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from the

Dr. Kessel For several years, my mother who is now 76, has been taking medication to help with depression and has been doing well until recently. Lately, she seems to be depressed again and says that her medication is not helping her anymore. How can I know if she needs more intensive treatment, such as hospital treatment? First, talk with her doctor to determine whether a change in her medication could help to resolve the problem or if there could be an underlying medical cause that needs to be addressed. Also, watch for any signs that may indicate a need for more intensive treatment in the hospital. Here are some signs to look for: Are the symptoms interfering significantly with daily functioning? Have the symptoms worsened to the degree to which 24 hour monitoring is needed? Is the person expressing any suicidal thoughts or talk of dying? Has the person stopped eating or taking necessary medications? Have you noticed any alteration of though processes such as disorientation, confusion, or hallucinations? If you have noticed any of these symptoms, inpatient treatment is probably needed. If you or her doctor feel that inpatient treatment is most likely needed, an assessment can be scheduled to determine her need for treatment. To reach MMC Senior Care, call 3715646.


few weeks ago, my youngest son proudly announced to his teacher that, "I don't want to be a Pilgrim. I wanna be an Indian!" Tubbies, as we sometimes call him, is in Kindergarten, and his darling teacher was preparing him for a big holiday production that will take place at his school. He was to play the role of a Pilgrim. And though I can't wait to see my little one lined up with his classmates, in any kind of outfit that he chooses to wear, I've never been more proud to call him my own than on the day he announced, "I wanna be an Indian!" My child's teacher didn't have a clue why this little blonde-haired, blue eyed kid wanted so badly to play the part of an Native American. But I knew. You see, for several years now, I have been working on an article that appears in this issue. It's a story of Native Blood and untold history. It's a story that has completely broken my heart, and then pieced it back together again several times over. And all the while, as I was gathering research and announcing statistics to my husband and children, my youngest son was actually listening. Now don't get me wrong. I certainly don't hate Pilgrims. And I most assuredly eat my share of turkey every Thanksgiving. But I'm also keenly aware of the misconceptions that surround the settlement of the New World-- and after reading this issue, you will be, too. So sit back and prepare yourself, because I've been wanting to write this article for a really, really long time. And I can't wait for you to read it.

Jacquelyn Lewis PS-- On a completely unrelated note, I would like to give thanks to everyone that helped to make the Wiggin' Out event a big success. We will be discussing this event in great detail in the next issue.



issue inside this

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

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

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Kelsi Guidry Laura Horton Jackie Lewis Megan Lord Jason McReynolds Lela Robichaux

For Good Memories by Margaret Tripp Timmons Giving Thanks by Jackie Lewis

Louisiana Girl Revelations by April Timmons The Journey by Jason McReynolds Living, Growing, Creating by Rebecca Tillinghast Antique Junkie by Donna Arender An American in Saigon by Rachel DeLoach A Novel Approach by Winnie Griggs Simply Cooking by Melissa Teoulet Blueprint for Preservation by Megan Lord Lose Weight with YouTube by Kelsi Guidry Weeder's Digest by Donna Arender Life's Blessings by Vicki Caskey PJ's Point of View by Phillip Volentine You Never Know by Laura Horton Hormonal Woman by Elizabeth Drewett Copyright 2011. All rights reserved. No part of this magazine may be copied or reproduced without permission. The Minute Magazine cannot be responsible for unsolicited materials. The editorial content of The Minute is prepared in accordance with the highest standards of journalistic accuracy. Readers are cautioned, however, not to use any information from the magazine as a substitute for expert opinion, technical information or advice. The Minute cannot be responsible for negligent acts, errors and omissions. The opinions expressed in The Minute are those of our writers and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher. The publisher has the right to accept or reject any advertising and / or editorial submitted.

contributors Donna Arender Vicki Caskey Rachel DeLoach Elizabeth Drewett Anita Goodson Winnie Griggs


ion t p i r


Account Representative

10 12 16 19 22 25 26 32 34 37 38 42 47 48 52 55

Melissa Teoulet Rebecca Tillinghast April W. Timmons Margaret Timmons Phillip J. Volentine

cover Our cover was taken by Jackie Lewis at the Caddo-Adai Indian Pow-Wow in Robeline, Louisiana. October, 2011.



A Marriage Made In Heaven -----------------------------------


n 1990, Mama and


Daddy celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. A photographer asked me, “Where did your mom and dad meet?” “At church,” I responded. To this he answered with a smile, “I should have known. Over eighty percent of the golden

anniversary couple that I photograph have met in church. That really seems to make a difference.” Now that I look at it, he’s right. God has made someone for everyone and He leaves it up to us to find out from Him just who and where this person is. Such

was the case with Mama and Daddy. Mama grew up in Farmerville, Louisiana. Her mother died when she was only nine years old. She became the one responsible for the upkeep and care of the home, and was faced with caring for a baby sister, one-year-old, a little four-year-old brother, four teenage brothers and a sick daddy. Eventually,

after a hard, stressful life and the passing of her father, Mama found herself in Springhill, Louisiana. The first two things she did were find a job at the paper mill and a church to go to. On her first visit to the little country church, she saw a tall, handsome young man. She could hardly take her eyes off him while he sat on the platform and played his fiddle. He was very entertaining as well as being handsome. It seems a bug had flown through one of the open windows and ended up in the pulpit area. The young man was stabbing at the bug with the end of his bow, while never missing a note of the song that they were playing. Mama leaned over to her friend and said confidently, “That’s the man I’m gonna marry!” Doris, her friend turned and met her gaze and said, in no uncertain terms, “Oh, no you’re not! He’s mine!” Before long, Mama found out his name was Carnell. Daddy found out that her name was Lonna,

and that she lived on the East Road in Cullen. “Now that young lady must ----------------------------------need fresh churned butter, milk, eggs, and fresh vegetables for her dinner.” Daddy said to himself. Soon she became a regular customer and would buy the fresh vegetables that he brought by on his trips to and from the paper mill where he, too, worked. He really wowed her once with a five pound turnip that his folks had raised. After getting to know her better, he would stay a while and sit in the porch swing. She said that he was too bashful to talk much, so he would bring a pencil and paper to draw her pictures. When he had used up all of his paper, he would go home. Mama never dated another man and Daddy never dated another woman. On July 30, 1940, they were married. And now, after almost sixty years of marriage, eight children, twenty grandchildren, and eight great-grandchildren, I think we would all agree that this was truly a marriage made in heaven.


MILLIONS of American Indians inhabited these lands long before the Europeans were aware the New World existed.

by jackie lewis

Where are they today




THANKS for our Native American Heritage


n 1993, I turned hisgadu and found my first arrowhead hiding beneath a a mound of red, northern Louisiana clay. I scraped off layers of dirt and grime, then held it between my fingers. I was amazed at the chisel marks made by hands from long ago. I was as proud as a young woman could be, standing in the middle of a dirt pit with my father at my side and a relic of the past in my palm. I tried to image what the last person to hold that arrowhead in their hands might have looked like. Would they have used it for hunting buffalo, or maybe even deer? Or was this arrowhead used to protect the land from other tribes-- perhaps even from the early european settlers that first made their homes high in these northern Louisiana hills? Back then, I looked at the American Indians in a completely different way than I do today. I had learned to judge the Native American culture and assumed that the Hollywood characterizations of Indians were indeed correct. I never doubted the "facts" and "figures" found in American History books. But all of that was about to change. In the years to come, I would explore my family's heritage and learn that the blood flowing in my veins is a very interesting mix.

I suppose my first real taste of my Native American heritage came when I was a little girl, long before the day I found my first arrowhead. My father's father was a six foot, four inch tall man with coppery skin, cold black hair and high cheekbones. His greatgrandmother was full blooded Cherokee Indian. She taught her children how to count in Cherokee, and those children in turn taught their descendants, too. My father and his sisters all learned to count in Cherokee, and by the summer I turned hisgadu (Cherokee for sixteen) I was beginning to ask questions about my Indian heritage. And in exchange for my questions, I was given a set of answers that didn't quite make sense to me. Let me go ahead and forwarn you that the remainder of this article contains something you rarely read about in our American History books. This will be a story of a rich culture, a beautiful, proud people, and an era of exploration and exploitation. It's a story of misplaced trust, misguided intentions and misunderstood Nations. It's the story of our Native American heritage, and this story is not nearly as glorified as the Hollylwood version we've all grown


accustomed to watching in the movies. But before I can explain the ommissions in American history, allow me to explain why this particular subject matters to me. I was twenty-four years old when I enrolled in Arkansas State University. I signed up for an upper level writing class, taught by a Professor named Billy Ray McSpadden. He was a red-faced, stocky man with a sincere love for literature that was at least five times his height. He taught his students to disect novels in an attempt to gain an understanding of other cultures (and our own) through reading. And in the process, he accidentally showed me that it's okay to change my mind about the past. Change my mind about the past? Yep, you heard me right. And if you keep reading, this statement will begin to make sense. Fast forward a few years, to yet another professor that changed the way I viewed the world. I was taking journalism classes at Southern Arkansas University when a wise professor announced that, "history is what we say it is." He was referring to journalists, but I didn't like the implication. I remember arguing within myself, trying to find a way to prove him wrong. I dissected the problem: journalists write articles about current events, and history books record the assumptions made by journalists. But who controls the journalists? Surely they're not the deciding factor in the history-making process. Skip forward yet again to another outstanding professor that shoved me through an invisible wall in world history. She was an upper level history professor that had immigrated from Russia on the very day that the Berlin Wall fell, and she was not afraid to allow her students to make assumptions. She quoted from Orwell's 1984 and reminded us of one of the most profound statements ever written. "He who controls the present, controls the past. He who controls the past, controls the future." But what did Orwell really mean by that statement? I would soon find the answer to this question, and the answer would haunt me. Since my college days, I have come to realize that there is rarely more than one side of any one story recorded in our world history books. I was mentored by three wonderful Professors who were not afraid to teach me this lesson, and I never stopped learning from them-- even after the end of semester grades were posted and we parted ways. You see, in those classrooms I learned to think for myself. And I began to understand that our country (and our world) is in dire need of the reconciliation of fact with history. And to do so in the case of the American Indians, I must make a very strong statement. The systematic purging of Native Americans from these lands in the early days of our country was nothing short of genocide. And it is my responsibility as a journalist to talk about the population that we most often refer to around the time of a festive November holiday. Now allow me to explain why I feel this way. Most of us have come of age living in a culture that celebrates the Native American contribution to the first Thanksgiving, but a little research will show you that the early days of this country were not nearly as peaceful and nostalgic as one might hope. In a book entitled A LITTLE MATTER OF GENOCIDE: HOLOCAUST


AND DENIAL IN THE AMERICAS, 1492 TO PRESENT (Purdue University Press), Ward Churchill explains: "During the four centuries spanning the time between 1492, when Christopher Columbus first set foot on the 'New World' of a Caribbean beach and 1892, when the U.S. Census Bureau concluded that there were fewer than a quarter-million indigenous people surviving within the country's boundaries, a hemispheric population estimated to have been as great as 125 million was reduced by something over 90 percent." This staggering figure forces me, a modern journalist, to beg for the answer to a very important question: where are the American Indians today? Did they simply migrate to another land, or have they become interwoven into our modern American culture? Perhaps on a small level, the Native Americans accomplished both. Or perhaps our history books have it wrong. Perhaps these crude numbers paint a picture of a not-so-perfect American past. In late October, I attended a Pow-Wow in Louisiana. The sky was a sparkling blue, and the temperature was perfect. I parked in a giant parking lot and prepared myself for an afternoon of fun and games, and even shoved a twenty dollar bill in my pocket and made plans to buy my kiddos a couple of trinkets. And then it happened. I began to meet Native Americans that had gathered from across the country. I spoke with many of them about our country's history, our nation's heritage, and about what it's like to be a Native American in the twenty-first century. I was immediately captivated by the dark, instense eyes of a woman I would soon know as Fern Tahchawwickah. "I'm full blooded Commanche," she said with a soft yet firm voice. Her eyes sparkled, and I immediately wanted to know more about her life and her heritage. And when I asked her to tell me about her lineage, Mrs. Fern wasted no time in going striaght to the point. "Because the Commanches fought for their Nation, the more white men they killed, the more that came in their place. [Europeans] overpowered and they won because they just kept coming. Because of that, I went to a public school. We lived near Lawton, Oklahoma, a stone's throw from the creek. I was to go to an Indian school, but my Mom told me that I needed to go to a public school to become like the white man, in order to live in a white world. In growing up, I was taught in the teepees around the circle, and we knew God and the Holy Spirit before there was ever a Bible brought to us. We walked and talked to God in the thickets of the woods and along the creeks. When we had a heavy heart, we got away to Nature, because that's where you can feel the presence of God and the Holy Spirit. We've known that for always. We were taught that God is nature, and we were raised like that. But I raised my children in two different worlds, because my Mom always taught me to go to the white man's world and learn their ways. [As an Indian,] you have to learn to live and work and talk among the people. But my Mom said to always know that whatever accomplishments I make, I'm a Native American Indian and nothing can take that from me."

Fern admitted that, "Commanches are a proud people. We've learned to live in two worlds. What I've learned in living in two worlds, so to speak, is that there is good and bad in every culture, in every color of people. Black, brown, white, there is no one perfect and faultless. The past is the past, and we have to go on to the future. But we must have good hearts. We must try to be kind and equal to one another, try to love and carry on that tradition that the Creator gave us to love one another. I've taken [these beliefs] with me in my journey through life, and I've passed it on. On weekdays, my family is in the white world, working to make it. And on the weekends, we travel to Pow Wows and my son carries on the traditions that his Dad and his Uncle taught him to keep the circle going. That's how we keep our people alive." The 1892 Census estimated a population of less than 250,000 Indians in the United States. If Ward Churchill and other scholars are correct in their estimates, tens of millions of American Indians disappeared between the days of Columbus and Cortez and the late nineteenth century. Once again, I ask the great question: where are those Natives today? And though I know the answer, I dare not print it. The implications are far too horrific for a mere journalist and amateur historian to comprehend. It seems that the very American quest for our Manifest Destiny plowed over existing Nations. And there are few Native peoples remaining to tell the story. Here in the piney hills of northern Louisiana, the Caddo Indians were once plentiful. We can easily find the remnants of their civilization buried deep within our red clay. But the Caddo-Adai have not completely disappeared-- you simply need to know how to find them. I met Danny Morvan in Robeline, Louisiana, not far from the place where a group of CaddoAdai lived amongst the French at Fort Los Adais in the late 1800's. Danny is a descendant of those Caddo-Adai Indians that chose to remain (in hiding) in Louisiana when the local tribe was relocated to Oklahoma. "Some of us stayed and hid out instead of going to reservations," he told me. "Back then, you were ashamed to be an Indian because you would have been sent away." So Danny's ancestors went into hiding, deep within the Louisiana woods. "There were hundreds of tribes in the [Caddo] federation, and when they made all of the Caddo Indians go to the reservations in Oklahoma, the Caddo actually signed a treaty stating that we never would branch off in different tribes again. They were afraid that we might branch out again and give the government trouble. When we rediscovered our tribe and submitted it to the Bureau, we were finally recognized by the State of Louisiana as a tribe of the Caddo. The Caddo-Adai are the only tribe in the Caddo Nation [as of 2011] that is singled out as a tribe. And we're trying to become Federally recognized now." I, for one, am rooting for them. I still have the old arrowhead that I found during the summer that I turned hisgadu. But I look at it in a completely different way now. I no longer view the hunter that held it in his hands as someone that lived in primitive conditions. I often think of the great cities that once thrived here in the New World, such as the Aztec city of Iztapalapa. In the book entitled, AMERICAN HOLOCAUST: THE CONQUEST OF THE NEW WORLD, by David E. Stannard, Stannard estimates that the city of Iztapalapa had, "about

60,000 pale stucco houses... some of them multi-storied." Stannard goes on to quote the man that brought an end to the Aztec empire, Hernando Cortez. By Cortez's account, "all these houses have very large and very good rooms and also very pleasant gardens of various sorts of flowers both on the upper and lower floors." According to Stannard, the city was complete with floating gardens, 'a huge aqueduct system that amazed Cortez and his men,' and entire neighborhoods that were in close proximity to beautiful, neatlykept downtown markets where fair trade was regulated by officials. Hernando Cortez, writing of the markets in Popocatepetl, was more than impressed. "There were streets where herbalists plied their trade, areas for apothecary shops, and "shops like barbers" where they have their hair washed and shaved, and shops where they sell food and drink" wrote Cortes. "[They have] every sort of vegetable, especially onions, leeks, garlic, common cress and watercress, borage, sorrel, teasels and artichokes; and there are many sorts of fruit, among which are cherries and plums like those in Spain." When you take Cortez' own words into account, it seems to me that this 'New World" in the Americas wasn't all that unsettled after all. Perhaps the conquering of the Aztecs wasn't really about bringing civilization to an uncivilized world. Perhaps it was about something more. I willl leave you with the wise words of Fern Tahchawwickah, the beautiful, full-blooded Commanche woman that you met earlier in this article. "Don't take anyone's story as a final," she says when speaking of lessons that she learned from her mother. "Because we all have a story. And everyone's story is different. It's called being fair, being just, being honest, being right." When it comes to the Native American Peoples, there is a story still waiting to be told. Happy, smiling Indians may adorn our children's coloring sheets this time of year, but these images should now serve as a haunting reminder of the mistakes made by our forefathers in the not-so-distant past. More than 90% of the Native population of the New World was wiped out within a handful of centuries, but we rarely read about those facts and figures today. This article is meant to enlighten you, to show that history is not always as squeaky-clean as it appears in our children's textbooks. But who am I to make such a claim? I am simply a journalist, and history is simply what we say it is. Or maybe, just maybe, George Orwell was right. And maybe that's why we rarely hear this side of the story.

------------------photo: Fern Tahchawwickah, Commanche Indian



Decorations -----------------------------------


an you remember making your first Christmas ornament? It was probably a combination of Popsicle sticks, pipe cleaners, pom poms and dried macaroni. Probably a little glitter if you grew up in the eighties. You thought your masterpiece was the most beautiful creation you had ever created. It was art. It was worthy of being preserved in the Smithsonian so that people from around the world could come and marvel at this spectacular wonderment. You knew it was special, but the Smithsonian would have to wait. This masterpiece was for that special someone- your mom. You couldn’t wait to get it home and give it to her and have her proudly display it on your Christmas tree. You even ignored your teacher’s advice to leave it overnight and let the Elmer’s Glue dry. This thing had to come home


today. She would love it. Then finally, you got to go home and present her with this work of art. You stormed in and screamed you had a surprise for her. You told her to close her eyes and hold out her hands. You carefully pulled the ornamental beauty out of your back pack and gently placed it in the palms of her hands. When you thought she had been in suspense long enough you told her to open her eyes. She stared in awe at the little piece of love and glue that lay gently in her hands. She told you she loved it and confirmed your belief that it was a creation of no less than a genius. She told you to go hang it on the tree – right in the front where everyone would see it first. Then, she wanted to know just one thing –“What is it?” Some of my fondest childhood memories of Christmas are of decorating the tree. I loved all the decorations that my mother would pull out every year. It made the season seem more real. The tree was mainly decorated in home made “masterpieces” and things collected throughout the years. The years passed by and our “masterpieces” became less and less frequent and our Christmas tree decorating style evolved into something a tad more modern. But,

through the years as lights had to be replaced, beads had to be thrown away, and glass balls were broken, she always kept those masterpieces. She never threw them away. Even if they didn’t make it to the front of the tree like they did so many years ago, they were packed away somewhere special. They were always there. These decorations represented love in the simplest form. The jingle bell that doesn’t jingle anymore reminds her of the Christmas plays where we stood and sang Away in a Manger with squeaky voices. The clothespin reindeer reminds her that there was not a single Christmas that went by that our household didn’t watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. The gingerbread man reminds her of all the Christmas

candy she loves to make. The Santa boot reminds her of how she furiously searched for everything that was on our Christmas lists until she was beyond tired, but seeing the looks on our faces she knew it was worth it. Every single ornament has a memory or a tradition that it is tied to. They represent family and love. They celebrate change and growth. Just as we decorate our Christmas trees with shiny balls and angels and tinsel, we too decorate our lives. We can choose to decorate it with love, compassion and strength. Our lives are decorated with the people that we let into our hearts – our family, friends and loved ones. The people that decorate our lives fill it with joy. They don’t always look shiny and new. They may not be doctors or lawyers. They may have never done anything spectacular in their life – except be your friend. Sometimes these people are messy and reek of Elmer’s Glue- but they make your heart smile when they say “Mama” or “Daddy”. The memories we create with our friends and the love that we share with our family will frame your life. When you look back at your time here on earth, make sure that you have decorated your life. Make sure you have decorated it with special ones that help you create a legacy of love and a lifetime of happiness.




DAVID BALL DECEMBER 1, 2011 Doors Open @ 6:00PM Show Starts @ 7:30PM

special guest


David Ba

“Thinkin’ Problem” “Ridin’ with Private Malone”

Advance Tickets $20.00 $25.00 $30.00

501 Mane Street West Monroe, LA Box Office 318-325-9160

Accommodations provided by

Visit to purchase online.



Smores -----------------------------------


y kids are 6, 4, and 2. Boy, boy, girl. It is high time for them to learn how to camp. Not RV camping, not trailer camping, and not hitch a thing on the back of a truck and sleep in it camping. I’m talking build a campfire camping. Put a hot dog on a stick, burn it, and eat it camping. I’m talking sleep in a tent looking at the stars camping. So we did it. Now at first I was a little skeptical, so I decided to do it in the backyard. You know, just in case one of them squealed too much and couldn’t handle it. “They’re still young,” I told myself (and my wife firmly stated). If they get to unruly they can go back to their bed inside the house. I’ve been camping in places where you had to drive 45 minutes in order to reach a phone, but I was a little concerned that my kids wouldn’t be cut from the same cloth as Dad. Well, I was both right and wrong. We set up the fire in the driveway. We gathered

bricks and other stones to create a fire-pit. Then we threw some logs in from the tree that landed on our car (take that sucka!). Then we put the tent together. I wish I had taken a video of my kids helping with the tent. The look on their faces said, “The tent is in the bag? This’ll never happen.” Ah, but I can work magic. With a little training, and some help from my little minions, we had it up in no time - well 20 minutes when it normally takes 5-but who's counting? Now it’s time for the fun stuff! This was the part I’d been talking up all week long. The kids were pumped. The fire was perfect after it began chewing on the logs. We put our hot dogs on pokers and inched as close as we could to the fire. “It’s too hot!” said my middle boy. “Your poke extends out further than that, buddy. Here, try it now,” I told him. My daughter complains, “My eyes are burning!” Moving the chair she was sitting in, I told her, “You have to sit up-wind from the fire.” (Like a 2 year old knows what that means.) She did understand not to sit in the smoke, though. My oldest is rocking two hot dogs on his poke when, “Uh-oh!” I look over and his hot dog has hit the fire deck. “No problem,” I said. Borrowing his poke, I retrieved the hot dog from certain death, blew on it a

little bit, and handed it back to him. “A little ash on your dog is good for you. Puts hair on your chest!” I’m not sure if it was the fact that he could eat a hot dog off the ground, or that he would be hairy one day, but his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree! Then came the seminal campfire dining event of the evening. The S’mores. Graham cracker, chocolate, and marshmallow. The trinity of camping. And just like God you can’t take anything away or add anything cause it just ain’t right – it’s camping heresy actually. Mmmmmmm…… Everything was going great, but the part that would test my children’s resolve was yet to come. So here comes the part I was wrong about. But first you need to understand my wife. She’s not much of a camper. Her idea of camping is a Holiday Inn Express with a continental breakfast. She has to have hot water, a mattress, and air conditioning. Even though I had her out with us through all of it, I knew she wasn’t going to sleep in the tent. It was just going to be me and the kids. So as it got fully dark, I took a lantern and led them to the tent. I was a little nervous to know if they really wanted to sleep in the tent, and the look on their faces was as if everything up to now was expected, but now things were getting real! Then came the wide-eyed smile

from my oldest. “We’re really gonna sleep outside in the tent, Daddy?” “Sure we are buddy. That’s part of what camping is all about. It’s fun!” I told him. The smile infected my middle and youngest kids in a way that can only be described as pure excitement. They danced around and then flopped into the tent. Laying down we stared at the sky through the mesh roof. Ah! It was great! And then came the words that pierced the euphoria. “Alright, you guys have fun and I’ll see you in the morning!” said my wife. While my two boys were fine – “Good night!” they said – my 2 year old daughter was confused. “Where are you going Momma?” “I’m sleeping in my bed, muffin.” “But why?” It didn’t matter. I knew we had lost her. “Man down, man down, man down” is screaming through my head, but I could say nothing. She was going in the house. No explanation would keep this New Orleans girl from her Momma. She was cut more from her Mom’s cloth than Dad’s. This is why New Orleans girls live no less than 2 miles away when they move out of the house. Well, two out of three ain’t bad, I thought. Suddenly, it was just me and the boys. They asked a billion questions. “Daddy, why is the sky dark? Daddy, why are the trees black at night?” Daddy, what are those lights? Daddy, what was that noise? Daddy, what was that noise?” It was 9 pm and they were lulling me to sleep. Then I noticed one was quiet, well, he was snoring actually. Then my oldest finally succumbed to sleep. Both slept peacefully through the night. And as I faded off I thought, “Thank you Jesus. What an incredible experience.” I think my kids liked it too-- especially the smores. -----------------------------------


Expecting Excellence?  8F%FMJWFS




ÊÊ̅i ÊL>LÞÊ«>Vi 20


Minden's Historic Residential District



he Minden, Louisiana Historic Residential District will be hosting the Candlelight Tour of Homes on Saturday, December 10th, 2011, from 4-7 p.m. Tickets are $10 per person, and may be purchased the day of the event at the Stewart Fer-

guson building of the Webster Parish Library located at the corner of Elm Street and East and West Street. Refreshments will be served at this stop. Homes and Church featured are: 1111 Broadway, 512 Fort Avenue, 100 College, and St. John's Episcopal Church at 1107 Broadway.





living. growing.


am a firm believer that creatively we will never stop changing. From childhood our artistic skills enhance with each chronological step. As we mature into teenagers o u r expressi o n s mature from our emotional development. And as adults, whether we choose to use our creative potential or not, art continues to grow with us. My artistic expression on this day is completely unique. It is different from when I was 3 or 7 or 19. It is even different from yesterday. I love this about art. In its very nature, art grows with us at any age. Inspiration knocks persistently on our doors, providing us with a steady stream of possible creations with every interaction we have. Daily life provides


us with a recipe for infinite creative possibilities. Time and time again, art finds its way into my life in this very fashion. I never know when and where I will suddenly be inspired or what the product will be. Initially, I was introduced to art by my mom who encouraged me to create anything I pleased. Paint brush in hand, sporting one of my dads old shirts, I couldn’t have been more than 3 years old,when I first stood in front of an easel. A streak of pink, a dash blue, a little yellow with green blobs, purple lines and some eclectic shade of brown, I mixed t h e colors on my canvas. A t three, all I understood was that when I smoosh-ed this wet, sticky stuff together on the page, new colors appeared before my eyes. Brush in the air I proudly declared, “It’s a rhinoceros!” I’m sure many artists got their starts this way, painting rhinos, mixing mucky colors, and making a mess out of their dads’ old shirts. It is a beautiful thing to be introduced to art as a child. But what I didn’t know at the time was that art would grow with me each day of my life and it would be changing constantly. As I look back at my life, I can see my growth through the imagery I produced with an array of art supplies. I loved painting, drawing with charcoal, making sculptures

creating. written by rebecca tillinghast

with recycled materials, and drawing intricate sketches with fine point pens. Every medium was a product of a particular life phase. I produced abstract paintings when life felt chaotic. I obsessed over the perfection of my intricate drawings when I needed to feel in control. And as each day passed new ideas came to me based on my experiences and growth. The medium I create with based on my life today is yarn. There is something about knitting that provides me with a deeper sense of meaning at this stage of my life. It is more than a craft, hobby or pastime. I’ve met shearers of wool, spinners of fleece and knitters alike and have discovered that I am not alone in this connection with knitting and yarn. Do we all have something in common? Perhaps it is something deep inside of us, a phase of inner change, that causes us to knit. I believe knitting to be about community, sharing, giving, receiving, and putting love into ones creations. That being said, it seems fitting that recently I should see myself grow in measurements of yarn. My artistic expression through yarn ultimately developed from writing. I began blogging one day mid November of 2010, not really knowing at the time what I had to say. I felt compelled to be honest, vulnerable and sincere with

my small following of family and friends. I initially wrote simply to deal with my own pain and uncertainty but like all forms of expression, my internal growth produced something more comprehensive. My writing developed as a direct result of a stronger sense of self and purpose. I was incredibly inspired and began conceptualizing projects to accompany my words. Wr i t i n g was affecting me internally and I wanted to share my growth with everyone. Everywhere I went I saw my own emotions reflecting off other people. When I felt insecure, I noticed other peoples’ insecurities. When I was afraid I found others who were also scared. And when I felt strength I was inspired to share it with whomever I could reach. A season in my life was changing and my creativity was transforming as a result. Feeling strong in who I was becoming, I knew I was being the best me I could be. I was perfect just as I was. Three words settled strongly into my heart. You. Are. Enough. Inspired by the moment I decided to make art with this message so I could share it with others. A box full of unfinished knitting

projects stared at me from my living room art corner. Selecting a wooly, gray square I formed the letter “Y” in cursive with some yellow yarn. I liked what I saw. The words spelled on my yarn canvas "You Are Enough" stared back at me. It looked hand crafted and a little messy. You could see where the glue wasn’t quite covered by the yarn. It was far from perfect. But I

loved it. I loved it for what it represented and for whom it may affect. Before I hung it up on my kitchen wall, I took a picture of it and posted it on my blog. I told people that this sign was for anyone who wanted to receive its message. Simply, we are enough, and we are perfect just the way that we are. My internal growth produced a slew of yarn word creations. Each word represented what I felt inside and experienced all around me. Everyday I encountered new experiences that helped me grow and inspired me

to create. Receive. Love. Grow. Be. Listen. Learn. Pray. See. People I had never before met were finding the blog, relating to the messages and contacting me. It felt as though I had really found deep contentment inside. Yarn art and positive messages were the proof. Yarn continues to be my favorite artistic medium. However, I know this is bound to change. I not only accept the impending change but I welcome it because it means I will be continuing to grow. I want to always be receptive to what life has to offer because it gives me the chance to give back something truly beautiful and unique to the world At 3, I had little understanding that my growth was being projected onto my painting easel. But today I know that I express the changes inside me through art. And I am so thankful to be able to see something so deeply intangible through colors, shapes, textures, and words. I am grateful for art at the age of 3, 14, 26 and every year in between. Every step forward I will continue to use art as a marker and be proud to show my growth to the world.




The Bag -----------------------------------


t was a beautiful autumn day. I woke up extra early, but unlike usual, I didn’t mind missing any sleep. Nope, not today! This was a day that I had been looking forward to for months. It was a day that I was going to spend with my mom to celebrate her birthday. Technically, her birthday wasn’t until the following day. But today was the only day that we could both go, so we headed out bright and early. Every year for quite a while now, mom and I always venture off in one direction or another, to go antique shopping for our birthdays. We usually only get to do this twice a year; once for her birthday and once for mine. It’s our “girl’s day out”, and we truly act like little kids again and oh, the fun we have! We always meet in Shreveport, we leave one of our vehicles, and then off we go. We visit and talk along the way, so it seems like we get there in no time. Then we shop, reminisce, and shop some more. This year we grinned and giggled,

laughed and cried, danced and sang... and made the sweetest memories. Several things reminded us of my grandparents, which made us shed a tear or two because we miss them so much. I’m always catching my mom off guard, and then I start dancing and singing to an Elvis song or some other tune that was popular back in her teenage years. And I ALWAYS have to try on a hat. I can’t pass up the opportunity to try on a vintage hat. My Granny Hinckley used to do the same thing. I even talked mother into joining me this year, and I have the pictures on my cell phone to prove it. I have fun looking at things that remind me of my childhood, as well. When I was in elementary school, I had a Walt Disney yellow school bus lunch box. I loved that lunch box, and carried it every day for several years. Unfortunately, as we all do sometimes, we had a rummage sale (when I was in high school) and sold it. Who would

have ever thought that I’d actually “want” that old thing? Or who would have guessed that it would be such a collectible item these days? So, every time I run across a school bus lunch box with all the Disney characters looking out the windows, I have to stop and see if it has my name written inside with a magic marker. Truthfully, it’s probably buried at the bottom of some landfill by now, but I can’t help but to look when I find one sitting on a shelf in an antique store. We never r e a l l y “know” what we are looking for. We just go and browse, and if something “speaks” to us, then we get it. As much as we like the things we buy, we both know they are just things. We never spend a whole lot on any one item and we are always looking for bargains. Most of the things we like have sentimental meaning, thus, their true value to us. And I know I’ve said this before, but it’s not really the “things”, but

it’s the memories we make along the way that mean the most. Most items bring back fond memories, either of a certain time in your life, or a special person and they just help to keep the memories alive. For example, there’s a special bag in our family that’s only used for special occasions! I have tried to come up with an exact date, but I only have family photos to go by. So far, the oldest one I’ve found is May 1998. So why does that seem so important? Because that’s how old “the special bag” is. On Mother’s Day, 1998, we gave my mom a present in a gift-bag that had a teddy bear wearing a big hat on it. I thought the bag was cute but never realized how important it would become. That same year, on my birthday, in July, mom gave me a gift, which was tucked inside the teddy-bear gift bag. I turned around & did the same for her birthday in October. Thus... the tradition began. Every year, we swap gifts, using the same bag. We’ve done it for at least 13 years now. It’s beginning to look a little tattered, and it’s been taped a time or two. But it has seen many happy smiles as we anxiously await to see what “treasure” is inside. And I have to’s not really the gifts that have been exchanged that hold the most value. It’s the bag, itself. An old inexpensive, outdated, paper gift-bag. Why? Because of the memories! That bag holds memories of birthdays we have celebrated and good times we’ve shared. There will never be another one like it. And whoever gets the bag...that one last time, holds on to the real treasure, of the wonderful memories we have made... not only as mother and daughter, but as best friends. Well, my friends, this wraps up another story from The Antique Junkie. And as the saying goes; it’s in the bag!


written by Rachel DeLoach



hree summers ago, I was able to fulfill a life-long dream of mine and spend time in Cambodia as a missionary and teacher in its capitol, Phnom Penh. On the weekends, my fellow teachers and I would travel to other parts of Cambodia. One of these weekend adventures (perhaps the one that worried my family the most), was to the nieghboring country Vietnam. W h e n e v e r traveling, we always bought our tickets from a bus company called the Mekong express, who promised that “if we had any problem,we could


American in Saigon Cambodia

Vietnam Mekong River.

Follow Rachel DeLoach through and , where she steps outside of her comfort zone to discover the beauty and majesty of the apolize” to them. On the afternoon of our trip, the bus stumbled out of the Phnom Penh station, jiving along to its favorite music, Cambodian karaoke. My friend and I settled in for the 8-hour bus ride up the Cambodian countryside to the “City of Motos”: Saigon, Vietnam. As I let the “excitement” sink in, I couldn’t help but wonder why in the world I had let that sense of adventure get to me the night before. It was a simple, foursentence agreement: “I really wanna go to Vietnam.” “I’ll go to Vietnam with you!” “No, I’m serious. Are you serious?” “Of course I’m serious!” And here I was on my way at noon the next day. At times, I couldn’t help but feel that I was headed into enemy territory. I had certainly never met an American who had been to Vietnam for fun, and having your bags searched by a Socialist border control is downright terrifying. Kelly and I were the only ones not wearing masks because the fear of swine flu singled out everyone from the Western Hemisphere. I felt like someone had called the exterminators to travel with us. Eight bumpy hours later, the bus made it to a city. I knew then it must have been Saigon.

Seemingly thousands of motos swarmed everywhere. They were so close to the bus I could reach out my window and touch them, and I’m sure that our bumper nicked the back of quite of few. As the bus pulled to the sidewalk, throngs of hopeful vendors and moto drivers ran to the door. Kelly and I stood amidst the pandemonium, and it hit me. Here we are in Vietnam. We have no hotel, we have no map, we have no plans, and apparently, we have no sense. What on earth were we thinking? I knew then that I should have listened to my mother! Then Kelly did the unthinkable. A man came to us with a business card (as no proper Saigoninian will live without a business card) for “Ms. Hai Guesthouse” and promised us “hot shower, air condition, and free internet.” To my horror, Kelly agreed to follow him! He took us down a narrow alley filled with outdoor noodle carts, little guesthouse apartments, and small rooms that housed entire families. The plastered buildings were crammed together and loomed stories above us. Alleyways popped up and snaked away back into the shadows. We went further and further and just when my heart was about to explode with fear, Kelly turned to me and whispered, “I think I saw

that past guesthouse in my Lonely Planet book.” “Oh good,” I thought. “At least now we only have an eighty-five percent chance that we are going to die.” We finally stopped. I was more than relieved to find that Ms. Hai Guesthouse was a real place. Thirty-odd pairs of shoes lined the steps to the doorway. No one wears shoes inside the house in order to show respect. I was amazed to find that none of them disappeared overnight! Ms. Hai was the sweetest little old woman. She and her family lived in the kitchen and living room and rented out the rest of the house. Turned out the free internet was on their family computer—and the hot shower was not quite as hot as we hoped. But still, the Hai family was so hospitable, and for twelve dollars a night, we were more than happy to be there—especially since we were still alive. The following morning Kelly and I decided to go on a Mekong River tour. We piled on the bus with some cute European couples and several loud Australians. Our tour guide Viet spoke wonderful English, but must have learned it from an Australian, because he definitely had an accent from Down Under. One of the first questions he asked was, “How many

Americans on board?” Kelly and I were the only two who raised our hands on the whole bus. Then he asked,”Do you know about the Vietcong? I am not Vietcong. That is my uncle!” Everything was going smoothly until all of the sudden, the bus stopped. The driver cranked the bus, started along again, and then we stopped—again. Again. And again. We filed out of the bus into a nearby outdoor restaurant. We watched as four men looked and looked at the motor. After an hour, they finally got it working again for an entire quarter-mile. This time we stopped at a little pavilion with lots of hammocks. (I now believe we need more hammocks at all the rest areas.) After another hour of waiting, Viet finally decided that the bus was dead for good. But there was some good news. We were only fifteen minutes from our destination, and some vans would be there soon to take us the rest of the way there. Kelly and I were elated, but to my horror, the Australians were not. “This is ridiculous!” the two loudest men shouted. “We should have gotten another bus by now! We might as well turn around now because we’ll never get back!” All but about three couples agreed. Kelly and I were heartbroken. This was


our only day in Vietnam, and we were so close to the Delta! But Kelly would not accept defeat. She went to Viet and explained. “Please, we have only one day in Vietnam. It will be too late to do anything by the time we get back. Can’t the few us who want to go on ahead still go?” Viet smiled. He called a bus for the ones who chose to give up, but the rest of us were on our way to the river! A big dilapidated blue boat carried us to the middle of the river where there was a small wooden platform. A ways beyond it was an island with an


ancient-looking yellow and red arch. It seemed as if anything that this doorway could have led to had been devoured by jungle. The boat pulled up to the little platform and stopped. “So… are we swimming to the island?” I thought to myself. We anxiously waited in silence and then, from a little opening in the jungle, I saw two women in little straw triangular hats paddling in a canoe. Canoe after canoe floated along behind them until a whole caravan of canoes was on its way to the platform. Two-by-two we climbed into the hollow of the little boats. The front and back

of the canoe was made so that someone could sit and paddle high above this hollow middle part. One woman sat on the back to paddle and another woman in front. We all put on the triangle hats and headed off into the green. Foliage towered above our little canoes, partly because the bushes were so tall and partly because our boats sat so very low in the water. The rushing of the canal and steady splashing of paddles transported us more to another world than to the middle of the island, where we were greeted by an enormous water buffalo. He was a delightful dinner guest. After lunch (traditional unsalted rice and a fish cooked so its cheeks puffed out as far as they would go), we were allowed to roam free on bicycles. It was amazing that this island was just part of the delta of the Mekong River. A maze of dirt roads darted in out of the jungle, leading to ancient and bare houses and traditional red mausoleums. There were even a few old Catholic churches that had been abandoned when Christianity became illegal. Above several of the roads we found the same yellow and red archway that was shockingly branded in the very center with a swastika. We were perplexed to find these so often because, to our knowledge, Vietnam had not been part of the Third Reich. Turns out, the swastika is an ancient Buddhist symbol of peace. On this island, it was hard to imagine that only 30 years before this same delta had been a playground of war. Later, we all met up again to visit a

honey farm that was on the little island. They used the honey to make candy, but they also made coconut and honey wine. I still have several packages of the candy, and I also tasted the coconut “wine.” It burned my throat for several minutes afterward and was more like rubbing alcohol or nail-polish remover than anything else. The sun started to set as we loaded into another actually-working bus. Kelly and I sat in front by the windshield so we saw all of our near-fatal encounters up close. I imagine that my trip to Vietnam was a lot like that final bus ride. All of our dangerous encounters—agreeing to go the guesthouse, getting stranded by a broken bus, trying the coconut wine— seemed too close for comfort sometimes. But if we hadn’t been through all those little “disasters,” we never would have gotten to know Saigon for what travelers have called it a hundred years before— “the Pearl of the Far East.” My trip to Asia was over three years ago, but I’ve carried this lesson with me long since then. Life never comes without “disasters,” and we can’t predict how minute or lifealtering they will be. I know many of us have been diagnosed or know someone who has been diagnosed with a life threatening illness. It may seem as if it is the worst thing imaginable. If I could leave something with you, I would encourage you to remember that even with all of its disasters, life is still worth it. The trip is still worth it. We may not know where it will take us or how it will end, but when it’s over, we will be glad we were alive. ----------------------------------Photo, left: Rachel DeLoach in Angkorwat, Camboadia-one of the seven wonders of the ancient world..




impatiently while Toby studied a large beetle escaping up the side of a hickory tree. They’d been picking their way along this rocky, moss-draped trail for about thirty minutes now, and the creek crossing was just past the clump of thorn bushes up ahead. Some of the choicest berries in the county grew there."

audience or reader.”


SUBTEXT Revealing The Heart Of Your Story -----------------------------------


et’s start off by discussing what subtext is and what it does for your story. Subtext is an impression or conclusion conveyed by the author to the reader through inference rather than explicit communication. Linda Segar, in the book Creating Unforgettable Characters, describes it this way: “Subtext is what the character is really saying beneath and between the lines. Often characters don’t understand themselves. They’re often not direct and don’t say what they mean. We might say that subtext is all about underlying drives and meanings that are not apparent to the character, but that are apparent to the


A story without subtext feels flat and clichéd. If every character says exactly what they mean and they display all of their emotions openly we wouldn’t have a very interesting story. It’s when they try to hide something from the others around them that things get interesting.

character to another without the author ever overtly referring to the emotion. In the same way a flinch, a abrupt exit, a stiffening can signify one character’s fear of another.

· Staging Through Word Choice: This is subtext that is purely a dialog between author and reader. As an author, the word choices we use can Adding subtext to a bit set a particular mood and of dialogue or to a scene set expectations. results in layering in an entirely different meaning to Consider this bit of that which is portrayed on description: "The heat the surface. In other words, of the day was softened subtext goes beyond what by dappled shade of the your characters say or do, woods. She and Toby were it reveals what they really off to enjoy an afternoon of picnicking and berry feel. picking. Lucy stepped over There are several ways to a knobby root and paused deliver subtext, some more while Toby studied a shiny beetle lumbering up the subtle than others. side of a hickory tree. · The Words Are Obviously They’d been strolling along At Odds With The Tone this leaf-carpeted trail for about thirty minutes now, And/Or The Actions and the creek crossing was This is one of the easiest just past the bit of leafy forms of subtext to portray. brush up ahead. Some of If you show a child sullenly the choicest blackberries saying “I’m sorry” when in the county grew there." caught out in some wrong doing, or an “I’m fine” Now contrast that with: response from someone "The hot summer sun who turns and storms from stabbed down through the twisting shadows the room. of the woods. She and · Actions Without Dialogue Toby hoped to spend the afternoon gathering the A lingering look, an over- much-needed berries that attentiveness, a sudden grew near the old creek. hyper-awareness can Lucy stepped over a signal the attraction of one gnarled root and paused

Though on the surface these are two views of the very same scene, just by the word choices the author has given the reader two very different expectations. Even though there is no dialog and no internals in either scene, we as the reader make deductions about what is going on and what the characters are feeling. In the first one, the reader will assume that the characters are enjoying themselves and that the outing is a pleasant one. In the second example, the reader sees this as a much more ominous experience for our characters. · Weaving In Elements That Support Your Message or Theme Throughout Your Story If your story is about loss, then there should be subtle references to various kinds of loss and the effect they have on the character all through your story. These can be almost invisible to the reader on the surface - a minor reference to misplaced keys, a ripped piece of clothing that must be thrown out, losing a place in line - snippets that have small individual weight but that will have a subconscious cumulative affect on your reader. There are other ways to insert subtext, of course, but these are the primary ones. And I’ll leave you with one last thought on subtext, that of it’s purpose. The purpose of subtext (not necessarily a comprehensive list) · To provide added support to the theme of your work · To let your readers in on

something that individual characters don’t know or won’t acknowledge · To build tension either in the characters or the reader or both · To reveal a character’s true feelings or values · To reveal backstory or motivations of your characters · To deliver an agenda - a social, political, or spiritual message - in a subtle way · To draw comparisons/ contrasts between characters · To layer in contextual assumptions about characters or situations Remember, subtext lends emotional depth and increases reader engagement with your work. It’s what elevates your work from product to art.

WINNIE GRIGGS is a multi-published romance author who currently writes for Harlequin’s Love Inspired and Love Inspired Historical lines. Her column focuses on tips and prompts for aspiring authors. A small town girl herself, Winnie’s books focus on family, community and matters of faith all subjects that are near and dear to her own heart. Readers can learn more about Winnie and her books at www.winniegriggs. com or connect with her on Facebook.




Big Breakfasts -----------------------------------


elcome cool breeze. Hello sweaters. This is the time to use that fireplace if you’re lucky enough to have one. While you’re busy layering on your scarf, coat, and sweater think about what this cool weather means. The holidays are almost here, and they bring with them all the fun as well as the craziness of the season. And for some of you, friends and family may be staying over adding to the hectic atmosphere. Breakfast is easily the hardest meal of the day. It’s much earlier than you would probably like, you may not have even had your coffee yet, and people are depending on you to feed them. While most people are aware that pancakes, bacon, sausage, and other similar breakfast foods are easy to make for a large gathering, most don’t know that eggs are even easier. It’s true; I wouldn’t lie to you before you’ve had your morning coffee.

breakfast fundraiser for United Way, asked me if I knew a way to cook eggs that was suitable to feed a large number of people for breakfast. As a matter of fact I did and so I was charged with making the egg dish. I call it egg casserole and it can either be described as a crust-less quiche, a frittata that is cooked in the oven, or a strata without the bread. You can make it as big or as small as you like and the ingredients are entirely up to you. It’s a real kitchen sink type of dish. For the fundraiser, I made two kinds; one with just cheese and one loaded with peppers, onions, sausage, and cheese. Here are the recipes.

Plain Jane Egg Casserole Ingredients: · 2 dozen eggs · 1 cup whole milk · 8 oz medium cheddar cheese, shredded · Salt & Pepper Preparation: Preheat oven to 350°. Use a small bowl to crack the eggs into and then transfer each egg to a large bowl. Cracking the eggs into the small bowl first will allow you to catch any bad eggs or stray pieces of shell before they get added to the rest of the eggs. Once all your eggs are cracked and placed in the larger bowl, use a fork to prick all the Recently, a co-worker of yolks. I find a fork does a mine, while planning a better job of puncturing the


yolks than a whisk does. Now add the milk, and whisk the eggs just as you would for a scrambled egg. Add the cheese and whisk to thoroughly combine. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Grease a 9x13 pan and transfer mixture into pan. Bake for 1 hour or until eggs are set. Watch the oven carefully to prevent burning.

Loaded Egg Casserole Ingredients: · 1 dozen eggs · 1 cup whole milk · 8 oz medium chedder cheese, shredded · 1 large onion or 2 smaller onions · 2 green bell peppers · 1 16 oz roll of breakfast sausage · Salt & Pepper Directions: Preheat oven to 350°. Brown the sausage in a pan, then drain the grease by placing the cooked sausage on a plate with several layers of paper towels. In a small bowl, crack each egg and then pour into a larger bowl. Prick the yolks with a fork, add the milk, and then whisk together. Add the cheese, onion, peppers, and sausage. Stir to combine. Grease a 9x13 pan and transfer mixture into pan. Bake for 1 hour or until eggs are set. Watch the oven carefully to prevent burning.

TFG 1811 New Phys_Lee


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JENNIFER CULPEPPER LEE, M.D. MINDEN MEDICAL CENTER IS PLEASED TO WE LCO M E OUR NEWEST PHYSICIAN In medical school, Dr. Jennifer Culpepper Lee couldn’t decide if she liked treating children or adults more. As a FAMILY MEDICINE physician, she chose both. Now she has chosen to bring her compassion and expertise to the community of Sibley and Minden Medical Center. A Minden native, Dr. Lee is looking forward to joining her extended family in the Minden area and raising her children with the small-town sense of community she felt growing up. Dr. Lee is enthusiastic about helping patients improve their health and preserve good health for a lifetime. She has a special interest in treating patients with high blood pressure, diabetes and lung problems. Dr. Lee is now accepting new patients at Lee Family Medicine Clinic, 382 North Main Street in Sibley. Appointments may be made by calling (318) 382-0909.

EDUCATION MEDICAL DOCTORATE DEGREE Louisiana State University - Shreveport INTERNSHIP & FAMILY PRACTICE RESIDENCY University of Texas Health Sciences - Tyler PROFESSIONAL MEMBERSHIP American Association of Family Physicians PERSONAL Dr. Lee enjoys running, cooking, baking and taking care of her two girls, Addison and Maren, with her husband, Jeff.

#1 MEDICAL PLAZA | MINDEN, LA 71055 | (318) 377-2321




The Christmas Light Competition -----------------------------------


ne of my family’s favorite things to do during the holiday season is to drive around and look at Christmas lights and yard decorations. Armed with travel mugs full of coffee and hot chocolate, we drive from neighborhood to neighborhood as Aaron Neville’s Louisiana Christmas album plays in the background. What began several years ago as a way to kill time one evening has now become a family tradition. Not only do we look forward to our annual Christmas drive around town, we’ve also developed a highly scientific method of rating the lights and decorations in each yard. We rank each house based on the overall composition of lights and decorations. Of course our method is subjective – my personal pet peeve is one strand of blinky lights in the midst of a hedge of non-blinkers while my

husband dislikes blue LED lights and those plastic figures of Santa kneeling at the manger. Those gigantic inflatable snow globes really excite my son, especially if they contain ice-skating penguins. However, in an effort to recognize the sheer effort and monetary investment of homeowners, we always choose categorical winners such as “Most Decorations Per Square Foot” or “Your Yard is So Bright I Have to Wear My Sunglasses at Night.” I realize I’m risking my reputation by sharing this silly family tradition, but reflecting on this Christmas ritual has made me realize there might just be a deeper meaning behind my family’s Christmas light critiquing.

the lights something to illuminate. The house provides the setting for Santa and his sleigh and those white wooden reindeer that are ever so popular. What I’m really getting at here is the importance of place that our historic architecture provides.

Though it is effective any time of year, during the holidays our historic architectural settings make more lasting impressions in our minds. Whether you are caroling though a neighborhood of historic houses, Christmas shopping in local stores along your town’s revitalized Main Street, attending a holiday party in a historic home, participating in a candlelight tour of an antebellum plantation, or even driving around old neighborhoods looking at Christmas lights, the magic of the holiday season experienced in a historic setting can hardly be matched. So start a new family tradition this holiday season by attending an event at a historic site. Creating memories in historic settings will ensure that those treasured historic places are protected for future generations to enjoy.

It never fails, year after year we end our trek in the older neighborhoods of our city. Usually, our “winner” of the evening resides here where graceful swags of garland accentuate turned columns and wooden arches. Christmas trees glow from behind wood windows and the house looks alive with the Christmas spirit. In older neighborhoods, I can see the house behind the decorations because they are built up off the ground on piers. I realized that I value the house as a valuable part of the entire composition of Christmas lights. The house sets the backdrop for the decorations; it gives


Lose Weight for FREE with YouTube. A NEW ERA OF TECHNOLOGY IS MAKING AMERICA FATTER. use your computer for more than just pointing and clicking.

written by Kelsi Guidry



re you ready to lose some weight? Although some of us may set a weight loss goal for ourselves, there are still some things that are holding us back. One of the largest factors that are holding many people back at the moment is likely to be money. Yes, money is one of the reasons that many individuals do not want to dedicate themselves to certain goals they are trying to achieve, especially a weight loss goal of any kind. Most people relate losing weight with gym membership, driving to a workout spot, purchasing pricy workout videos, and maybe even purchasing nicer workout clothes so you do not stick out like a sore thumb amongst the veterans. However, all of these things are not at all needed when it comes to losing weight. If you want to lose weight and need to keep a close eye on your budget in these tough economic times, I am here to tell you that you do not need to spend a single extra penny to do so. If you already have access to the internet in your home and you can visit good ‘ole YouTube, you have direct access to everything you need to start losing weight  RIGHT NOW.

advanced. I have added Habits” which is what you QR codes to most of the should search for on  videos I mention. These codes can be scanned with a  FREE  QR Code reader on your mobile phone. When you scan the code, you will be taken straight to the actual video right on your phone while reading this article.

YouTube. Click on the video by Howcast to learn what it takes and visit some of the others while there as well.

The QR Code Reader “Scan” is good for iPhone, and “Mobiletag” for Blackberry. Search for QR Code Readers on Google if you do not have one of these two phones.

Next part of your nutrition is actually cooking. Most of your meals and snacks should be around 300 calories. Utilize YouTube to find videos by searching for “Low Calorie Recipe” and  “300 Calorie Meals”  to find a bunch of different videos. I’m not going to give you a certain one because everyone likes different types of foods.

You are going to want to start off by searching YouTube for “General Exercise Warm-Up”  which will lead you to a simple 3 minute general warmup. You may also browse around for other  “Exercise Warm up routines”  to get you started. Once you are warm, continue your warm up by performing a  “5-Minute Stretch Routine”. The video by DietHealth is a very good video to follow for your stretching. All in all, your warm up and stretching should take no more than 10 Minutes.

Exercising Home workouts do not have to involve anything but your body. So there is no excuse for why you cannot workout, lose weight, and reach your dream fitness goal.

Set Your Goal and However, my advice is simply experiment. Just Get Motivated make sure that you keep First thing you need to do is actually set the goal for yourself while getting pumped up and motivated. We all know basically what needs to be done, but setting a specific goal and getting a little motivation makes all the difference. Start out your YouTube Weight Loss program by searching YouTube for “Zig Ziglar Setting Goals 1 of 3”  (Important, first 1:31 seconds).   Zig greatly explains a concept of weight loss while discussing the first step of goal setting in this dated video.

Nutrition (Eating and Cooking)

Eating right is one of the cornerstones of weight QR Codes To Watch loss. However, you don’t Videos as You Read have to drive yourself crazy over following a strict diet. For those of you who are All it takes to learn “How a little more technically to Develop Healthy Eating

the calories between 300400 per meal and try to get in 5 meals per day.

Warming up Stretching


It is highly recommended that before starting off any kind of exercise routine for the day that you begin with a light warm up followed by a stretch. This gets your muscles loose and warm for your exercise as well as promotes flexibility. Most importantly, stretching reduces the chance of injury.

There are many different exercise routines on YouTube that you can follow. I took the liberty of researching a few that I think are good and do not involve extra equipment. If you do at least one of them 5-6 days per week, along with the proper nutrition, you will surely lose weight. One of the most well known exercise video groups on YouTube are the  “8 Minute”exercises which are best known for “8 Minute Abs”.  These 8 minute routines are great for beginners and will work all areas of your body if you


utilize all of them. Follow one or create an entire routine for yourself that lasts 32 minutes by doing 8 Minute Legs, 8 Minute Arms, 8 Minute Buns, and finally 8 Minute Abs.

Another great little exercise is the “10 Minute Jump Start Cardio Workout” which is easy to follow. It is also followed by a much needed stretch routine. The same woman in the video also does a  “10Minute Cardio Kickboxing Workout ”that you may like as well.

have the answer for you as well. Search for “Home Cardio Workout – Better Than P90X” which will give you a workout called an M100, mean Must do 100 reps.

this point is relaxing and promotes flexibility.

Most exercise videos from above have their own cool down built into them. However, if they do not, search YouTube for “Strive Also, make sure that you Cool Down”  to get an have water and a towel example of an easy full nearby while performing body cooling and stretch your workouts. routine. Another good full body stretch routine is “Full Body Stretches”  by the user LanaTheTrainer.

    Cool Down Stretch

Cool Down

You should never just stop or go straight to sitting down after your workout. Your blood is pumping and your muscles are tight. You must For those of you who want slow your heart rate down or need a workout that is and give your muscles a a little more strenuous, I nice stretch. Stretching at

Continuing is Key It is very important that you continue this routine on a daily basis. Eating right should be done every day while working out should take place at least 3-5 times per week. You should also drink plenty of water throughout the day. Hydration with water helps in the weight loss process as well.

The goal is not to lose a bunch of weight over a short period of time. Being in shape and at a proper weight is a lifestyle change, not a quick fix or a temporary solution. If you decrease only 1 lb per week, you could potentially lose over 50 lbs in a year. It is also recommended that you take the time to plan out your eating and exercise routine a few days or even a full week in advance. Planning out what you are going to do will allow you to simply go straight into whatever it is you need to do with no thinking involved. Losing weight is no longer an excuse when you have YouTube and this guide as a great and free resource at your fingertips. ----------------------------------Good luck and email me at (not .com) for any questions. -----------------------------------

CRISTAL KIRBY, M.D. MINDEN MEDICAL CENTER IS PLEASED TO WE LCO M E OUR NEWEST PHYSICIAN As a parent of two children, Dr. Cristal Kirby understands the trust you must build with a physician as they treat your child. She truly cares about her patients and looks forward to seeing them grow up to be healthy and productive adults. Dr. Kirby has chosen to bring her expertise in PEDIATRICS and love of children to Minden. “We were looking for several specific qualities when my husband and I were deciding where to move and we found them in Minden. We wanted a community that was of this size, where people were friendly and a positive environment where we can raise our family. The next challenge was to find a hospital and medical personnel that was top notch. Minden Medical Center fit that and more.” Dr. Kirby has joined Dr. Michael Ulich at Minden Pediatrics and is now accepting new patients (newborn to 21 years) at their new location 1232 Sheppard Street in Minden. Appointments may be made by calling (318) 371-7733.

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EDUCATION MEDICAL DOCTORATE DEGREE Medical College of Wisconsin - Milwaukee INTERNSHIP & PEDIATRIC RESIDENCY Pitt County Memorial Hospital - Greenville, NC PERSONAL ‘Happy’ is the word she uses to describe herself. ‘I have found that happy doctors who love what they do, give great patient care…and their attitude is contagious.’ Dr. Kirby enjoys biking, swimming and spending time with her husband, Paul, and their two children, Madison and Alyssa.


harvest the male blooms because they wouldn’t make any fruit. They dried these blossoms in thick grass called “antelope hair”. So many were harvested that they were laid out made into a mat, that was picked up dried as a sheet. The dried blossoms were stewed in a clay pot with water, covered with sunflower leafs for a lid, to steam the blossoms. Horns were used for spoons.

azaleas died from lack of rain. They do have a well, but it’s their primary water source. -----------------------------------

Natives for Consideration -----------------------------------


llow yourself to appreciate the awakenings of nature and native plants, instead of getting lured in by rows of plants in black pots at the garden center. ~Rick Darke, curator of plants at Longwood Gardens in Pennsylvania, Garden Design magazine, April/May 1995 Before I sat down to write today I said goodbye to my summer garden. I picked all of the pimentos, banana peppers, green beans, okra, and a few green tomatoes. Believe it or not I keep most of these plants alive until frost by limiting the amount of water I apply. The okra & cucumbers were so plentiful I shared all summer with my friends. Fall couldn’t get here quick enough. The drought we suffered this summer was a record. If you could water your plants, most would survive. At my parents home the 40 year old


I believe having water for your home is much more important than watering a few shrubs. I noticed this all over North Louisiana at many businesses and homes. We can’t just look inside of the aquifer to see how much water is there. We must think of conservation. My fall garden has many firsts. I started much from seed beginning with bunching onions, spinach, lettuce, celery, parsley, cilantro, tarragon, and dill. The local farm store had red and green cabbage plants. I was told to plant Chinese cabbage for the bugs, supposedly they will eat it instead of the other varieties, we will see. Another first was kale and Swiss chard planted from plants. Mr. Bunny rabbit likes my Swiss chard. Any remedies please let me know.

as new. Many folks are reusing their grey water by placing buckets to catch rainfall. Some have taken it a step further, by putting in cisterns. Fertilizing with chicken manure, compost, leaves, and such is a much better way to enhance your plants and keep water from evaporating. The use of good insects to control bad can eliminate the need for chemicals. Natural compost and fertilizers can control the ph of your soil. I don’t see why taking a soil sample to check the ph would be against any conservation or organic rules!  In our area lived the Caddo and Choctaw Indians. The Indians used the above practices for many years. The Indian women did most of the clearing and planting the fields. One Indian, of the Indian nation of “Hidatasas”, local to Missouri, named Ata’kic or soft-white corn, would used a stick with deer antlers tied on, to rake the soil. Another, Mata’tic or Turtle, used to hoe squash with a bone on a stick. Two or three family members, working together would go the fields and plant squash, beans, gourds, and corn. They planted squash in hills as we do today. Many squash varieties were planted.

I spoke about going to native plants last issue. It wouldn’t be too bad: the Indians lived off the land. With the climate changing we may have to go back to the old ways of doing things. From the looks of things we are going to When it came time to have to practice doing old harvest the Indians would

An unknown daughter remembers her mother fetching in some 70 plus baskets of fruit from the garden fields, some three quarters of a mile away. Families would hire older women 6 or 8 at a time, paying in trade, to slice the crop of squash, which they dried on the ground. These women cut up the squash for placing on a spit. The old women used a knife, made with the thin part of the shoulder bone of the buffalo, to cut the squash. They used only the middle portion of the squash with the seed inside leaving a place to be threaded on a spit. The family would place the middle portion of the fruit on a half inch willow stick, sharpened on one end, hung out in the sun to dry. This had the name of spitting. The willow rods were called Kaku’iptsa, from Kaku’i square: and i’ptsa, spit stringer. This took place on the third picking. Anything not eaten fresh was dried. The bigger finer four day old squash were saved for seed,  left on the vine harvested and cut open for seeds dried by the fire. Hopefully it won’t come to this in our lifetime. Some of this information came from the book Native American Gardening: Buffalobird woman’s guide to traditional methods,  by Gilbert L. Wilson







My Blessings -----------------------------------


recently served punch at a 50th wedding anniversary. I had a conversation while there about how each day we wake up is such a gift. We have all said that or heard that statement many times but do we ever really listen to those words and really absorb how true it is. My husband often forgets my birthday. It is a sore subject in our house. This year it seemed to upset me more than in the past. I mean my birthday comes on the same day every year so I am just not sure how he forgets, but he does. Wallering (if that is a word) in self pity I called a dear friend in hopes of finding someone to jump on the pity party with me. She listened to me whine and then she told me to just take a deep breath and pull myself up out of the pit and move on. Harsh words to hear when what I really wanted her to do is jump on my bandwagon for a much longer ride than the few minutes it took her to say those words. But I did what she said and pulled myself together and tried to focus

on all the many blessing my husband gives me all year long. I have a wonderful home to live in, I am able to put food on our table, I am able to help others, my husband is truly my friend, he loves my daughter, takes care of my mother if she needs him and so so so much more. These seem like little things to most but for me a home and food on the table and able to pay our bills and have simple things

such as electricity, a phone, heat in the winter and cool in the summer are very big things as I grew up watching my mother worry about all of those things. My mother was a single mother who worked very hard to manage all of these things on her own and sometimes there just wasn’t enough money at the end of the month. Because of my husband I never worry about everyday provisions. The longer I sat on my sofa that day feeling sorry for myself because my husband had forgotten my birthday again, the clearer it

became that a birthday gift is such a minor thing. Yes I would really like him to remember as I think each of us want to feel special especially on our birthday. But I made a deal with myself that if he forgets again I will not allow myself to act like a baby. I will remind myself of all the wonderful things he does for me everyday. They are gifts in themselves. I never want to lose focus of how truly blessed I am. I want to be a blessing to others. I was in line at a local fast food restaurant the other day and decided to pay the ticket for the person behind me in line. What an experience that was. The cashier at the drive thru window did not know what to do. She asked me several times if I knew the person behind me and I kept telling her no I just wanted to pay for their order. It took forever for it to sink in with her. I told the cashier to tell the people to have a good day and lunch was on me. I wish you could have seen the look on the cashiers face. What fun that was. I plan on doing that again through the holidays. Please try this; it will make your day. So even though my

hubby forgot my birthday, I am really grateful to him. He actually gave me a gift in doing so. It forced me to look at myself and look at the real gifts I have been given. And as I celebrated with my friends at their 50th anniversary I prayed to celebrate a 50th with my husband one day. And next year on my birthday instead of expecting gifts I am going to make a point to give out a few gifts that day in hopes of putting a smile on an unsuspecting face. As the holiday season approaches it is easy to say we are grateful for the blessings in our life but I challenge you to take a deeper look at the real blessings you have. The everyday things we take for granted. There are so many who lack so much. Find an individual, a family, or an organization to bless this holiday season. When my mother was single raising us I know there were people who blessed my mother! Make it a family project. Don’t just talk about it or let it slip by. Be deliberate, make a plan and execute the plan. You will not regret it. Because each day we wake up truly is a gift. Make the most of everyday! It does not always have to be a monetary gift. You may not have the means to bless someone with money or gifts, sometimes a smile or kind word can make a huge impact. You just never know when a smile can turn someone’s world around. To my Wayne & Ruby, you are the biggest blessings I could have ever hoped for. And to my family, we may be small but I know I can count on each of you. Thank you to Jackie, Tiffany, my readers, clients & friends for such a wonderful year. From my home to yours I wish for you a very Happy Thanksgiving & Merry Christmas. I hope that you will celebrate JESUS with me. He has been so good to me. Always remember that his love, grace and mercy are the greatest gifts of all!

----------------------------------photo: (l to r) Wayne, Ruby & Vicki



The Season -----------------------------------


or most people Thanksgiving means turkey, a big one baked just right, served on a platter and placed in the middle of the table. It is as much a decoration as it is a meal and some people might think of this as a Kodak moment. This is not the way I remember Thanksgiving especially in my early years. We had Thanksgiving dinner and we visited with everyone that came to Mother’s house. 40 or more people passed through there on any given Thanksgiving Day. As soon as lunch was over it was time to get ready for the “Big Day”! The “Big Day” was “Doe Day”. It was the only day you could hunt deer without antlers. Some time after World War II ended white-tailed deer were reintroduced to North Central Louisiana. By the late fifties the herd had increased enough to open season outside the wildlife management area. This was new and exciting and for a kid with an old squirrel gun it was an early


Christmas present. From the time I was ten years old until sometime in the 80’s the day after Thanksgiving was the starting of deer season for us. You could hunt with or without dogs and season was open until around January first. That gave us about a month to hunt. Deer hunting in the early years was very different than it is today. It was easier then to hunt with dogs because there was very little posted land and usually it could easily be avoided. For the most part the group of hunters who got there first laid claim on the spot where they wanted to hunt for the day. For us this usually consisted of family and friends and the number of hunters varied from week-end to weekend. Living within a few hundred yards of some of the best white-tail habitat in North Louisiana made it convenient for me and my family to hunt, and hunt we did! We made the most of every week-end with our hunting group. It was easy to fill a couple of freezers with venison each year. Thinking back to Thanksgiving, venison is what comes to mind instead of turkey for me. By the second day of hunting season there would be a pot of deer chili and a deer roast in the oven and by the third day there would be deer sausage for breakfast. Because

time went on the family members began to hunt more individually instead of in groups. I don’t think anything like open range hunting with dogs will ever occur again. It was a very unique time and place. I am so glad I had the privilege to enjoy that time with my family and friends. Now most hunters hunt out of tower stands overlooking 500 pounds of corn with high powered rifles and fancy scopes that can hit a target at 300 yards away. That’s deer hunting twenty-first century style. It’s a lot different than it was in the sixties the season only lasted a and seventies. few weeks everything else On some of the was put on hold until after new car tags the logo season closed. It was the Sportsman Paradise has wild west of deer hunting, been reintroduced. The “running and gunning” as letters are smaller than it would be called later, before which I think is but in the early days it appropriate because it was going as hard as you doesn’t compare to the could for as long as you “The Good Ole Days” could. As time went on we of deer hunting that I developed better hunting remember. techniques. The use of I can’t wait for my 4-wheel drive pick-ups grandchildren to come and and three wheelers made visit this Thanksgiving! I get hunting easier but it also more excited about seeing made it easier and more them than I used to about accessible to hunters from deer hunting and I look other areas. Hunters were forward to the day when now beginning to gather they will be old enough to at camps and forming want to go hunting with clubs and not staying at me. Until then I can tell someone’s residence. A them stories about ole Red new era had begun. It and Butch and the trips we wasn’t long until hunting made in an old blue and also got very competitive. white Studebaker pick-up The hey-day of hunting that we used while hunting. with dogs was now on While you are enjoying the decline and there are the holidays, spend time only a few clubs left today with your family and make that hunt with dogs. As some new memories!




on Thanksgiving than any other day of the year. With the popularity of ----------------------------------- turkey frying increasing, U.S. fire departments are Grease and cooking responding to more than 1,000 fires each year fires double on in which a deep fryer is Thanksgiving Day involved. The National ----------------------------------- Fire Protection Association (NFPA) says deep fryer fires cause an average of five deaths, 60 injuries, ore cooking fires occur and more than $15 million



in property damage each year. Most turkey fryer fires are preventable. Recognizing common mistakes is a critical step in reducing your risk of a fire or potentially fatal burns. Use these tips to stay safe during the upcoming holiday season. · Too much oil in the fryer pot If the cooking pot is overfilled, the oil may spill out of the pot

when the turkey is lowered in. Follow the owner’s manual to determine the proper amount of oil to use. · Dropping a frozen or partially thawed turkey into oil - Frozen or partially frozen turkeys placed into the fryer can cause a spillover and may result in a fire. Make sure your turkey is properly thawed and slowly lower it into the pot to prevent oil from splashing. · Fryer is too close to structures - More than onethird of fires involving a fryer start in a garage or patio. Cook outdoors and away from flammables. · Oil and water don’t mix - Do not use ice or water to cool down oil or extinguish an oil fire. Keep an extinguisher approved for cooking or grease fire nearby and immediately call 911 for help. · Unattended cooking – Frying involves cooking with a combustible medium, namely the cooking oil or grease. Many frying units do not have thermostat controls and if left unwatched, the oil will continue to heat until the point of combustion.

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Thankful -----------------------------------

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. I love savory foods and sweet desserts. I love the crisp cool in the air. I love a day of lingering conversations and captured moments. I love an afternoon of football. I love a holiday with no presents. There are other reasons that I cherish this holiday. Have you ever considered what it must have been like to journey across the ocean headed toward a land you’ve heard of but never seen. Mentally, I place myself there on the Mayflower. I’m smelly. I’m hungry. I’m hopeful that I will survive the trip. My journey began by leaving everything I know and ends with everything I don’t know. There are sick people around me and no land in sight. I have only one confidence - that God has sent me from the old world to the new. I wonder if the sacrifice I face will be worth the freedom I find. Returning to the present, how would you describe the Pilgrims’

motivation? Was it courage? Was it bravery? Was it a spirit of adventure? What could possibly motivate them to leave everything? Their motivation was faith. They left persecution. They hoped for freedom. They risked everything for what was most important to them: freedom to worship their God in the way that they chose. And they embarked on a pilgrimage that, they believed, was mandated by God. It would take a great calling to face that kind of adversity. Have you ever felt that way? Is there something or someone in your life that could bring you to that point where you walk away from everything? Although I think it must have been terrifying, I think in some way, it must have been exhilarating for the Pilgrims. It was that moment where the decision has been made and you’re “all in.” The new adventure gives birth to feelings of hope and rejuvenation. It’s the opportunity to create a new world where the freedom to worship is the root of the governmental landscape. I know that they must have experienced great joy while on that boat. How do I know? They sang. They sang hymns for hours as they traversed the big blue sea. And they sang of hope. One of the few books brought from the Old World to the New

was the Ainsworth Psalter, a collection of “Psalms in Metre” published in Amsterdam in 1618. That this cherished book was selected and used during the trip speaks to the spirit of the pilgrims. About 10 years ago, I sang a Psalm from that book in the original style and with the original musical notation. Although challenging to read for my modern musical eyes, it was fascinating to place myself, as I read the notes and words on the page, back in time to 1620. To God our strength, shout joyfully: To Jacob’s God shout triumphing. Take up a psalm and timbrel bring: The pleasant harp with psaltery. Blow up the trumpet at new moon: In set time at day of our feast. For it to Israel is an heast [ordinance]: To Jacob’s God due to be doon [done]. If hearken unto me wilt thou, O, Israel; If that in thee a foreign God there shall not be: Nor thou unto a strange God bow; Jehovah, God of thee I am; Which thee ascending up did guide from land of Egypt: Open wide thy mouth and I will feel the same. -- from Psalm 81 This hymn was sung at holidays. It celebrated the exodus of the Israelites

from Egypt and spoke of God’s goodness versus Israel’s waywardness. God delivered them despite their wanderings. This hymn must have given great comfort to the 102 pilgrims during their journey. Alone in the vastness of the sea, certainly they could relate to the Israelites wandering in the desert for 40 years. They clung to one thing: God promised to deliver them. The last few verses of Psalm 81 say this: If my people would but listen to quickly I would subdue their enemies and turn my hand against their foes! ...but you would be fed with the finest of wheat; with honey from the rock I would satisfy you.” [Ps 81:13-16 NIV] And deliver them He the shores of Massachusetts. 391 years later, we still enjoy the blessings of their pilgrimage. As you eat your Thanksgiving meal, give thanks for the faith of those 102. It is their blessing (of finest wheat and honey) from which we dine.

About the author: Elizabeth Haynes Drewett is a hormonal woman rumored to be between the age of 30 and 50. She lives in Ruston with her husband C.P. and her munchkins Langdon, age 12, and Reagan, age 6. As Miss Louisiana 1992, she devoted her year of service to breast cancer prevention and early detection education. She is the managing partner of Spring Media USA (springmediausa. com). Her favorite things are an underdog who overachieves, a good laugh, a good book, a good word, and a good hair day. You can find her on Twitter @edrewett and sneaking around Google+. You can read more Confessions of a Hormonal Woman at






THREE TIMES IN EIGHT YEARS. TWO YEARS IN A ROW. It’s a time for celebration at Minden Medical Center. We have been selected as one of the nation’s 100 Top Hospitals for 2011 — the only Louisiana hospital to receive the recognition three times since its inception in 1993 and the only hospital in northwest Louisiana to be so honored in both 2010 and 2011. It’s a big honor based on ten areas of excellence in patient care and safety, financial stability, patient satisfaction and successful outcomes for patients with heart problems and pneumonia. It’s also a way for us to see how we measure up to our mission: to be the finest hospital in the country. This national recognition tells the community that the very best possible healthcare is available right here. Thank you to our staff and physicians whose loyalty, support, dedication and passion for excellence have enabled us to provide outstanding care and treatment for our patients. Thank you to our Board of Governors for their leadership and to our LifePoint corporate family for providing the support and structure to achieve our goals. As we celebrate this recognition, we vow to continue to strive for excellence by earning the loyalty of our staff, praise from our patients and the respect of our physicians…the best rewards of all.



cheers! MINDEN

Medical Center




George E. French, III George E. French III, CEO

#1 MEDICAL PLAZA MINDEN, LA 71055 (318) 377-2321


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