Chapter 11
November 1, 2007
“61 bottles of beer on the wall, 61 bottles of beer, you take one down and pass it around 60 bottles of beer on the wall…”
I can remember as a young boy riding the old red and white St. Peter’s College bus to football games and singing along as the older kids led us in the 99 bottles song - a drinking song. Although in South Louisiana our culture embraces alcohol, 4 th graders didn’t do that much drinking. I guess and my memory is a little hazy here -we did celebrate our culture with our enthusiasm for this song and beer drinking.
As I finished the October updates this song flashed into my brain. I realize I now have only “61 pages of paper in the printer, 61 pages of paper…” As I enter the last lap of this marathon I hope I can retain my enthusiasm, not slur my words too badly, and not pass out before my task is complete.
Today, as maybe no other day, reflected the continuum of life - the roller coaster ride, the joy and sadness. I had planned to complete a report for a client and then get the house ready for our porch party tomorrow. About 9:00 a.m. Slade called. His voice was firm and the message clear. “Dad, you may want to get down here now - this may be the end.” I embraced Sheila - told her of this new reality. I dressed and walked to Momma’s house. (I originally typed in “ran to Momma’s house” but there is a need for some limitation on hyperbole and some journalistic integrity in this document).
When I got there I was shocked. Momma had looked tired and weak yesterday. She was very quiet. Momma is never “chatty” but when she’s very quiet it’s an indication that she’s tired and weak. Today she looked awful. Her face was so swollen that her eyes were merely “sharpie marks” under her forehead. Her hands were about twice their normal size and her energy was not. Her weaknesses and vulnerability gave me the strength I needed but lacked to make the decision that is mine. I called hospice. I have finally acknowledged the reality that is ours - the end is near. As Momma would say - “just play the cards life deals you.”
The indecision is tougher than the ultimate decision. Once it is made - there is a freedom that follows. I needed a drink - maybe one or two bottles of beer from the wall. Lynda agreed to sit with Momma while Slade, Sheila, and I went to Brenda and Bobby’s for a drink and some appetizers. Brenda claimed an empty refrigerator but we arrived to more choices of snacks than at a good porch party.
We ate - we drank - we laughed - we reminisced - we dreamed - we lived back our lives and listened to Slade relish the life in his future - his upcoming trip to Europe. We drank some more and ate some more. Life is good. Certainly we sometimes are on a “roller coaster” and sometimes we spin out of control like the old “tilt-a-whirl” and sometimes life is most like an amusement park where we can just have fun. Tonight we just had fun - life is good. Smile! J
November 2, 2007
Change is… I speak often on Change. I preach the gospel of Change Management and Architecture. For the uninformed, consider the story of the 3 Little Pigs. Pig 1 and Pig 2 were managers of change - they reacted to life. Pig 3 was a Change Architect - he created his future by being proactive and was given life to live.
Today I went to Lafayette. My primary purpose was to acquire a laptop computer. I’m low tech - old school. I’m still impressed by carbon paper. I’m clueless when it comes to technology so I figured I’d find the least threatening sales clerk I could at Best Buy and hope they don’t take too much advantage of me.
As I approach the Mall of Acadiana I remembered that I don’t have a clue as to where the Best Buy is located so I call Mike. Mike is the grandson of Miss Mickey - Pat’s only child. I’ve known Mike since he was an infant. Today he’s a proud Alumnus of LSU and I’m proud to say I contributed to that success. Suffice it to say that Mike in College was productivity challenged - as was I.
In the old days you needed to maintain a 2.0 grade point average to stay in school and eventually graduate. If you were on probation you had to reach this criteria by the semester’s end not just as a cumulative GPA. Mike was blessed - he found my classes and more blessed because he was Miss Mickey’s Grandson and Pat’s son. My course was easy - real easy - some would say too easy. If I knew you had the added benefit of a safety net + easy so you could enjoy your own laziness. Mike got “A”s and today is an Alumnus.
We met for lunch. Mike is struggling with his future - with change. He’s a mortgage loan guy and he realizes that his industry is in collapse. He’s also burned out. He’s also moving forward in a Post Mr. Louie World and knows all too soon a Post Miss Mickey World. On the good news side - he’s got his head on straight - he has a great girl friend (I know this is an “old fashion term” but I don’t like significant other) - a son that is his “eyes” and the work ethic needed. He’ll do fine.
We visit - discuss death, life, and tomorrow. We both are learning what’s important. I help him sort out the career issues and he helps me with the name of a computer guy so I don’t have to be humbled on the floor of Best Buy.
On the way home I pick up birthday cards for Brenda and Deidre. They are - I shouldn’t say this but 48 and 47 respectively. Of course they look much younger. Earlier in the day I had asked Mickey a friend and local photographer to meet me at Momma’s house for a picture session. Momma hates having her picture taken and so we have very few. I wanted something to remember this time - Momma, Slade, Miss Peggy, the compassion - the caring - the life - the scar tissue - the hurt and the hope that has been the last few months and the prior 88 years. Momma cooperates and Mickey captures some great moments - not faces but love, compassion, companionship and life. Change is - change is good.
November 3, 2007
Sheila is into change as well. Yesterday I walked into the house yesterday to discover my bedroom had been rearranged for the first time in about a week. The other rooms are done more often. We run to Lowes and then we go to the NEW Starbucks (a first for New Iberia) so Sheila can get a fix. $7.00 coffee is addictive.
She returns to finish her Extreme Makeover of our passion pit - I mean bedroom. I head to the game to watch my alma mater play Cecilia. Listening to the game as I drive I realize tonight is going to be ugly - real ugly. In the first quarter there are 5 turnovers and 3 punts. As I walk to the stadium another drinking song from our middle school years pops into my head - “Cheer, cheer for old Catholic High - you bring the whiskey, I’ll bring the rye - send the 7 th graders out for the beer and don’t let a sober 8 th grader near…” Did I mention that drinking is part of our culture?
I see Charlie and his son Chris and grandson - I visit for a while. Charlie is the Bon Vivant - hunter, fisherman, chef, BS artist, and keeper of Marlene. Marlene is Miss Excitement in NI. She knows everyone and everyone knows her. Marlene is life.
At half I join Lloyd and Carmen in the upper reaches of the stadium. When you see Lloyd and Carmen you first suspect a second marriage. Obviously he’s an older man and Carmen is his arm candy. To your amazement you’ll learn that this is their first and only marriage. I can’t say how long they’ve been married since Lloyd would have to be arrested - Carmen must have been underage.
Carmen is NI’s newest celebrity. She’s become involved in Little Theater and has proven to be quite adept at it. Lloyd is sort of the “Kevin Fed” to Carmen’s Brittney. I’m guessing on occasion Lloyd must feel like Dolly Parton’s husband - everybody knows her but to the world he’s an unknown.
We visit - they provide a welcome and a positive and sometimes comic relief to the less than positive month that was my October. Normally Lloyd is pretty intense as a fan - Carmen enjoyed my ears and Lloyd tolerated our banter because the game in terms of Panther fans was less positive than my October.
We joke, exaggerate, talk politics, and health care. About ½ way through the 3 rd quarter the fans start to exit. The game is ugly. CHS can’t stop Cecilia. I ask why they are playing so badly. Lloyd an old “jock” gives the reasons. I listen. The bloodbath continues. I plan to leave only to discover that Lloyd and Carmen must stay to the end because they are giving someone a ride home. I’m having fun - this is relaxing. We continue the chatter that is friendship and free therapy.
As I get in the car to head home - Jeff the color commentator on the radio mentions this week’s tragedy and its impact on the game. A CHS student died in a wreck this week. This is the 3 rd or 4 th student to die at this small school in the recent path. These kids are hurt and hurting. Everything considered - maybe they played well.
November 4, 2007
Road trip! Slade was the inspiration for Willie Nelson’s song - On the Road Again. In ordinary times he’ll drop whatever is happening to go anywhere for any reason. In current circumstances these trips are needed as respite from his care giving.
He’s meeting friends Jo and Gregg for a weekend in New Orleans. They’re to meet us at Café Des Amis for the Zydeco Breakfast. Café Des Amis is in Breaux Bridge. It could pass for any café in any old town on any Main Street in America. What makes this place unique is the quality of food - it is an exceptional place to eat and the Saturday Morning Zydeco Breakfast - this is the place to loose your hearing, your inhibitions, and any preconceived notions about this place and the South.
Zydeco is the music of the Creole people in Louisiana - it can pass for Cajun to the untrained ear and the unschooled enthusiast - but it is different. The Creole world and the Cajun world occasionally merge - like cream and coffee. If you understand this - you’re local. To create the music it helps to have accordions (squeeze boxes), guitars, and washboards - other instruments are optional. It is high energy, loud, and great for dancing - even at 8:00 in the morning before you’ve had time to drink.
As an observer of the human animal and the process we call life - what I find most amusing and maybe even amazing at Des Amis is the mix of people. It is the diversity - the difference and the sameness that this one little place in this one little corner of the world provides. It is part of our past and much hope for the future.
The crowd and there is always a crowd includes - blacks, whites, browns, and occasional yellows and reds. There are short folks and tall folks - young and old - rich and poor - Catholics, Jews, Protestants and probably a few Hindu, Muslims, and atheists - amateurs and professionals. To explain - the professionals are those paid to be there - the cooks, wait staff, bartenders, musicians, and dancers. Not dancers like the Rockettes but dancers like toothless Gene Kellys and or young entergetic Fred Astaires that are available to locals and tourists who want to “get into the spirit” that is Des Amis. Most dance and those that do are glad they did.
Café Des Amis means the Café of friends and it is an appropriate name because on every Saturday morning in this little corner of the old South - race, age, religion, and gender are forgotten or ignored and everyone meets as one - for the purpose of fun - good food, good drink, good music and good times. It is amazing.
I grew up in the Old South and remember what was good about it and what was so bad about it. I’ve seen “White Only” signs and white and colored bathrooms. I’ve drank from my water fountain and seen them drink from theirs. Here we are one. I smile as I realize - here people mix without the force of court orders, protestors, legislation or other government mandates. I’ll be so presumptuous as to suggest that this place is probably Jesus’s honky tonk - we’re here in love. Slade and his young friends are oblivious to the magic here - mixing as characters not colors.
November 5, 2007
I went on a recent tirade about “banks and bureaucracies” (I repeat myself) and this triggered an e-mail from my sister Claire. She reminded me of the corner of Harriet and Center Streets in New Iberia. To be exact this is the SW corner of the intersection. As a very small boy the corner was occupied by Mr. Doris’ grocery store. That’s not a typo - the man’s name was Doris. He might have been the inspiration for Johnny Cash’s a “Boy named Sue.” Maybe Johnny couldn’t make the lyrics work with the name Doris.
Mr. Doris and his wife ran the store and he was also a sheriff’s deputy. He probably needed a reason to carry a gun - since his name was Doris. There store was like all corner grocery stores of the era - small, crowded, credit by face (not by card), friendly, personal, and comfortable. There was also a butcher shop in the store where we could get fresh meat. All of this in the confines of probably 1,000 square feet. As a small boy I walk to the corner - get what Momma needed, let Mr. Doris record my purchase, and I’d walk home. On payday Momma would walk to the corner and pay off her account. Life was simple, people treated you nice, and everyone knew your name.
After the grocery store closed - Mr. Sam opened up a Barber Shop. Please note that this is different from a hairstylist. Barber Shops were where men went to have their hair done or where momma’s brought their sons for this male ritual. Beauty Parlors were where momma’s and daughters had their “dos” done. In a Barbershop we had two options a “buzz cut” (sort of a Marine hair cut) or a “flat top” which was a “buzz cut” with the perimeter turned up. I believe the cost was a quarter. For the men old enough to wear boots or leather shoes, Joe was there to provide a shine. For the adolescent this was the opportunity to observe the future - passage into manhood and the stories and jokes that were a Barber Shop. I got “clipped” at that corner many a time.
As a teenager a community bank opened next to the Barber Shop. Years later the Bank swallowed up the Barber Shop into what is now a parking lot. I can remember fondly getting “bull” from Mr. Doris, “getting clipped” by Mr. Sam and being well served by folks that knew and liked you at the old City Bank. This corner was about being treated with kindness, courtesy, and respect it was typical of small town America. It was like Cheers Bar - “everybody knows your name.”
Today only the bank remains - the bricks and mortar and sign identify it as a bank - unfortunately it is not the bank of the past. It is not the place where everyone knows your name or encourages your visit. It is reflective of the world we now live in. Too fast, too impersonal, and too uncaring. I’m sure the folks that work there are nice but they are driven by a bureaucratic system that focuses on Wall Street not Center Street - that profits from NSF charges that were unheard of at City Bank. I got a lot of “bull” from Mr. Doris and got “clipped” often by Mr. Sam - now I can get clipped at the bank and must put up with bull there too. Smile - J
November 6, 2007
In the South - Football is a Religion or maybe even something more important than that. In Louisiana - it is a more fanatical and radical form of religion. I believe if beer cans could be packed with explosives and ball bearings some fringe members of the LSU Fan Base might blow themselves up in the excitement of a big game. The problem they would face is their lives would be loss for no reason.
In the excitement that is Tiger Stadium I don’t believe anyone would hear the noise and the damage if any that would be done would not stop the game. I really believe as tightly as people are packed into Death Valley on a Saturday Night the crowd might muffle the explosion and prevent damage from being done.
LSU won the National Championship in 1958. In January 0f 2004 they repeated their success by capturing the BCS Bowl Championship from Oklahoma in the Louisiana Super Dome. Thanks to a friend / business associate named Phil, Sheila and I were able to “be in that number.” It was exciting. We were sitting about 3 rows from the top of the Super Dome in the end zone. Nevertheless the excitement could not have been any better if we had been in the press box.
In 2006 - LSU had a great team. In 2007 they were rumored to be better. Early on the Imans of the sport were predicting - “this was the year.” It may very well be. What many uninformed folks don’t realize is that there was a game on this year’s schedule much more important that the BCS Championship Game. This game of the decade - NO - the game of the Century was the Alabama Game.
You see Nick Saban who took the Tigers to their 2004 Title had left LSU. Gods are never supposed to abandon their people and understand that Nick - to Tiger Fans was a god. He went to Miami to coach the Dolphins - that was a sin. Then however - he did the unthinkable - he left Miami to go to Alabama - this is a MORTAL SIN.
Saturday Night - LSU’s fans and its players were to prove that sometimes even gods can make mistakes. LSU’s world centered this year around beating Alabama. At 4:00 commerce and society came to a halt in the Bayou State. Everyone that didn’t go to Alabama froze around the TV to watch revenge - sweet revenge. During the first quarter the Tigers and their fans proved that this was going to be easy. The talented Tigers were easily the better team and were going to ride the Tide.
Unfortunately as the second quarter commenced - the preparation, emotion, and talent that was LSU appeared to meltdown into a team that was determined to “snatch defeat out of the jaws of victory.” By the 4 th quarter - Sheila and I in our depression decided to leave our TV Stadium early and head to a Jo El Sonnier Concert at the Evangeline Theater (a.k.a. - The Sliman). We arrived. The crowed was somber - their heroes had feet of clay - they were giving the game away. We would bury our hurt in the accordion music of Jo-el. Then 2 songs into the concert an exuberant emcee rushed to the microphone - the Tigers won! Praise Allah.
November 7, 2008
Now that the game is over and the crowd is finally able to get out of the “funk” they were in since the Tigers ultimately prevailed I (we) can finally go back to focusing on the concert at the Sliman Theater. I’ll replay the opening quarter of the show since disappointment with the assumed defeat of LSU had distracted me from my obligation of providing accurate reporting on this most important social event of the week - good music, good friends, good popcorn, and wine - what else is there in life?
We arrived as the concert goers were trickling in. The Sliman is the stereotype of the theater of the 50s. If you’re over age 50 you’ve sat in the Sliman or a place just like it to spend a few hours or a day watching movies much more innocent than what is shown on the screen today. Until I heard the fans cursing the Tigers for their poor play - I had never heard foul language in this theater. Remember the 50s was the world of Ricky and Desi sleeping in twin beds and Ozzie and Harriet - ever smiling - no cursing, no problems, no drugs, no sex - no excitement. Only now do we realize that maybe Harriet was on Valium and Ozzie was stoned. These were more innocent times.
The reserved seat section - the three front rows - was packed or so it seemed. There were plenty of seats in the back. Sheila and I grabbed two chairs - her with her sprite and me with a glass of Merlot (you drink red wine with popcorn and white wine with peanuts [ I realize not everybody is so sophisticated]).
Jo El Sonnier stepped on stage with his band and begins to play. At his feet or what seems to be a dozen or so accordions - or squeeze boxes. Jo El is a short, dark haired Cajun with miles of living carved in his face and youthful enthusiasm in his soul. The first time he speaks locals know he’s one of us. His Cajun Accent gives away his heritage. His enthusiasm for the culture - the music - the musicians - his parents and this life provides clear indication that his heritage is on loan from him to us but is never going to be given away on a permanent basis.
He plays two or three songs and then the score is announced. The crowd celebrates with Jo El - the victory cheer that follows was not an interruption of the show but merely a necessary step to allow the show and its enjoyment to begin. Jo El sings, celebrates, plays, and teaches his music. This is a laid back place in a laid back time and we’re here because it is.
Probably the Lagniappe for the evening is his “stand in” fiddler - a lady who has the intensity of passion and the passion born in intensity. She provides great music and more - she provides evidence that the music of the Cajuns - our people - will live on. Throughout the evening Jo El tells stories about the “great” musicians of the past - the folks that taught him - that are now gone. I’m sure that others, like me wonder about the future - the ability for this innocent music to survive in today’s hip hop, “gansta” rap, hard rock, drug driven culture - her music and youth allays our fears. Jambalaya and Jolie Blonde are the highlights of the evening + the Tigers won.
November 8, 2007
If you watched TV in Louisiana during October of 2003, you’ve met Denise. She was the attractive young lady that closed some of Bobby Jindal’s commercials with a passionate and enthusiastic - “Vote for Bobby - it’s the right thing to do.” In addition to being a TV celebrity and a political power broker, Denise is also nurse. Her combat station was for many years the top floor at a hospital in Baton Rouge.
Her patients - weren’t. She was a mental health nurse. She dealt with folks that most of us never know and if we did we wouldn’t know what to do with or for them. I met Denise through her husband not at her work place. Although some don’t believe me when I tell them that - they are sure that I met Denise at work and she introduced me to Robin. They assume we were both patients there.
Denise is meek and mild - I’m hard pressed to imagine her dealing with the challenges in the psychiatric ward of the hospital. She’s told me stories about unnamed folks that scare me. I admire nurses. I believe but cannot prove that Denise met Robin at work. If you ever meet Robin - you’ll agree. I sometimes suspect that like many of us Denise maybe have took work home one night and Robin was the one she chose. Maybe living with him is like a continuous continuing education course. I don’t know - Denise looks like she has good sense - Robin doesn’t. The only real “smarts” Robin has shown was in marrying Denise.
Robin is a dear friend that I catch up with nearly every day. He like Floyd and me is an entrepreneur. We operate without a net. If we don’t make a sale or in our language make a “kill” we don’t eat. This risk factor creates a brotherhood - similar to GIs in a foxhole. Robin has had a checkered past - as a hairstylist, insurance agent, entrepreneur, promoter, Internet guru, and now a success.
I met Robin many years ago when he was selling Health Insurance. Joe introduced us and we stayed in touch since then. Robin is a risk taker and has one of the best work ethics I’ve ever seen. We’ve chased many a dream together and more often than not have come up empty handed. Robin also in recent years has become a political junkie and something of a power broker in the Louisiana Republican Party. In spite of all this hard work, risk taking, and the luck of marrying youth and beauty - Robin managed to remain poor. Then - the good news - Hurricane Katrina hit and Robin found work with a company in Florida.
He’s a textbook example of “every cloud having a silver lining.” While folks were suffering - homes lost - the economy devastated - Robin ends up in a company so limited in talent that even he can rise to the top. Robin and Denise recently packed up their U-Haul and moved to Tampa for work and wealth. Congratulations.
They’ve worked hard and done well. Since Tampa is such a nice place to visit and they have a big nice house - I must celebrate their success so when Sheila and I want to go to Florida we’ll have a place to stay. Denise - don’t forget Robin’s meds.
November 9, 2007
As the days tick down until December 31, 2007 and my retirement from this daily obligation - I’m beginning to panic in terms of whom has been mentioned - who has been forgotten and why. Some folks will be overlooked innocently - some innocent folks will be overlooked intentionally. Don’t ask me to explain this because I may be getting in too deep already.
Today’s I attempt to move this Observational from the banks of the Bayou Teche to a more global perspective. Consider this our first and probably only International Expose. I first met Jairo and Pam in 1973. Pam had been Deidre’s college roommate and Jairo was “her man.” Let me reverse that since the Latin community tends to be more “macho” focused. I met Jairo through John and Pam was his wife - she had been Deidre’s college roommate.
Pam like so man of my female friends was beautiful and had married down. My first look at Jairo made me realize how far down she had married. I thought maybe this was one of those arranged marriages or maybe she was getting some sort of federal grant. When I first heard Jairo talk I realized we’re not one world. I thought he was speaking Spanish but then I discovered it was merely his interpretation of English.
John explained that his English wasn’t that bad - his gamesmanship was that good. Jairo is one of the most competitive guys I know. He is always playing one up on somebody or something. Also his Latin Culture requires him to always be macho so part of this competitive drive is merely a need to win. By listening in English but speaking in Spanglish - Jairo always kept us confused - thus he gained advantage.
Pam and Jairo have two lovely children - Nikki and Kacey. Thank God - these girls look like Pam. Had they been born looking like Jairo I would have had to explain in the politically correct terms of the 1960s that they had great personalities and were really good cooks.
As young newlyweds with children John and Deidre, Pam and Jairo, Sheila and me and other couples would gat her at Jairo’s house regularly for backyard Olympics - the games included Volleyball, tether ball, horseshoes, and any other game where Jairo believed he could win - to facilitate his chances he’s also “chit” (Spanish for cheat). It was more fun to watch Jairo “chit” than to win - he’s so creative.
Fast forward to today - Pam is still lovely and successful in her career - she’s retired like she always wanted to be. Kacey and Nikki are still very attractive and now are college graduates. Jairo remains ugly, obnoxious, a homophobe, and a “chitter.” Also he continues to talk like he did the first day I met him. On the positive side he’s a talented - very talented architect and great father and husband. He’s also the ultimate practical joker - as he reads this I promise he’s planning “sweet revenge” for my comments. It will be fun to see what he creates.
November 10, 2007
Walton and Johnson - two nuts that represent 5 people (John Walton, Steve Johnson, Mr. O, Mr. Kenneth, and Billy Ed) on the radio periodically offer “one minute in the head of a woman.” This brief but rambling audio depicts the thought process of women. I’d explain but I can’t since I’m not a woman and when I listen to this bit I’m laughing too hard to remember. I must admit it appears to parallel my experience in dealing with “some women.” Let me clarify - I’m not talking about you my dear Sheila and of course none of my friends are like the “airheads” portrayed- this clip is more about women in general or women in the stereotype.
I’m now 51 days from completing this year long process. Panic is starting to set in. I feel like I’m in the head of a woman or worse yet I’m terrified that I’m starting to think like one of the women stereotyped by Walton and Johnson. There are more observationals to be written - at the moment I’m about 6 behind, decisions to be made, expenses to be incurred, and a process to be completed.
This would all be “moot” except I have decided to publish this Journal - more correctly self-publish. I’ve self published two books in the past. It’s easy but expensive and offers very little economic return. The good news is that this adventure should only cost about 20% of the cost of my earlier ventures and this time I don’t have any expectation of sales so I can’t be disappointed.
I’ve found a proof reader (Thanks Sherry) named Lauren. She seems articulate, capable, enthusiastic, and hopefully cheap. I have no illusions about sales so I don’t have to waste time searching for distribution channels. Books Along the Teche doesn’t realize it yet but they may be the exclusive distributor since the only chance for sales is to the 79 people that have been mentioned so far and maybe the 2, 611 folks that thing they should have been celebrated. The bad news is that once this majority group discovers my oversight of them, they’ll want their money back and a two page spread in the sequel and a public apology. They’ll get none of the above.
Now I’m trying to decide on graphics, a title, and formatting. I bought Sheila a good digital camera when I started this process so that she and Sherry (the instigator of this process) could capture pictures of the people, places, and things presented. Unfortunately - Sherry found a friend that’s kept her distracted and Sheila has been “too busy.” The camera is on it’s way to Europe with Slade and I have no pictures. As sophisticated as the 76 readers will be they probably don’t need pictures anyway. They’ve been to all the places mentioned - they know the other folks and they can stand in front of their mirror to see what they look like.
In terms of the right title - my original thought and the named used in the footer and saved as screen on the computer is Welcome to my Words - as I reflect on the characters - I think “In Search of Mediocrity or “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” might be more appropriate. If you’re reading this you know my decision.
November 11, 2007
I feel like a bunch of baby tomatoes running with a knife - I’m playing “Ketchup.” Sorry I had to try for a smile early. Today is actually November 19 but I’m behind in my work. I have to find 4 updates of sufficient worth to fill the pages of this Journal. That’s the bad news. The good news is that I’ve already written through the 22 nd on a go forward basis. My future is bright - my past is checkered.
As you’ll learn in a few pages - elections were held and we now have a new Sheriff in Iberia Parish. Our District Attorney has been in place for two terms. As an old political science major I know that DA and Sheriff are two of the most powerful positions in a parish. The reasoning is simple - the sheriff can put you in jail and the DA can let you out. Think about it - that is power. To make the power even better in Louisiana (and maybe other places) DAs have the ability to not prosecute - this means they can choose not to bring charges against you.
In the old days - the Assessor was also very powerful in that (s)he could determine property values and how much taxes you would or wouldn’t pay. Today - technology, public records, and an FBI unit in Louisiana focusing on politics limits the “mischief” in Assessor offices. Mr. Harvey would often explain how “Little Caesar” would go into his store and “buy” suits” and when Mr. Harvey would call about the late payment - our Assessor would assure him that he’d pay when he went in to assess his building.
Back to the moment - New Iberia’s DA is Phil. I’ve known him and his wife Renee for many years. I don’t know if I’ve ever met his children but I did meet a daughter in law in waiting in an office in Baton Rouge. When I mentioned that I was from Iberia Parish this young lady asked if I knew Phil. I said I knew him well. She asked for an explanation and as I am prone to do - I explained - “he and I were cell mates together.” She was shocked - Mr. Phil? In jail? (For the record - I lied.)
Remembering now that DAs can keep you out of jail I want to do a most truthful expose on our very fair, very qualified, excellent, and honest DA. The most notable physical features of Phil and his bride are their incredible good looks. Add to this their charm, intelligence, good works, warmth, sense of humor and wit and you begin to understand the package that will assure his reelection well into the future.
I’ve known Phil since high school and to continue my honest portrait of this wonderful gentleman - I must admit that I never saw Phil in politics. I knew he had become a lawyer and eventually an assistant DA but I never saw him in the combat of elective office. Obviously I was wrong - I knew he’d succeed in every venture.
Now that I’m back in New Iberia I see Phil more often and Renee occasionally - I’ve learned that Phil is respected and in some instances “feared” because of his tenacity - his nickname is “bulldog.” It’s good to know that we are safely guarded by Phil and that this wonderful man will look after me as well. Thanks (in advance) Phil.
November 12, 2007
I’ve arrived. I’ve watched in envy as wealthy friends of mine “commission” works of art to be created to satisfy their unique wants and needs - their tastes. I’ve arrived because I just picked up the first such work of art.
A month or two ago in this most sophisticated Journal I mentioned a wall hanging that I purchased for its motivational value. It said simply EAT. It cost me $15.00 a letter. I wake up each morning knowing that I don’t have a job - if I want to eat, I have to “make a kill.” My world of consulting is a lot like being a commissioned sales guy or gal - when we’re working it pays well. When we aren’t succeeding it pays nothing.
My new art work cost nearly twice as much as my first purchase. That’s the bad news - the good news is that it cost less per letter. This wall hanging personalized for me has 7 letters and cost $75.00. This masterpiece was also much more difficult to acquire. My original purchase involved simply walking into Karen’s Fine Framing, making a selection, paying the money and walking back home.
This process to acquire the second hanging was more complex. Karen agreed to approach the artist - Susan Lewald Carver (I only use last names when someone is a celebrity or elected official and I’m sure Susan either is famous or will be so soon) and determine if she was willing and able to meet my demands. I also needed to know the price. I have champagne tastes with a beer pocket book.
Susan committed to the project and we agreed on a price. Then the bottom fell out. It was an issue of creative differences. You see my request was for a simple creation that included the word WHINING with the circle and the diagonal line that is the international symbol for NO - thus a artistic rendering of NO WHINING.
Susan is an artist - with all of the idiosyncrasies that accompany that gift. Add to this the fact that she is a “Jewish Woman” (her words) who has been taught to whine. She believes that whining is therapeutic - I believe it is aggravating.
Using a little creativity of my own and my Catholic experience that has taught me that GUILT can be a management tool - I was able to successfully negotiate the completion of my commissioned art work. This was not an easy process - I encouraged Susan to mark this work 01 of 01 - thus assuring herself that her efforts would not have to be duplicated. Then I encouraged her to make the word WHINING as positive as she would like so that the pain of NO would be less severe. Finally I assured her that I’d take the piece down or cover it up if she ever visited our home. The compromises we must make are substantial.
Today my NO WHINING creation is proudly displayed in my Den. Soon it will be moved into my office where it will permanently reside. To me it is inspiring - to whiners it’s threatening. We’re not one world and don’t whine about it.
November 13, 2007
I’m good at connecting the dots after the picture is complete. Otherwise I am sometimes oblivious to my environment. I tend to be too innocent and naïve to live in the cruel world that exists today.
Over the weekend Sheila and I were driving to Monroe and she started by circling in front of the hospital on Main Street - approximately 2 miles out of the way of the normal route to Monroe. I asked what she was doing and she gave some answer that made no sense and I dismissed it as “the mind of a woman.”
A few days earlier I was in our guest bathroom and noticed a space on the shelf that I thought normally included one of my childhood pictures. I didn’t obsess over this I figured maybe I was wrong and the space had always been there. Also in the last few days Sheila walked out of the room while talking on the phone. I figured maybe she had a boyfriend.
Today I was driving home from Lafayette and Sheila asked me to come in on Highway 182 from Broussard. She said take a look at the sign for Louisiana Medical Supply (this is a company owned by ________________ and Vicki). I panicked - “did you run into the sign with your car?” I asked. She said just take a look at it when you drive by. I agreed.
Twenty minutes later - I’m shocked to discover that my sweet, innocent, loving wife has “got me.” On the billboard is the picture of me from the guest bathroom along with an announcement to the world that Mike Happens and the startling news that this young looking, dynamic man that is me is going to be 60 years old.
The picture was my family’s favorite. It is me at about 3 or 4 years old mimicking my fat her in one of his traditional settings. I’m sitting on the commode, holding a newspaper with my father’s pipe in my mouth. I’ve been assured that this was not a staged photo but merely a picture captured by my dad who caught me playing “dress up” - this seems staged but what do I know. I was only 3 or 4.
Realizing that my wife has now shown my butt to the whole universe that is New Iberia I go home to confront this evil person who passes herself off as “sweet, loving, and gentle” Sheila. She’s at Momma’s. I walk in and she stands their laughing like the Joker in the Batman Movies. More devastation is to follow - I then learn the process of this public humiliation.
Slade my dear son and formerly a participant in my substantial estate is a co-conspirator. He proposed the “tag line” - Mike Happens. The next concern was the cost of the espionage - I learn that my dear friend and former object of my fantasies Vicki was involved. She provided the billboards. Brenda also participated on the periphery. She encouraged Sheila and made the connection with Vicki - the deal was done. One thought races through my blushing head - SWEET REVENGE!
November 14, 2007
For the record I’ve done something that I rarely do and more rarely do effectively. I’ve delegated responsibility to someone else. I have charged the only two people who have read every page of this update with the awesome responsibility of making sure that I mention everyone I should mention and that the comments are appropriate - not too mean, not too nice - but like Goldilocks - just right.
I did not just arbitrarily and capriciously bridle them with this most intimidating task - they invited it. Sheila has listened on a daily basis to each of these works of art as they are completed. Marlene was provided a copy of one update in which she was referenced and she became so intrigued she demanded more. The nearest analogy I can draw - is the “addiction” created the first time someone experiments with crack cocaine. One hit and you’re hooked.
The problem Marlene and Sheila have created for themselves and the vindication they have provided to me results from their continuous critiquing of the process and product. They have criticized the writing, the writer, the topics, the people, the style and substance of each update. They have said some truly unkind things about people that I have been positive about and they have suggested that I should “kick when their down” some of the folks that I have good naturedly “gigged” during this adventure. These are two mean women - if you don’t believe me, ask Charlie.
Here’s the deal - Sheila and Marlene effective today are going back through this Journal and determining the characters. They must then ask - should they be mentioned at all, should their names be removed, should there be more mention, and does the mention fit the time / space allocated?
The second and more awesome challenge is to identify who is not mentioned and who should be. Considering that there are 6.6 billion people in the world, about 300 million in the US, 4.5 million in the state and maybe 70, 000 in the parish - there is room for oversight. I hope they get it right because as of today it is their problem, not mine. I feel so free - out from the burden of worry and fear of offending anyone.
To magnify the problem - some of the folks mentioned are very sick and yet they are more likely healthier than the ones I’ve accidentally overlooked and / or Marlene and Sheila have consciously excluded. When I say “sick” - I don’t mean like a cold or the flu - I mean extreme emotional disorders - Charles Manson, Jack the Ripper, and the like. As an aside to Marlene and Sheila - don’t let this intimidate you, just relax and do your job and let the chips fall where they may - even if you do offend someone like the aforementioned individuals.
As I look out of the window in my office this a.m. - the sky is blue, the weather cool, the birds are singing, and all is right in the world. As Sheila and Marlene awaken today (typically late morning or early afternoon) and the impact of this new challenge hits them head on - their window view may be of storm clouds gathering.
November 15, 2007
Adult supervision - it’s a necessary part of our world. Without it children would run out of control - then these same out of control children become parents and they parent like they live - out of control. Soon the world is in chaos. Come to think of it maybe this is what’s wrong with our world today.
I’m sure “adult supervision” is why God created marriage - it was his attempt at creating an institution to house adult supervision. The parent child relationship is easy to understand. The teacher student is another example of this most important concept. With most of my male friends marriage also provided them the adult supervision that they need.
For the record and to give me a “backdoor” on my earlier statement on occasion certain husbands have to provide the aforementioned adult supervision for their wives. I won’t give details and then everyone who reads this can assume their the adult and their spouse is the child.
Last Saturday as I watched the shouting match, ADHD clinic, and home for the disagreeable that is Mary’s for Coffee play out I realized the need for adult supervision. Mary fills this role from a purely self preservation need. It is her house, neighborhood, reputation and children that are at risk each and every time we gather at her home. She is selfishly motivated to control the chaos.
Sylvia on the other hand is adult supervision from a more intrinsic and philosophical perspective. Sylvia has lived across the street from Mary and Buster for most if not all of their married life. Observing their interaction it appears to me that Sylvia fills the role of coach / confessor / mentor for Mary and I guess vicariously for Buster.
Sylvia is a year or two older than Butsy and me and maybe enjoys as much or more scar tissue then we’ve accumulated through the years. Her contribution to the Saturday ritual that we call Coffee at Mary’s is - chicken salad, good conversation, neighborhood reports, color commentary on Friday Evening at Lagniappe’s and finally adult supervision. Her presence in the room tends to lower the decibel level slightly, causes a reduction in vulgarity, and an enhanced sophistication that would not exist without her presence - sort of like lip stick on a pig. Mary will even open her home for coffee on Saturday’s when she’s out of pocket if Sylvia checks in on us.
Until his recently departure another adult supervisor (a.k.a. - older than Butsy and me) was T-Model. T-Model and his wife Frances lived next door to Sylvia. T-Model was a regular at coffee. I never knew if he enjoyed it, if he felt we needed is presence or if Frances put him out and he needed a place to stay but he was there often. He like Sylvia brought scar tissue. To Sylvia’s serene he brought cynicism. To her listening ear - he brought more noise of conversation. He shared stories and contacts - he was a good bad example. They moved - we miss them. Smile T-Model.
November 16, 2007
Years ago I remember a Catholic Bishop announced the end of Bingo Games on Church properties. In 1976 Sheila and I attended her 10 th high school reunion for old Ouchita High School - Sheila’s Alma Mater. This was my second trip to one of these Red Neck Festivals. I was amazed when the buffet included a selection of seafood and more amazed when beer was served as the beverage of choice - all of this in the heart of the world of Baptists, Methodists, and Pentecostals.
I questioned one of the Bubbas in attendance and he explained that they were tired of Catholics having all the fun - another break with tradition. Occasionally we all should venture out of our comfort zone - try something new - break with tradition. Last night was one such occasion - we held the porch party on Thursday night in lieu of the traditional Friday night as established in the Bible or the Constitution.
Part of this decision was merely the thrill of bending the rules and part was an accommodation that most people wanted to visit with Jimmy and Peggy on their one night stop in New Iberia. Sometimes you must just live on the edge. Jimmy and Peggy were venturing home for their first trip post Jim’s retirement. The party was scheduled knowing full well that we would be competing for audience with New Iberia’s most significant annual event - the Kiwanis’ Pancake Supper.
Traditionally we start about 6:30 but this time Jimmy showed up at 5:10. I guess tonight we’re destined to break all the rules. I ran to get ice - he started unloading his SUV and loading himself up with Gentleman Jack. A few minutes later Hollie arrived. This was his first visit to the Porch. Hollie is a lifelong friend, bon vivant, world traveler (oil field sales), character, and expatriate who returned home via Hurricane Katrina.
Jimmy’s brother Buddy and his wife Sandra also were first timers in attendance. Late in the evening the other rookie to this social event of the season was Parker - a young friend and hospital administrator who wanted to meet Jim. His hope was that Jimmy would mentor him much like Mr. Miyagi worked with young Daniel in the movie Karate Kid. Jim and young “grasshopper” did stand off from the crowd as I observed Jim telling him something that sounded like “wax on - wax off.”
The drinks were plentiful - beer, wine, and whiskey. The food exceptional - a boudin and stuffed bread plate from Dave’s a pound of cracklin from some unknown destination as provided by Hollie. Cracklin for the uninformed is fried fat - it’s delicious but probably lacks in all the vitamins needed for good health. The evening dessert was a Baskin Robins cake provided by Sheila and Slade for my 60 th birthday - life don’t get no better than this.
Entertainment included - a video of my “historical perspective” of Jimmy as presented at his retirement banquets, Richard doing stand up, and the love story that was all of us reliving many, many years of friendship.
November 17, 2007
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me…
Well I made it - I’m 60. It’s been a great run and ideally I’m only at the half way point or maybe starting the last lap in the “mile run” we call life. This is one of the benchmark birthdays - I don’t know why but we as a society tend to celebrate decades more than years. At the 4 th and 5 th decades we joke about the aging process - the 60 th is when most people get serious about the joking.
This morning early I was reflecting on the 6 benchmarks I reached. I can remember some more vividly than others. Here’s the life of Mike in 10 year increments - as well as I can remember them. Now what was I talking about?
My tenth birthday I don’t remember at all - I do believe it may have been my second most anxious. I think it was 1957 (I’d ask Momma but her memory is more gone than mine) when Daddy had his heart attack and almost died. I was in 5 th grade - I’m assuming this birthday was marked more by anxiety than joy - and this was an emotion that I tended to conceal.
The next decade and the accompanying celebration probably occurred at the Keg in Lafayette. I would have been a red shirt Sophomore at USL and every event was celebrated in the Keg. I’m sure we drank too much and ended the night with a Po-Boy from the French Quarter or the Country Boy Special at the Pitt Grill - this was the decade that I grew into membership in the 200 pound club.
My 30 th birthday I remember well. David and Beth had a surprise party for me in Youngsville. Most of our friends were in attendance. Mary (of Mary for Coffee Fame) had baked a cake like a coffin - including a “Ken Doll” head for viewing. I remember her relief when I walked in. She said “Manes - I was scared to death that something would happen as you drove down here and I would have felt really guilty about this cake.” Something did happen - the next day I had a bad headache.
My 40 th included a party at our house. It was the last time that I saw Claudette “partying” - she died the next year. Tim had died in January and so the jokes were sobering. We had fun - the headache condition must be chronic - because I had one the next day as well.
My 50 th birthday and the accompanying party I do not remember at all. I think it’s part of the process. I do know that earlier that year I had a heart attack and that sort of puts the aging process in perspective and / or in motion. I’m guessing I had a headache the next morning but I really can’t remember.
Today - I’m ambivalent - I have mixed feelings. I’ve had a great run and look forward to the 70 th but I also know that more likely than not Momma won’t see my 61 st. I pray that my life is as full as hers but I hope my death comes easier.
November 18, 2007
The Birthday gods were good too me. On Thursday night a few of the folks that were here to see Jimmy brought me gifts. I got a couple of bags of candy and I love candy - even the heart healthy / sugar free kind that Mary brought.
Bobby who spent 25+ years in Saudi Arabia has agreed to consult with me on how to address Sheila’s humiliation of me with the billboard that literally “shows my ass.” We’re researching the appropriate documents and are trying to determine if I converted to Islam would I be able to address Sheila’s indiscretion by decapitation, stoning, or some other appropriate means. Let the penalty fit the crime.
Momma recognized me on my birthday and in her current condition - just having her know who I am is good. She thought I was 70 - that’s not good. I’m going to ask Bobby how to deal with Momma’s that are disrespectful.
Finally Saturday was a full day. After hours of passionate love making - I won’t say anymore because this is a family Journal, I went to Mary’s for coffee. The group was loud, obnoxious, and the conversation pointless - I guess I repeat myself. I left Mary’s at 11:30 to return home to get ready to go to Mary’s for Football.
With the Tigers playing at 2:30 - we gathered again to berate the players, curse the coach, second guess the strategy, and speculate on Les Miles replacement once he accepts the job as head coach at Michigan.
In between these activities - we had time to handicap the day’s elections - berate the candidates, curse the incumbents, second guess their strategy, and speculate on replacements for the folks that might be newly elected and then indicted and convicted for political corruption and crimes that they will commit.
If all of this wasn’t enough excitement for a man at my new age - we committed to attending the Boy’s and Girl’s Club - Wild Beast Feast at the Sugarena. This is an event held annually that is a “super bowl of local chefs,” a chance for local hunters to clean out their freezers, the opportunity for folks to quicken their own demise by eating stuff that will in sufficient quantity “kill them,” a hedonistic celebration of life, and a great fund raiser for a wonderful organization.
I was in the near panic mode since I realized that I couldn’t stretch this full day out to fill this page but Sheila just walked in with a gift from the local Casino. They are going to give me money for my birthday.
The greatest and most needed gift however is that the collective excitement on my birthday and during the bill up to it - is that I can stretch all of the aforementioned excitement into 3 more days of updates - one for the game - one for the election - one for the Wild Beast Feast. Anytime I can get such volume is good - being 5 days behind on these updates - this is the greatest gift of all.
November 19, 2007
Let me set the stage for today’s Observational. LSU won the National Championship in football in 1958. This was an undisputed National Championship and included in that year the Lagniappe of Billy Cannon’s Halloween Night Run through the entire Ole Miss team. It is the legend of LSU Football.
Fast forward to January 2004 and again LSU wins a National Championship Title in Football. This time it is disputed. LSU beats Oklahoma for the BCS title but USC is named # 1 in some insignificant other poll and they claim the title. Understand that the people in America (that matter) know that LSU was the Real Deal and that USC was an imposter / wannabe.
Today LSU is rated # 1 in the country. Starting the season LSU was rated # 2 in the country by the media that is controlled by the people that don’t matter and that through ignorance support USC in whatever they do. USC has lost twice this year - I can’t remember who beat them but I think it was the Little Sister of the Poor and another equally weak team. I digress - LSU has great talent but on a weekly basis they are able to convert “routs” to very close games and one time this year (against Kentucky) they were able “to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.”
Mary had a good crowd. Most of the folks there you know. Mike and his wife Barbara joined us. Barbara is Buster’s sister and I suspect they were with us as part of a Mission project to convert the heathens before the Rapture. As the evening progressed I realized that they had been unsuccessful.
John and Phyllis and Eldridge and Alycee were also in attendance. I think they might have been mentioned in the past but certainly have not enjoyed the appropriate coverage. They say behind every great man there is a successful woman. Phyllis and Alycee are clear and convincing evidence that on occasion successful women aren’t enough to make their men great. They tried and failed.
In spite of the fact that LSU is rated # 1 and is expected to win out and compete for the National Championship - many LSU fans hate Coach Miles and second guess everything the Tigers do. John and Eldridge were the most vocal critics at Mary’s.
John is big - always has been. Eldridge is not as big - but is bigger than he was. Both have been successful in business and both played ball in high school. To the best of my knowledge neither has ever coached yet it is obvious that both are much better than Les Miles, Nick Saban, Knute Rockne, or other legends of the game.
LSU won the game and I’ll use the remaining space to do a color commentary on John and Eldridges’ color commentary on the players - the coach - the game. Les Miles is an idiot (a yellow circle is drawn around the word idiot), there is no discipline, the Tigers finger tackle, the officials are stupid, the quarterback can’t play, the Falcons coach will replace Miles, and did I mention LSU is ranked # 1?
November 20, 2007
About midway through the halftime show Mary, Fran, Sylvia and others left for Mass. I’m guessing they prayed hard because the Tigers won in spite of themselves. As soon as the game was over we loaded into cars and headed to the Sugarena. This is a large corral covered by a tin roof right out of town. This was my first visit to the facility. It was nice for a barn. Sheila kept reminding me that the dirt on the ground was not dust but was bullsh_t. I figured that after this many years married to me a little bullsh_t wouldn’t bother her but I guess it does.
We presented our ticket at the entrance and got tagged with our wrist band. Allegedly this is used to identify us a paid guest and entitle us to eat at any of the booths forming a perimeter in the barn. In actuality this is a means of tagging the bodies of those that overdose on the food - this save time triage at the local emergency room.
A band was playing - occasionally interrupted by announcements, a live auction and encouragement to bid on gift in the silent auction. A concession stand was set up in the corner of the facility to provide beer, water, and cold drinks. Beer was the drug of choice. I saw a few mixed drinks being served as well.
I saw Clay in a shirt marked PETA - People Eating Tasty Animals. The back included something like - there is plenty of room for all God’s creatures - on my plate next to my mashed potatoes. I offered to buy the shirt to wear to Portland but he refused to sell it. It did probably fairly depict what was happening.
There were probably 25 to 30 booths - each cooking one or two signature dishes - always from “wild game.” Probably the only domesticated dishes served were bread pudding, pineapple upside down cake, and sweet potato fries.
The rules were simple - buy your beer and your drinks and then what to any booth and sample anything you want to eat. Each entrant was given 5 tickets to use as “votes” to support the teams and their dishes that were exceptional. If you liked a team or a dish - drop a ticket or tickets in their vote can. I couldn’t help but notice that the District Attorney’s booth had the most votes. I don’t believe that this spoke to the quality of their food but more to the fact that people kiss up to someone who can and does put them in or get them out of jail.
I made about 7 or 8 “hits” at the food booth before my navel slammed shut. I had smoked wild boar - alligator sauce picante - seafood jambalaya - Mirliton (alligator pears) Soup - alligator bites (this is like chicken strips except you have to be more careful when you’re preparing this because an alligator can eat you - a chicken can’t) - corn and crab bisque - soft shell crabs and bread pudding.
Sheila tasted much of what I had plus a few dishes of her own - at home we enjoyed a midnight snack - pepto-bismal, Tums, and nitro glycerin. Life is good.
November 21, 2007
Saturday was also election day and as dusk follows dawn so would the natural order of things result in election night following election day. I rushed home from the Beast Feast to watch election results. Politics is a spectator sport in Louisiana and we spend our time following the results.
Since the Governor, Lt. Governor, Commissioner of Insurance, and other statewide races were determined in the first primary there was limited excitement for us this evening. The State Attorney General was to be decided + in our parish we were selecting a sheriff, a state senator, and a state representative.
One of my challenges in moving back to New Iberia is the fact that New Iberia doesn’t have its own TV station and so you have to watch the Lafayette stations to get your results. This means you also have to sort through many other community and parish races to get the limited information needed. I fall asleep when I watch TV and I can’t make it through this process. Finally in frustration I visited the website for the Louisiana Secretary of State - this gave me the parish specific results that I had hoped for. Unfortunately only the absentee votes had been posted.
I head to bed and turn on the TV in hopes of finding the results I wanted before the sandman mugged me. As I flip through the channels the sandman enters the room. I do find a cable channel locked on the results from New Iberia. I learn that Louis Ackal is to be our new sheriff - Taylor Barras will be our representative and the race between Troy Hebert and Jeff Landry is too close to call. By now the sandman is in the bed with me. He and I wrestle briefly and then he gets me in his famous sleeper hold. I slipping in an out of consciousness - I know I’m going down.
Throughout the night the channel remains on. Once or twice more I manage to gain circulation to my brain sufficient to see if the results have changed. About the second round of consciousness I realize that Jeff Landry is knocked out to and that Troy is going back to Baton Rouge. I go to sleep again.
As a sidebar - one of the great revelations on my birthday was the discussion of bedtimes during the LSU game. Most of the folks there were in their 50s - a few of us were older. The aging process transitions conversations with the focus shifting from what we can do or think we can do to an admission of what we can’t do or won’t even try. Where once we (particularly the males of the species) would brag of our physical, sexual, and party powers - we are now reduced to silence or worse yet an admission of what we can no longer do. We now celebrate our bedtimes in lieu of bragging about not needing sleep.
John, George, Eldridge, and others were discussing the excitement of making it to bed by 8:00 - by not so careful observation it was obvious that the rest of the crowd agreed with their new found priorities. Tonight was going to be rough - the Beast Feast would keep us out late. Old age is ugly. Life is good.
November 22, 2007
Happy Thanksgiving - It’s also the anniversary of JFK’s assassination. I can remember well sitting in our English Class when the PA system “barked” the news that the President was dead. Miss V - our teacher cried. Our lives changed and our innocence was lost. In spite of this - ours is a great life.
I remember hearing a key aide to President Kennedy relay the story of the hurt, shock, and angst that accompanied his death. One member of his inner circle rhetorically and in desperation asked, “Do you think we’ll ever smile again?” Someone correctly answered, “Yes, but we’ll never be young again.”
Now I too am older and have much to be thankful for. I grew up in the innocence of the 50s - I’m grateful that my parents weren’t Ozzie and Harriet but the world we lived in was. Our parents had survived a depression, WW II, and Korea - they had seen so much and they committed to us and our futures. They sacrificed their lives so we’d have more and better than they did. They honored this commitment.
Ours was an idyllic youth - we had problems but relative to many folks today we were insulated and isolated from the hurt, dysfunction and dismay that is much of the world and some of our country. Our Mommas taught us that life wasn’t fair and when we fall down we should pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and start all over again. We learned to be survivors and were never allowed much less encouraged to play the victim card. We were taught to play the cards life dealt.
We knew our Mommas loved us because they told us so and although their methods and style might not be acceptable in today’s world - we felt our dads loved us as well. We were allowed to enjoy our youth - mostly unstructured - just being kids. I’m thankful we didn’t have I-pods, Blackberries (except those I’d pick with Uncle Claude), X-Box games. IM, and the Internet. It’s good that we had unstructured play, neighborhoods safe to roam, no need for Amber alerts, and only one TV we could watch without losing our innocence, decency, or respect for each other.
I’m thankful because I live in America where we’re free to live, love, pray, and complain. In Louisiana I do all this with a stomach full of the best food anywhere, friends, and with a beer or a drive-through daiquiri. I live relatively healthy and somewhat pain free - in spite of a body that I have neglected for many years.
I thank God for my family and friends. Momma has had 88 good years and now is packing for an eternity of great ones. I’ve been blessed that Momma’s decline has provided the opportunity for Slade to shine - to move from my challenging child to the Mother Theresa of 405 Harriet Street. I watched Seth grow up from an easy child to raise and into a successful entrepreneur. I’ve watched Sheila fall down and stand up and now face the rainbow on the horizon. My needs are simple and all are met. I’m thankful that I was taught to celebrate what I have and not to complain about what I don’t. My life is good - Thank God - Happy Thanksgiving!
November 23, 2007
A couple of nights ago Sheila, Sherry, and I ventured out for “boiled seafood.” We ended up at Jane’s. It was unusually crowded for a Tuesday night. Our waiting time passed fairly quickly as I sat quietly and was greeted or better stated harassed by a group of folks that had seen my “butt” in the picture on the billboard celebrating my 60 th Birthday.
Nelwyn and her sister Mary Lou were part of the entourage to make comments. I recognized Nelwyn right away - Mary Lou I did not. I knew Mary Lou better since she was one of Claire’s contemporaries and would hang out at the house as a teenager. Nelwyn I had seen recently at a meeting with the Mayor.
Part of my problem is that I have a 286 memory in a Pentium World. I have all the information needed to effectively operate in the world still brimming over in my brain - the problem is it backs up so slowly. This night would probably not have made it into this journal except for the fact that the service was poor - poor service is epidemic in America today and this wasn’t the worst but it gave Sherry, Sheila, and me time to laugh about the worst.
It took about 3 requests to get lemons for our tea, another 3 reminders for extra seasoning, 2 hints about the cocktail sauce that hadn’t been delivered and finally several more inquiries about the Hushpuppies that were to come with the fried shrimp. What got us laughing was the single Hushpuppy that was finally delivered. Our meal was nearly over so we divided into thirds, laughed and left.
Sheila had problems at the Office of Motor Vehicles two years ago. It was so bad that I was motivated to create a website - www.theomvexperience.com. My two favorite horror stories included a Dad and son who camped out at the door to be first in line when the place opened so Chip could get his permit. When the doors opened Chip rushed to the desk of the first customer service rep while the other 19 folks in line followed him in. The clerk’s first words were “Where’s your number?”
Another driver went in to renew his license. The clerk typed the renewal license information - shredded the expiring one and then handed the new one to the driver. When he inspected the renewal he discovered that she had made a mistake in typing in his birth date on the new form. He showed her the error. She demanded to see a birth certificate.
My all time favorite case providing clear and convincing evidence that service is dead in America and that Common Sense is no longer common was shared by Buster at a recent breakfast. He stopped at a fast food restaurant. He was in line to order at 10:30 a.m. The lady in front of him asked for a hamburger. The clerk politely explained that it was too early for lunch. Buster requested a breakfast item - a sausage biscuit - the same attendant explained to Buster that he was too late from Breakfast. Obviously Buster had entered the Twilight Zone!
November 24, 2007
During my 32 years in Baton Rouge I got to know among others two local legends. One was Chico who ran a service station. For the younger generation this is a place to buy gas where they know your name, care, and will help you when you need it versus a gas station where you buy gas and they take the money and nobody cares about your name or you.
The second was Larry - Larry was the consummate salesman. Not only did Larry know your name but he could remember the clothes he had sold you. Considering that I wasn’t even a big customer and our relationship spanned 25+ years - this is quite an accomplishment.
I was at a basketball game for Slade or Seth. I was wearing a 10 year old sport coat I had bought from Larry. The coat was in good shape but I wasn’t. I had added about 10 - 20 pounds and so the buttons and the buttonholes on this coat had grown apart. Larry came up to me and whispered - “Mike, we’ve had trouble with these coats - they tend to shrink over time.” He then volunteered to take my coat, have it altered and return it to me in a few days. I explained that I didn’t expect such service but Larry insisted. Two days later the buttons and the buttonholes had become reacquainted. That was service. Larry died a few years ago. I miss him.
Wednesday I went into Wormser’s Men’s Store to see Johnny. Johnny is New Iberia’s version of Larry. He knows a most of the folks that dress up in New Iberia. His family has been in the clothing business forever. For decades his father and then his brother, David ran a Woman’s store on Main Street and a store in Franklin. David has since retired. Johnny and his wife, Adelle and sons keep his store going. Johnny is no Larry but then again Larry was no Johnny.
I didn’t go into buy clothes - although I have. In the lifestyle that is mine and the town that is New Iberia - I don’t dress up much anymore. Here I wear suits for weddings and some funerals, sport coats when I’m cold and a sweater or sweat shirt isn’t appropriate or when I’m not up to wearing a suit when I should.
Today I was visiting not with Johnny the clothier but rather with Johnny the author. Johnny has published two books and may have more on the way. I’ve written two books and have self published both. I’ve sold 14 books and Johnny and his publisher have out performed me. Johnny provided good insight. The few folks that have read this or parts of it seem to enjoy it. A great debate rages as to whether or not it will sell. Sheila’s in favor of it being a family history for my sons, Marlene thinks the people in it might read it, and Lauren says it will sell because Cajun is cool. No one knows for sure. If you’re reading this it’s been published.
Johnny was helpful so as quid pro quo - I encourage you to stop into Wormser’s when you’re in town. Visit with Johnny and Adelle and family. Buy a suit. Then stop in St. Peter’s across the street and say a prayer that this book sells.
November 25, 2007
I walked on Thanksgiving Day. I walk almost everyday but holidays are special in New Iberia because you’re reminded how sleepy - sleepy little towns can be. At 7:00 a.m. Main Street is dead. Victor’s isn’t open for coffee, even for the breakfast club, or the most famous regular - David Robicheaux (James Lee Burke’s lead character in his many books about South Louisiana).
It was cold - real cold. Now for anyone in the frozen North you would call this cold but for a poor Cajun who yesterday was sweating at 80+ degrees - temperatures in the 40s with a good stiff wind is cold - real cold. A few walkers braved the elements to join me. We’d grunt at each other as we walked by. The bad news is that it’s cold. The good news is that hurricane season is over and we’ve didn’t have any storms. There’s a top ten item on my list of Thanks.
Bored as I walk I call the only people other than Momma who’ll accept my calls at this hour. Robin is up and busy in Tampa - Floyd is up and busier in New Iberia. Floyd’s cooking today - he’s grilling the Turkey for the big meal. I hear the Mayor in the background as we talk. They invite me over for coffee. I request Hot Chocolate and the Mayor agrees to have some ready for me. (Don’t laugh - how many Mayors in any town in America or the world could you get to fix you Hot Chocolate early on a cold Thanksgiving Day?)
When I arrive I’m greeted by Floyd, his mother - Miss Helen, and his cousin Carlos. Miss Helen is only a few years behind Momma. She was a classmate of Aunt Mazie. We visit briefly and then she returns to her home on Magnolia Street. Carlos stays. Carlos and Floyd share the Bayou Chene connection.
I’m not a student of history and I didn’t pay attention when this was explained to me in the past but basically (I think) Bayou Chene was an Atchafaylaya Basin Community that was flooded out in the Great Flood of 1927. The folks there relocated - some to the Plaquemine area and some around New Iberia. The Currys, Snellgroves, Stockstills are some of the families that survived. These folks are characters - put them in a room together and you’ll see real characters.
The chocolate has been carefully prepared by the Mayor and is in a sealed packet branded Nestle’s. She leaves instructions that I should merely add boiling water. With help from Carlos - Floyd and I figure out how to make it happen with the microwave. We have coffee - talk bad about others and call to wake up the judge.
After this social excitement - I head to Bi Lo to find fixing for lunch. Our planned meeting with Seth for a traditional meal has been postponed. As I’m backing out of Bi Lo I see a familiar face. By the time he’s out of shouting distance I realize it was Fitzi - a classmate from high school. I heard he’s moving home. I drive off - reflecting on the simple life we live - old friends, cousins, Mommas, Hot Chocolate, and memories. I have so much to be thankful for.
November 26, 2007
Jambalaya and Gumbo are two of the classic Cajun dishes. Both allow you to feed many people very inexpensively and can be tailored to the tastes of the “eaters.” Probably the greatest benefit of both is that it’s a good way to use leftovers.
For perhaps the first time since I started this grand experiment / experience called the Observational, I’m ahead of schedule. I now realize that I’ll have more than enough topics to finish the year. For this reason today will be a Jambalaya or a Gumbo - I’m going to use many topics stored in my “icebox” - my leftovers.
Sheila was out of town for a week and as a bachelor I had to fend for myself. I was successful thanks to a little help from my friends. Floyd cooked a steak for me one night (his bride was out of town as well), Brenda and Bobby had me over for Po-boys, and George and Carol invited me out to dinner. I couldn’t make it but it was good to know that I wouldn’t starve. Thanks to those care givers / baby sitters.
Coming home from a long trip the other night, Sheila and I were listening to Country Music - this was the hard core or “acid” country. We laughed with the lyrics, cried to the whine of the fiddles, and reminisced about Uncle Joe and his guitar playing, country singing, celebration of life. My favorite Country Song titles are “Drop kick me Jesus through the Goal Posts of Life” and Uncle Joe’s “Butterbeans.” Uncle Joe, his daughters Brenda and Joanne and most of the Williams family were great singers and musicians - sort of a poor Carter Family.
Last night I went to sleep with the house looking like the LSU Game had been played in our living room. It was a mess. I contribute since I am a slob and Sheila, the normally neat one was being out of character. She was unpacking Christmas decorations to prepare for the Christmas season and bringing in plants to prepare for the Winter season. I woke up to discover the land fill that I left last night had been converted into a winter wonderland. Our kitchen and living areas look like a combination of the Greenhouse at Marshall’s Nursery and a Christmas display window at Macy’s. I didn’t hear Sheila come to bed but from all she accomplished last night - it must have been late. I hope Santa doesn’t trip on a plant.
Sheila is fifty-something but inside of her youthful body beats the heart of an 8 year old. She loves to decorate, arrange “play pretties,” and prepare for Christmas. I’m sort of Scrooge - a cranky old man that can live with less decorations. I remember Frank - a lifelong friend, professional gambler, and retired Federal worker - who used to check into a local hotel to get through Christmas. Don’t laugh - I saw Frank two years ago and he was 60 but he still looks like he’s 18 so it must work.
Boudreaux was parked on Lover’s Lane one night - he was reading a magazine and Marie was knitting in the back seat. An amazed policeman watched their activities and asked their ages - Boudreaux said, “I’m 22 and Marie will be 18 in 35 minutes.” Much like Sheila and me! She should have found a younger “kid” - not an old goat.
November 27, 2007
Years ago I listened to an NPR program explaining that in the old days of baseball broadcasters would simulate the game based upon reports received on the teletype. Their broadcasts weren’t live but were recreations of what had happened minutes earlier. I respect creativity and I’m sure it took an exceptionally creative mind to accomplish this. I’m sure the local families huddled around their radios greatly appreciated the game, the color commentary, the hyperbole of the process, and the enthusiasm of the broadcaster. These were certainly simpler times.
As I was returning from Baton Rouge yesterday evening I noticed that rush hour traffic in downtown New Iberia was much worse than usual. I didn’t think that was possible. We need a loop. Cars lined St. Peter Street long after the merchant and parole office had closed for the evening. There was nothing happening at Church yet the parking lot was filling up. I realized tonight was the Christmas Parade!
I suggested to Sheila that we might want to make this - the social event of the holiday season. She declined. This event could have provided two or three days of updates. This morning as I stare at the blank screen and search for a topic for today - my memory and experience banks are both blank as well. Therefore I’ll attempt to do what the broadcasters of old so successfully did in their studios during baseball seasons so long ago - I’ll simulate New Iberia’s Christmas Parade.
Before we back out of the driveway I realize that people are parking in front of our house so we bundle warmly and walk to Main Street in hopes of finding a spot near the curb. Mommas, daddies, grandmas, and grandpas all looking more like Eskimos than Cajuns as they’ve dressed for the cold chase after their children who are running down Weeks Street with unbridled and unbundled enthusiasm.
We cross Main as the police escort makes its initial run to clear a path. Folks line both sides of the street that now looks more like Canal Boulevard on Mardi Gras Day than it does our old comfortable New Iberia. Bouligny Plaza is crowded with people and cars. Some obviously have camped out for two days to assure a great spot on the curb. This mimics tailgating at LSU except here the fans wear red and white versus the traditional purple and goal of Tiger Stadium.
As I look back to the bayou I see the seasons’ first ice skaters enjoying the recent freeze of the Bayou. Tonight we won’t hear the calliope of the Riverboats since the Bayou is now closed for the winter season. As the police make there second run down main - the sound of bands begin to drown out the sirens. Red noses and cheeks illuminate the curbs and our collective breath creates a fog dimming these same lights. Packed like sardines - the front row of folks has the best view - the back 8 rows enjoy more warmth. What follows are convertibles, queens, bands, dance troupes, and memories - of the past and for the future. The crowd’s enthusiasm grows. Santa arrives. Hours after the first band passes the fireworks signal the end of the extravaganza. I have another drink and we limp home.
November 28, 2007
The caller asked, “Is this Mike Manes?” He identified himself. It was Corky - a voice from my past. Corky had been a Coach at Catholic High in my Junior and Senior years. I was the equipment manager and in that role got to know him well.
He said - I just read Phil’s eulogy and what’s this story about “Phil surviving me as Coach?” He wasn’t bluffing - it was exactly what I had written. When the potential exists for libel or slander lawsuits you must have a good defense and in such cases the truth is always best. I smiled as I spoke - “Coach if you don’t remember you have some fairly large feet and you wore even bigger wingtips. On occasion Phil’s rear end would be the recipient of the frustration that those feet could express.
When we were growing up, ours was a more direct society. We weren’t the “kinder and gentler nation” we are today. Political correctness was not yet known and when an adult spoke you listened or paid the consequences if you didn’t. Coaches were adults on steroids. They ruled with an iron fist or an iron foot.
Corky was the second generation of coaches that I got to know. The first group included Raymond, Tom, Bobby, and Cam. To this day I feel awkward referring to them by their first names. If they were here with me I’d call them Coach or Coach _____________. Since I’ve not used last names in these updates I’ll not start now. Raymond and Tom had moved on to coach at USL in Lafayette. Corky and Bill came in as their replacements.
Corky had a swagger to him. I really liked the guy. He’s the first person to make the correct observation that maybe “good taste” was my strongest asset. I’ll cleanup his line by paraphrasing what he said - he suggested it would take a colonoscopy to find my taste buds. He’s right. My other favorite line that he used often was “I ain’t had so much fun since the hog ate my little brother!” I use that to this day.
We talked a little more, reminisced, caught up, and promised to get together when he came south again. This call meant a lot - the fun of flashing back to my youth, the chance to engage as an adult with a man that was so much a part of my teen years, and the opportunity to thank one of a number of folks that influenced my life and the lives of so many people I’m close to.
I mentioned Cam in an earlier update so if this repeats anything I’ve said previously I don’t care. The Coaches - Raymond, Tom, Bobby, Cam, Bill, and Corky had a huge influence on our lives. Although most of us “bitch and moan” about what happened during those times - I think the majority of us would not trade the experience for any other. We are better for them. Tom has died - Raymond is the first husband of the state of Louisiana - Bobby, Corky, and Cam are retired. I’ve lost track of Bill. I believe that if all of them left the earth today - their presence would still be felt through the young, impressionable “kids” they touched - with their wingtips, their words, and their direction. Thanks Coaches - we needed that!
November 29, 2007
Yesterday started much like any other day. I drove to Opelousas to visit with a client and once that meeting was complete I headed to Washington to meet with a friend that hopefully will soon become a client (again). As I headed North on I-49 I received a voice mail from Webb - Sheila’s cousin and a doctor in Monroe. His message was simple - “Lela had slipped into a coma and the end was near.”
In the afternoon we packed to drive to Monroe. This was a day we both anticipated. It wasn’t just if but when and not just when but also who. We’ve already had two calls for us to “get to the house quickly” for Momma. Today’s call had more authority - Webb a doctor explained that she won’t make it more than 48 hours.
Our driving and conversation were inverse - the longer we drove the less we talked. Each of us was lost in our own thoughts for our own reasons. Lela was a woman that in my opinion and observation had grown up rough and had chosen to remember and maybe even embrace that roughness. I know others who grew up rough and chose to leave rough behind. I believe that life is in the living and the quality of the life is in the choices we make - particularly in choosing our attitude.
Lela is Sheila’s mother. I’m only a son in law. Mother’s and daughters are a study better left to experts - I’m not qualified to judge. I know that Lela worked hard to support Sheila in her hardscrabble world of single parenthood. Sheila as her mother became more and more fragile worked hard to provide for her. She did all that she could do and then some. From first hand experience I can tell you that caring for an aging parent is difficult in the best of circumstances - when the aging parent tends to choose darkness over light the process can approach impossible.
Although the thoughts were not spoken I knew Sheila was struggling with the moment, the process, and the inevitable end. I was struggling for Sheila. Sheila has never been comfortable with death and dying and this unfolding drama with her mother would test her very soul. Near midnight we arrived at the hospital. We searched a maze of darkened hallways for the Cardio Vascular Intensive Care Waiting Room and then searched for courage to continue the short distance to Room 3. This was not easy for Sheila the participant or me the spectator.
I entered first. Lela was comatose. The stress of life had left her face and now was resting in her failing lungs. He face was relaxed her breathing strained. Webb and said the end was near and my untrained eye knew he was right. Tonight Sheila would be in monologue with her Mother - there would be no dialogue. The next few moments were precious - Sheila was able to thank her Momma for gifts provided, return baggage accumulated but no longer wanted or needed and finally offer a final gift - a peace offering - an angel pin that I placed next to Lela’s body. The verbal card was simple - may this angel help you find the happiness that escaped you in life. May the hereafter bring you joy absent from so much of your herebefore. As we left the room I whispered Sheila’s thoughts - Rest in peace.
November 30, 2007
We slept in the Ramada Inn not far from the hospital. I got moving early and quietly. I knew if I woke Sheila too early I might meet my Maker before Lela met hers. After considering the self-service breakfast available at Ramada Inn - I decided to treat myself to something more appropriate - breakfast burritos from McDonald’s. I ordered this delicacy - sat in the parking lot and indulged myself and then headed back to the Hotel ready for the day.
We knew that last night was the final dance for Sheila and her mother. Webb was right - death was imminent. Peace had been made, prayers offered, baggage and baggage delivered only the right time remained. We left the Good Lord in charge of that. We prepared for what was too follow - the urgency that accompanies death.
Once our planning efforts were complete we checked out of the hotel and ran a few errands. Along the way I stopped at the Bank to see if Judy was in. She was out to lunch. Judy is one of Sheila’s best friends and her husband Arthur is one of my favorite rednecks. As lunch approached we headed to the Warehouse Restaurant near the River.
The place is owned by Jan, one of Sheila’s cousin and one of her waiters is another cousin - Hans. In the small world department I used to write insurance on Jan’s dad back in the 1970s. I didn’t know that he was a redneck and so I didn’t try to match DNA. Years later I discovered our shared (by marriage) heritage. The Warehouse is a great restaurant. We had a good waiter and better salads. Sheila wrote notes to Jan and Hans and we left them with the hostess.
As I stepped into the parking lot my cell phone rang. The Caller ID indicated a Monroe #. When I answered the lady identified herself as with North Monroe Hospital. I knew the end had arrived. After appropriately confirming that I was the right person for her to tell she explained that Lela had died at 12:25 - minutes earlier. I turned to Sheila and said - “It’s over.” As my words settled in her brain - tears erupted in her eyes and some of the angst that had been her constant companion for months left her body. We walked quietly to the car.
We immediately commenced the business of death. There were calls to be made, a service to schedule, preachers to contact, and clothes to be gathered. Sheila was a trooper. She did what needed to be done in her usual efficient style. For the first hour or two ours was a phone bank with Sheila shouting numbers and me working both of our cell phones with great effectiveness.
By late afternoon our outgoing lines were closed and we started to receive the incoming calls that result from such an announcement. Joe and the Funeral Home was most helpful. Jenny at the Nursing Home helped us reclaim Lela’s possessions and the folks at the Church did what was needed to be done. Plans complete - we head home. Each lost in our own thoughts and wondering what tomorrow brings.
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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Email them to sheila@mycajunlife.com