Chapter 10
October 1, 2007
Two hundred seventy three days ago I began this grand experiment. Today I’ve only got to prepare ninety-two more morsels of wisdom that is this update. (Some cynics might suggest my task may be to load 92 more bags of manure. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.) In terms of words, I’m short about 49,956 of my goal of 198,195. The challenge is not the writing or the words or the time - it’s the topic!
I have thoroughly enjoyed this process and now as I reach the fourth quarter of this game - I certainly look forward to the end and the appropriate celebration. I also realize that now starts the dangerous part of my journey. I’ve only got three months to recognize, insult, or celebrate the balance of the folks that believe they deserve a place of honor in these pages.
Here’s my problem - no matter what I think about the entrants into these pages - the only opinion that keeps me out of trouble is theirs. Some folks currently or to be written about will not want to be mentioned - others will feel they didn’t receive appropriate praise or ribbing, still others will feel that I missed the essence of their uniqueness. The greatest problem of all is that I will forget to include someone that I really want to mention.
I’ll say this now and repeat it on the last day - I APOLOGIZE + choose the excuse most to your liking… I was drinking when I wrote most of this, I’m stupid, I’m careless, I really couldn’t find the proper words to use for such a distinguished person as yourself or I didn’t want to create problems for you with the paparazzi since mention here would increase your celebrity. If the above list of excuses didn’t meet your needs - I APOLOGIZE - (write your own) ____________________
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I saw a quote the other day that I really like, “He who rides a Tiger may never dismount.” The second part of the quote may even have more significance to me for the next three months. “Face the Tiger and be free.” Beginning this process was like mounting a Tiger - now as I work through this exercise I realize I must face the Tiger to be free. I am going to offend or forget someone and will have hell to pay.
An ancillary benefit of this exercise in reflection is that I realized Markham is one of my good friends that I think has gone unmentioned. He wouldn’t get upset. In fact he might be more bothered by the mention. I consider Markham and me to be close but not as much as social friends but more as folks that share curiosity, vision, and innovation as important aspects of our world. We don’t always agree - we do often question each other. I’ve described our relationship as “spinster” sisters that know where the other is coming from even without speaking.
Markham once shared with me story about a “magical” place, time, and life - I saw a lot of myself in that story - I’ve been blessed to live in Camelot or more correctly to enjoy a life that has played out in a Camelot like fashion. Thanks Markham.
October 2, 2007
Speaking of risk - now that I’ve ventured into my business world and mentioned a friend - I’ve increased the risk of offending someone. If I forget a social friend I only may be ostracized by that individual and not invited to their boring old home for a meal that might not taste too good. They might not buy us a case of expensive wine at Christmas. Maybe in a worst case scenario they might not take Sheila and me out for dinner and drinks at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse or LeRosier.
I can live with this risk. I might even mitigate my losses at this late stage by suggesting that in all likelihood their will be a sequel to this Observational and it will include a more complete, positive, and entertaining look at folks not included in this first run. I realize some of you may wonder - “how can it possibly be anymore complete, positive or entertaining?” Trust me - it can and will.
The problem with forgetting a business friend is they might not again use the most fabulous services of Square One Consulting and in so doing the economy might slow - my economy and the worlds. This would lead to my depression and maybe even global economic collapse. Before you laugh at such a suggestion - remember the “butterfly effect.” This is a tool used by consultants to suggest that a butterfly flapping its wings in South America might be the catalyst for the eventual development of weather patterns leading to a major natural catastrophe. I suspect the Great Depression was not triggered as much by the Stock Market collapse as the Stock Market collapse was initiated by someone getting upset with one, square consultant somewhere in Kansas and this eventually spun out of control.
Again I apologize. I must move on. My business world has included many jobs and one passion - consulting. I worked for Big John (previously mentioned) at an adjusting company and a little man named John with a National Company that gave me my first lesson in sexual economics by giving me a “screwing.” This was followed by nearly 20 years in the agency business. Will and Jim hired me and gave me a chance. Will was a retired military leader and very nice man - Jim was ahead of his time - always on the bleeding edge of the business, hyperactive, and brilliant.
I moved on to a bigger shop and met Mr. Bill - one of the nicest and most powerful folks I’ve met in business. Indirectly this experience marked much of my future career. Tom, Liz, and I became friends here and our relationships have blossomed through the years - he’s to focus and discipline what I am to chaos. Liz is one of Tom’s loyal lieutenants. After 3 years - I moved back to chase a dream with Jim. Together we put together a program that was nationally endorsed - it was a treat.
I moved on the world of Banks and Insurance. Here’s where I worked harder and was frustrated more than I have ever been - I gained the scar tissue that I now sell as a consultant. Ed and Joycelyn and others were good to me - my dreaming led me “outrun my headlights and ultimately burn out. Today’s update like this experience didn’t include the time / space to do all I wanted to do - more will follow.
October 3, 2007
In the spring of 2005, Sheila and I decided to take our sons on a family vacation. They were grown and we didn’t see them as much as we would like - we worried about them growing apart and us growing old. Sheila took charge - as is her style -and made arrangements for a 5 day cruise. It was an interesting trip. I wasn’t a fan of cruises and I’m more so now but that’s another story.
This introduction of the “cruise experience” was included to give me the opportunity to dispel one myth that has permeated New Iberia since our arrival here and candidly has haunted me my entire life. Some folks - ill informed, jealous, and limited folks falsely believe that Sheila and I are dull. This cruise proved differently. The ticket price included everything except the bar tab. When I closed out my account with the bursar I discovered the largest bar bill of my life.
It included 107 distinct charges. If you average this over 5 days you’ll discover that we charged 21.4 times a day. To further reinforce the Capital E in Mr. Excitement understand that most of these charges were not for single drinks but were for “buckets” - 6 bottles of beer in a can or double shots, or rounds. Still think we’re dull? In the name of truth in advertising I must admit that 98 of these tickets were signed by my sons - I’m guessing they were sending drinks over to us. I digress.
The real purpose in mentioning the cruise is the fact that one of the Entertainers on board the ship was a man named Scott Ainslie. He was a musician and musical historian. He played music well and knew it even better. His knowledge of blues and the magicians that play it was nothing short of genius. I saw him play several times on the trip and listened to his stories many more.
We got to visit one on one occasionally. He mentioned his involvement in the Louisiana Crossroads program. I asked if he had ever played in New Iberia. To my surprise he had played at the Sliman Theater only weeks earlier. The Sliman was the old Evangeline Theater and was gifted to the City by the family that owned it - thus it carries their name.
Fast forward until today - I’m reading the Daily Iberian only to discover that the Louisiana Crossroads program will be at the Sliman tonight and Scott Ainslie will be a featured performer. I call Slade and ask him to join me. We leverage Lynda into sitting with Momma and then head over to the Sliman for a night of fun. The crowd was sparse - but the energy level high. Lee a local radio personality was in the back - the performance was being recorded for rebroadcast. In the old building - with the “on air” light brightly shining - it was a trip back in time.
Looking at the audience - with the exception of Slade and maybe one or two others - it was a trip WAY BACK in time! The old codgers and codgerettes were adjusting their hearing aids while Slade was texting his friend Amber to join us. She got there at half time or as they say in broadway - intermission. It was a great show.
October 4, 2007
As good as the Louisiana Crossroads program was the greatest benefit to me personally was that it will provide stories for 3 or 4 more updates. I saw old friends that I hadn’t seen in a long time - enjoyed reflections back on a time and place that no longer exists, and got the chance to observe the human animal and individual creatures and as a “pack.”
Scott Ainslie played his guitar and sang. He was accompanied by a passionate, proud, and most prolific black female poet named - Glenis Redmon. I believe to much emphasis on our society today is put on gender and race - I think we should be recognized as the individuals we are. I agree with Dr. King that we should be judged by our character not by our color (or reproductive equipment / gender) but Glenis and so many others make their gender and their color an issue.
She was very good and her poetry was better - she’d want me to frame this in color and gender. So much of she what she recited, sang, screamed, and whispered came from her heart marked by pain and her soul shaped by reflection. I’m not a person that likes to focus on the hurt but many others do.
As an aside - I met an artist last Friday night that is making for me a wall hanging. I’ve “commissioned” (this sounds so much more sophisticated - than just saying paying) her to create for me the word “whining” with the international symbol for “NO” superimposed over the word. This hanging will scream one of my most sacred beliefs and hopes - NO WHINING.
My contract artist told me of her reluctance to do this since she believes that WHINING IS THERAPUTIC. I told her my distaste for the topic and process and assured her it might be therapeutic for the person whining but it was painful for the ones that had to listen to this - in fact it might create the need for them to seek therapy or worst yet -maybe they would start whining as well. Glenis whined a lot but she did it in an artful way. On reflection I guess the “blues” is whining set to music. Have I mentioned that we’re not one world?
Scott and Glenis play well together - as Mamam would say they get along like Chemise and Go Go. Someday I’ll explain that saying. The music is powerful - the audience engaged - and the message on target. I’m more intrigued by the echoes from the audience than the sounds they are pushing at us. Slade, Lee, Harvey and others are shouting at and with the performers - their believes, feelings, and appreciation. This is sort of a small Tiger Stadium with fans cheering their team on and releasing their feelings like only fans or fanatics can do.
At about 4:00 today I’m in a store when my phone rings. I check caller ID and I recognize the caller and I know the message - Mike is calling. I know Mr. Louie must have died. I answer - my fears and hopes are realized. Mr. Louie has ended his 94 + year run here on earth but also his pain has ended. The Blues are real.
October 5, 2007
Harvey and Opal walked in right as the show was about to start. I shook hands with Harvey and Opal turned in her seat to greet me with the enthusiasm that is her style. Opal is animated - Harvey more reserved.
Harvey and I were close friend growing up. We don’t see each other that much anymore. I’m going to blame this on “running in different circles” but as a practical matter neither of us “run” that much anymore. You can’t expect to pass someone on the track of life if you and they don’t get on the track at the same time.
Harvey’s daddy owned a men’s clothing store on Church Alley - his mother, Miss Claire, like most women of her day was a “stay at home” mom. The store was about the size of a double wide port-o-let. Mr. Harvey sold blue jeans and Cub Scout uniforms. As we grew older the store relocated and grew but my most vivid memories are of the little store on Church Alley.
I remember some fun times with Harvey as we ventured out into life. I played Golf for the first time out at the old Tri-Parish Golf Course. He and I and our caddy “clueless” teed up for my first round. I remember shanking my first drive and hitting a car in the parking lot. The course owner - “Big Deare” came waddling out to offer a few lessons and to mitigate future damages to the cars of the real golfers. If memory serves me correctly the last time I teed up in about 2001 - I shanked the drive - I guess you could say my game was consistent.
Harvey and I would shoot fireworks at Christmas and New Years, occasionally we ride in his boat, and it was with Harvey, Wayne, Douglas and Ray that I had my first drink. I’m guessing we were 15 or 16 when we drove to a service station one night in St. Martinville. We drove up to the pumps and the attendant came to the window to take our order. Harvey - the more experienced member of this gang suggested Rum and Coke. We ordered - the drinks were delivered. I remember not liking the taste but we did get the benefit of “being cool.”
Right after graduation - Harvey had a party including the “hot” band of the time - Little Bob and the Lollipops. Months later we went off to college and our paths separated - we didn’t get together much anymore. Harvey joined a band, grew a beard, moved farther to the left then most of us on the right could even see. He and Opal met and were married. I was in the wedding. I can still remember the bachelor party in Simmesport - we were back home by 11:00 - Simmesport is a sleepy little town.
In the nearly 40 years since the wedding we’ve visited with Harvey and Opal a few times and remain friends - Harvey to the left and me to the right. I respect his views and his passion and his willingness to swim against the tide. I’m assuming the respect is mutual although I realize sometimes liberals are more judgmental than us open minded conservatives - I guess they’re defensive about their whacko ideas.
October 6, 2007
Road Trip! It’s Friday morning, all packed and ready for our 5 day reprieve as the management team at the Hazy Memories Assisted Living Facilities. Momma is OK - still bed ridden, still in decline, still in pain, and still in her own positive way holding on to the little dignity and delight that remains in her world.
Lela is resting and restless. She’s anxious as is the norm when her beloved daughter is going to leaver her side. Slade will transport her later today from the Weeks Street facility to the Harriet Street location. There he’ll manage two grandmothers, our dear Pepper (who is older than both Momma and Lela and in worse condition), and Lynda the quasi-invalid in residence.
Lynda I believe has been mentioned before in this Journal. She grew up next to us all of her life, had a family, and now struggles with her future. She’s spent over a year as Momma’s house guest and security guard. She’s stayed at the house with Momma after Momma reached the point of not being able to stay alone.
Lynda in recent years has developed health problems that are significant. She now stays at the house more as a “resident of the center” than a caretaker for the other patients. Slade provides food and other services for Lynda as well. Have I mentioned recently that Slade’s a saint? Maybe more correctly he’s going to be a Saint because of the challenges he’s endured through this process.
Sheila and I are ecstatic - this is our first “fun trip” away in months. Slade has his directions - regardless of what happens don’t call until Sunday morning. This will allow us a few days away and permit me to complete my Mission of honoring Jim Moss at his retirement banquet on Saturday evening. Our plans include three days in Jackson, Tennessee and two more days in Nashville. I realize that plans change - I now travel with a Pellerin Funeral Home card in my wallet.
We’re going in Brenda’s car. Bobby and I load our two shopping bags of clothes into the glove compartment and then we begin the process of trying to force fit the 7 suitcases, four hanging bags, and enough shoes to outfit two centipedes that are the “few” things that Sheila and Brenda have packed for this short excursion. (Just kidding ladies - I know y’all really packed light [for an infantry unit]). With great expectation we finally close the trunk lid and with greater expectation it locks.
“On the road again, making music with my friends…” - Willie Nelson was right - we can’t “wait to get on the road again.” Bobby drives with an occasional exchange with the apprentice driver Brenda. The weather is good - warm but clear and the traffic is tolerable. We are under no time pressures or any other type of pressure. Cracker Barrels become our personal kitchens and road side parks allow us to meet the needs of our bladders that have become more demanding as we age. Our enthusiasm builds as we distance ourselves from New Iberia and get ever closer to Jackson. For a few days we’re kids again or at least unencumbered adults.
October 7, 2007
Friday night was great and last night was better. On Friday night we checked into the Double Tree Hotel in Jackson, ate their chocolate chip cookies, unpacked and headed to the home of Jimmy and Peggy. There we are greeted by a Toy R Us flea market and test track. Jimmy and Peggy spoil 5 grandchildren out of this location and they do it well. Also in attendance are Jimmy’s two brothers and their wives and their three adult children (Evelyn, Jimmy, and Jacob).
In the hills of the country we are transported back to the swamps - as we approach the back patio we are tantalized by the smell of boiling seafood - crabs, shrimp, and sausage. Before you go to Google - sausage is a meat dish until it is boiled with Shrimp and Crabs. At that moment it becomes seafood. As an accommodation to their new hillbilly ways Jimmy and Peggy also serve about 4 dead pigs - packaged as ribs and ribs alone. These were good enough to make me consider moving.
Fast forward 24 hours and we go from the streets to the Country Club. Friday night all the men wore white shirts - tonight is no different. Friday night we were in our shorts and undershirts. Tonight we have on suits and starched shirts. The banquet hall is packed with about 200 folks. Tonight we’ll honor the man that I call Jimmy or the Jolly Green Giant and his wife / care taker - Peggy. The rest of the folks here want to see Jim or Mr. Moss and Peggy.
For the past 20+ years Jim has been the CEO the West Tennessee Hospital System. He’s retiring and this event is the last in a series of retirement parties. His Board, his medical staff, his management and his team have also hosted events - tonight it’s friend, family, and a few other folks that didn’t make it to the earlier shows.
The setting is beautiful - serene, celebratory and relaxed. Unfortunately they made everybody dress up but other wise this is an ideal event. Jan the HR director at the hospital has coordinated this event. It appears to have the precision and process of a Nick Saban coached football team. My role is to roast the guest of honor. Sheila, Brenda, and Bobby are there to honor Jim and attest to the accuracy of my observations - they remind me - “truth will set you free.”
If I might be so braggadocios - a hospital setting would have been more appropriate since my comments left the audience in stitches. I’m good as a speaker but I must confess that a speaker can only be great with the right material. Roasting Jim was easy. He’s had success and is sufficiently confident to hear the unvarnished truth about himself and still smile. Also Peggy had made sure he took his meds.
I touched on his humanity - his 6’8” frame - the “ugly” that he overcame, his youthful indiscretions, his life as a slacker in the military and his ability to sneak by in an otherwise competitive world of Hospital Administration. It required me to stretch the truth but I even said a few nice things about him. Others even said better things - I didn’t realize that people in Tennessee were such good BS artists.
October 8, 2007
Louisiana in general and Cajun Country in particular is a unique place. Most people agree. A few do this for positive reasons; most use a critical eye. Music, food, language, diversity, etc. are elements of our uniqueness yet the majority of visitors are most intrigued by our sale of beer and liquor at our service stations and convenience stores and amazed at sale of daiquiris from drive through windows.
Possibly the other aspect of our life that is criticized most is our embrace and support of the Petro-Chemical industry. We explore for and produce oil and then worse than that we convert this same oil to plastics. We’re swine. They smile and feign enjoyment of the Cajun Culture all the while thinking we’re drunks that destroy the environment. These folks should read the Bible - the part about “he who has not sinned should cast the first stone.”
If you acknowledge the limited vision of these social critics and national nannies maybe you can understand their upset, curiosity and concern. Obviously if these folks were deep thinkers they would realize that SERVICE stations and CONVENIENCE stores should provide that - SERVICE and CONVENIENCE and access to alcohol is to many a needed SERVICE and appreciated CONVENIENCE.
As for the amazement with our drive through Daiquiris - don’t these folks realize that these drinks are not dispensed with a straw in the mouth of the driver but rather are carefully delivered in a covered container including a piece of tape (its merely a coincidence that the tape is called scotch tape) over the straw hole. Don’t these social critics realize that these drinks are taken home and placed in the freezer for 2 days before they are enjoyed by the 21 year old or older drinker?
Here’s what’s triggered my outrage. We get to Tennessee and need a drink. We stop by their inconvenience stores to discover we need to drive to a liquor store. We get to a liquor store - get carded - even though it’s obvious we’re all in our early 40s. We buy our beer and whiskey and wine. We discover we can’t buy mixers - cokes, Sprite, etc. and we can’t buy non-alcoholic beer.
We then head - all the while burning more gasoline and adding to the global warming problem to get our Sprite and O’doul’s. At the check out line we learn that we can’t buy the O’doul’s because their license has been suspended since they didn’t card someone (probably a 97 year old woman). We then go to a second non-service station and I can buy the O’doul’s but I must first submit to an ID check, partial body pat down and full body cavity search. More gas burnt and time wasted even though this is a non-alcoholic drink and I’m in my early 40s.
I’ve finally figured out why these clowns don’t have drive through daiquiris. It would use too much gas and energy - you’d have to go to one stop for liquor, one for the mixers and ice, and a third to get the mixture blended. Finally the “yahoo” at the window would probably need help operating the “scotch” tape dispenser.
October 9, 2007
If this Journal focuses anymore on the Tennessee trip I’ll be forced to buy some orange shirts with Volunteers written across the front. That’s not going to happen so this will culminate memories of our trip to the North Country. We had fun - I could right more but this wrap up will be the most memorable moments of the trip.
On Sunday afternoon we left the modest 5 bedroom home that Jim and Peggy call a camp and drove to Nashville. We checked into the Union Station Hotel and then headed to Broadway (in Nashville - not New York). This is sort of the Bourbon Street of Nashville. Bars, mini-honky tonks, and joints line the sidewalk. The only difference from New Orleans - here the dancers wear blue jeans and boot and dance with each other - in New Orleans the best dancers don’t wear anything and dance with a pole. Also the smell is a little different - score one for Nashville.
We had a few drinks, danced a few dances, and walked back to the room. On Monday morning I had coffee, juice, an omelet and nearly a heart attack when I was handed a bill for $25.00. I flashed back to my youth when daddy nearly died as he paid 25 cents a piece for four cokes at the Court of Two Sisters in New Orleans. The four of us then boarded a tour bus for a snap shot of the city. I had been to a meeting one night in Nashville about 25 years ago. I didn’t get to see the city.
I enjoyed the tour. The city has unique architecture - many old buildings with character and one building named for a character - the Batman Building. This looks like the castle in Fantasyland with a few cell phone towers sticking out of the roof. Someone said it houses AT & T or some other telecommunications company. I think I’ll change my phone provider. We also visited the Ryman Auditorium - the original home of the Grand Old Opry and then the Country Music Hall of Fame.
In between we stopped at 7 Starbucks to get “fixes” for Brenda and Sheila - two “caffeine junkies” raised on quarter a cup coffee but now addicted to the stuff they sell for 50 cents a word in your order - latte, espresso, lite, dry, caramel, skim, etc. - if memory serves me correctly the final bill was $11.95.
After the tour we walked back to the hotel - carefully planning our trip to avoid another Starbucks and then drove to Vanderbilt. Finally we closed the afternoon with a visit to an elementary school. It’s not that Sheila and Brenda as retired teachers were doing Missionary work - it was that Ann Carol, Brenda’s niece is a first year teacher in Nashville and Aunt Brenda wanted to visit with A. C.
Brenda and Bobby took A. C. and another nephew Ben out to eat at an Italian Restaurant - while Sheila and I headed to the Wild Horse Saloon. As we finished our meal and a piece of Key Lime Pie the size of a medium Pizza - Bobby and Brenda joined up for drinks. We tried to talk but the band was too loud and I guess we were about to OD on fun. We walked backed to the hotel, got some sleep, repacked the car, made six more Starbucks stops and got “on the road again!”
October 10, 2007
I know Norman Rockwell could have painted the scene better than any other artist. It would have been a prize winner - picture of the year. My only question was could he have painted it with dry eyes or would his tears make the paint run.
Most of us in our 50s begin talking about a senior moment. We’re referring to the inevitable failure or at least diminishment of our memory. Today I witnessed a different senior moment. This was about a senior moment much more poignant than me or one of my contemporaries forgetting a name, place, or number. This senior moment was not about memories so bad - this was about memories still good - too good. This was not about frustration with forgetting - this was about the joy and heartbreak of remembering - sort of an emotional sweet and sour sauce.
Mr. Louie died last week. Since Sheila and I were out of state we could not go to his funeral. I had sent my sympathies to Pat and Miss Mickey and they had blessed our absence. Today I drove to the Loreauville Road to offer in person the feelings that have been inside of me for the past 6 days. Laurie welcomed me in and pointed to the den where Miss Mickey was sitting.
She was bent in her chair - posed much like “the thinker” pondering the past and a recent loss. I stood and watched until I could stand it no more. Miss Mickey was to enthusiasm what the Energizer Bunny is to motion. She’s not supposed to be down, silent, or morose. I called her name. She looked up and expressed all of the enthusiasm that remained after losing her husband of 65 years. We visited - cried - reminisced. I offered to pick her up later in the day so she could visit Momma.
At about 2:00 I went back to her house - my second home as a young boy and teen. She was pushing her wheeled walker, dressed to the nines, and rejuvenated and energized like only Miss Mickey can get. We drove to Momma’s house. As we pulled in the yard, Miss Peggy and her daughter Julliette parked behind us.
Miss Mickey went to the side of Momma’s bed and assumed the pose that Momma held months earlier when she made her last visit to Mr. Louie’s side. Peggy - totally blind but more mobile than most hugged Mickey and then Momma. Miss Peggy had just returned from Miss Susie’s funeral. They reminisced. Miss Mickey held Momma’s hand and Miss Peggy held her heart. Claire arrived, as did Lynda. We - as the next generation of old - sat and watched our past and simultaneously recognized that in 20 - 30 years this would be our future - if we are lucky.
After about an hour - Miss Mickey stood erect - then bent over and hugged Momma. She said good bye for herself and then she reassured Momma that she was delivering a last time good bye from Louie. Peggy stood and felt her way to Momma’s side. The three of them huddled - it was a quiet embrace - over 265 years of friendship and love. The “I love yous” rang out like a chorus. No one said it but we all knew this was a last hurrah. Only Mr. Rockwell could have done this justice.
October 11, 2007
Seeing Harvey and Opal a few days earlier reminded me of some folks deserving of 15 minutes of fame that had not yet been included in this voluminous document. Several of us ran together in high school and part of our college years. Some of these were mentioned in my “first drink” comments on October 5 th.
I was walking Wednesday morning and ran into Wayne. He’s retired now and lives the good life. He worked hard all his life perpetuating the family business. He earned his retirement. He now goes in for a few hours each day to help his sons - who bought the business from him. At the time Wayne goes in his sons maybe there but the SUN is not up yet.
Wayne and I talked about Jim and Peggy, my mom, his dad and the inevitability of death and taxes. Wayne’s married, enjoys his grandchildren, LSU baseball, driving Veterans to the VA hospital and being retired. Wayne’s cousin Douglas was also part of my past. I rarely see Doug anymore. The last I heard he’s doing well in his engineering business, spoiling his children, and living life.
On Thursday I called Ray. He is now the principal of the major Catholic High School in this region. Ray is blessed with a wonderful wife, three children, and the good fortune of looking a lot like me. People often confuse us. Years ago I was at a sporting event and one of my Momma’s contemporaries asked if I was one of Virginia’s (Ray’s Momma). I quickly responded - No! I added, “Those boys have never been so honored by your mistake and I’ve never been so insulted.”
I explained I was Teenie’s son. The “blind” lady laughed at my cute remark. She thought I was joking. I wasn’t. I rushed home to look in the mirror to see if something had happened. It was OK - I was still incredibly good looking - Momma’s friend’s eyes must be failing.
Ray has been a great friend through the years. He and Pat however did add one moment of angst to my life many years ago. It was about 20 years ago and I had just starting teaching at LSU. I called roll the first day and realized that Ray’s daughter was in my class - I’m still confused how I could be teaching a 20 year old when I felt like I was only in my mid-30s. I guess time does play tricks on us.
In the good old days when we stayed up beyond 8:00 p.m. occasionally Harvey and Opal, Ray and Pat, Sheila and me, would meet up with Mike and Cindy for a drink and dinner. Mike is a former classmate that married up like the rest of us. Mike’s an engineer and a big old country boy. Cindy’s from the city. She’s an extremely talented singer and one of the few folks that can “hang” with me on the dance floor.
You see I’ve been blessed with both incredible good looks and natural grace, poise, and athleticism. Think of a Brad Pitt that can move like Fred Astaire. Not everybody sees me this way - but not everyone has good eyes either.
October 12, 2007
Many years ago the sensibilities of some were shaken, the moral outrage of others stimulated and others were just physically stimulated when a new TV program - Peyton Place entered our airwaves. It was a scandalous look at the goings on in a community. Today Desperate Housewives is the new Peyton Place. I can’t remember much about Peyton Place except for the controversy created and I’ve only watched one episode of Desperate Housewives so I’m far from an expert on either but I do believe these attempt to show the tainted side of life in America.
What got me thinking about this was a recent Civic Club meeting. As I was walking in a beautiful young friend of mine - we’ll call her Susie Q (not her real name) was walking in with an old, beat up, worn out, and tired contemporary who’ll remain nameless because he’s happily married and his eyes are so bad he doesn’t realize how lucky he was to be in the presence of such beauty.
I joked about the potential scandal this could cause. All of us laughed - the old guy fantasizing about how good he’d be. Susie Q (not her real name) hysterical - not laughing, just hysterical about the thought and me amused by the potential scandal this liaison would create.
After the meeting I again saw Susie Q (not her real name) talking to a man young enough to be the son of her early escort. We joked about her choice in men - real old ones and real young ones. She laughed - obviously more intrigued by the young ones. The guys laughed harder - both knowing this wasn’t going anywhere but I suspect both wondering what it would be like if it did. Men are such swine.
Later in the week I saw Susie Q (not her real name) and suggested that I write and update or better yet an expose on this potential spring and fall relationship. It would have put spring in Susie Q’s steps and made the mere thought of this much excitement would have made the old guy fall over in Cardiac Arrest.
We laughed - she (not her real pronoun) said that I better not do this since Mary Lou (not her real name) and Flavie (not her real name) the wives of these potential paramours might not see the humor in the story. I know Mary Lou (not her real name) and Flavie (not her real name) and I think both might laugh at the idea but I’ll respect Susie Q’s concerns. As a practical matter I don’t think Susie Q (not her real name) wanted to be associated with either of these two dead beats.
I know that every town has it’s scandals. I’m sure New Iberia does as well. I know that both of the men in question are happily married and would not act on the opportunity with Susie Q (not her real name) and I’m more sure that Susie Q (not her real name) would not make the offer in the first place - she’s happily married and she has standards. I wrote this knowing that as the old guy and the young guy read this they will check their hair, hold their stomachs in tighter, stand taller for a minute - then common sense will prevail and they’ll realize this is a joke!
October 13, 2007
I’ve made it this far in the process (286 days) celebrating New Iberia, Acadiana, my friends, my life, etc. When I started this grand adventure I never realized how much I would enjoy it. I also underestimated the ease of writing 543 words each day and the difficulty in discovering topics to write about.
Today I’m going to celebrate “what I do” to fund this escapade called life in Acadiana. I was a broken down, worn out, burned out, and used up insurance agent who was trying to integrate the cultures of banking and insurance long before federal regulations allowed that to happened. I was the agency manager of a bank owned insurance operation “grandfathered” into the banking code.
In October of 1992 - I realized that I wasn’t having any fun - in fact the frustration of my failed attempts at merging the cultures of banks and insurance was harming my health and threatening my life. On November 19, 2002 I walked into Ed’s office and resigned. On January 1, 1993 I opened the door of opportunity that I called Square One Consulting (the name came from “always start at square one”).
In October of 1992 I met with Rod, a recovering consultant who was returning to the alleged security of a regular paycheck and told him of my decision to become a consultant. He smiled and said “it’s the ultimate act of faith.” I asked for a better explanation. He said - “someday you’ll understand.”
A year or two later I had collapsed my 401 K, borrowed all the money I could and maxed out my credit cards. It was Monday and on Friday my quarterly payment for payroll taxes for my one employee - Shaun was due. This is the one tax you can’t delay or deny. I feared the game was over. I had work but no cash flow and no more credit. I needed $600. I knew Thursday I had to break my own heart, create angst in Sheila’s life, and begin a job search for an opportunity that could never make me as happy as Square One had.
On Wednesday morning I opened my mail to discover a check for $700.00 - commissions on two policies that I had written years early. The commissions had been lost in the system. I was overwhelmed. I had just what I needed + a $100.00 bonus. Rod’s words came rushing back - “the ultimate act of faith - God will provide.” I paid the tax - had a good lunch on the bonus and as they say - the rest is history. Square One is alive and well today.
Sheila and I have been married for 32 years. She’s sat in the co-pilot’s seat in this grand adventure. She does not have my stomach for risk so she’s been flying blind - mostly because she keeps her eyes closed to avoid the terror of the risk. What I do is wake up every and climb on a tightrope called the world of entrepreneurship and start walking that line in pursuit of the next project or to complete the one I have. It is exhilarating. The one thing I can’t do is look down. The reason Sheila can’t explain what I do is because I can’t either. We don’t do - we take - WE RISK!
October 14, 2007
I have been and remain a critic of New Iberia’s Chamber of Commerce. In my opinion this community is a “diamond in the rough” and yet it remains the sleepy little town it was when I left here 40+ years ago. I must admit that I enjoy the pace and Mayberry USA spirit that permeates the town. The reasons I left are the same reasons I returned. The Chamber is filled with good folks - unfortunately that alone will not drive economic development.
This is the one weekend a year that I cheer the Chamber. This weekend is the Gumbo Cook Off. This weekend the streets of New Iberia will be filled with locals and foreigners, cash, beer, and Food. It will be for 2 days what it (in my opinion) should be for 365 days. Last night at about 7:30 Sheila and I drove to Main Street and then circled several blocks looking for a parking place. Finally we found a spot on the corner of St. Peter and Julia Streets. We parked and walked to Clementines.
Clementines was packed with locals, tourists, drunks, and alumni. The drunks may have been locals or tourist or alumni. The alumni were different groups from Catholic High New Iberia (previously St. Peter’s College). Friday night was the Homecoming Game (we won) and this weekend therefore by default becomes homecoming weekend. We visited briefly with Brenda’s son, Kent and his wife Marci. Brenda’s other children or Timmy and Mary, Katy, Drew, and Jed and his wife Sydney Jo. They weren’t at Clementines but I owe it to Brenda to give them their 15 minutes of fame. They were good kids and now are better adults.
After appetizers and a drink we ventured to Bouligny Plaza. There were hundreds of drunk adults, a few drunk kids, and fewer sober adults and children. A couple of dozen booths were closing after a day of offering culinary delights to the visitors and a day in advance of the great competition to identify the “best of class” Gumbo in Acadiana. Competition is heated. The stakes high - bragging rights are the prize. The music was loud - the dancing aggressive. The mood was bi-polar - joy over the festival, food, and beer and darkness and regret over LSU’s lost to Kentucky.
This morning I walked through Bouligny Plaza as part of my exercise regime. The various cooking teams were moving slowly. Onions, celery, garlic, and bell peppers
were being diced at the tent or hauled in from the food preparation parties that have been going on all week. Each team has a canopy / booth to celebrate their identity, to serve as a cover for the workers, and to provide a counter to negotiate the sale of their offerings - GUMBO, GUMBO, or GUMBO.
Separate trailers offer alcohol or cold drinks and the ticket booth provides the means of commerce for the day. This trailer is like the money changers in the temple of old Jerusalem. The weather is beautiful. The only folks working up a sweat or the roux mixers at each booth. They must constantly stir the golden brown mixture that is the difference between their success and failure. One old drunk sits in his camouflage outfit - I can only see his boots, hat, head, and beer can.
October 15, 2007
On the 13 th I celebrated the “intangible” of what I do - today I’ll honor where I do it - my office - the Global Headquarters of Square One Consulting. (If this journal is ultimately published I’ll add pictures of it.) I haven’t decided if my office is in my home at 625 Weeks Street - New Iberia, Louisiana or if my Global Headquarters at 625 Weeks Street in New Iberia, Louisiana includes Executive Suites for my bride and me. I’ll have to clarify that soon.
In terms of the old Gragnon Wholesale Building this office would be in the South East Corner of the original building. The ceiling in my office dates back to 1940 - 2/3 of the floor does as well. The balance of the floor is ceramic tile that had to replace the floor that had rotted. The first window air conditioning unit at the Warehouse was in the window in my office. Next to this was the water cooler - over the 60+ years that followed these two fixtures caused the floor to rot.
Directly above my computer is a garden flag - including the picture of a large cow. I use this for presentations on Marketing. My definition of Marketing is “If you want a glass of milk you don’t sit on a stool in the middle of the pasture and wait for a cow to back up to you. You must go find a cow.” To the left of that wall hanging is a sign that Uncle Booz hung in the building decades ago - it states simply “Be Quiet or Be Fired.” This is a great tool to explain the history of management - in a Post-WW II world - this is the way it was.
On occasion I’ve thought about moving the sign into our bedroom just to exercise more control over the “little woman” I call Sheila or Madam Queen or Sweet Lips but as of this date I haven’t developed the courage or drank enough to try it. One day I might. I have good enough hospitalization insurance.
The rest of the office can be described as bookshelves, file cabinets, tables (for desks), a converted candy display once used as a computer desk and enough mess to qualify this as a first grade classroom after a party. I’m a slob.
On the walls are the rewards of my life. I have a framed hand drawn portrait of me created by Seth when he was in first grade. It includes is most accurate description of me written on the neck tie that he drew. I won’t go into detail - suffice to say the words “My dad is cool” capture the meaning and significance. Slade as a teenager gave me a card and a note of appreciation that has equivalent importance in my life.
Hung between these two pictures is the plaque I received for Excellence in Teaching at LSU. I’m not so vain as to believe I’m that good - the course was easy - real easy. The pleasure I get from that plaque is knowing it was a finger in the eye of the academicians that really don’t like street wise guys and gals entering their world.
Behind me is a framed picture of my group from last’s year’s trip to the War College and a note from General Colin Powell - if time allows I’ll explain later.
October 16, 2007
A Yankee lived in Cajun Country for a few months and hated it. Once he could no longer stand it here he started saving money for a trip home to his beloved New York. After accumulating $295.95 he went to the airport to buy a one way ticket home. At the check in desk the clerk informed him that a ticket would cost $300.00. He begged the clerk to accommodate his limited funds but he had no success.
He then approached anyone he could find in the terminal to seek the one nickel that would assure his departure and the happiness that a return to New York would provide. Time and again he was rejected.
Finally he approached Boudreaux. He pleaded his case - “I’m from New York. I hate this backwater place and the hicks that inhabit it. I’m leaving and I’m never coming back. If you’ll give me a nickel I can get home.” Ever sympathetic Boudreaux politely listened - reached into his pocket and pulled out some change. He flipped a coin to the beggar and said, “Here’s a dime, take another one of those damn Yankees with you.”
One of my underlying beliefs is that when the wife is happy the husband is happy and when the wife is unhappy the husband is miserable. I’m also a believer that when you’re not happy you should seek happiness and when someone else is unhappy you should do what you can to make them happy.
This morning Sheila and her mother got “On the road again.” Both are seeking happiness. Lela has been living with us for over 6 months. She has not been happy. I think my observation about wives and husbands holds true for mothers and daughters as well.
I don’t believe that Lela will find happiness in Monroe. I’ve known her for 34 years and I don’t believe the happiness gene exists in her DNA. I do believe that Sheila’s efforts at helping her mother find happiness in Monroe will result with Sheila being more happy in New Iberia. That’s the good news. The bad news is that within a week or two Lela will be calling to come back here.
I’m reminded of the couple that have moved to a new town and they asked the first stranger they meet, “Do you think we’ll be happy here?” The stranger answered, “Were you happy where you were before?” The couple responds, “Yes.” The stranger answered correctly - “You’ll be happy here.”
I’m happy. Sheila is on her way back to happy. Lela in all likelihood will never get to visit “Happy Valley” since it isn’t really a place but more of a state of mind. The dilemma for her is that she’s at the end of the road. The good news is that her unhappiness won’t last too much longer. The bad news is she never found happy. The great news is that we each can choose our own attitude - our state of mind and if we are lucky we can share our lives with those like us. Be Happy - Smile! J
October 17, 2007
Paul Harvey often references the “rest of the story.” His son actually initiated a program bearing the same name. I don’t know if the program continues to this day or if it has gone the way of all flesh. I remember the individual programs being interesting. This 5 minute audio would tease you with the introduction and educate and astound you with the “end” - the “rest of the story.”
As I write this it is actually October 26, 2007 - I’m dealing with the rest of the story. Yesterday (the day prior to October 17, 2007) Sheila brought her Momma to Monroe to go live with her sister, Betty. Lela could not find happiness in New Iberia and wanted to go back home. Betty agreed to share lives with her. Sheila returned from the delivery round on Saturday the 19 th. The grand experiment in happiness had begun - happiness for Lela and happiness for Betty.
Life moves on and one of the underlying premises of my world is freedom - each of us should be free - allowed to find “happiness” or “misery” wherever and whenever we can and will. Lela cast her lot.
Sheila boarded a plane on Sunday for a little R & R following the 6 months of her “please Momma” Campaign. Lela is high maintenance - very high maintenance. Lela in my opinion has not mastered the most basic reality of life - happiness is within. Sheila and I did listen and learn better - we now know that happiness is personal and we can’t deliver it. As a friend Tom once told me - “you can’t want something bad enough to make it work for someone else.”
For the past 6 months we catered to Lela. We interrupted our lives and invested incredible amount of energy and emotion in the effort to please, satisfy, cooperate with, and accommodate her. We did not succeed. I started to write “fail” but that would be an unfair condemnation of us and our efforts. You see today in retrospect - I and I hope we realize that the only “happy” I own is my own. Success was never within our grasp - we didn’t own it to deliver it - we could only facilitate it’s pursuit.
If Lela had found happiness in New Iberia it would be because she CHOSE to. It in retrospect is obvious that she CHOSE not to. On the 23 rd - I received a call from Melanie - Aunt Betty can’t live with Lela. I’m not surprised. Betty is a new widow and a survivor of a hard scrabble world in North Louisiana. For once in her life - it is her life. High maintenance services are difficult to provide when your world is going well - it’s very difficult to deliver when your own world is out of control.
From the outset of this literary adventure I’ve explained that I write for therapy - my own therapy and that is why I’ve written this today. I can assure you I don’t see anyone reading joy, humor, entertainment, or any other positive experience into these words. They are sad but hopefully illustrative - Life is for the living - life is for the giving - life is for loving - life is for laughing. So as Mr. Nike says - Just Do It! And as Mr. Harvey says - “and that is the rest of the story.” Smile - J!
October 18, 2007
I love words. I live much of my life inside of my own head. I can spend hours in card stores reading humorous and inspirational messages. I’ll visit the Franklin Covey Store on occasion to read the posters and the messages on COURAGE, MOTIVATION, VISION, TEAMWORK, etc. that are so motivating to me. As many times as I’ve done this and as much as I’ve enjoyed it - I’ve never had sausage, chicken wings, or beans during the visit.
Last night the process for me was flipped and enhanced. I was invited by Leon to go to Timmy and Yvonne’s house for sausage, chicken wings, and beans. Beer and Turtle Ice Cream Pie were also provided. I knew the beer would be there - I brought the Pie - the other food had been announced during the invitation process. What I didn’t know is that I would be inspired by the event as well.
In fact this one evening’s activities did more to move me - to touch my heart, soul, and reality than would camping out in a Franklin Covey Store for a week and reading every inspirational poster, quote, or date timer ever produced. In Cajun Country we call this Lagniappe - a little something extra.
I left Timmy’s house with a full stomach, a full heart, and more vivid pictures burned into my psyche than any wall poster with an eagle, valley, rainbow, lighthouse, or other picture that can capture a feeling.
Hard times are part of each of us. We’ll all have bumps on our road, rain on our parades, and hardships in our lives. How we deal with each of these challenges is up to us and is the measure of us.
I met Yvonne through her family. I grew up very close to two of Yvonne’s brothers and knew her and all of her siblings. The two brothers that I knew best died young - one in his 30s and the other in his 50s. I got to know Timmy through business - he’s high tech - I’m no tech. They’re nice folks.
About 3 months ago Timmy was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He’s been positive since the first day of diagnosis - he’s fighting and winning the battle. He’s been an inspiration to me. Yvonne earlier in the week had knee surgery so she’s been carrying her challenges on one good leg and one bad one. Last night both Timmy and Yvonne looked great.
Leon cooked, Nicole (Timmy / Yvonne’s daughter) and husband Teddy joined us along with Leon’s son Joey. The surprise guests were Calvin, his wife Pat and his son Rusty. Rusty is an athlete and was a professional baseball player - until some rain fell on his parade. A year or so ago he dived into a swimming pool and moved from the pitcher’s mound to a wheelchair. Last night we ate, joked, laughed, and exaggerated but there was no whining or complaining. Life is good - these folks are great - they all taught me Courage and Perseverance. Thanks. Smile. J
October 19, 2007
Sheila is in Monroe so I’ve been a bachelor for the past few days. Bobby and Brenda as a Corporal work of Mercy called and invited me to join them at last night’s Art Walk. This is a semi-annual event where local artists team with retailers on Main Street for an Open House - art showing - stroll down Main Street.
For big city folks this would be like an evening in Mayberry but for us folks living in Mayberry South - this is always a fun event. Down here watch the rain dry is a fun evening. Unfortunately Miss Barbara had died earlier in the week so our first stop was at Evangeline’s - the Funeral Home to visit with her family.
Miss Barbara’s oldest son Mike and I had been in school together forever. I can’t remember exactly when he came to Catholic High but I would guess it was in the 5 th grade. I remember his Dad died when we were very young and Miss Barbara raised Mike and his brothers and sister on Ashton Street in New Iberia.
As an aside and as clear and convincing evidence that this is truly a small world - I remember in the early 1990s Sheila’s Uncle Joe showed up at our house one evening for a visit. He had his High School Yearbook and was excited about returning home for his 50 th class reunion. As I looked at the 15 or 16 students that comprised his graduating class at Oak Grove High School I recognized a familiar face - Joe had graduated with Michael’s momma. It’s hard to believe that a family link could be found between Mike and me that spanned 50 years and over 200 miles.
Back to today and yesterday - Michael may be the best football player that ever finished from CHS in New Iberia. He was a great guard and linebacker that ended up playing football in College. When Michael made a tackle people in the stands would often open their umbrella thinking that it was about to rain. His “hitting” would occasional make sound on the silent game films - he was good.
After high school Mike, like so many of us ventured 20 miles up the road to USL for a football scholarship and his education. I think it was Easter of 1969 when Michael married Ceci in Biloxi. Ceci was one of (I think) 13 children. Her parents were in the funeral home business and I think were also involved in politics.
For a bunch of poor old country boys - this event was quite the show. I remember we spent 2 or 3 days before the wedding in Biloxi - much of it at the family home and much of that time at the Bar in the family home. We drank too much - way too much. I may have confessed this sin already but I spent Easter Sunday - immediately following the wedding reception - on a bench in front of the reception hall begging forgiveness for my sin - over indulgence in alcohol.
I survived - Mike and Ceci survived as well. They raised a big family, Mike got his Ph.D. and Ceci - the politician - facilitated Mike’s getting elected Sheriff. They’ve done well. Miss Barbara raised some good “kids” by herself. We’ll miss her.
October 20, 2007
Bobby, Brenda and I drove from the Funeral Home to downtown. A distance of about 500 feet and then had to circle several blocks trying to find a place to park - a distance of about 3 miles. Sometimes we don’t make good decisions. I think at our age we’re afraid to leave our cars parked in the funeral home lots for fear of bad Karma - no use making it to obvious that we’re getting older.
Our first stop was Clementines Bar. It was crowded. We ordered a drink or two and visit with the droves of people that were soon to be walking the streets. There was some Art on display in the dining area of the Bar but that was so far away I merely studied my glass of wine looking for the beauty of the grape.
Lloyd and Carmen arrived and we visited for awhile. Marlene came in next - Charlie was in Key West for one of his fishing trips. Carmen signed autographs for the groupies that had followed her in and Lloyd watched for the paparazzi - Carmen in recent years has become involved in the theater and has gotten quite good at it. As we finished our drinks we decided to venture into the heat to check out the Art and to search for free food provided at some stops along the way.
I don’t know Art but I do know food so we headed down the street. Next door to Clementines there was a great sandwich tray and some Art. At other stops we found more Art but no more great sandwiches. Finally we got to the old Hebert’s Hotel to discover the Oktoberfest in full swing. Understand that I spent a year in Germany and a week at the real Oktoberfest in Munchen. This wasn’t close. This was a bunch of drunk Cajuns listening to a country band with about 6 different German beers on display. We listened politely for a minute and then walked down Main Street - it was too hot for lederhosen anyway.
Having had our fill of Art and not nearly enough food we left Germany and ventured to Japan - New Iberia’s Sushi and Oyster Bar. Bobby having spent most of his adult life overseas is much the sophisticate so he was charged with ordering for Brenda and me. Brenda doesn’t eat Sushi so she had Tempura Shrimp. This is Japanese for “dead shrimp” since the tails come out straight just like a dead crawfish that has been boiled. The food was good, the drinks better, and the conversation the best.
Katy - Brenda’s daughter and Slade - my son are both devotees of the good life. They love Sushi. We laughed how the three of us ate and drank for about $50.00 while Slade by himself can order $80.00 of Sushi and not bat an eye. How do college students do this? When we were in school we’d eat Bread Ends and Gravy. This was considered to be good living. If we had just sold blood we might get a Hot Sausage Po Boy. In our day $80.00 was a month’s rent.
We finished the meal and Bobby and Brenda dropped me off at my car. I parked at the Bank. It’s better for people to see me there than the funeral home!
October 21, 2007
On Friday night the Porch was open. This was our first event in about 2 months. Ever since we had opened our chain of Hazy Memories Assisted Living Centers it had not been possible to have a gathering.
I really didn’t expect much of a crowd since several folks were out of town and since I know we are creatures of habit and we had gotten out of the habit of Friday Night on the Porch. To complicate matters further Sheila was in Monroe. She had brought her mother home to live with her sister - Betty. To make a long story short and to not air our dirty linen in public suffice it to say that Lela does not play well with others and her continued presence in our home was not a practical alternative.
Lily was the first guest to arrive. She’s looking and feeling good. Shortly after her arrival Bobby and Jan showed up. George, Lloyd, and David also showed up stag. Finally Marlene arrived to take some of the pressure off of Lily as the only other “hottie” here with all these old perverts. Later Richard and Mary arrived. He must have heard that the perverts were here - he’s a regular.
For a small group and a low key night the food was very good. Lily brought Jalapeño Cheese Bread from Keller’s. David arrived with some delight from the Italian Deli / Grocery in Lafayette, Marlene had Jalapeno Guacamole Dip and Chips and Bobby and Jan brought some great sausage from New Orleans. I had emptied the icebox of all the oldie and moldy stuff left from the last gathering.
Shave off some green here and some gray there, add a little food coloring to that and accept as fact that penicillin is good for you and it’s easy to justify serving ripe food. These folks were all going to get drunk anyway so the alcohol would first kill the taste buds and any germs that might otherwise survive the penicillin. Bon Appetite.
On the health food side of the ledger Richard brought to homemade Chocolate pies. These were prepared for diabetics - I didn’t ask but I’d bet there were a few of us in the room. These tasted great and I felt better about eating them since they were good for you - or more correctly at least not bad for you.
After a few drinks some boring conversation - the party heated up. Jan was tonight’s pot stirrer. She started by talking about the greatness and potential of Hillary Clinton. In this Conservative Group - Saddam Hussein enjoys a higher approval rating than does Hillary. David and Bobby both showed their liberal leanings by nodding in agreement. Being the conservative Southern Gentlemen that we are - we overlooked the loose lips and delusional thoughts - I hoped were being brought on by the alcohol.
When Jan started talking about the plight of the “poor doctors” she lost the crowd. Jan’s a great doctor - we all agreed on that but from this group of folks she didn’t get agreement on anything else except that our system is sick! What’s the cure?
October 22, 2007
On Saturday night I ventured over to Dan and Cici’s house for another party. If you don’t remember - Dan and Cici built a replica of the Taj Mahal on the Golf Course at Squirrel Run. This is probably a slight exaggeration since Dan and Cici’s place is actually a lot nicer than the Taj Mahal and the neighborhood isn’t as crowded. Even the untrained eye can view their house and see the shadow of the great architect A. Hays Town cast over the place. The Taj Mahal on the other hand was designed by someone I never heard of.
Squirrel Run is New Iberia’s best golf course. It’s sort of Augusta National without the azaleas and a really big tournament. On the other hand Augusta National has never hosted fund raisers for Will or other notable politicians. As the current political scandals are breaking - Squirrel Run may at some point be known as the scene of the crime since some folks have been or will be busted because of mischief in the process of fundraising.
To create balance in the discussion and to not falsely paint Squirrel Run as a hideout for modern day Al Capones let me mention that some fundraisers here do good work - help Charities or raise monies for good guys and gals running for office. In Louisiana maybe I should have said good “guy” and “gal” - good, honest, talent is not in abundance here if you’re speaking in terms of those seeking public office.
As a little boy growing up - Squirrel Run was affectionately known as the “dump.” In today’s world it would be more correctly called - a land fill. A divot at Squirrel Run often includes digging up old tires or exposing the shell of refrigerators, etc. Enough about the facilities - let’s talk about the party.
The theme was tailgating. For the few uninformed folks - tailgating down here is synonymous with LSU - folks from other schools hold picnics around their stadiums (from my background in Latin plural of stadium is actually stadia but few reading this are a man [or woman] of letters such as this distinguished writer), have buffet tables set up on the campus or may even keep a box of Popeye’s chicken and a six pack of beer in their trunk. LSU is tailgating. I digress.
Back to the party - Dan and Cici’s nephew - Kristin is getting married and this was his chance to introduce his fiancée to the free loaders that would pass up Tiger Stadium or the big screen at home or watching election returns for a few free drinks and some fabulous food. It was crowded.
Most were dressed in Purple and Gold. Kristin’s dad was wearing a Kentucky shirt. This was his “finger in the eye” of the LSU fans. Joan the poor soul who accepted a federal grant to marry this Kentucky hick was radiant as always. As the night progressed the crowd moved like a wave between the food tables, the bar, and the TV sets. Enthusiasm would wax and wane with the Tigers’ progress or regress. I finished the game at home - the Tigers finished it in the last second - Geaux Tigers.
October 23, 2007
About midway through the second quarter I left the party to head home - allegedly to watch the game and election returns. My real purpose was to be at home when I fell asleep. I don’t know how to say this delicately but I have two medical conditions that confine me to home more now than these did when I was a younger man. The first condition is defined as WAO (worn ass out) - that causes those suffering with this condition to doze off after about 8:30 p.m.
With a regular bedtime of about 8:00 it is not uncommon for these symptoms to manifest themselves early in the night. My second condition is complicated by the first. When a sleep seizure occurs - it is possible that I may make sounds not pleasing to those around me. These sounds can often be confused for more guttural sounds that occur in every home but are not accepted in polite society. Understand the group gathered last night was not polite society but it does like to claim that title. These folks wear masks at Mardi Gras Balls as well.
I’ve never mentioned this condition before but I believe it may be contagious because I’m seeing more and more friends with the symptoms in recent years. Upon arrival at home I delivered to Sheila the appetizers I had snuck out of the party - I slipped into my sleeping attire and headed to the sofa to relapse into my conditions - sometimes you just can’t fight diseases. Attitude helps but sometimes you also need to quarantine yourself for the good of the public.
The LSU Game was a lot like flying an airplane - 98% boredom (which means LSU wasn’t playing well) and 2% sheer terror. The 2% terror results from the fact that the Tigers weren’t playing well. We can talk all we want about preparation, attitude, strategies, etc. We can invite in the best color commentator in the world. We can run instant replays forever - here’s the bottom line. Les Miles - LSU’s head coach is a Riverboat Gambler - a risk taker. He’s willing to take some chances and when you do that - occasionally you get lucky. Les Miles is really lucky.
LSU was predicted to have a great team this year. LSU has always played in a great conference - the SEC. The Tigers ranked in the Top Five since the beginning of the season and for a while were # 1. It was predicted by objective folks and feared by Tiger Fans that no one could win all their games in a conference like the SEC. LSU beat Florida on the 6 th of October. Florida should have won but LSU refused to lose. Les Miles took risk on top of risk and chance on top of chance and was successful with each roll of the dice. The Tigers prevailed in the end.
Kentucky was due - LSU beat them several years ago with the Bluegrass Miracle and at some point in time others get miracles as well. I don’t dwell on the negative so suffice it to say Kentucky was up and LSU was down and Kentucky prevailed.
Auburn’s McCoys to LSU’s Hatfields came into Death Valley with upset on their mind - they were almost right and they did leave UPSET- Les is so lucky.
October 24, 2007
The biggest victory Saturday Night was not LSU’s win over Auburn even though that was a monstrous victory. I haven’t heard the results but they were checking at the Seismic Center on campus to see if the uproar following the last second (literally speaking) score was sufficient to register on the campus’s Richter scale. For you folks that don’t face the threat of earthquakes like we do down here - this is the devise used to test for earth tremors. Many years ago LSU beat Arkansas on a last play of the game and the noise and vibration of the stadium was recorded as an earthquake. I suspect Saturday’s celebration came close.
The big Victory - the seismic impact on Saturday night was not at LSU it was at the Secretary of State’s office. It was his recording and confirming the new face of Louisiana’s voters and the new hope that is here.
On Saturday we elected Louisiana’s first Governor “of color” since Reconstruction. Bobby Jindal is a 36 year old former Hindu, Catholic Convert, son of immigrants from India. He’s recognized as an extremely bright young man (36 is young). I mention his color not since it is an issue to me but since it was the issue that kept him from getting elected 4 years ago. Bobby was ahead in most polls in the last gubernatorial campaign by about 5 points entering the last week - only to lose by 2 percentage points. Some suggest and others know that the opposing camp “darkened” a picture of Bobby and used it to suggest that he was less than white. This may sound crazy but in North Louisiana it worked.
I suspect if you could get in Bobby’s head or heart he’d acknowledge that loss was a great win since the Hurricane and its recovery that cost Kathleen her political future would have been his. Today he follows an easier act - the state is flush with cash - many entrenched politicians have been term limited or voter limited out and many folks who have previously sat out the political process are now engaged and committed to take this one last chance at salvaging this state we love and the mess we’re in. Saturday night provided hope - hope, energy, enthusiasm and “Big Mo!”
Katrina changed New Orleans greatly and Louisiana more. In the past conservatives, Republicans, and good government types would run hard in New Orleans in hopes of not losing too badly and then run harder in the rest of the state to try to catch up the deficit created by their efforts in N.O. A good Democrat or liberal could start the evening with a 100,000+ vote head start if (s)he campaigned well in the Big Easy. Saturday we were reinforce in the fact that these “rent a vote” folks are gone and now are to be forgotten. Votes aren’t bought here - only rented.
Now most statewide offices are controlled by Republicans. The Lt. Governor is a Democrat. Our Democrat Attorney General did not even make the runoff and the most powerful Democrat in the state - made the runoff for Agriculture Commission but he did not have enough votes to make the second primary a race - he’s withdrawn. Could change be on our horizon? I hope we’re as lucky as Les Miles.
October 25, 2007
The local races were more interesting even if they don’t hold as much potential for our parish as the statewide races hold for the whole of Louisiana. The big race was the Sheriff - 4 candidates were involved. Louis is a retired state trooper that has been rumored to be a candidate since I was in high school. “Action” Jackson is a man who appeared to be highly qualified for sheriff but grossly inept as a candidate. Joe who never entered my radar screen but I’ve learned is a perennial campaigner.
Finally David who is the near incumbent (former Chief of Staff for the incumbent who didn’t seek reelection) - who ran on his experience but from this same experience since the incumbent wasn’t running since he couldn’t win.
The man that I thought would win in the first primary didn’t so my guess now is that he’ll lose in the second. The votes casts were not as interesting in the votes that weren’t cast. Here as I become re-acclimated to the politics of Iberia Parish I learn that some votes go on the auction block each year. Novices to this process claim these votes are bought - more experienced folks realize they are only rented. If street talk is true - then this year’s campaign proves this right.
One sheriff’s candidate paid drivers to have the vote turn out for him. Days before the election another paid the drivers to keep these same votes in - the last and highest bidder - the votes stayed home and the race will be a runoff.
The Parish Council President’s office was open since the previous president chose to resign and not run for re-election. This decision was motivated by the FBI and a local judge who encourage him with motivations like house arrest versus free time in the big house. There were 3 candidates. As explained to me that two were really nice guys that were inept and the third was highly qualified but the most ardent of his supporters acknowledge that he can be very arrogant. This year arrogant won over nice. Time will tell in terms of results. Some times leaders can move systems forward regardless of their style and other times systems result and teach arrogant leaders a lesson in humility. I hope Ernest succeeds and learns in the process.
The state representative race pitted a newcomer, good government type called Taylor against 2 existing office holders and one who through his father is vicariously an office holder. Taylor is an uptown guy that grew up on my side of the bayou. His daddy ran a grocery store in the poor part of town and was ultimately a respected assessor. If his daddy’s spirit votes - he wins.
David is sincere and hardworking but he can be politely defined as the worst listener in politics and maybe the world. Raymond is a fire brand - running for someone more than something. He’ll create a niche but not convert it into a margin of victory - maybe a margin of profit if he can deliver it in future races. Shane is the son of the one of the best politicians and weakest leaders in the parish. Shane is more polished and educated than his dad but less of a political success. The runoff will be Taylor and Shane and a rumored looming indictment. More to follow.
October 26, 2007
The State Senate race was a traditional Louisiana campaign - a choice of the lesser of the evils. Obviously such a remark has the potential to offend everyone. Most people have a favorite - they know them, they like them, they are kin to them, they are paid by them, or they don’t hate them as much as they hate their opponents. I use the word “hate” carefully since in Louisiana politics is a “blood sport.”
Sydnie Mae is an incumbent. In the time of term limits she’s one of the many current legislators who are attempting to cross the atrium in the state capitol and move from the house side to the senate side of the building. Sydnie Mae is the oldest running and so many fans delight in her experience or critics are thankful that if she wins she’ll be a one term candidate. Sydnie Mae was nice enough in the House - her only evil maybe that she’s trying to make a career in public service more about the career than the public service. Troy is racing Sydnie Mae through the atrium.
Troy is a young, articulate Cajun boy that I suspect when he looks in the mirror he sees Edwin Edwards. I suspect when some of his critics look at Troy looking in the mirror they also see Edwin Edwards. Troy sees the character Edwin, the “silver zipper” Edwin, the Edwin that ran the Governor’s office on a commission basis and the flamboyant Edwin. Good government types and Troy’s critics see Troy as Edwin the crook - now serving time in federal prison or Edwin that in his heyday may have leveraged some folks with the positives of largess or a negative threat.
Before any fans of Troy or Edwin “lawyer up” and consider suing me for the mention of the term “crook” - remember that Edwin is a convicted felon and Edwin and his campaign consultants during his last runoff election against David Duke proudly distributed bumper stickers encouraging voters to “Vote for the crook - it’s important.” Edwin won and I was glad!
The third candidate is Jeff. On paper Jeff is a natural - he’s got good experience, alleged good intentions, and is well educated. In addition he is the son-in-law of Tommy and Mary Carol. The bad news side includes the fact and also the rumor that he is “Craig’s boy.”
Craig is the retiring State Senator and a former President of the Parish Council. His daddy was the best in the old school of Louisiana politics and if you have good government leanings his dad was the worst from your perspective. Craig’s not running - my guess is - because he knows he can’t win.
Initially I was fully on board with Jeff mostly because I want new faces in BR and because I know and like Tommy and Mary Carol and their families. Unfortunately then I learned of the Craig connection. Jeff has told me that he’s his own man and that Craig was just part of his learning experience. What concerns me is what did he learn from Craig - ethics, profitability, leveraging modest government pay for wealth in the private sector or the process of the legislature? I hope it’s the latter.
October 27, 2007
I went to Mary’s for coffee this morning. It was a near record crowd for “smallness” - I mean by lack of attendance not as a measure of the physical or mental capacity of those in attendance. Mary even left early - she claimed she had to attend a meeting but I believe she gets tired of all the bull. George, Buster, Robert and I represented the males of the species and Sylvia and Mary were there for the other gender. Kaci showed up with T-Beau and Thomas late in the morning. Beau and the “girls” were out shooting their weapons.
We debriefed the campaigns and the political process. Depending upon my need for topics I may visit these discussions tomorrow or next week but right now I want to look inward for some words. The balance of this Observational is written for me - I promise to share my conclusions and more details during the last week of December if I can make sense of what has, is, or does happen. I’ll try to explain later.
The last 6 months have been challenging - real challenging. I have new found respect for nurses, mental health workers, care givers, and the process of aging. Between my Mother in her decline - the quiet silent type and Sheila’s mother in her decline - a little more high maintenance version of aging and inevitable death, I’ve had all or maybe more than I can handle. Add to this the other moving parts of my life, world, and business and I am tired - real tired.
That’s the bad news - please don’t consider this whining because I can’t stand whining - consider this letting off steam to protect the vessel taking the heat. The good news is that change is on the way.
I read the book Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus many years ago.
The author talked about men needing to retreat to their cave during times of stress. Consider these ramblings merely cave drawings. The better news is that I see a light at the end of the tunnel or at the mouth of the cave. I now know what needs to be done and I have been sufficiently steeled by this process to be able to do it. I know that next week Lela will go into a Nursing Home not because she wants to but because she has forced herself into it by eliminating all other options.
I know that at year’s end, Momma will be enjoying her reward or going to a Nursing Home not because she wants to but because I have exhausted all other options. I know the next few weeks may be difficult. I know tough decisions must be made and executed. I know that the period of indecision and anticipation is worse than the decision and results. I know that “Souls don’t Grow in the Sunshine” but still I must ready myself to celebrate what I’ve learned, act on what I know, and recover from what I’ve done.
I’m excited about the future that Sheila and I will have. I know I’ve grown - I’m sure Sheila will be different - we’ve had a great run and I hope to have even better finishing laps as we complete the race. Did I mention that I write for therapy?
October 28, 2007
It was Sunday evening and Sheila and I were leaving Mass. On a whim I decided to call Miss Mickey’s house to see if she was still up. It was 7:00 p.m. and only about an hour or hour and a half from my bedtime. Miss Mickey’s 90 and I don’t know her bedtime but I figured it took me nearly 60 years to shorten my waking hours at 90 - maybe you go to bed at 4:00. Who knows?
As luck would have it Miss Mickey was home and awake. Both of these conditions were necessary to facilitate our visit. When we arrived Pat greeted us at the door. Pat is Miss Mickey’s only daughter and surviving child. She has the “enthusiasm” of her mother but has not elevated her greeting to the “perfect squeal” that is Miss Mickey’s greeting - “MMMMMMMMMiiiikkkkkeee!”
We sat and visited for a while - more a trip down memory lane than a time to reflect on the future. The future is - for Miss Mickey, probably short. At 90 years old she’d beginning her last lap. After we talked a while I’m convinced she believes that’s the good news. The bad news for her is her next trip not the trip after that.
On Friday morning Pat and her mom will load into the car and head up the long driveway to the Loreauville Road - I’m assuming they’ll pause for a moment to look back on the beautiful front yard, the oak tree, and the wide expanse of bricks and columns that is 409 Loreauville Road. They’ll turn right and drive over the bridge one last time, make their way to Main Street, turn right again and head to Lafayette. As I-10 transitions to I-49 Miss Mickey will transition from the Cajun Country she loves to Shreveport - the land of red clay, rednecks, the Red River and pine trees that will be her home until the final drive that she so fondly cherishes.
Sometime in the future - her body will return to New Iberia and her soul will join her beloved Louie and he and Paul and Mimi - her mother and others will greet her at the Pearly Gates for a reunion - an angst, pain, and hurt free time that is the reward for a good life lived. She told me she’s ready for this - her last hurrah. I probably won’t see Miss Mickey again - Bon Voyage on both your trips.
The home is to be sold and before it is sold it must be emptied. A dumpster that looked a little like a giant Jon Boat sat on the side of the house to receive the residue of lives lived, family members are picking through the treasures they want to keep and soon strangers will probably enter the fantasy world of that big house that I visited for the first time over 50 years ago and find treasures of their own.
Tonight was happy and sad - a sweet and sour sauce on my life. The house was in disarray - this only happened at Christmas. Miss Mickey always bought presents for everyone and her Christmas wrapping paper could fill the dumpster. I walked to Paul’s room and then into the attic where we played on rainy days with the trains and his many other toys. Memories were everywhere - as my mind’s eye scanned the room - I saw Paul. He looked good. Paul your Momma’s coming see you.
October 29, 2007
Martin called on Sunday. Martin is my oldest cousin and was given his 15 minutes of fame many months ago when he visited with us here in the “Beri.” He and I are about two years apart in age, two decades apart in personality styles and worlds apart in political philosophy yet we’ve remained more like brothers than cousins as we’ve chased our respective dreams and addressed our individual responsibilities that most call life.
Martin is now retired in Atlanta - he moved to Georgia to pursue his education - he didn’t get all he wanted or needed at LSU so he got a second degree - in Georgia. I think it was at the University of Georgia but I may be wrong - I’m often wrong but never in doubt. This fact is why the debates between Martin and me are fun. Martin is thoughtful / analytical - he relies on the substance of the issues - the facts.
I prefer to take some facts (maybe), add to the base of information some reason (maybe), supplement and complement this thin foundation with tons of emotion, a reasonably quick wit, and rampant enthusiasm and try to sell the listeners on the rightness of my position and the “tom-foolery” of Martin’s assumptions. Martin knows he’s right - I know he’s right but often I can win the day - BS has its place. Martin never said it - but I suspect it bothered him that I taught at LSU - it should.
On Sunday we talked about our lives, our children, and the future. We reminisced a little about the past and discussed the future. Then Martin took me where I don’t want to go. He asked, “Michael - how’s your Momma.” This answer is easier in person since I merely raise my hand with the palm parallel with the ground and shake it back and forth. This is my was of saying - nothing but expressing everything - good and bad, black and white, up and down, - all the extremes.
I do this because it’s hard for me to watch the rock solid foundation of my world crumble and not be able to help. When I can’t use sign language and must use words I suffer the problem so well described in an old country song - “a little bit of tear lets me down - spoils my act as a clown…” You understand - I hope.
Then came the really tough question. “What happens when Slade leaves in January?” I gasped - I grasped - I choked back my thoughts. I’m can handle words anytime, anywhere - when the words are the ones I want to use - to hear. The words I can’t handle are the ones I had to answer Martin. “Martin, she may not be here then and if she is - well I have to - we have no option but - you know I don’t want to - Martin she’s going to the nursing home.” There I said it. I can barely type it.
I don’t fear her going - because after a day she won’t know where she is. I fear having to tell her - I’m selfish like that. It’s my hurt that I avoid. Then Martin said - “Mike - your Momma was good to me. I want to sit with her for some time after Slade leaves.” He meant it - he’ll do it. Maybe this will give her the time she needs to leave her home for good before I have to take her someplace else. I hope so!
October 30, 2007
The last two updates were prepared one after the other. I look a mess. My eyes are red, my cheeks are wet, and the loss of fluids had me nearly dehydrated. I’m going to go for my walk and I’ll finish this later. I’m going to look for a happy topic on the streets of New Iberia.
I’m back and I haven’t even left yet. Each morning one of the rituals Sheila enjoys the most is for me to read my daily production - the Update to her. Since occasionally I fall behind - some days she is disappointed with no offering and at other times she has several updates dumped in her ears at once. As I walked in the room to wake the sleeping Queen this morning I handed her the Observationals for the 29 th and 30 th and said simply - “You’ll have to read these yourself, since I can’t read them to you.” “Why” - she responded. “You’ll see” I explained.
Sheila reads faster than me and these two pages were taking longer than I would need to read two chapters in the Bible. I asked about the problem - she blurted - “I can’t read because of the tears.” Sheila has had three great love affairs (that I know about) in her life - one is with me (that’s easy to understand - since she still living the years where physical pleasures are so important), one with my mother and there she’s just part of the group, and finally one is with the people that are Cajun Country, my life, and the world of the Beri. Miss Mickey is one of those folks.
The observationals she read dealt in plain terms with the reality that Sheila knows is on the horizon and the foreshadowing that reality has for the future - our future and the future of all we love. We finished by reading two daily prayers from lesser known prayer Journals - we remind each other that this earth is a rent house - we smile, hug, kiss and I go walking and she goes to feed the cats.
Martin’s gracious offer to me to care for Momma flashed me back to the wedding of Johnny and Betsy. Johnny - now called John - just like Jimmy is now called Jim - I digress. At the rehearsal supper in Natchez - John’s Uncle Smitty gave a toast, testimonial, or prayer that I can’t remember at all but it included a closing line that I can’t forget. He celebrated Betsy - the beautiful bride to be and her “work in progress” fiancée - John. He basically said Betsy “you’re giving a lot more than you’re going to get.” He was right - he was so right.
Martin’s generous offer reminded me of those words since Momma is a person who touched so many. She was a teacher, a scout leader, a member of the Mother’s Club, a mother, friend, etc. To five young boys on Harriet Street she was Nan and she was very good to them. Martin’s call reminded me that they know this and he was offering to try to pay down the debt - she had given more and now he wants to balance the account.
I’ll be delicate - I explained to him what care taking Momma includes - he agreed. If he does it the debt he perceives will be paid in full. If he can’t - she’ll write it off.
October 31, 2007
One of the smartest moves Sheila and I ever made was to move back here. We love it. It has however been good not perfect. I still struggle with feelings of ambivalence - the mixed feelings that accompany what we call life. When doing presentations I often use the story of Captain Boudreaux with Cajun airlines walking into the passenger compartment to announce “good news and bad” to the anxious passengers. This is a great example of ambivalence. He explains “the bad news is that we’re lost and running out of gas. The good news is we’re making good time.”
Watching the “bad news” of Momma’s decline must always be balanced of the “good news” of her legacy - the people that she has touched. The bad news of this sleepy little town is that you must live without some of the creature comforts of the city but the good news of pace, friendliness, and NO TRAFFIC is the trade off.
Often I must remind myself that the “simple” that I love is also what makes me crazy. Two day’s ago I deposited a check from a Canadian client in the bank. For the record the world is now one economy - unfortunately the word of this world change has not reached the world of banking in New Iberia. The bank was going to charge me $15.00 to clear a $22.00 check - thank God I didn’t have more sales.
To make matters worse - this was the same bank that I had been fighting with for 31 days. I was selling stock for Momma. I learned on the 31 st day that I might have been the source of the problem or certainly a contributor. I hadn’t “dotted all the “i”s or crossed all the “t”s. I should have looked more at the detail. My fury (once I realized that I was a contributor to the problem) rests with the fact that it took 31 days to find and address the problem. For the record - I found an acceptable solution - the bankers didn’t. Bankers deal in transactions not relationships and work by procedures (theirs) not to solve problems (yours). My blood pressure is going up just thinking about this so I’ll discontinue the tirade.
The good news is my frustration forced me to call John - as in Johnny from yesterday’s Observational. We are the best of friends. He knows I’m a nut that can run out of control when I’m frustrated. He can measure this as an expert because he’s a nut that can run out of control with alcohol or passion - passion about religion, politics, family, etc. We’re not “two peas in a pod” but maybe better described as “two nuts in a shell.”
He came in to help solve the problem since he was the writer of the trust that was involved but also as a friend and legal counsel - friend to keep me from having a stroke and legal counsel to address the inevitable criminal battery charges if I didn’t get resolution to this issue. The good news is the problem is allegedly solved.
Today I reflected back on the my anger and errors - their incompetence - the death of common sense in business and the damage being done to our world by the National Nannies and Bureaucrats. As John said - “take a deep breath - relax.”
My Cajun Life Journal
Journal Chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
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