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Chapter 12

December 1, 2007

“T - 31 and counting…” In the 1960s space travel became a reality. The first trips were unmanned and then Alan Shepard made his and our maiden voyage. In those days these trips were news - big news. We sat glued to our black and white television sets. We’d bring TVs to school and the entire class would stare blindly at the screen - snow and all. The lift off and the splash down was the limit of our viewing but it was exciting - real exciting.

I think the countdown started T minus and then the number of seconds till lift off. Today I’m getting excited - I’m at T-31 and counting. In about 4.3 weeks I’ll put the last update in the can and myself in the bed to celebrate the New Year in my dreams. I will have accomplished what has been a most fun process and experience. For the record at the end of November I have created (or wasted) 179,264 words.

I walked into Victors searching for a cup of hot coffee more for the warmth than the flavor and to watch the gathering of old men that is the coffee club. As I walked to the counter to order I saw a familiar face. It was Morris. His wife Margie wasn’t with him. That is unfortunate because she is beautiful and much easier to look at than is Morris. I’ll admit it - I’m politically incorrect. He introduced me to his tablemate Annette. They were there on business. Morris is retired and Annette is an attorney. They had just reviewed some legal documents.

Annette like me is a repatriate and so she struggles with the same identity crisis that I have. It’s hard to match names and faces when you’ve been gone for 30 - 40 years. What makes matters worse is that our families have remained in town and so people remain familiar with us when our remembrance of them has long since left our radar screen. Morris was teasing Annette because she has since she’s been back calling one man by the wrong name. The person she thought was Mr. Pat is Bo and to make matters worse Mr. Pat has been dead for years. As Morris said, “she sees dead people.” That might make a great movie. Annette’s brother Kurt was a friend he was killed 40 years ago. It’s unfortunate because he was “going places.”

Floyd and the Mayor joined us. Floyd and Morris were high school classmates. The Mayor is much younger than Floyd. We caught up on many years of living, old friends, friends that are old, LSU football, politics, and life. It’s amazing what you can accomplish in such a short period of time when you put your mind to it.

After about an hour I headed home to seek the future the Good Lord had planned in my post-Lela world. Time will tell. I found Sheila in bed with her emotional covers pulled over her head. Death is like that - it makes you think, think a lot. What was good, what was bad, tomorrow, yesterday, the gifts, the baggage, the things you’re grateful for and the things you regret.

I know the next few days will be difficult for her. I want to help but I can’t. To get through this process you must merely live it. Thank God - time heals all wounds.

December 2, 2007

I didn’t realize until this year the reason LSU was called the “Tigers.” It became obvious however that this was not because of the ferociousness or majesty of their namesake but rather from the simple fact that cats have 9 lives. This year the Tigers proved the legend of 9 lives. Maybe the 1958 Billy Cannon run and a few years ago the “Bluegrass Miracle” should have tipped us off but it didn’t. You could attribute those two wins on talent and luck. This year proved that luck and talent weren’t the answer - this team has the inability to lose as part of their DNA.

The one and only problem with having 9 lives is that eventually you use them up. Friday night after Thanksgiving it happened. The Tigers lost to Arkansas. It’s never good to lose but with that loss went any hope of a National Championship. LSU had been picked as # 2 in the preseason polls. They showed exceptional potential during the first few games of the season. They were dominant. USC the only perceived equivalent team stumbled and fell mid season - the Tigers moved to # 1 and their was talk of merely assigning the Championship to them.

The Tigers were going to “win out” and that was it. Unfortunately good Karma for Kentucky allowed them sweet revenge on their Bluegrass Miracle and the perfect season was over. The Tiger Faithful were comforted with the fact that it was impossible for any team to go undefeated anymore in the SEC. Parity has arrived.

What we didn’t realize at the time was that “miracle finishes” against Florida, Auburn, Ole Miss, and Alabama - were actually the use of lives 6 - 7 - 8 - 9. From now on LSU must win on their own. The miracle jar was empty and the 9 lives were gone. The Arkansas loss left the “cathouse” devastated.

December 1, 2007 brought comfort in that LSU could win the SEC Championship and play in the Sugar Bowl. Normally - in terms of most years and in most cities this would be a reason for celebration. This, however, is Louisiana and this was to be the year. The most die hard fans still harbored in their hearts the idea that maybe LSU could still make it to the “big dance.” What if Missouri and West Virginia lost? What if they played well enough against Tennessee to remain a presence? What if? What if? What if?

Some of the cynics - such as myself were laughing on Saturday morning at Victors that the Tigers could make it to the BCS if the 4 teams ranked above them in the polls were in simultaneous plane crashes with each other. I know it sounds sick but for LSU to make it to the Championship with two losses it would take more than the planets aligning it would require these planets (including Pluto) to synchronize dancing together. It was not going to happen.

Saturday night came and LSU won, Missouri lost, and so did West Virginia. Maybe the aforementioned loss of lives 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 was actually a mistake in math and it was really 5 - 6 - 7 - 8. Maybe miracles really do happen. What if?

December 3, 2007

About 4:00 p.m. Saturday evening, I checked the Internet for Slade’s flight status. He was coming home from his world tour. He had been gone since November 17. His wanderings had taken him from Amsterdam to Prague, to Milan, to Switzerland to Germany and back to Amsterdam. We had spoken a few times during these two weeks. Once he called for money - his pocket had been picked. Once he called to let us know he was safe having fun and that his travel partner JoAnna was sick and heading back to Texas. Two more calls were exchanged - one to check in so we wouldn’t worry too much and once to remind us of his arrival. He was having “the time of his life.”

We planned to go to 6:00 Mass on Saturday evening (to fulfill our obligation, pray for a safe return for our child, and seek a blessing that the four teams mentioned in yesterday update would not crash but would be declared ineligible for Bowl Games.)

Sheila and I let the time slip away from us and we discovered we could not make it to mass at about 7:00 we headed to Lafayette International Airport. As with Atlanta and Chicago it’s sometimes difficult to estimate the time and hassle at this regional hub of aviation activity. The 14 people in the terminal building when we arrived assured us that the hassle factor would be minimized.

We arrived early and Slade’s plane was late. We wandered the facility - more like to porta-potties separated by a double wide trailer. The Acadiana Region needs a real airport for the future but the politics will prevent if from happening but that’s a story for another day and time. Lost in thoughts about Momma, Lela, Slade, and a hoped return to normalcy - I really forgot who, what, when, and where I was.

About 8:15 we were standing near the bar (I had originally type lounge - but this Airport is too small for a lounge - this was a bar) when a shout of joy brought me back to my senses - LSU is going to the BCS Championship Game. They’re going to play Ohio State. The planets had aligned - they actually were square dancing with each other. This was particularly challenging since Pluto was their and that made 9. I wonder if there is any significance with 9 planets and 9 lives. Maybe it’s just a coincidence but then again I don’t believe in coincidences.

Joy to the World - the Tigers made it. Life is good. God is great. It’s a new day in America. Next is the only news that could have been better - Flight 2709 from Houston is on the ground and taxing to the terminal. Sheila’s at the window watching for Slade. I’m at the gate waiting for him. I look up and there walks a big bear, with a great smile, his fur disheveled, and his pants sagging. It’s Slade - he looks great - tired but happy. We embrace - I whisper to him - Mimi’s died and the Tigers are going to New Orleans for the BCS Game.

Sheila runs over. Slade holds her. She needs his comfort and he needs to comfort her. Tears are exchanged. Slade is safe. We talked to Seth while we were waiting. He’s safe. The Tigers are going to the big dance. Life is good. God is great.

December 4, 2007

I think earlier in this Journal I told the story of Jesus at the football game when the Catholic Crusaders were playing the Protestant preachers. Jesus cheered vigorously for both sides causing the observer behind him to assume he was an atheist. I believe that in the history of the world there has been more harm done in the name of religion than there has been good done under the same banner.

As a young boy growing up in New Iberia - we were advised to stay away from people of other faiths. The consequences were too severe. Other faiths meant - in those days Protestants - since Jews were a near unknown and Hindus, Muslims, and others were not even mentioned. I’ve known dysfunctional families in my life but the family of Abraham must have been the most dysfunctional of all. To this day his progeny are still killing each other - thousands of years since they left his home.

What got me thinking about this was the Faith Gumbo that was Lela’s funeral. Family and friends met at the Chapel at the Mausoleum in Monroe. Lela was a Methodist, her preacher and his family that provided the singing are Baptists and all Sheila and her New Iberia posse were Catholics. We prayed to the same God and yet we were somewhat separated by the religions that worship this God.

John Carroll Lela’s nephew and the Jerry Clower / Billy Graham character that sent Aunt Elvie on her final Voyage provided a repeat performance for Lela. He was joined by his son, daughter, son-in-law, and grandson as the musical inspiration for the event. They were great - especially the fiddler. The Catholics had each other and we were treated to a view of how the Protestant world worships our God.

Lela looked good. The stress that was her constant companion in life was gone from her face. The few pews were crowded so I was relegated to sitting beside Sheila as she was comforted by her two boys that have in brief time become men. It gave me great comfort knowing she’d have those strong shoulders to support her if I leave this world first. If history repeats itself - I will and they’ll be there for her.

We’ve lived the past year in the “shadow of death.” We’ve watched Momma walk toward the finish line of this earthly existence and Lela fight life and the joy that accompanies the hurt that we must all endure. I saw Sheila drawn into the battle and suffer some of the injury that in yesterday’s world we called “shell shock.” I heard and embraced the comfort of John Carroll’s message of “streets of gold.”

I observed as family and friends reminisced about the good that was Lela and as we tend to do at funeral they overlooked the human frailty - the flaws - the bad. When Paul died 36 years ago and the priest was eulogizing him, I walked to the coffin to be sure that he was the one in the box since the guy described was not the Paul I knew. I had the same thoughts on Tuesday. As Catholics on Ash Wednesday we’re told “Remember man that thou art dust and unto dust thou shall return.” Lela moved toward dust on Tuesday. May she rest in peace? Do I hear an Amen? Amen!

December 5, 2007

Periodically a celebrity or a rock group will reach the end of their road and in an effort to “milk” their career for all they possibly can they’ll make one last World Tour. This is simply an excuse for old guys and gals to prance the stage one last time - in hopes for applause, great revenue, and a little press coverage. They spend some of the time on stage thanking the audience for their loyalty and support through all the years.

Today I’m 26 days from the end of this grand adventure and like Elvis or the Rolling Stones, or the Beatles it’s time for me to thank the seven people that have been loyal and faithful followers of this grand adventure. I’m also thanking the twenty nine other folks that hopefully will read this Journal once it is published + the 100 or so folks that are the story. I must also thank the stage that this story has played out upon (a.k.a. - the City of New Iberia and the state of Louisiana).People are easy to thank - I’ve never thanked a place before - so here goes nothing.

Thanks for being here when I needed you. Thanks for the cool mornings that provided me a safe walking path. Thanks for the Bayou Teche that so peacefully moves through our town. Thanks for Bouligny Plaza that served as the backdrop for the Gumbo, Sugar Cane, and other festivals and events that are so much of our life here in this town.

I’m thankful for the beautiful Main Street area that is unchanged since my youth. We’ve enjoyed many good times in the Sliman Theater, Clementines, Bojangles, the LeRosier front porch drinking wine and relaxing in the Shadow of the Shadows. Sheila and I have enjoyed the comfort of the houses of worship that are St. Peter’s, Sacred Heart, First United Methodist Church, Tee Coteau (Our Lady of Perpetual Help) and even the local synagogue that I visited as a guest of Mr. Paul.

I’m thankful for Victors as a gather place for the “breakfast club” which is nothing more that the vanilla version of “The Gathering of Old Men” as written by Ernest Gaines. I’m thankful for Charlies, Bon Creole, Viators, Steve’s, and every other food place and honky tonk. I relish my memories walking in Mr. Louie’s backyard to talk with my long deceased friend Paul. I still am mesmerized by the beauty and uniqueness of Mt. Carmel - the architecture that it provides, the legacy of the “little general” that still walks the halls, and the contributions to our state created by its thousands of graduates.

I even enjoy and am thankful for the smell of burning cane and the haze created by the smoke. I will always relish the Oak Trees, and magnolia blossoms and the Azaleas in bloom. I love the beautiful homes on Main Street and those special houses on the Bayou. I even am thankful for the old neighborhoods and areas today in decline - not for the present condition but more for the memories of yesterday and the hope and potential of tomorrow - Hopkins, Harriet and Magnolia Streets. I’m thankful for Gragnon’s and Mary’s for Coffee. Thanks for the memories.

December 6, 2007

Marlene is one of the seven folks mentioned in yesterday’s update that has read the document from beginning to end. One of her comments was that I apologize too much. Obviously Marlene hasn’t dealt with the “kooks” I deal with or she does a better job of not upsetting people. I get in trouble when I’m trying not too and my Momma always taught me to apologize when you hurt someone’s feelings. I’m sure some folks will be upset if or when they read this and rather than face Momma’s wrath without the cover of an explanation - today I’m going to offer one last blanket and some attempt at specific apologies. This way if Momma calls or if someone calls Momma I can say - “Momma read December 6 - I already apologized.”

If I mentioned you and you didn’t want to be mentioned - I’m sorry. If I didn’t mention you and you did want to be mentioned - I’m sorry. If I mentioned you too much, too little, too sarcastically, too seriously - I’m sorry. If I joked too much, exaggerated too much or joked too little or exaggerated too little I’m sorry.

I was reading an article in the paper earlier today about Michael Vick and his letter to the judge to plead for leniency. It basically said - I’m not the monster y’all are making me out to be. You need to understand my background, my culture, my history, etc. I agree. I’m just another Michael asking for forgiveness

There are some folks and organizations that I made negative comments about that I believe what I wrote so I can only apologize if what I said hurt their feelings. I’m not a patient soul and I care a lot about Acadiana, the locals`, the culture, and the possibilities. My comments were intended to make us better not bitter.

I stopped writing at this point because I had writer’s block - I could think of no more ways to apologize and I’m about 190 - 200 words short of the number needed to fill this page. Creativity can’t be forced. As I walked away I said a little prayer for inspiration. I asked the good Lord to provide me the words to complete this daily observational. As I paged through the newspaper my prayers were answered.

A column titled “Ability to survive failure is what makes most of us…” This columnist who writes well and often shares well thought out opinions (but aggravates the bejeezus out of me for her whining style of talking) explained something that I already know. We get better because of the hardships we must suffer through. The way I describe this phenomenon is that “Souls don’t grow in the Sunshine.” Adversity is our friend - hardship is good - being hurt makes us better. To those of you that for whatever reason are hurting right now because of what I wrote or didn’t write - know that I love you - I helped you more than the pampered class that got coverage in these pages.

If the above paragraph doesn’t ease your hurt - walk back with me to the 1970 movie - Love Story. Ignore what I said above. Know that I love you and “love means never having to say you’re sorry.” I love you and I won’t apologize again.

December 7, 2007

If you haven’t figured this out yet, Momma is the most influential person in my life. She has the one human being that has marked me the most. I’m proud of that - she’s probably a little leery of that title as she should be. In spite of this significant influence we are probably as different as two people can be. I’m tall and Momma’s short. I’m blond - her hair is dark. She has a light olive complexion - my complexion is pimento olive. Momma moves slowly - I tend to move quicker.

She is very deliberate in her thoughts rarely speaks more than is absolutely necessary and maintains a sense of noticeable calm and control. I run my mouth which is not good particularly since I don’t always think before I speak. I do tend to let my emotions show. The one similarity I believe we share is we are comfortable in our respective skins.

Momma’s been bed ridden since July 5 and her physical condition shows it. In the past few weeks the toll is starting to be taken on her mind as well. Today she didn’t have an out of body experience but from her behavior she has been having an out of character experience.

In earlier updates I’ve mentioned Miss Mickey and Miss Arthe. These were two of Momma’s close friend for most of her life. Miss Mickey is the poster girl for energy and enthusiasm. Miss Arthe could fill the same role for humor and mischief. When Miss Mickey called my name it was mostly as a “squeal.” Miss Arthe never called my name - she merely used a universal title for all “kids” - our handle with her was “knucklehead!” Today Momma’s spirit was more like Miss Mickey’s and her attitude was more that of Miss Arthe.

I don’t know the motivation for this change in style. It may be that she wanted a drink and I fixed her a really strong one. For any Baptist friends of mine I can only suggest that “when you get to the stage that Momma is in life - you’ll appreciate a drink as well. I’ll fix it for you and I won’t be critical of your drinking it.” For those folks that question giving alcohol to someone whose taking as much medicine as Momma - I say, “so what?” If she wants a drink - let her have it.

It may be that she’s having mini-strokes or it may be dementia. All I know that it’s out of character for her and very funny to watch this “second face of Teenie” that I have not seen before. Sheila asked if she recognized her and she said, “You’re Michael’s wife - he’s been married twice and both of his wives are crazy.” For the record I’ve only been married once (that’s been enough). She told Sheila and Johnny both to “jump in the lake.” So far she continues to show me the respect I deserve. She has insulted Claire as well.

The end is near. Momma doesn’t want to be where and how she is. She’s appears to be having fun. I know death will bring her peace. Thanks for the memories.

December 8, 2007

The dictionary definition of hero is “one that shows great courage.” Mother Teresa said, “In this life we cannot do great things we can only do small things with great love.” Heroes are personal - someone I admire might be unknown to you or not someone you hold in similar esteem. Today I want to celebrate my heroes.

First my unnamed heroes include anyone who joins the military - particularly those who see combat or anyone who suffers pain or setback with quiet dignity - don’t cry, don’t whine, don’t seek pity - just “keep your eye on the ball and a stiff upper lip.”

To put faces on the term for me personally I must include Timmy - who is fighting valiantly his pancreatic cancer and Yvonne who is in the “fox hole” with him. I admire George and Carol who looked death in the eye and death blinked. I admire Phil who lost his battle with life but fought so valiantly. He spent nearly a year in the hospital and maintained poise and dignity during the process.

I admire Beth. When David was murdered she walked through the process with a sense of calm and decorum that belied her true pain. She did not show bitterness nor seek revenge. She gathered her three children under “her wing” nurtured them to adulthood. She did what Mommas are meant to do and did it well. Today she converted that most negative experience into a healing art that she shares with her husband Steve and folks that can benefit from her wise counsel.

I admire Steve who by his own admission would not in his early life warrant much admiration but who was “lucky to get cancer” (his own words) and turn his life around. Today he and Beth have together beat the odds.

Brenda sent a 39 year old husband to play basketball one evening and two hours later she was a widow with 5 children to raise. Tim would admit that their results could have been no better even if he had lived. Through or maybe because of her pain and experience she counseled hundreds and taught prisoners about life.

Lily is the personification of the wedding vows. She stuck with Will through better or worse, in sickness and in health till death did them part. Simultaneously she fought successfully a battle with Cancer.

Slade is my son so I’m not objective by I remain in awe of his calm when he was injured at work and thought he was dying. His voice message ignored his fears and avoided my panic. He said simply “Dad - I’ve been hurt. I’m going to the hospital so they can cut me open and wash me out. I love you Dad. Bye!” At the time I was reassured that my worst fears wouldn’t be realized because he was so calm. Only weeks later did he confess that that bye was really meant to be “BYE - the end.”

There are too many more to celebrate. These are an example of the rest. I hope you have yours - they are a necessary part of life. Hopefully you’ll be a hero as well.

December 9, 2007

“If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.” Most of us have used this line and probably all of us know it. It translates into “Don’t mess with success.” It also speaks volumes about the human animal’s love affair with their comfort zone. If you try something different and it works you will be celebrated or at least acknowledged. If you try something new and it fails you’ll be staunchly criticized. Also it will be much more difficult to innovate the next time since people will constantly remind you of your prior failure. “We tried that once and it didn’t work…”

The Porch has been a success. In spite of the fact that it started more as a joke than as a serious social function. It was the summer of 2005. The Warehouse with it renovations were starting to take shape. The roof was on, the walls were up but not yet complete, the porch built, and with a reasoned imagination you could see that this grand adventure might work - all it would take was more time and money.

One Friday evening several couples gathered on the porch for a few drinks. We had beer iced down, a couple of bottles of wine, a port-a-let out back and our apartment across the street to provide the comfort of a real bathroom for the ladies. Daylight savings time provided the needed visibility and Charlie’s string of Christmas lights provided a back up to Mother Nature if we stayed beyond dark.

We had fun the first night so that success prompted a second night. Before we realized it a process was starting to take shape. I provided ice and a big galvanized tub for the drinks. A new bar-b-q pit provided the energy to test some delicacies - everything from sausage, to marinated pork, to our fish du jour. Extension cords added to our technology and soon we had construction lights and fans for the heat and heating units to negate the cold.

The good news is that Mother Nature was reasonable with the challenges presented. I can only remember two really cold night before our heating and cooling system was installed. One night we all so bundled up it appeared to be a house warming at an igloo as we huddled miserably inside the building looking out on the porch. The second night of cold was only celebrated by about 4 guys that showed up. The gals had better sense. After one drink Johnny offered to buy us dinner at Lagniappe’s Too - it was a good meal and a better decision.

We’ve had as many as 40 guests and as few as two but we’ve always have fun. The guest list (by e-mail) now includes 50 - 60 names and strangers ask for an invite - we’ve become famous. Unfortunately - just when we’ve about perfected success some Thomas Edison lite decides we should mess with what works.

One of the wives that wasn’t going to be at this Friday’s party was jealous that she’d miss all the fun so she suggested that we make it a Stag Night. Out of respect for this wonderful person I did just that. Like the Edsel - this was a good idea that didn’t work. At 7:00 George arrived. At 8:30 he left - so much for Stag Night.

December 10, 2007

In the post-Lela world, Sheila and I decided to take a trip to San Antonio for R & R (for the non-military folks - that’s rest and relaxation). Sheila chose San Antonio because neither of us had visited their before and it appeared interesting.

Being the prudent travelers we are - we checked the weather channel in advance of packing. We were assured by the local weatherman, Mr. I. B. Wrong that temperatures would be in the mid 70s to low 80s. We packed light. We packed wrong. From our last rest stop in Houston to filling up outside of San Antonio 3 hours later there was a 30 degree drop in temperature. As I stepped outside for the first time in my life my varicose veins blended into the rest of my skin’s surface. I looked like a necked LSU fan - totally purple except for my gold teeth - a very appealing visual but still an accurate depiction of my physical condition.

Being directionally challenged, driving at night, and not having a map added to the excitement of finding our Bed and Breakfast but finally my Navigator Captain Manes was able to make telephonic contact with the home base and obtain verbal directions. There was only one life threatening moment when the Captain ordered me to “turn here” after I was already through the intersection.

Being blessed with great reflexes and nerves of steel I was able to make the needed correction in direction and accomplish the turn. As we skidded across three lanes of traffic I did here a pedestrian question “Didn’t Evil Knievel die last week?” He did but his legend lives on.

Upon arrival we discovered a self service facility. With the passion of a younger man and fantasies motivated by a vacant B & B all to ourselves - I attempted to carry Sheila over the threshold. It’s hard to find emergency Orthrapedic care at night. I was able to buy some pain killers off of a homeless person sleeping under our building. I digress.

Our key was taped to the mail box and the place was hours. We snooped in the vacant rooms, checked out the breakfast area, unloaded the car and then headed outside for a romantic walk along the River. Our B & B was positioned strategically along the River Walk. Our room overlooked the water and our balcony allowed us to relax and enjoy the view.

In spite of the fact that it was after 8:00 and our bedtime Sheila and I like kids on Christmas ran down the stairs and headed to the River. As we turned onto the sidewalk we were hit by the cold front that had arrived hours earlier. I went into hypothermic shock. Sheila suffered 3 rd degree frostbite. Although I wanted to continue Sheila convinced me to return to the room. Her fears - our children weren’t ready to be orphans and if it was as cold in Louisiana as it was here they wouldn’t be able to bury us because of the frozen ground. The balcony was colder than the river. I got under the covers and watched TV - in Spanish.

December 11, 2007

To manage my travelogue on this trip I will divide the rest of my ramblings into the People of Texas and then the Place called San Antonio.

The people were interesting - I don’t know if Texans are that unique or if it was just that I better focused on the folks I saw. I’ll not mention the masses but maybe the more unique folks that were part of the trip.

The first morning at breakfast I met Sid - a Yankee business man that was passing through San Antonio. His home was in Massachusetts but his business was on the road or maybe more correctly on the docks. He’d buy crabs for shipment back to his operations in the frozen north. He even had a house and employee in Raceland Louisiana. He knew seafood and good restaurants. It was fun talking to him.

Another visit to the small world department occurred at the Tower of the Americas on Monday evening. Sheila and I went to the lounge for a drink and to study the effects of Cataracts on the human eye. We don’t have cataracts (I did but they are gone) but the fog is so thick it gave us the opportunity to simulate blindness. When our appetizers were served we asked for Tabasco. Our waitress brought us a jigger of the sauce and we accidentally over seasoned our Clam Chowder. We were able to finally warm up. In the small talk the followed we learned that the waitress had been born in New Iberia - it provided the nearest hospital for her parents while they were living in Patterson. Small world…

While waiting for Sheila outside of the B & B - I met the retired dentist who had originally owned the place now called Inn on the River Walk. To say he was eccentric is an understatement. As I reflect on my comments I wonder if he keeps a journal and if he does I wonder how he described me.

Finally I’ll close with the three most unique folks I met or at least the three folks I observed doing what I considered to be the most unique behavior of any of the masses that are San Antonio. In light of the scandal involving Senator Larry Craig I hesitate to mention that I was in a public bathroom but I will do so anyway. I can assure you that my feet stayed the appropriate distance from other folks and I shuffled across the floor never once tapping my feet.

In the mall I walked into the bathroom to find the UPS guy completing his activities at the urinal while engrossed in a conversation over his blue tooth device (why don’t they call this a blue ear - it’s no where near your teeth?). Simultaneously I hear another conversation in Spanish occurring in the stall in the corner. I’m not bi-lingual but I couldn’t help but wonder what the party on the other end was thinking or more correctly what was (s)he hearing. Finally there was a young man awash in testosterone that appeared to be preening to the mirror - he was making facial expressions and flexing his torso as if he was auditioning for the next Bruce Lee Movie. Maybe - just maybe this was a set up for Candid Camera. Smile.

December 12, 2007

In terms of San Antonio the place, you must first consider the State of Texas. Texas is a big place but until you’ve driven across it you can have no idea how big it actually is. San Antonio is not even half of the trip. If you’ve ever heard the song “Waltz Across Texas” you understand that this was written by a team of Marathon Runners. No ordinary person could ever waltz across Texas.

The second aspect of driving to San Antonio is the challenge of Houston. Houston is nothing more than 50 miles of Interstate Highways Intersections where folks have decided to build thousands of big buildings and lots of houses. Traffic is more difficult than parallel parking an 18 wheeler on a one lane road.

The River is actually a man made cement lined canal that was (I’m assuming) designed as an economic development tool. In most bodies of water people fish for food but in the case of San Antonio the fish are the tourists that that ride the boats in the canal, shop in the stores that line it, or eat and drink in the bars and restaurants separating the shops from one another. Alcohol, food, and souvenirs are the bait. Fishing is good.

The grounds of the Hemisphere Park - the site of a World’s Fair remain a tourist destination. The Tower of the Americas is a 700 foot telephone pole with an elevator inside and a restaurant, lounge, and observation deck. When we were there the fog was so thick I couldn’t see anything.

The Alamo is in the middle of downtown. As a kid studying history or watching movies about the great state of Texas I created my own visual of the place. I assumed it was in the middle of nowhere and would require a long drive to get there. It wasn’t. We walked to the Alamo and everywhere else we went and only took one short trolley ride just to say we did it. We walked the grounds for an hour, read all the signs, and studied the displays. Then we crossed the street to the IMAX theater and saw the movie. I believe it was the same movie I watched a young boy. I didn’t realize back then that Jim Bowie was a drunk.

The story is simple. It is the first chapter in the history of Texas. It is - to hear Texans tell it the classic battle of good versus evil, freedom against tyranny, and liberty and death issues. Santa Ana was the “coach” of the Mexican team and the Texans inside the Alamo were headed by Col. Travis, Davy Crockett, and Jim Bowie. The Texans put up a valiant fight over many days but ultimately the Mexicans prevailed. Months later the Mexicans and Santa Ana weakened by their losses at the Alamo were crushed by Sam Houston in San Jacinto. Texas was free. In football the Alamo would be considered a “moral victory.” Consider San Jacinto the BCS Championship Game. Texas won - Mexico lost - raise the trophy.

We ended the day in the Market Square or Santa Ana’s revenge where cheap stuff from Mexico fetches a king’s ransom from Tourist. Remember the Alamo.

December 13, 2007

Our recent stay at the Inn on the River Walk in San Antonio got me thinking about the variety of accommodations I’ve experienced through the years. I’m a person who rents a room to shave, shower, ______, and shampoo. I don’t pay that much attention to my surrounding since if I’m not participating in one of the aforementioned activities - I’m asleep and if I’m asleep I don’t care.

Growing up vacations were special and at most we made a once a year trip to Biloxi and maybe one weekend in New Orleans. Price was usually the determining factor in where we stayed. I do have fond memories of the old Edgewater Gulf Hotel and a dude ranch somewhere in Mississippi. I do remember once when Daddy treated us to a stay at the brand new Fontainbleu Hotel in New Orleans - it was $25.00 a night. Daddy didn’t sleep well that night.

In college when we traveled we didn’t stay anywhere we would merely crash somewhere. The one exception was the previously mentioned Mardi Gras weekend trip to Nuevo Laredo Mexico where Johnny, D. L., and I awoke in the Presidential Suite of the Americana Hotel. I’m not going to say this place was a dump but the next morning we chose to eat moldy bread just to get the penicillin.

Sheila and I spent our honeymoon in the Bel Air Motel in Broussard. We had a good time - a real good time. The only uncomfortable moment occurred when the front desk called us on our third day there to let us know that the hotel had burned down two days earlier. We were blessed to travel more with our kids than we had as children. We enjoyed several trips to Florida and Gulf Shores and Betsy’s Camp and New Orleans. Sheila and I were the first registered guests at the Hyatt Regency in Downtown Tampa the weekend it opened. The service was unbelievable. Part of this was the fact that there were more employees there than there were guests. It was fun.

Fighting the war in Europe - my R & R allowed Tom, Harriet, Barbara, and me to spend the night in the B & B that housed Peggy Fleming when she won the Gold Medal. On business I’ve been able to stay on someone else’s credit card and this has allowed poor old me to live beyond my means. I remember my first trip to Tampa. I stayed in the Holiday Inn Downtown. They had many accoutrements that this old country boy had never seen before - including a telephone in the bathroom. I remember the call home - “Honey, guess what I’m doing right now?”

Right after it opened we stayed on business at Bellagio’s in Las Vegas and have spent many nights at the Grand Hotel in Gulf Shores Alabama. Recently a good friend of mine mentioned her hotel room in New York costing $1,000.00 a night. This is out of my league even on someone else’s credit card. Then I flashed back to Mr. Brother’s stories about the old hotels he utilized when he was a “pipeliner.” Since this is a family Journal I’ll summarize the comments around the fact that he rented by the hour and $1,000.00 would have more than covered a year’s rent!

December 14, 2007

I want a corporate jet. I need a corporate jet. I can’t afford a corporate jet. Life’s not fair. I hate to complain but sometimes I just need to be honest in my expression of my emotions.

I had arranged to introduce a client to a friend of mine. He was in New Orleans, I’m in New Iberia and the client is in Lafayette. We agreed to meet at Vincent’s Italian Restaurant in New Orleans. I assumed we’d drive from Lafayette. I forgot that this client has a corporate plane. On Thursday I was informed that we’d fly up. This is the life. I was meant to live this way.

In lieu of a 5 hour drive - we sat comfortably in the back of a plane for 1 ½ total hours and another set of 10 minute limousine rides and our total travel time was just under 2 hours. In addition to the time savings - we enjoyed a face to face visit, jokes, stories, and business versus the “windshield time” that a car rider provides. I felt like Donald Trump with really nice hair. This is how I was meant to live.

My client is LHC Group. I guess I can brag about them. They started in the early 1990s as a dream. Their seed was a home care agency with one nurse and one patient in Palmetto Louisiana. Palmetto is a bedroom community for Opelousas. Palmetto makes “Plumnelly” (plum in the country and nelly in the woods) seem like a sophisticated city. Today LHC Group is publicly traded with thousands of employees in most of the South East United States. Dreams come true.

I’m a dreamer. I’m addicted to dreams. About 20 years ago a consultant from Hartford Connecticut worked with me for about 3 days. In the exit interview she made an interesting comment, she said - “Mike you really don’t like living in today - you’re always out there - in tomorrow.” I had never thought of it that way but she was right. I am a dreamer. Sheila, who is much more of a practical person once shouted at me in frustration - “You’re just a dreamer.” I answered honestly - “Yes!” It hurt but sometimes the truth hurts. I didn’t hurt for me because I’ll never apologize for dreaming; it hurt because I knew the angst it caused her.

For the past 348 days I’ve let you into a corner of my world. You’ve been kind enough to show interest. In 17 more days this project will be complete. The past 12 months have been some of the most challenging of my life. They’ve also been rewarding. I’ve been tested by fire and for the most part have passed. I’ve seen a son grow up to do for my Momma what I can’t do myself. I’ve seen Sheila struggle and turn the corner towards a bright future and I’ve found my future.

I’m starting a new adventure - a new project and organization I call First You Dream. You’ll hear more about it in the near future. Simply stated its going to be my attempt to change the world by “Changing Lives” - by helping people “Discover their Possibilities.” I won’t bore me with details. It will succeed. I’m convinced of that. If you’ll remind me I’ll buzz your house in my corporate jet - watch for me.

December 15, 2007

Speaking of Dreamers - I can’t close this year without acknowledging the success of my youngest son Seth. He’s an unlikely success story. I didn’t believe in him when he started but he had a dream. I was too dumb, arrogant, or creative to understand it. I saw Seth as my “boy” and not as the man he would become.

In the consulting business we often talk about the “short pants syndrome” where the old guy can’t respect the young professionals that mature into the future leaders of their organizations because they always see them in “short pants.” I guess I was guilty of what I so easily see in others.

Seth as a teenager looked much younger than his years. He was short and a late bloomer. I hesitate to use the term and he’ll probably wrap my house or kick my butt when he reads this but he was cute. The problem is 16 year old men can accept handsome but they don’t like to be considered cute. At 16 Seth looked like he was about 12 and most treated him that way. He endured some frustrating times.

Early in Seth’s life he developed a love affair with paintball. I can remember the first day I took him and Ryan to a paintball field. I could see the excitement, the enthusiasm, and the terror in their eyes. They were boys among men. There were other boys there but the majority of players that day were combat seasoned Vietnam Veterans. These guys had killed folks. Seth was playing a modern day version of cowboys and Indians with them. I worried silently.

I picked them up 3 hours later and the terror had been replaced with the satisfaction that “they had run with the big dogs.” Many days at the paintball field followed and a few years later Seth started working at an indoor field / retail store. Often Seth would talk about opening his own business. I listened politely and thought to myself - “in your dreams.” Seth persisted.

During his sophomore year at LSU Seth announced that he and two buddies were going to open their own business. I bit my tongue even though I had no say in the process or the decision. Each of the partners put up a few thousand dollars and a ton of sweat and even more time and MCM Paintball was opened. A few months into the deal one partner was having problems and so Seth and Brian had to buy him out with money they didn’t have. Fast forward 4 more years and Seth buys Brian out and becomes the sole owner of the operation. Today 6 or more years after they opened the doors with a few guns and limited supplies - Seth has a fully stocked retail store that is the “gold standard” for serious “paintballers” in Baton Rouge.

Seth has become a successful businessman, something of an icon in his niche, and certainly has developed a recognizable persona in his store. He’s sort of the “soup nazi” of the retail paintball world. He has an attitude. He’s grumpy. He’s gruff. He’s good. I watched in amusement as his peers commented about him and to him. I could finally see him in long pants. Seth you’re a man, my son. I’m proud of you.

December 16, 2007

There’s a country song that plays every so often that includes the line “I’m not as good as I once was but I’m just as good once as I ever was.” If you listen to the other lyrics, you’ll realize that this is a statement of manhood and the effects of aging. Yesterday was a full day for me - a really full day. It proved to me that if I’m doing what I enjoy - I’m can go as long as I once could - I’m just as good one time as I ever was. I also am convinced I couldn’t repeat yesterday two days in a row. I’m not as good as I once was. Today I’m exhausted.

Friday night I went with George and Carol to Lloyd and Carmen’s for Chili. John and Phyllis and Marlene and Charlie were also their. I know Charlie, Marlene, George, Carol, and I believe John have all received their 15 minutes of fame. Here’s the drum roll for Phyllis. She’s the keeper of John. A young, dynamic, beautiful woman who married down - just as John married up. She’s had her challenges but hasn’t let them destroy her positive outlook and fun attitude.

We had a good time, good food, good drinks and great desserts. I got to sleep about 10:30 and woke at 4:00. By 6:00 a.m. Slade and I were headed to Baton Rouge. He visited with his friend Mike and his new baby Stella Grace and then I dropped him off at a licensing class that he needed to attend.

I toured Baton Rouge to see the significant changes since we left in 2004. I made a surprise visit to Curtis and Tonya’s new house. They were in the yard working just as hard as they did when they lived on Oakford Drive behind our house. We exaggerated, caught up, reminisced and promised to get together after the first of the year. That’s an easy promise to make and unfortunately too often broken.

Then I met with John and Deidre for lunch. We went to George’s under the overpass on Perkins Road. This is one of the landmarks of Baton Rouge. The beer was cold, the salads good, the conversation great and the memories were the best. John and Deidre were our neighbors for many years and our closest friend in Baton Rouge. They are the Godparents of Seth and a comfort to Sheila and I.

At 3:00 Slade and I headed home. At 4:30 I changed from my best jeans to my best slacks and blazer and drove to the Cajundome in Lafayette. Tonight was Claire’s graduation from ULL. Excuse me - tonight was the celebration of Claire being renamed Dr. Manes - sort of a baptism of the “letters.” I am impressed.

As soon as that event was over I headed to Marie Street to Johnny and Cathy’s home for their annual party. Here you attend not to be seen even though all of the movers and shakers are there - not to eat and drink even though the food and beverages are great - not to enjoy their beautiful home and patio even though it is breathtaking - you attend to protect your name, character and reputation. Folks there will talk bad about you even if you are a good person like me. The pressure is so great at this event that even folks that like you bad mouth you. Merry Christmas

December 17, 2007

“We’re not one world.” I’ve quoted Paul Harvey many times during this past year. Two experiences in the past 3 days reinforce how right he is.

Saturday was graduation day for ULL - the University of Louisiana Lafayette. The afternoon program was for the undergraduates - the evening session for the graduate school. I didn’t make my own graduation ceremony as an undergraduate. I was participating in a PT (physical training) test to complete basic training.

Saturday I was in the auditorium because my sister, Claire (the smart one) was to receive her Doctor of Philosophy degree. She’s been working on this for 7 years. This is almost as long as it took me to get my bachelors degree. I finished school in the era where the smart students took long to graduate and the dumb ones finished in four years. The graduates got jobs right after graduation - it was called the Draft and the worksite was Vietnam.

The ceremony was nice for the few minutes when your spouse, sister, brother, friend, etc. were being recognized beyond that it was fairly tedious. What got me thinking about “times they are a changing” and “not one world” - was watching the audience and the graduates file in and out.

To take a page out of Mayor Nagin’s PR manual - when I was in school the campus was a Vanilla Shake with a few chocolate sprinkles. The language was English spoken with a Cajun accent. The average age of the graduates was 21 or 22.

At Saturday’s ceremony I realized the campus was now more of a Neapolitan mix of flavors and colors - yellow, red, black, white, and brown and ages all spoken through the many languages of this New World. There were more students from New Delhi, India than from Delhi, Louisiana. Of the 22 students being recognized as Ph.D.s only 6 had names I could begin to pronounce. There was on lady named ____________ Boudreaux Boudreaux. I guess our heritage is safe.

Today my diversity meter was again alerted when I had lunch with John, Beau, and Kaci. John and I are the old codgers from the past - Beau and Kaci are part of the future. Their 2 year old son Thomas also joined us - providing even a more distant view of the future. Compared to us old codgers - Beau and Kaci are alive, dynamic, driven - the future. Compared to Thomas, Beau and Kaci are “middle age” codgers. Beau’s a dreamer. Kaci is not. Yet I realized that neither Beau, John, Kaci nor I could begin to dream the life that will be Thomas’.

I stopped at Momma’s on the way home - she was in her chair - her mind was in outer space. Her body is spent and her brain is damaged. She’s seen 88 years of change and enjoyed the good life doing it but now life is her past and the future is the hereafter. I don’t think Momma has regrets. I hope Thomas, Beau, Kaci, John, and I have her success and even better memories. Live life while you have it.

December 18, 2007

I received my draft notice in early 1971. I was spending the weekend with Johnny and David at LSU in Baton Rouge. Momma called about 11:30 on Saturday morning to tell me that I had received a letter from the selective service system. I asked her to open it and read it to me. She started, “Greetings…” I knew the rest.

A few Saturdays later we had a going away party for me. It was quite the soiree - jungle juice delicately displayed in a big “A” tub with chips and dips for nutrition and flavor. Everyone got drunk - real drunk. I awoke on Sunday morning staring at a ceiling I didn’t recognize waiting for a familiar voice, sound, smell, or face to tip me off to where I was. Finally I saw Judette walk into the room. I was alive.

I entered the Army on March 24, 1971 and was discharged on December 19, 1972. I played for the first few weeks of my new civilian lifestyle and then started my search for meaning an income. There were no jobs of interest in New Iberia so I moved back to Baton Rouge to seek fame and fortune. A few weeks later Will told me about the company he worked for - he liked it, they were looking for new folks, and he’d get $100.00 if I was hired. I interviewed and was selected.

I began on February 14, 1973 my career in insurance. Thirty four plus years later I’m still in the industry and enjoying it. I’ve transitioned from claims adjuster, to producer, to agency manager to consultant but basically I’m still an insurance guy.

During this career I was fortunate enough to teach Risk and Insurance at LSU and to participate in many of the public policy forums that are part of this industry. This week I attended a funeral of a dinosaur and institution that had long since outlived its usefulness. It was the last meeting for the Louisiana Insurance Rating Commission. This was a political body designed to restrain pricing in an industry that actual performs best when allowed to cannibalize itself. The marketplace (in my opinion) regulates this part of insurance better than politicians.

To the untrained eye this process would be boring and amusing. To folks that understand the industry - all too often - this was a circus. Once a month for four or more hours political appointees, staff. and sometimes the sitting commissioner would ask challenging questions or ridicule, berate, or embarrass insurance company executives, actuaries, and attorneys. This was theater.

The most memorable moments were when a former (now convicted felon) Commissioner would Chair the meetings with cigar in hand, rosy cheeks from perhaps grain based stimulation, ego out of control and ethics out of touch - Louisiana politics at its best or worst and when Leah a friend and a very bold black woman greeted me across the crowded meeting room by yelling her personal belief, “Mike Manes you look much better with your clothes off than your clothes on.” Shock and disbelief filled the room. Folks stared at Leah and then they looked at me - pink and black, black and pink. All wondered. So do you. No time to explain.

December 19, 2007

“There’re no atheists in fox holes.” I’ve heard this many times. I believe it. I’m not the most religious guy that ever walked this planet even though I did win the Religion Medal every year while I was in Elementary School. I am very spiritual. I don’t debate with others about what God is, what he will or won’t do, or “What would Jesus do (WWJD)?” I don’t try to use my finite mind to describe an infinite being. I believe we call it “Faith” for a reason. When times are good we don’t need faith. When times are bad I wouldn’t want to try to make it without it.

I get amused when folks try to tell me exactly what God is, would do, or would have us do. They must be a lot smarter than me. I’m reminded of Boudreaux in the foxhole with another GI as bullets are flying around. Neither having been raised in the church they are searching for a prayer to help them through their ordeal.

Boudreaux explains “dat I never went to church as a little boy but I lived next door to the Catholic KC Hall and on many nights I heard dem folks praying. Maybe I can remember enough for us to say a prayer now.” His folk hole mate agrees. Together they bow their heads in reverence as Boudreaux starts, “Under the B # 7, under the N # 25, …” I’m guessing God may have given partial credit for this prayer. He may even have shouted “BINGO - at least these guys are trying.” Please note I’m GUESSING what God might say or do - I’m not saying this is it.

Once I heard a preacher ask a little girl why she only prayed at night. She said, “I’m not afraid of the light.” Obviously this was an honest answer. My best and I’m guessing other folks best “praying” comes motivated by fear. I remember laying on the operating table in the CCU of Our Lady of the Lake Hospital. I could have competed with Billy Graham for Prayer Person of the Year. When the plane I am riding in takes off or lands - I’ll say a quick prayer.

Occasionally I’ll pray for help with good fortune but I’m not too aggressive with these prayers - I realize compared to the rest of the world I’ve been blessed. It was rumored that after the Lottery started in Louisiana, Boudreaux would pray every night. He’d ask God to let him win. One day God answered is prayer by speaking to Boudreaux. He said “Boudreaux - this is God. I hear your prayers. You must remember however that I help those who help themselves.” Boudreaux asked for an explanation - God explained, “Boudreaux you first need to buy a ticket.”

Boudreaux bought a ticket and won. He went to the Lottery office to claim his prize of $2,000,000.00. The manager explained to Boudreaux that the prize was actually $100,000.00 a year for 20 years and after taxes Boudreaux would get only $75,000.00 a year. Boudreaux was infuriated. He argued without success and finally in frustration said “If dat’s de way y’all gonna be - give me my dollar back.”

Join me in my favorite prayer - The Sailor’s Prayer. “Dear God, be good to me. The sea is so wide, and my boat is so small.” Pray - it works!

December 20, 2007

With only 11 updates left - I want to get back to my “roots” and merely record a day as it happens. I’m going into this day as a blank slate. I’ll write what happens. This is high risk because sometimes my life is really boring and I might not be able to find the 543 words needed to complete the page. The process will require “accordion” like thinking since I’ll have to pull or squeeze to fill the space.

The morning started with me bring our two kittens - Cinnamon and Spice - to their new home at Richard’s Auto and Tire Repair. Carl - our family mechanic had agreed to take both kittens as security cats at this garage. I delivered - kittens, litter, a litter box, food, food bowls, etc. to his store along with my gratitude for getting the animals out of my life. Sheila was upset - I was ecstatic.

While there I checked on Slade’s car - Carl and duct tape have kept this machine running far beyond its normal life expectancy. I’m not saying Slade is hard on a car but the last one he traded in was described by the dealer as “shredded.”

From there I matched up with David for a trip to Lafayette. He and I were meeting with folks at ULL on a project he has designed and developed. I hate to give Yankees credit for anything - except a lucky break in the War (if you have to ask which War - you are a Yankee), but I must say David is an incredibly bright and creative person whose expertise and experience in marketing exceeds the norm down here. By the time you buy and read this observational the project I’m discussing will have come to fruition and you’ll be enjoying its benefits. If you comment to me about it I’ll say go read the December 20 comments.

After our meeting we had the Imonelli’s soup and salad lunch in Lafayette. This may be the best food value in the world. From their we went to Hebert’s in Maurice to pick up some deboned chickens - another world famous delicacy. After dropping David off at his apartment, I visited with Harriet briefly as she commenced her preparations for Friday and her party girl life. If you can run with Harriet on a Friday night you are a party animal.

Across the street I saw Tony. He was inspecting his freshly painted flag pole. As he explained this “guy” - I think he called him Russell just shows up every 3 or 4 years and paints the flag pole. The guy travels by foot or sometimes by car painting flag poles all over the country. His appearance led me to assume he was a Vietnam Vet with some baggage left from the war. He climbs to the top of the pole and paints as he slides down - sort of a Michelangelo - painting vertically instead of horizontally.

George calls to invite me to Pit and Pot. I get yard leave and attend. There I realize the number of folks that are friends - good friends that I may not have mentioned yet. I panic. There are not enough days left in this journal to cover them all. C. L., Brice, Raoul, Eugene, Wayne, Barry, etc. It’s too late - I have another beer, eat a steak, and remember Alfred E. Newman - “What me worry?”

December 21, 2007

This week we took a family photo. I enjoy having pictures of my family at the various phases of our lives - I just don’t enjoy the process of having them made. Mr. Carroll was one of New Iberia’s most famous photographers. He followed his dad in the business. He was almost kin. He was my Nan Nan’s brother. Nan Nan was Uncle Claude’s wife and probably the nearest our family ever got to sophistication. She and Uncle Claude had money and bought the finer things in life while complaining about how poor they were.

Daddy was an amateur photographer. He was a talented man. He obsessed about his pictures. I can still remember him at Claire’s graduation - jumping up and down to take pictures - moving to the aisle to snap again and again. He may have been at my ceremony as well. I just don’t remember it.

Mr. Carroll took a formal picture of the family when I was in my teens - the process was painful. Daddy took many informal ones - it was uncomfortable. As the kids were growing up Mr. Olan Mills added to our collection and the need for a church directory every decade provided a few more pictures. Now that the boys are grown and we rarely get together as a group - Sheila decided it was time for another picture. The only way our schedules could be aligned was to take the picture next door to Seth’s store. That way he could sneak over for a few minutes of posing and then return to his shop. We did just that. Anna Karin made what is often a tense process very pleasant. To sum it up in a word we were beautiful.

Pictures are as personal as the memories they freeze. It’s probably been 45 years since Claire’s graduation, nearly that many since Mr. Carroll spent what seemed like hours setting us up for his attempt at capturing us on film for all eternity. I remember taking my official Army photo with my freshly shaved head making me look fatter than I already was. I regret that those pictures weren’t taken after we finished basic - I was “buff” and never looked better after those eight weeks.

For Mother’s Day many years ago I had Debi a friend and great artist do a charcoal of Slade and Seth for their mother. The picture we took with Anna will be used as a balance on the wall with this portrait. There’s a family photo taken in about 1950 that includes all the Landrys, Maneses, and Gragnons alive at that time. It’s a classic. Patrick, Jimmy, Paul, Joe, and Johnny were missing from that photo - they hadn’t yet been born.

Over my desk is a small snapshot of Slade and Seth - my boys - looking like the brothers they are. Inscribed on the frame is the most correct statement - “It’s not the destination - it’s the journey.” How true… The photos that line our walls, fill our scrapbooks, and our wallets are merely the material evidence that our spirits existed. I remember the many survivors of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita bemoaning the fact that their family had lost everything including their pictures - that is the true tragedy. The great news is that the memories can never be destroyed. Smile!

December 22, 2007

As a little boy our weekends started at noon on Saturday. That’s when Daddy got off of work. We only had one car, Momma didn’t drive, and we had all week to explore the neighborhood. Saturdays are when we got to go somewhere - anywhere. Saturday’s held all of the possibilities.

Sundays were the “Lord’s Day” - this meant mass, donuts and hard rolls and coffee at Mamam’s house for breakfast and back there for fried chicken at lunch. A trip to the farm in the afternoon was possible or watching the Little Rascals, the Three Stooges, or pro football on the TV in Mamam’s bedroom but beyond that the world was closed on Sundays.

Occasionally on Saturday afternoon we’d venture to Lafayette. This created sufficient excitement that we didn’t even complain about the heat in the unairconditioned car. We’d drive to Sears and spend the day looking through all the stuff that filled the shelves on the big two story building on St. Landry Street. After getting our fills of dreams and hopes we left and drove the short distance to the Bordens Ice Cream store on Johnson Street. There we’d each get a gold brick Sundae - two scoops of ice cream floating in melted gold brick chocolate. That was the best treat a quarter could buy.

My mind flashed back to these simpler times of yesteryear - when Sheila, Slade, and I were enjoying a Saturday afternoon adventure in Baton Rouge. Our first stop was the Whole Paycheck Foods Store in Baton Rouge. It’s hard to describe unless you’ve visited one before.

To folks that grew up in the depression it is impossible to fathom. Suffice it to say that there is more food in this one store than most 3 rd World Nations produce in a year. Our 1950s world brought us three choices - chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. Baskin Robins expanded our options to 31 flavors - this mega store expands on this with the simple philosophy - “If you want it - if they make it - then we have it.” You can eat in or take out or I’d bet that if you have food allergies or aren’t hungry - there’s someone there that will eat if for you and then tell you how good it is. Of course this comes at a price - a significant price. My favorite excess is the olive bar - at only $9.95 a pound you can have anything you want.

From there we stopped at the new Books a Million. To provide perspective on the bookstores of today compared to the bookstores of yesterday - this is the difference between the Library on Weeks Street that I visited as a little boy and the Library of Congress or that at Harvard University.

It’s a consumers’ paradise today but unfortunately it is not necessarily a better world. In the 1950s we had nothing but enjoyed everything. Today, too many people have everything and enjoy nothing. As I walk down memory lane - I regret that I can’t provide to my kids what we had - scarcity / simplicity. It was a good life.

December 23, 2007

I suffer from a condition called “Audio Marconi Bi Polar Syndrome” (AMBPS). I’m assuming others suffer with this problem as well. Symptoms include listening to NPR and Rush Limbaugh, enjoying country music and the news, occasionally being entertained by a Christian Channel and even listening to the Princess of Darkness that are Walton and Johnson - Mr. O, Mr. Kenneth, and Billy Ed. We don’t have a national association yet but I am considering starting one. We’ll need tax exempt status, a fund raising campaign, an executive director and staff, and a lobbyist.

Recently I heard Rush on a tirade about the state of America and the world as it relates to the World of Whiners. It hit home. I’m a guy that believes that attitude is all important. I believe that into every life a little rain must fall. I know that I have my share of problems but I no that other folks have many more problems than me. I believe Jerry Springer’s world is real - I just choose not to live in it.

I believe in sympathetic vibration. This is a term used by a psychologist friend of mine to describe how we react to the moods of others. I don’t know if this was something Jim and Mary thought up or if this is a real term in textbooks. I know if I’m around positive people they lift my spirits - I also know that when I’m around negative people or positive people having a negative day they can depress my spirits.

I believe that people that want to look on the dark side of life - all day every day - truly resent those that don’t or can’t get in the emotional ditch with them. This was the direction of Rush’s comments today. He was talking about some groups in Europe that were “sick and tired” of the Tyranny of Positive Thinking that has infected America since its inception. He cited some members of this group had established Complaint Choruses to celebrate in songs their problems, their lives, and their futures. As he was on his tear I could only shake my head in belief. Originally I used the word “disbelief” but I realized that he’s right - some folks ain’t happy unless they are unhappy.

His comments continued about an new website for Moms called True Confessions. This evidently creates communities for those who need support in their Search for Unhappiness. He mentioned some of the posting on this site and his reaction to these postings. Like him or hate him - I give credit to Rush for being able to make his point. I think this is one reason his enemies hate him so much. He is good entertainment and as of yet has not been duplicated by the opposite side.

Evidently there was some “chat” on one site discussing Mom’s that drink and another posting that indicated “I was a good Mommy until I had kids.” I laughed - I am a great athlete until I go to practice or start the game and a great dancer until the music comes on. This I’m a victim, it’s not my fault world we live in today makes me crazier than I am. I thought of Denis who asked a scowling waitress - “Are you happy?” She replied, “Yes.” He then suggested - “Tell your face.”

December 24, 2007

It’s getting to look a lot like Christmas…

New Iberia is abuzz. Christmas lights have been up for most of a month. Houseboats are anchored and decorated on the Bayou behind Bouligny Plaza. The traffic misrepresents the sleepy little town this normally is. Crowds make Main Street look more like Canal Boulevard at Mardi Gras than New Iberia anytime.

My day started at Victor’s. The usual Breakfast Club group was gathered. The major difference from everyday is that the gathering table was seating many more than usual and table cloths added a sophistication that escapes the regulars. If you’ve ever considered putting lipstick on a pig - adding tablecloths for the Breakfast Club seating is like putting a pig in a designer gown.

Today the table includes a big gift wrapped “Tip” box. One week each year the old codgers that are the Breakfast Club offer thanks, apologies for their idiosyncrasies, and reinforcement for the service provided for the 364 prior days to the staff of Victors. Also today the Club Members provide the food. There are pralines, chocolate candies, banana nut bread, sausage, biscuits, etc. The conversation is as always exaggerated, like pornography - no social redeeming value, and head strong - the members of this group are “often wrong but never in doubt.”

I sat across from Charlie and Preston. On one end of the table were Benny, Jesse, and Johnny at the other extreme was Mr. Paul and some other familiar faces. People came in for coffee - to taste the treats and to see and be seen. After about an hour I left to the catcalls of the remaining members - insults blended with Christmas and New Year greetings. This “gathering of old men” is fun - harmless fun.

I walked Main Street saddened by “Going Out of Business” notices on two stores and reinforced by the remaining merchants that are making it. As I completed the balance of my shopping I saw Carol getting some last minute gifts for Nano and Kevin. I’m assuming Tommy and Shannon have already been provided for - I know their child Isabelle (Carol’s first grandbaby) has been well taken care of.

Outside I saw Buster and Paul completing their retail responsibilities. Paul made a surprise visit home for Christmas. We laughed about his “drop in” on his mother - she cried so much that Paul had to remind her that he was coming home from Los Angeles not Iraq. Mommas are that way - especially at Christmas.

I noticed Charlie bringing something to his office. Charlie is one of my heroes that was overlooked in my update last week. Charlie was just another friend. Then his wife was diagnosed with MS and he rose to the challenge. He ran his business, did his job and simultaneously became her care taker. He did it with dignity, love, and respect. He never complained. It was tough - real tough. He smiled as we passed and said, “Mike I hope next year’s better for you.” Thanks Charlie - so do I.

December 25, 2007

T’was the night before Christmas and all through my house - my cousins gathered for a meeting - one even brought his spouse. Right after a vigil Mass Sheila and I rushed home to host the Annual Meeting of Landry and Manes, Inc. This is a closely held family corporation that was established in the 1980s by Momma and Uncle Booz. This is the ownership vehicle for the land on Highway 182 that we call the farm and we hope someday becomes the “ticket out of the ghetto.” It may be oil, it may be gas, or it may be the growth of New Iberia - but one day this land will be worth a lot of money - we hope.

Jimmy and his wife Kathy, Paul, Joseph, Johnny, Claire and David, and Aunt Mazie joined Sheila and I for this annual walk through the world of Corporate America. I won’t bore you with the minutes but the meeting went well. What was even better was the camaraderie of family that is now spread from Hartford to Atlanta to Houston. We grew up close - real close and these meetings are the only gatherings we consistently have. If we want to meet more often someone has to get married or die. This is a sad fact of life in the fast lane.

After the meeting was over Sheila and I exchanged our gifts - alone. This was the first time ever that at least one of our kids or one of our Mommas didn’t serve as a witness to my generosity. Christmas Day the boys will be here and we’ll watch them open their gifts but now was our time - alone to lick the wounds of a very rough year - hold each other close and hold each other up. We enjoyed the quiet. It was good.

With memories of Christmases past and hopes for a brighter New Year I headed to bed. Sheila the insomniac continued to do whatever insomniacs do. As I started to doze I reflected on Christmases past. Christmas Eve parties with my family, Christmas Dinner at Mamam’s, the hot Christmas Day I spent at Fort Polk as GIs from the North Country called home to their Mommas to tell of the Green Christmas that is South Louisiana. My last thoughts were of the one Christmas in the recent past when we did get snow - it wasn’t a complete White Christmas but more a dandruff Christmas - just a few flakes to brush off your shoulder.

It was cold and it was overcast when I walked Pepper before going to bed - I thought maybe just maybe… Then it was morning - I staggered to the bathroom not from a hangover but rather from the process of aging. It takes time to get my sea legs under me each morning. I said a quick prayer - wished the world a Merry Christmas and walked to the porch. I was escorted out of the room by Sheila’s breathing giving evidence that even insomniacs sleep sometime.

As I opened the door I was shocked - the World was white. Overnight the entire neighborhood was blanketed with snow. Virgin snow - no slush - no spotty coverage - a true blanket of white with only the footprints of the cats marking this post card view. I was ecstatic - A White Christmas. I felt a tug on my arm and heard Sheila say - “Michael - wake up - let’s go see your Momma.” Merry Christmas!

December 26, 2007

The countdown continues - 2007 is almost “in the can.” Anticipation is starting to build for 2008. We’ve lived together for 359 days now so I hope we can talk candidly. You know I’m not a fan of whining - I try to maintain a positive attitude and I’d rather look to the light side of life than to stare up at the storm clouds. That being said I’d ask you to indulge me this one comment. I hope 2008 is a little less challenging than 2007.

In my 7 decades in life I’ve learned a few things, one of which is that I’m not sufficiently focused or disciplined to honor any New Year’s resolutions that I make. So today I’m not going to promise to change - instead I’ll provide some “wishing and hoping and dreaming” for 2008 and some takeaways from 2007 and list some leave behinds from 2007 to clutter my storage room of life.

I will leave behind my “tired,” my frustrations, my angst, and my hurt from a very difficult year. I’ll hope to put on a shelf the resentments I might feel from disappointments in my world, the impatience that is at the core of my being, and the elements of me that I don’t like and I must hide from my world.

I will take the satisfaction that I survived a tough year. I know that Sheila and I have been through the wringer and it took a toll but we’ve come out stronger. I know that scar tissue is a great asset and by such a measure our personal balance sheet got much stronger this year.

My “wishing and hoping and dreaming” include peace for Momma, normalcy for the rest of us, and comfort in the lessons learned at Momma’s side from 87 ½ years of strength and the humility discovered watching her struggle for the past 6 months. I’ve learned lessons of compassion, patience, and courage from a son that challenged us mentally, physically, and emotionally as a child and now has paid us back 100 fold in only 4 months of care taking Momma.

I hope that most of my Saturday mornings will include Coffee at Mary’s and Friday nights find the porch filled with family and friends. I wish for health, happiness, and comfort for my sons who are my “eyes” and the same for Sheila who is my soul mate. I wish that none of my friends would ever again have to suffer the ravages of disease as did Phil, George, Timmy, etc. but knowing that it not possible - I hope and pray when the merchant of misery knocks down my friends that they can have the courage displayed by the aforementioned “heroes.”

I’m not so naïve as to hope for world peace but I do hope that the people who live in my world enjoy peace in their lives and with their families. I hope Louisiana can at last shake its legacy of corruption, missed opportunities, and difficulty and become all that it can be. I hope for no more hurricanes and gale force winds of prosperity, innovation, and enthusiasm. I dream that our next boon never sees a bust. Finally I hope that on January 7 - LSU prevails. Geaux Tigers.

December 27, 2007

Panic attack - I’ve never had a real one until today. I didn’t like the one I had. While Floyd and I were talking he mentioned the “Judge.” Robert is a good friend - a very good friend, a wise man, a good father, and a Marcus Welby character in a judge’s robe. If Judge Judy sets you off - Judge Robert will calm you down. I’ve never seen him in a court room but in a social setting his nervous system almost flat lines. I’ve known him from high school and have remained close since then.

The panic attack was caused by the realization that I don’t think I’ve provided him with his 15 minutes of fame. I can’t afford to leave him out for fear that at some point in time in the future I may be standing before him for sentencing on some “high crime or misdemeanor” only to have him say - “Mr. Manes before we look at the maximum time allowed in the sentencing guidelines, I’d like to ask why I was excluded from your Daily Observational.” This imaginary video sees me stuttering and stammering for an answer as Sheila feigns tears at the thought of me being out from under foot for many years - not a pleasant thought or sight.

I wanted to review the list of characters that make up the past 361 days but I found myself in a “trick bag.” If I checked the list I may discovered more people that I failed to honor appropriately and I do not have time and space to address them now. If I don’t check the list I can honestly answer that it was just an oversight. I’m conflicted - what to do. If this is a “re-run” I apologize to you and to the Judge I’ll say “Your honor, you’re such a noble character that you deserve 30 minutes to everyone else’s 15.

Robert was in Law School when Sheila and I were first dating. Fran, his wife was nursing in Baton Rouge. Sheila met them the first time at a Hurricane Party at their apartment along the River Road in B. R. We had a good time and not too much bad weather. Sheila and Fran bonded - eventually Fran was in our wedding and Sheila was the Godmother of their son Rob. Lauren is their second child and a student at LSU. I think Rob was mentioned in the context of the Coffee Club. His wife Jolene can now also brag about being a celebrity - one mention and she is.

Backing up my 286 memory in this Pentium world I thought about Mickey and Jeanne - two more friends that may or may not have made the earlier chapters. Mickey and I roomed together for a semester or two in college. Jeanne was his main squeeze during this time. There two sons are Chad and Brett - former college baseball players and now businessmen.

I’d be remiss and a damn fool if I didn’t acknowledge at least Jeanne since she makes the best cheesecake in America. I’m not just saying this to “kiss up” I’m saying this because the truth will set you free. She and I have a standing agreement that when I go to my reward she’ll sneak a cheesecake into the funeral home and find some way to be certain that I have at least a slice or two in the box with me. I hope it doesn’t melt and if any of y’all try to steal it - I’ll come back to haunt you.

December 28, 2007

It took me 12 semesters of Latin to graduate from college. I wasn’t a Latin major - I was a very poor student. Some combination of learners block, laziness, and poor choices in curricula. One of the few things I learned in this class was the term Carpe Diem or “seize the day.” As a consultant I often use the term “Carpe Mañana” or “seize the future (tomorrow).” I even made T-shirts with this mantra on them. In the new Global economy the blending of Spanish and Latin is accepted.

Yesterday I returned to my office and saw that Slade had been using the Internet. He left behind a Poem for me to read. It was the purpose of his search and the best definition of his life that I’ve seen published. The poem was named The Station. Slade “gets it.”

Two stanzas from the poem include (Author unknown) -

Sooner or later we must realize there is no station,

No one place to arrive at once and for all.

The true joy of life is the trip.

The station is only a dream.

It constantly outdistances us.

It isn’t the burdens of today that drive people mad.

It is the regrets over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow.

Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today.

So, stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles.

Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream,

Go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets,

Laugh more, cry less, life must be lived as we go along.

The station will come soon enough.

Sheila, Slade, and I had his going away party at the Guiding Star. One dozen crabs, 4 pounds of crawfish, and an ice cream bar gave their lives so that we might live - the good life. We thanked Slade for the love and compassion he showed Momma for the last 4 months. Slade enthusiastically talked of the next portion of his ride to the Station. He’s going to Big Sky Montana for a few months of work and R & R.

I’m sure he wouldn’t take a million dollars for his experience with Momma but I’m equally certain he wouldn’t pay a dime to duplicate it (even though he did offer to come back in a few months if needed.) As he said so candidly - “I need to spend time with my peers. Right now my best friend and drinking buddy is Miss Peggy (an 88 year old blind woman). Peggy will miss Slade as much as we do.

We talked of life and death. Slade doesn’t fear death - his greatest fear is missing out on a part of life. This morning as I walked Floyd mentioned a friend that has had a recurrence of cancer. His advice - “Carpe Diem.” Enjoy the ride!

December 29, 2007

I have a confession to make. It’s 7:30 in the morning of December 29 th and this is the last Journal entry I’ll make this year. I cheated and wrote the updates for the 30 th and 31 st night before last. Those were generic closings of this process and not dependent upon the happenings of the day. I’m struggling to make this work.

The phone just rang and Brenda told me that Timmy had died at 5:30 this morning. Timmy is one of my heroes and has been fighting the good fight against pancreatic cancer. He finally surrendered. All of us that had seen him recently knew this outcome was inevitable.

In the past 363 days I’ve found words on this screen without any trouble. Today the screen is nearly blank - the words aren’t flowing. The news of Timmy has even confused the process more.

I’m at a bi-polar moment. In one sentence I want to write about Slade who called yesterday from Houston - wildly enthusiastic about his trip to Big Sky Montana - the adventure - the excitement - the suspense that will be his tomorrows. On the other hand I feel almost obligated to look at the past - Timmy, his life, his death, and how these events mirror for each of us our future. What to do?

Last night as I visited briefly with Momma, she told me for the first time, “I’m ready to go.” She had said this to others but it was her first such comment to me. I mumbled something and then reinforced in my Pollyanna ways the reality that she had had 88 ½ good years and when she was ready to let go she should do just that. She nodded her understanding. I turned away to wipe my eye.

I then said “Good bye, I’m heading home to help Sheila get ready for a 60 th birthday party for Bobby.” Momma’s eyes opened in amazement - “I can’t believe Bobby’s 60.” I reminded her that I was too - we laughed and I headed home.

The night, the kitchen counters, and the house were full. We had great fun greeting old friends and new. There was food everywhere and where there wasn’t food there was drink. We had our best menu ever, more selection of alcohol and the most age diverse crowd ever. Normally the group includes folks within 5 or 10 years of my age. Last night there was an infant - some of Brenda and Bobby’s siblings, grandkids, and kids. It was fun - it was food - it was family.

During the night I took time to observe the crowd, the activities, and the future through the haze cast by alcohol. Aunt Mazie was the only representative here from the greatest generation. The “boomers” made up the majority of the crowd, there were some Gen Xers, and a few Gen Ys and then in a little carrier in the corner was a baby from a generation yet to be named. Each face was marked or to be marked by their life - the good, bad, and ugly. It was almost a surreal moment as our lives flashed before me - “I can’t believe Bobby’s 60.” Happy Birthday!

December 30, 2007

In 2002 I wrote a book called Gumbo Cooking Up the Organization of the Future. It closed with the following thoughts. I believe these are appropriate still. If you live here you know this - if you’ve been here you’ve seen it and if you’ve never experienced it I encourage you - no I urge you - to do so!

In Cajun country and in the Cajun culture – hard work and hard play go hand in hand – EXCESS IS HOW WE OBSESS. I hope you enjoyed the “flavor” of this book and were nourished by its substance.

There are three expressions that, in my opinion, capture the essence of the Cajun People, our state and our culture. These are:

Joie de vivre – the Joy of Life

Laissez les bons temps rouler – let the good times roll

Lagniappe – a little something extra

One is a spirit, one an attitude, and the final a behavior – collectively these create who we are, what we do, how we live and how we love.

Our spirit – our joy of life comes from the fact that God has blessed this state and its people with a beautiful land, abundant natural resources, a colorful past and a bright future. We’re sure we didn’t end up here by accident but rather were directed here by the hand of God – since we’re certain we are his people and this is God’s country.

“Let the good times roll” attitude is the result of this spirit – it’s our attacking life not just living it. It’s our hard working, hard living, hard playing and hard praying style. It the invincible feeling that we’ve gained living a full life in the Shadow of God’s hand.

Lagniappe is a behavior – it's always sharing – giving that little something extra to everybody you meet. It’s a feeling of abundance even when you are operating in time of scarcity. It’s a small child walking out of the store only to hear “hey, boy – take a candy with you – that’s lagniappe”.

As you digest the ingredients of this recipe (book), I hope it was a most positive experience. I pray that as you push yourself away from the table your are filled with the Cajun culture – may there be Joi de vivre in your soul, Laissez les bons temps rouler in your heart and lagniappe in your actions.

Cher, y’all come back now!

December 31, 2007

A Lafayette, Louisiana TV personality named Bob Hamm created several great works about the Cajun Country. My personal favorite follows. It’s called the Cajun Toast.

May there be crawfish in your nets

And gumbo in your pot

May the sac a lait be biting

At your favorite fishing spot

May the sun be shining brightly

When you need its warming rays

May the oak tree shade you gently

On those lazy bayou days

May a bouree game be waiting

When all your work is through

May the fais do do bring pretty girls

To toss a wink at you

And when your time in life is over

And your place on earth is gone

May you waltz right into heaven

To the tune of Jolie Blonde

Reproduced with permission Bob Hamm © 1973

Wow - it’s done. It’s been 365 days since Sherry waltzed into my office with a crazy idea about keeping a journal. When I committed to do it, I didn’t know what I was attempting and now as I finish I’m not sure what I’ve accomplished. I can say without qualification I’ve enjoyed the process - even when I fell behind. This to me is a verbal video of my life and the lives of the folks that mean the world to me. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this as much I as relished the writing of it.

Years ago when Slade was on one of his great adventures he called me at 3:00 in the morning enthusiastically detailing the places he had visited and the people he had met. He suggested that I should take such a trip. Half asleep I said, “Someday I will.” His answer is still burned into my memory. He said, “Dad, someday is not a good motto to live by.”

Many folks say “life is too short to put up with that.” Markham more correctly states “life is too long to put up with that.” I’ll close this year blessed with so much life - love - friends and fun and battered by too much hurt, sicknesses, sadness and death with a salute to Slade and Markham - If it’s fun - life’s too short to ignore it. If it’s not life’s too long to endure it. Thanks Sherry, thanks to y’all and thank God!