Sam turned 20 on November 4th. She asked me to get her a cookie cake (which we do every now and then). So I got her a Mrs. Field’s cake with balloons on it (made of frosting, of course) and with the text comprised of LSU colors spelling out “Happy 20th Birthday, Sam”. She loved it. It was a nice day. The next day I had work. When I came home I saw the red cookie cake box sitting on the counter and I peeked inside to see how much was left and I saw one piece. But what I saw about that one piece took my breath away! Continue reading Superstition With Reason
…is a wondrous place. Jen and I used to go to the lakefront with Dad when we were little. Always on a Sunday. Sometimes Kim would come and we’d take our paper kite and fly it while we ate lunch. Kim was a close friend of Dad’s. They grew up together and he was at our house a lot before he got sick. He was diagnosed with cancer later on. I think Kim’s funeral was the 2nd funeral I’d ever been to (after Rie). We never cooked out down by the lakefront. I don’t even think they had BBQ pits down there back then. We just picked up Kentucky Fried Chicken. Dad brought the fishing poles sometimes and we would fish on the seawall. Every now and then he’d bring the crab nets and we’d try and get some blue crabs (that didn’t happen too often that I remember–and if it did, usually the crabs were too small to take home).
Sitting on the seawall with Dad, Kim, and Jen was magical. Continue reading The Lakefront
Sitting on my front porch was one of my favorite things to do after a day of playing in the dirt, or walking down the street to school to run up and down the football field. The porch was like the day’s final resting spot. Not like a death, but more like a place for contemplation and reflection. Sitting on the brick-laid steps I’d watch the lizards jump from bush to bush and try to guess what color car would drive by next. The mosquitoes hadn’t quite come out for their time in the sun yet, so sitting on the steps, catching a breeze here and there, watching the cars pass, while I try to guess what’s for dinner by sniffing the air for any sign of red beans or baked macaroni seemed to be the best idea at the time.
Mrs. Reynolds would come out and put her sprinkler over by the azaleas, Continue reading My Front Porch…
“Come on, y’all, let’s go!” Dad would call.
We were getting ready to go to my grandmother’s house. Dad was an only child so Rie (that’s what we called her–short for Marie-with the emphasis on the first syllable) doted on him so. He didn’t mind, I don’t think. He talked to her nearly every day and had dinner with her (and all of us) once a week, every Wednesday. My grandmother was a real character. She said what she wanted to say and did what she wanted to do. Her house was next to the Sterns (which if you’ve ever been to New Orleans is down the street from Longue Vue Gardens on Bamboo Rd. near the Palmetto St. canal). Of course back then it was just the Sterns. I went to school with their grandson and we used to play in the gardens all the time. Funny that when I grew up it turned into a big deal. Continue reading Wednesdays At Rie’s
I read a post written by a lovely lady (Cathy Lynn Brooks) who keeps a blog devoted to her daughter, who was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and lost her life in an accident about a year ago. Truly a tragic story! Her story had me thinking about my situation surrounding my dad’s passing last month.
Where did I look to answer that question when forming my “About” page? It’s hard to look in the past for that, unless you carry your past around like an old suitcase, which (hate to say) I do occasionally… I look at what’s on my mind. What am I consumed by? I’m coming to discover that what I write about will always be pertinent as long as it means something to me or someone else, for that matter. Right now, taking action to move back home to be with my family and friends is foremost in my mind even more than it has been in the last 10 years. Dad’s passing has shoved it under a magnifying glass.
Starting with the song… you know the one.
“To everything turn, turn, turn… There is a season, turn, turn, turn… and a time to every purpose, under heaven…”
A time to live, die, rethink, inspire and be inspired… Ever since I was a girl I wanted to be a writer. As I got older, my dad told me he wanted to write a book with me. His thoughts about what that would look like were kind of hard to nail down, but he was so sweet in his sincerity and his inclusion of me in such a wonderfully, lofty goal! We worked at it a few times. Took copious notes about what he wanted to say, had long talks into the night over dinner at Sal and Sam’s (which is closed now, unfortunately!), and talked on the phone about it ongoingly. Dad is one of the most important people in my life and it saddens me to report that on July 1st, slightly after midnight, he passed away. He was 85. He had a heart condition for most of his life. Three heart attacks, triple bypass surgery, high blood pressure, mild diabetes, etc. He had a good life, however. At his funeral I couldn’t stop thinking that it would have been nice to work a bit more on that book he and I were planning. My thought then, was simple. “Maybe I can do it now, for him, since he’s not here.” So that’s what this is. After having this idea, I saw the ad for the bogging 101 class. I’d just learned a good deal about WordPress so it seems fit and appropriate and Dad would love it! So here I am, giving this a go. I’ve been a journaler since age 7. At 53, maybe I can do this and write something that will be a contribution to someone. Please come with me and Dad on this journey. Let’s see where we end up!