. She sleeps in the master bed with us, eats scraps (don’t judge), and is best friends with our outdoor cat.

Vicki’s picture-perfect life changed two years ago when Alice was born. For eight years, she was our “fur baby.”

She was featured in every Christmas card, came with us on most of our trips, and never, ever thought someone else would have a place on my lap.

Because she was so attached to me, I read up on how to adjust a dog to a

38

new baby. I brought Alice’s nightgowns home, and Vicki ignored them. When Alice came home, though, that was a whole new story. Vicki was interested, but I could tell she couldn’t imagine that this little human would become a permanent fixture in our home.

It’s almost a love-hate relationship – Alice loves Vicki, and Vicki tolerates Alice on most occasions. Alice, knowing the way to Vicki’s heart is through her stomach, regularly tosses the pup half her meal. Vicki hates that Alice is usually held instead of her, but I try to make it up to her after Alice goes to bed with lots of extra cuddles.

Alice loved Vicki from the beginning.

Vicki is the reason Alice wanted to sit up. Then Alice wanted to crawl to catch up with Vicki. And then she wanted to walk – and run! Alice may have been the biggest adjustment Vicki’s ever had to endure, but Alice has loved having a “fur sister.”

And watching them play in her bedroom each night, I can tell while Vicki may not be as head over heels for Alice, she does like her – at least a little bit.

Pictured: (Top) Newborn Alice and Vicki. (Bottom) The pair waiting for daddy to come home from work.

Pretty much every night, though, there’s this brief period of time when Alice and Vicki are the best of friends.

Vicki has a favorite toy that’s not really a toy – a lime green house shoe. Every night, about 30 minutes before bedtime, we go to Alice’s room for what we call “quiet time.” It’s anything but quiet time.

Alice and Vicki play tug-of-war with that house shoe nearly every night.

It usually ends up where Alice pulls it out of Vicki’s grasp and brings it to me to throw. Vicki fetches, and the cycle continues. But it’s full of laughter – so much laughter.

Vicki has always been a sweet little companion to me. When Kyle traveled a lot for work during our first years of marriage, that pup was a good friend.

I always have loved her, but I love the way Alice loves her, too.

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

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

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

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39

the journey written by Jason McReynolds Shut Your Mouth!

W

hen I was in high school the wealthier kids went to something called cotillion. I don’t even know if I’m spelling that right… that’s how much of an interest I still have in it. I had no idea what it was. Kids came back saying they learned how to sit at a table, dance, and other fancy-smancy stuff. I always thought, “My parent’s taught me how to sit at a table.” Or, “I have no rhythm so I’m just going to stick to the food table at dances.”

I thought all that stuff was taught to every kid by their parents. I still can remember when one of my friends would talk back to their parents and not get jack-slapped across the back of the head Gibbs style. I thought, “Whoa!

How did he pull that off?!?!” So I went home and tried it. The back of my head still hurts 20 years later.

My parents taught me manners, or as it was stated in my house, “USE YOUR MANNERS!!!.” At the table I knew how to set it for basic dinner plate, napkin to the right, knife closest to the plate followed by the fork, and a smooth glass of sweet tea at the right corner. I knew to sit with my non-eating hand in my lap. I knew to chew with my mouth closed. I knew all of these things because they were taught to me at an early age. And I assumed that it was taught to everyone. But I was very wrong.

Now, I know talking about manners is strange for a guy who normally writes about camping, chesthair, and how to kill bears with your bare hands. But there’s a very manly reason guys need manners and chivalry and all that fru-fru stuff. The ladies! If you’re single, no girl wants to date you unless they have some serious issues. (Sorry seriousissue-ladies, but it’s true.) If you’re married, your wife doesn’t want to be around you because, in the words of Mrs. McReynolds, “You’re so gross!”

Yea, I know what you’re thinking, “After we marry I’ve got her locked in so what does it matter?” Right? WRONG!!!

It matters! It could very well be the determining factor in whether your days will be horrible or pleasant for the rest of your life. We don’t really know what goes on in the minds of ladies but we

40

can safely assume that being gross isn’t something they are attracted to.

They are mysterious creatures… but I digress.

Here’s where I’m about to go out of my mind. I’ve been teaching my kids – 9 and 7 year old boys and a 6 yr old girl – about having manners and I’m learning something. Manners are habits taught at an early age. So early, I don’t remember being taught, which is why I just assumed they’d know them already! Proverbs 22:6 says, “Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it” but let’s be honest, this is a long-term process. So at the risk of never being invited over to someone’s house let me open the window at dinner time in the McReynolds dining room.

All three help set the table. One will prepare the drinks, one will help mom put food on the plates, and the other will set the table accordingly. Then we all sit down. But before we eat, we thank Jesus for the food that He has provided for us. Then the kids say the same prayer no matter how much I try to get them to say something different, “Thank you Jesus for this food. Amen.”

Fine, we truly mean it and we get to eat faster. Now, I know what you’re thinking.

What’s wrong with that?

Nothing. But that’s the high point! It completely devolves from there! My 9 yr old seems to acquire ADHD and cannot sit down. He hovers over his plate pretending he’s in the world series gunning a man down at home from centerfield. Oh, and he paces back and forth. My precious little girl decides she doesn’t like the meal, even though she absolutely loved it the 20 times we had it before, and stages a sit-in. (By the way – the first time you give in to a sit-in you’ve lost the war for a year... Learned that the hard way.) And 9 minutes after the prayer my 7 yr old has to disappear into the bathroom for a 20 minute poop.

Don’t worry though, he screams out the color commentary so we’ll all be in the loop! It’s chaos every night but I haven’t even shared the worst part. It may not be any big deal to you, but to me it’s fingernails on a chalkboard! I cannot get the boys to chew with their mouths closed! I know, I know, the humanity of it all, right (sarcasm)? But, for whatever reason, the smacking and the open-mouthed-talking echoes in my brain like I’m in a mine! It drives me crazy! I’ve told them they sound like Mr. Ed. I’ve taken them to see how cows eat. They know, they just forget. Then I remembered how my father jackslapped me, which seemed harsh for crime at the time. But I can’t do that.

So I thump ‘em. Right on the forehead.

Not hard enough for CPS to come but not soft enough that they don’t feel it either. Proverbs 29:15 says, “The rod and reproof give wisdom, but a child left to himself brings shame to his mother.”

I don’t want them to bring shame to their mama! Actually, they’ve got hard noggins now and they laugh. Then I threaten that I’ll do it harder (even though I’m not sure I can anymore), they believe me and shut their mouths for the next minute or so.

Why go through all the effort? Because I don’t want them to be cavemen! I don’t want my daughter to be trashy! I want my boys to marry nice girls and my daughter to marry a nice boy (when she’s 37) and not run them off cause they eat like a moose. I can’t tell you how many first-and-only dates I went on in high school because of grossness. I don’t want my children to be first-andonly dates. I want to see them thrive in healthy dating relationships. I want to see them learn how to care for, honor, and respect their date. And ultimately, I want them to make their mama proud.

I hope they pick up these habits quick because I would really like my future to have pleasant days.

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

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41

from simplicity to

stilettos

written by Chalaine Scott 80 Years of Luck

"K

iss me, I’m the birthday boy” flashed in pink. I slipped the pin through his flannel button up as I wished him a Happy Birthday. He wished it back to me.

I hugged him and he kissed my cheek.

“Thank you so much.” He mustered through broken up speech, holding back tears.

Every birthday I’ve lived, I’ve shared with him. I was born on the same day he was many years earlier. He loved that. And this many years later, so did I. 80 years had passed since he first opened his eyes to this world. I watched as he balanced his weight on his cane, blowing the candles on his cake. I thought about what he wished for.

When you’re 80, what do you wish for? What will I wish for? My mind wondered…Lord willing.

He poked his cane on my little cousin’s leg and laughed at himself. “Twinkle toes,” he called to her, sticking out his tongue. He laughed again.

When you’re 80, your career is not that important to you. Your car isn’t that important to you. Your skin and your hair and your clothes – they don’t matter so much. When you’re 80, your bank account and your 401K aren’t that valuable. Your people are.

“I wanted you to have this.” He said to me one day over breakfast, handing me a little green mirror, the logo of a hospital printed on its side. “I got it and wanted to give it to you so each time you look in it, you can remember how pretty I think you are.”

It’s never in the big moments that you realize how much you love someone.

It’s always in the small and ordinary.

The unexpected. The ones left to

42

chance. Moments that overwhelm from out of nowhere.

Who knew a free pocket-mirror would mean so much. Who knew watching your 80-year-old grandfather blow out candles on a cake would show you so much.

Mama said there’d be days like this.

When it’d all come together, when life would make sense. When I’d realize what’s real and true and meaningful. It was this.

Little cousins. Older cousins. Aunts.

Uncles. Brothers. Sisters. Nieces.

Nephews. Grandkids. 80 years and in this moment, I realized. A legacy.

A room full of laughs and stories and memories, all that one man had created.

A simple farm boy from New Hampshire.

He had never graduated high school.

He had never been rich. He had never

built a house or chased a career or flew overseas on a vacation. But he built this.

A room full of laughter. A room full of singing and dancing and reminiscing about the good old days. Hugging and smiling and picture taking. This room was his most prized accomplishment.

Beside his flashing birthday pin, a plastic sheriff’s badge hung to his shirt collar. A flimsy cowboy hat balanced on his head. A toy gun dangled from the belt loop of his jeans. He’d always loved westerns, tales of swinging door saloons and dirt road stick-ups. I pictured him as a boy, wearing this same get-up. Hiding from the Indians, hopping on his horse and roping a steer. I wondered what his imagination thought up all those years ago: what he’d grow up to be, what he’d grow up to have. I know it wasn’t this.

But I know now, he’d wish for nothing different. Just more time.

A copywriter, novelist, and columnist, Chalaine lives by her pen. She is always traveling and never settling, making memories wherever she roams.

Living off her dog's cuddles, her brother's humor, and sweet iced tea, she is just a girl in love with the simplicities. Mostly though, she is just a mess in stilettos, living off God's grace and living to serve Him, welcoming inspiration from wherever it comes and pursuing her dreams with whatever it takes. Follow her @Chaleezy

Time for pancakes at the diner with his granddaughter. Time to watch his boys out on the field playing football together. Time to blow out more birthday candles. Time to make up his riddles and play a hand of cribbage and read the sports page and listen to his country music.

Time is what I think he’d ask for.

Lucky is what I think he’d tell you he is.

Everyone grows up wishing for luck.

And then, one day, you wake up and realize your life is full of it, that each day and each person you get in life makes you the luckiest.

Back then, I’m not sure my Pep ever thought of this day. It’d seem so far away, almost impossible, as a child, to blow out candles on an 80th birthday cake. And if you’d ask him what he thought his life would turn out like, the people he’d meet and the places he’d see and the memories he’d make, I think he’d tell you it didn’t go quite as he had planned. But that he wouldn’t change it for the world. Because he wouldn’t change his people for the world.

I think we could all use a lesson from him, to put things into perspective.

During his 80th year, he’s spent a lot of time in the hospital and rehab, fighting through to spend more time with his people. He’s taken numerous medications and undergone surgeries most recently had his right leg amputated. And still, if you asked, he’d tell you how lucky he is. And he’d show you this picture of his family all gathered together to celebrate his him.

Happy birthday, Pep. Your strength and positivity means more to me than you’ll ever know. I love you.

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a collage of southern stories and recipes:

seasoned moments written by Barbara Durbin A Piece of Life

I

want to write a book, perhaps someday I will. Should there ever be one, it might be entitled, “Run, Run Here Comes Life” or perhaps “Charmed I’m Not, Captivated Maybe”. It would contain short stories of circumstances that occurred within my world or those calamities when the world knocked upon my door. I find that which I write is generally that which I have experienced.

Should I enlighten the world as to how I was blessed with a free trip to Argentina?

Is there an appropriate expression to the euphoric accomplishments of Backwoods Barbara as she walks abroad and into a four star restaurant?

Do I reveal that ordering, eating and paying for a foreign meal in a strange country, with an unfamiliar coin, half a world away, was one of the most self satisfying moments in my life? Should I mention the young guide who made such an impact on my life that years later, I still pray for her and that I do it in run on sentences?

Have I the wherewithal to expound on my rafting adventures in Washington State?

How, as I was playfully thrown under the icy blue-green white water rapids of the Yakima River, I fully expected to meet the One who numbered my days.

Do I dare tell of the autumn pears I plucked from their strong yet spindly wooden stems? How I placed them in a burlap bag slung over my shoulder and picked until the weight of the fruit forced me down the twelve foot tri-pod ladder? How the fullness of said sack gave a sense of great accomplishment.

How the significance of a full bin of chartreuse colored pears blatantly shouted, “Days work well done!”

Can I truly depict the light slightly tart aroma which wafts across a building as fruit by the thousands were rolled along sorting belts and then down to the “paid by the box” packers on the floor below?

Perhaps I can draft a decent description of how I came to wrap and pack those

44

pears into boxes which were shipped all over the United States?

Surely there will be an article explaining my wonderful friend in North Carolina whom I’ve yet to meet in person. How she has reserved a wooden rocker on the front porch of her new Virginia mountain home for me. How someday I will see her in the flesh and we will drink tea from vintage china cups, How in the misty-gray dawn of the Blue Ridge and Allegheny sub-ranges we will speak of God, our man, our moms and what we can in mason jars. We’ll discuss those we love and those folk God uses to perfect us. We will speak on the deeper subject of how life can leave us feeling as used as sandpaper. Then we will laugh and cry together for we know somewhere in the building of life we will someday be as finished as fine polished mahogany.

Mayhap a chapter or two will be reserved for those folks who have prayed and helped “season” me. A sentence each should be devoted entirely to those whose life threads became entwined with mine. A standing ovation awaits those faithful intercessors who used prayer to patch gaping wounds within my spirit.

Several chapters would ensue on how a stitched quilt called daily living was spread across the bedroom of my soul.

How each day I’ve aged, it enfolded me in a cocoon of knowledge and wisdom.

Whole pages of written words will be assigned to those who have hurt, loved, and laughed with me. Paragraphs will be devoted to my beautiful sixth grade English teacher who said, “Barbara, if you don’t care, no one else will.”

An essay will someday be available on how wholesome was the release in my soul when I found I was forgiven; and able to forgive the one who attempted to take my life. How it was a step of faith to cast bitterness and hatred, to the rocky side of life and choose to skip along the road less chosen.

As a culmination to this broad-spectrum manuscript, there will be a section called “Sanguine.” It will name all those whose confidence inspired me to rush past what I thought were my limits.

---------------------------------------------------A Piece of Life Pear Pie *Filling: 4-5 c. sliced pears 1/2 c. water 1½ c. sugar 1 T. cinnamon Crust: 1 stick margarine 1 c. sugar 1 c. self rising flour Place sliced pears in a glass 9’x 13” baking dish. Pour in water and sprinkle with the 1½ cups of sugar and the cinnamon. In a separate dish mix the remaining one cup of sugar and flour together then cut in margarine. Sprinkle this mixture over the entire top of pie.

Place in 350 degree oven for about 40 minutes or until pears are tender and pie is hot and bubbly. Crust should be crispy and light brown. Serve warm with whipped topping or ice cream. *The ingredients for the filling can be mixed and frozen for later use.

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

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the toy lady candid thoughts of a child life specialist written by Liz Hines The real terror of NYC

W

hen I was getting ready to move to NYC everyone had a story.

They knew someone that had been mugged, they had seen some news story about crime here, or they heard the subway was so dangerous. Wellwhatever. I knocked those out like a champ (with a few tears). But no one told me what the real nightmare of NYC was. The words that people only whisper, and no one talks about. But everyone here knows someone or is someone who has experienced it. It's a bad word here, and now you too can have a story to tell about it.

Bed Bugs.

You feel itchy yet?

In 2010 there was a wide-spread epidemic. Something like 800+ buildings just in Manhattan had reported out breaks. People were avoiding movie theaters, cabs, restaurants and hotels.

The city was literally in panic.

And now, 5 years later, I am here experiencing it. Luckily, I never experienced any bites. But my roommate was complaining about mosquitoes- in January. Bed Bugs crossed my mind, but never did I really think we could have them. Lo and behold we had an inspection and there they were. Ok, I thought. We can handle this. Bomb the apartment and get out for about 24 hours, no prob, right? I wish.

I'm not sure if the bed bugs themselves, or the process of treating them is worse. We were given a very extensive list of things that had to be done. It took all three of us four days to complete only our rooms. Washing and drying ALL sheets, blankets, clothes, curtains,

46

coats, scarves, socks, etc. Shaking out all books, steaming shoes, wiping down photo albums with rubbing alcohol.

Vaccuming your mattress, box springs, under your bed, dressers, desks, and night stands. Not to mention all these items have to go into plastic bags and stay there- FOR 6 WEEKS. That's six weeks of everything we own being double bagged and having to be dug through to find something to wear. It's like packing up your entire life to get ready to move, and then having to wait a month, but not being allowed to unpack anything. My saving grace was that I wear scrubs and an embroidered polo to work. Until the night when I realized I had managed to throw all of both away. Mind you, also, this is the dead of winter. There is none of this throw some shorts and t-shirts in a bag and you're set. For the last three days in 10 degree weather I have wandered to and from work and around the city in long sleeves and a fleece jacket- no scarf, no gloves, no hat. I guess it's safe to say I have adjusted to the winter.

Now here I sit, after some very tearful phone calls home. After some threats that I will leave the city. After realizing this is certainly the most difficult experience here so far. And after getting my pup through another traumatic subway ride to north Brooklyn to a friends apartment while the exterminators do their work.

She got a bath, and I got one last shower of putting my dirty clothes into plastic bags and getting clean clothes

out of plastic bags. I will sleep peacefully not wondering if the bugs have left my roommates room and come to mine. The good news is that this is a really good opportunity to really part with some of those items I lugged all the way up here thinking "maybe I'll need it". Nope. I bet I have cut my belongings in half. Clothes, furniture, keepsakes, old books, random things I have never used are all gone. My room will be twice the size it was before all of this.

I have called the pest company about 70 times in the last week. I ask every person that I talk to what I can do to prevent this. Spray weekly? Keep a clean home? Vaccum? "Nothing," they say. Nothing can keep you from this. You can get them from brushing up against someone on the subway (daily occurance). You can get them in line at Home Depot. You can get them from sitting on a friends bed.

Man, talk about piece of mind, right?

But this feels like the home stretch.

Even though I'm still 6 weeks away from any resembelance of a normal life, there are lots of poisionous materials in the walls and baseboards of my apartment that will help me sleep at night.

So now that's Liz: 10. NYC: 0.

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

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

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bringing back

the past

written by Wesley Harris TICKED OFF ABOUT TICKS

L

ost in the recent national controversies over the use of force by law enforcement are the sacrifices made by police officers in protecting their communities. Men and women sacrifice their lives each year chasing bank robbers and murderers but also while performing mundane tasks like checking on a stranded motorist. In the early 1900s, a number of officers in the rural South died enforcing a law many farmers viewed as federal government overreach.

From 1906 to the early 1940s, federal and state governments engaged in a war against a cattle tick that caused a devastating fever. The law required farmers to carry their cattle to community dipping vats where the animals were immersed in a chemical solution to kill the ticks. Many stock owners resisted, claiming transporting the cattle led to injuries, the chemicals sickened them, and the time and effort of the process was an annoyance.

Cattlemen expressed their frustrations by refusing to dip, dynamiting dipping vats, burning the property of pro-dippers and government employees, and hurling threats that eventually escalated to assault or murder. Destruction of vats continued into the mid-1930s, but eventually government dissemination of information on the economic benefits of tick eradication led many skeptics to withdraw their opposition to dipping.

In the remote rural South, from the piney woods of south Georgia to Louisiana,

48

resistance to mandatory treatment of cattle was strong and at times violent.

Farmers who raised cattle largely for their own use rather than shipment out of quarantined tick-infested areas viewed the mandates as unnecessary involvement of federal, state, or local officials in their lives. In Louisiana, the dispute reached deadly proportions on April 21, 1936, when 43-year old Grant Parish Sheriff Wyatt Luther Nugent and Deputy Delmer Lee Brunson were murdered.

Nugent had served two terms as sheriff of Grant Parish and had been re-elected just days before in the general election.

Brunson had worked as a deputy under Nugent for eight years. Nugent, former clerk of court for the parish, was beginning his ninth year as sheriff.

Claiming dipping sickened cattle, 41-year old Walter Johnson and his father refused to permit their stock to be dipped. On the morning of April 21, Sheriff Nugent served an order from the Eighth District Court commanding the younger Johnson to show cause why he should not be kept from interfering with officers. That afternoon, Nugent and Brunson accompanied federal range riders to Johnson’s property in the Aloha community to load the cattle

for transport to the dipping vat. From a hidden position in the woods, Walter Johnson opened fire on the range riders. Brunson and Nugent attempted to capture Johnson by circling behind him. Hearing a series of gunshots, the range riders hid nearby for an hour before advancing with caution into the woods to discover the lawmen’s bodies.

Walter Johnson had escaped.

After completing autopsies, Dr. J. H. Sandifer, Grant Parish coroner, announced the two lawmen were killed with a shotgun. Nugent suffered a shot to the head and Deputy Brunson died from three shotgun blasts.

A massive manhunt ensued with Sheriff U. T. Downs of Rapides Parish, Sheriff Bryant Sholars of Winn, and Sheriff Henderson Jordan of Bienville heading posses of local citizens scouring the area. Two Aprils earlier, Jordan teamed with other lawmen to kill Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker. The officers located a truck belonging to Johnson on a country road about one-half mile from the scene of the shooting. The manhunt progressed slowly for the numerous state police troopers and sheriffs engaged in the search since Johnson had fled into a nearly impenetrable swamp around Lake Iatt north of Colfax.

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

The suspect’s 84-year old father Sam Johnson was arrested as a material witness and spirited away from Colfax to an undisclosed jail in another parish, largely to protect him from retaliation.

Bloodhounds from the state penitentiary at Angola arrived the next day but heavy rains during the night had obliterated Johnson's trail. General Louis F. Guerre, head of the state police, hurried to the scene to direct the manhunt.

Later in the day Johnson was captured in the swamp. Officers detained him at a jail outside Grant Parish also—away from the enraged locals who already had lynch fever.

On April 23, the Colfax Baptist Church held a double funeral for Sheriff Nugent and Deputy Brunson. Sheriffs of the neighboring parishes served as pall bearers, including Downs and Sholars, Sheriff Bill Payne of Natchitoches Parish and Sheriff Floyd Jones of Red River. Nugent was interred at Liberty Chapel Cemetery north of Dry Prong and Brunson was laid to rest in nearby Bethel Cemetery.

Nugent left behind a wife and ten children ranging in age from three to 21. Brunson was also married and the father of three children. Lydia Nugent was appointed to succeed her husband as sheriff, a common courtesy in Louisiana to maintain the income of a family of a deceased office holder.

Walter Johnson was convicted of two counts of murder and sentenced to life in prison.

Photographs: Pictured are Sheriff Nugent (top left) and Deputy Brunson (top right).

Mandatory tick eradication led to violence and vandalism in the South from 1907 to the 1930s. Pictured is a community dipping vat. (bottom)

49

a novel approach written by Winnie Griggs

Building An Effective Author-Agent Partnership: Part 1

T

he Author Agent relationship can be one of the most collaborative and productive partnerships a writer can engage in. But in most cases this doesn’t ‘just happen’ and it isn’t maintenance free. It takes attention and nurturing and is based on mutual respect and a clear understanding and acceptance of each partner’s roles. In a series of articles over the next several months, I’m going to give you some information and tips on how to make sure you find the right fit for YOU. Just as in any other profession, there are the good, the bad, and the ugly among the ranks of both agents and writers. It behooves you to do your due diligence to make certain the agent you partner with is among the ranks of “the good”, and that you as an author are firmly there as well.

A couple of caveats I want to make here • I will be coming at this topic from the perspective of a romance fiction author.

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

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

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

Just as in any other business partnership, the very foundation of ensuring its success is to connect with someone who is the right fit for YOU, who shares your goal and your vision for where and how your career should

50

go, and with whom you share a mutual trust and respect.

With that being said, in this article we’re going to start with the beginning selecting an agent to work with.

DOES EVERY AUTHOR NEED AN AGENT? Of course not.

One obvious example is if you’re planning to self-publish.

Another is if you are fully confident in your abilities to handle the business and marketing aspects of your writing career, and of your ability to keep up with the trends and the ever-changing contacts at the various houses you’re targeting, to handle disputes with your editor or publishing house. If this describes you then perhaps you don’t need an agent.

Of course you need to also be comfortable with the amount of time all of this focus on the business aspects will take, time that will take you away from the actual writing itself.

Then there are the publishing houses who no longer take unagented submissions. You can get around this by meeting with one of these editors at a conference and pitching your work

personally, of course, but that assumes you can secure one of these meetings and have the time to wait for it to occur.

And even the houses that do take unagented submissions will, either consciously or subconsciously, give priority to author proposals submitted via agents because they figure the work has been screened and has passed at least one gatekeeper. And having an agent also gives you at least the appearance of being career focused.

Now some folks will argue that if you are selling to a house with a hard and fast boilerplate contract, then you don’t really need an agent, but especially as you move up the ladder at these houses, there ARE things an agent can do for you.

When you think about the value add an agent can bring to the table, don’t just think in terms of the tangibles like contract vetting and submission and follow up tasks. The intangible things are equally, if not more, important.

Things like big picture view, existing relationships with other industry professionals, the ability to buffer you from confrontational discussions with your publishing house, and the ability to help you map out your career plan.

That’s it for now. Next time around we’ll discuss WHEN you should consider acquiring an agent.

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

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