waters

WHOLLY WATER

2010-11-28T02:19:00.003-06:00

The Magnificent contradiction of God.
Whatever your belief, experience of God is,.. this is my experience. I have known this in daily mundane life, and in deepest sacred gleanings of meditation.

We are each a Body,
Each of our bodies has parts, organs, bones and such.
Each of those parts is made up of tissues.
Each of those tissues is made up of cells.
Each of those cells is made up of parts, mitochondria, nucleus, membrane, chromosomes, endoplasmic reticulum, and more.

Each of those parts is made up of molecules, and our own personal self is imprinted on our DNA molecules, what a miracle of un-randomness.

Molecules are made up of atoms.
Atoms are made up of sub-atomic particles… protons, electrons, neutrons…
Beyond that my mind is dizzy… quarks, neutrinos, muons.. barely comprehendible.. photons and waves, string theory, vibrations of potential,… the mind of God

A microcosm pretty magnificent indeed.

We live in a dwelling if we are lucky, maybe a neighborhood, in a city or town, in a province, or state, in a country.
There are 196 countries in our world, plus more cultures, and many Religions that recognize God differently.
The world, our earth, is one of some tiny planets revolving around a great Sun-Star. Our Sun-Star is relatively small compared to others in our galaxy, a speck of dust swirling in a sea of millions of potential life producing star-planet systems. All with possible understandings of the Divine that we have not even fathomed.

The galaxy is yet another speck of dust in amazing amounts of galaxy clusters moving through the universe.
And all to move through an endless universe… the magnificent mind of the Divine creator is this Macrocosm’s source.

There are barely understood dimensions outside our own. And there is the realm outside of the space time continuum. Magnificent indeed.

BUT, the absolutely Magnificent thing about God, to my belief, is that this same great unlimited Mind of the Divine, all knowing, omnipotent, omnipresent,

With all that..

Can yet be personally, lovingly interested, and intimately involved in my little life’s
issues. This man’s human mind can never comprehend the Glory of this
Grace.
Awe, indeed any word, will never suffice the hint of recognition of
the Magnificence God.

Night of the Broken Glass

2010-11-09T10:42:00.000-06:00

On this night November 9,1938. Hitler’s Germany saw a coordinated nationwide attack and arrest of some 25,000 to 30,000 Jews, 91 were killed that night alone, some 2000 synagogues were destroyed and tens of thousands of homes and businesses ransacked and. The start of the greatest genocide in history.

There is an increasing rigid intolerance of Islamic people, homosexuals, and others who don’t fit certain people’s ideas of the perfect “American Christian” mold. This intolerance is found in certain groups in this country gaining momentum in politics.

Have we come so far? Or are we taking steps backwards? Let us remember the lessons of history and pray.

WHOLLY WATER

2010-10-31T01:32:00.004-05:00

Oh God, I am lost and afraid and need to speak with you

What is it my child?

I want to be worthy of you but I know that I am not.

So you KNOW this, what is it you think you know my child?

There is a part of me I have tried to change and keep hidden from myself and others, to no avail… I am an abomination for sure, I cannot change this and I finally come to you, and humbly ask that you take my life, and free me from this horrible part of me.

What is this my child you speak of?

I cannot say it my Lord, I can not speak it, it is so awful.

What do you think I AM my child? You think I am some person on the street that does not know every part of your soul? I know what troubles you. I want you also to know it. And while you are at it know this … that I ,… YES I… did this to you. I created every part of you, for who you are is needed in this world.

I don’t understand my God…why?

Do not ask God why. But know I have reasons for you to be as you are, you are glorious in my sight, exactly as I created you. You are struggling, but not from my truth but from humanity’s imperfect ideas of what should be.
I AM so glad you finally came to me and asked so that you now will listen to me. I had an ever so precious idea once, the more I thought of it the more I loved it, the more I saw it could be such a divine presence in this universe. I finally created this idea and it was YOU. Your life was my gift to you, please do not ask me to take it back. Live to be the vision I saw you to be, resplendent in grace and honor. Walk past those who will not see... to those who will see you as the amazing idea I had, for it is my desire that others witness your greatness, it is part of my design.

God! I am at a loss for words, how can I live up to this?

You have been living up to this and more.. for a very long time. YOU are as YOU are, just as I AM that I AM, for a child can not be something other than it's parent.
P.S. I love you

happy sunday,
blessings, M. Pierre

HELLO AGAIN

2010-10-30T19:54:00.005-05:00

I've been away from my blog for a good bit of time here. Personal issues and health being all better now I hope to get back to regular writing. Well as the upcoming election is upon us, I am not surprisingly drawn back to posting my opinions and ideas. All I do want to say for now though is, VOTE VOTE VOTE...I did early voting and the man infront of me while we waited only a short time, mentioned it was an important election... he was sort of feeling out my side of the coin.. eventually the conversation came to that we were both Democrat...yea!
THIS IS AN IMPORTANT ELECTION, as pendulems swing so the conservative reaction to Obamas election has swung... BUT OMG.. WHAT A REACTION. there are alot of scary people out there trying to undermine all that is liberal, even all that makes sense. They're whole motive is control at any cost. I was reading and looking at pictures of the "Restore the Sanity" march. I was gratified to see the mall absolutely covered with people.
PLEASE, all of you who are of reasonable, sane, minds, get out and VOTE. and encourage others to do the same. I doubt my little blog will reach but a few people, but this is my part.. and exponentially if each one tells two friend, and they tell two friends.. well you get the idea. In Honest truth I have been Praying each night and morning for our nation and the outcome of this election. To swing too far to the conservatives this time would not be like it was under Bush, no as horrible as that was it would be much worse if thes tea-baggers, ahem.. I mean tea party people get any power, ..heaven help our country.
There is a pop culture prophesy going around that says the world will end in 2012. It's just so much hogwash, and based on a lot of misunderstanding of Mayan Culture, and other factors.. However it made me think. 2012 is a presidential election year. One of the signs in the rally I saw was "Democrat Mother's give your children milk so they can grow strong backbones" the point being.. that the Democrats will tend to rest on their laurals when ahead..DON'T. I could well see the END of true American liberty and values in 2012, if the Tea -Party candidates get any control. They are angry, they are tribal, they are liars or at best ignorant. they are Dangerous Misgiuded Hitlers in the making. Yes I will admit that fear mongering is what these Tea Party folks do so well, and yes I am doing some of the same thing here,.. to get democrats and liberals like their conservatives and republicans out to vote in number.
..so again I say.. VOTE VOTE VOTE. Don't be complacent, the Nazis are marching down the street with their pitchforks. And if you think there is not evil afoot here, you need to look again at this clear and present danger.Veritas...
M. Pierre

THE FEMININE SIDE OF GOD

2010-07-30T02:36:00.002-05:00

I've been thinking...yeah, ok... see the smoke lol..
but Actually. I want to examine a feminine aspect of the Divine not usually discussed in this western Christian side of the globe. I'm still having health problems, still feeling uncomfortable, wanting the Dr.s to find the cause, but a little scared if they do. My dear mother has been gone from my life and this world for 31 years and 11 days. not to say she isn't still here to me in many ways, but I feel ...still ...her absense.
   I remember as a child of three or four, sitting in her lap in the rocking chair, held in her arms as she talked to me and rocked me to sleep. Total protection, security, and a respite from my woes were there for me. I WAS SAFE, if only for a time, it was long enough to rest and recharge.
What if I use this as a meditation? What if I use this as an imprinted memory, while thinking of God as the same consoling nurturing Mother? What if I turn to God with the same confidence of protection? Is this prayer, or transference?
I think it has to be prayer. For nothing so pure and beautiful could be anything but.
   and here is my prayer:
      God, rock me to sleep, for I am weary and frightened, and know not where to turn. I need you to hold me until it's all OK again......and God do the same for my loved ones when they need you.

   blessings to you all,     ... M. Pierre

THE IMAGE OF...

2010-07-28T03:59:00.003-05:00

I've been having a discussion with some folks, about Images, and Symbols for the Divine in an online spiritual discussion forum. Most everyone there is respectful of others different faiths. We are there to share not debate. A woman was talking about a copy of painting she had of Jesus in her office, and how his eyes looked sad. Well that started something.
And well,.. this is my blog so here I do not have to be so respectful. this is my place to really let off steam when I want to.

Some pompous condescending bag of wind posted a picture of George harrison next to her painting and pointed out to all of us ignorant dummies that it looked like Jesus too, and we really do not know what Jesus looked like, as there are no references ever made to refer to him. all we have is some silly artists imagination... and the ten commandments says not to worship graven images. And that he only honors his Inner God, without any images needed, infact no one should ever have any image of God or any person said to be Divine as we will just become polythiests worshiping golden calves as such. BLA BLA BLA BLA BLA.
Well as this man is obviously so spiritually superior to all of us, im surprised he's not floating around somewhere. The debate bantered back and forth.

I cannot keep my mouth shut, especially when someone else is being attacked unjustly. I pointed out that early artists did have a description of Jesus in apocraphal writings and they also used the image of the shroud of turin as a basis for their portraits, as both were very similar. and that is where we get the common image used for Jesus throughout art history. But the point is not that it's an accurate likeness but that many use the image for a symbol. And many while not worshiping these symbols still use them as a vehicle. Others made the point of how they thought images and symbols are useful to them.

Get this answer of his..."I guess it's difficult for you people to let go of fairy tales, fake shrouds, pointless writings the Church wont even recognize. Still so many can't recognize the God within and need the Man made images of OZ and wont realize, it's a man behind the curtain, just a man playing God." no lie this is the shit he spewed. What a colossal arrogant fucker.

If I stay in this group I will no doubt run across this kind of donkey again. Though it asks people to be respectful, there are always THOSE, who have to show their ass where faith is concerned. You know the type who know everything about God, and hense their cup is full and finished and they have no need, no room to learn anything more..I learned this working for the Church years ago. So should I quit the group, as people like this disturb my serenity? Or should I not let them have power over me? I either will have to come vent here or learn to let it go, I'm not to good at letting it go, especially when he was jumping all over some dear lady who was just trying to make a point about a painting she found beautiful and inspirational.

Now that I have vented. I do feel sorry for those who cannot see the wonder in sacred art and symbol, and how symbol, image, mythology and allegory tell so much more than words alone can say. Heck all the major religions of the world have used this. So throughout this article and now here at the end i have included some beautiful Sacred (un-graven) Images from all the stupid unenlightened people of this earth.

Blessings, M. Pierre

WHOLLY WATER

2010-07-25T04:26:00.000-05:00

Psalm 23

I have come through the darkness to find God has a banquet for me,
I find myself blessed and my cup runs over.
For goodness is with me here at home for all of my life.

My cup is not filled from the outside but overflows from within

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 10

2010-07-20T04:11:00.001-05:00

Something very Grand indeed presented itself to my imagination. And it would be easy to draw. The Port Arthur “Rainbow” Bridge, was just about the grandest thing I had ever seen. This bridge is something we would travel almost every summer to go to another of my uncle’s houses. Lawrence was one of Gus’s and my father’s brothers and he and his wife lived in a small town in southeast Texas just near the Louisiana border, and you had to go over the bridge to get to their town from the interstate. You could see the bridge from the side as it was approached from that highway, then you would turn south on a smaller highway and go over it to get there.

This is no ordinary bridge by any idea. As a child it was scary, and very exciting, beautiful and of course Grand! And to be honest if you are ever in this area, …go over the bridge, as it is still all those things. It is the highest bridge I think I’ve ever seen still to this day. It rises nearly 200 feet above the water level, they say,… to let the tallest ship made, go under it in order to reach the Beaumont/Orange ship yards (which, by the way, my father once worked in those ship yards as a ships mechanic long before I was born).

As you drive this bridge you go up a steep incline and get higher and higher, higher and higher, and yet higher into the sky. At the top is an amazing view of Sabine lake (practically a bay), ships, and boats of all sorts are on one side, and on the other, in the distance you can see Beaumont up the Neches river.

And so… I began to try and capture this wonderful structure on the butcher paper with the same excitement and gusto I felt every time we passed over it. I used pencils and pens (both black and blue ink) and red colored pencils, and with fervor I created. Time flashed past me, the creative effort took me to a cosmic place of wonder… and before I knew it Chin and Gus were coming inside from all their hot work outside.

“MON DIEU” they both exclaimed as they entered. I thought it was from the heat outside until they both descended upon me. “Did you draw this?” Gus said almost accusingly. And he and Chin seemed to be looking around for some mystery artist who had run in and done my drawing then vaporized. They looked at each other and said some stuff in French. I heard my father’s name in there.

I was still a little unsure if I had done something wrong or if they liked my drawing when Aunt Chin bent over and kissed my cheek. “I didn’t know that my Pitou original would look so spectacular t-man.”

“You like it?” I started to ask and explain “it’s the…”

“Port Arthur Bridge!!” they both interjected

I was astonished they both knew what it was… but then my mind hit on the fact that they had probably both traveled the bridge many a time as they lived closer to Uncle Lawrence than we did, and yet I was happily surprised that their recognizing it meant I drew it well enough.

“Well you said GRAND.” I added

“Grand indeed,” Uncle Gus praised, “ Dass (that’s) one fine piece of art-werk. You know you git dat from you daddy yeah.” Something I did truly know, my father’s paintings always adorned out living and dining rooms. Something I didn’t know was that years later when I was almost a teen, and the last time I ever visited Chin and Gus’s house, my 6 year old’s drawing would be adorning their living room in one of Gus’s carved frames, with a tiny lettered card labeled “Pitou Original”. Possibly the most gratified I’ve ever felt was then knowing that I had given something to these two very dear people, that they had appreciated and drew joy from.

That moment was one of those perfect ones that stick in your memory. They sat and watched me finish the picture. I didn’t usually like to be watched when I drew but I made an exception for them. Gus encouraged me to come up with an artsy way to sign my drawing at the bottom, and Chin wrote on the back in pencil who, when, why, and a title of what, and had me sign the back with my full name, which I hadn’t even really learned cursive yet, but I did something to try and look sophisticated. Then she had Gus take down the clock by the table and they taped my drawing there. I was prouder than punch has ever been. What does that saying even mean anyway?

I had a mini flashback of the prize pies on the table… but now they were in front of my drawing. Chin and I were at the Fair again with blue ribbons on her pies and my drawing, her in her red dress, and me all dressed up in a shorts suit (do little boys even have such things as shorts suits now?) and we were smiling and people were clapping at out accomplishments. Being a middle child in a family of five children it was nice to be the apple of someone’s eye for a change.

My very fantastic “day” was winding down from here though I didn’t really know it. Chin pulled out a left over ham and we made ham and cheese sandwiches for lunch.

“Do you have any potato chips?” I asked

“I surely do.” Chin answered and went to the little pantry fetching a bag. She put a handful of chips on each of our plates by our sandwiches. “Good suggestion Mon pette.”

I proceeded to do something I’ve always done with ham and cheese sandwiches. I don’t know why or where I got this idea, but I still do it today. I opened up my sandwich and layered the chips into the sandwich. This is a wonderful crunchy addition to any ham and cheese, that I highly recommend. My mom used to always pack me chips in a little plastic bag, along with ham and cheese in my lunch so I could do this and have them fresh and crunchy.

Both Chin and Gus watched me in wonder as I “chipped” my sandwich and took the first crunchy wonderful cold bite. It was then I really realized they were so interested in what I was doing. I don’t know what Gus said to Chin in French with a little giggle, but they both followed suit and added chips to their sandwich. Something no one else in my family ever even tried.

I watched as they took their first bite, excited and confident that they would see the wonder of this taste combination. And they did!

“My, My, My, mon tit-man,” Gus said half in French and English “ces’t une bonne chose (sest une bone shows)” I phrase I knew meant “this is a GOOD thing”

Ok now I was on cloud 11.5. having them appreciate and share in my ham sandwich yumm secret was all this kid could ask for to make me feel special, important, noticed, validated, all the above… Little do adults know how such simple things can give a kid a shot of confidence and self esteem that may last a lifetime.

We sat back talking and cooling off and enjoying our ham cheese and chip sandwiches, accompanied by iced tea. Then Gus turned to me and asked two questions.

“First, t-man, you want to help me rearrange da fans and turn on da air conditioning to start cooling dis house down for our company.” I got the impression they didn’t always use the AC unless it was really hot or company was there. “And second….. hows bout a nap for dis afta’noon. I knows Chin done wore your skinny little butt off already dis day.”

I had to honestly admit that both sounded great, but I looked to Aunt Chin for validation. “My man gess up b’fore the sun each day and does the garden ann more, while I sleep, then he naps in the afta’noon and gits out’a my way so’s I can cook annn sush. I thin pitou, you done a man’s day a’ work ann should nap too if you want.”

All I needed to make this an “oh so fine a day” was to rest for a bit now in cool air. Gus and I moved box fans to doorways, shut windows, turned on the AC, rearranged some furniture to make a flow through, and ended up in their bedroom with one oscillating big fan, an ottoman fan at the base of the bed, and a box fan pushing AC air through the hall to this room from the living room. This in southern Louisiana this is a dream of cool air to sooth the savage breast, or beast… whatever…

Gus laid on one side of their big bed on his back with his arms folded on his chest. I followed the same on the other side…. Ahhhhh comfort and coolness, such simple but wonderful blessings.

I was drifting when Uncle Gus said a few last minute things to me. “ Tell God, t-man, someting you are tankful for before you fall asleep. Always do dis.”

“I’m thankful I got to stay with yall today” I said

“You done have to tell me ow’loud cher, juss remember to tell God every time you be falling asleep. Is good for da soul.” Gus continued, “But to tell God ann you…I’m tankful too.. you stay wid us toiday.” Sometime after that I vaguely remember turning on my side and falling asleep in a such a peaceful way it should be bottled and sold.

JUST STUFF

2010-07-13T02:27:00.001-05:00

Forgive me if anyone has been looking for the Aunt Chin story ...continued. It will be here soon, the conclusion in 2 or 3 parts, or anything else I blog about on a regular basis. Iv'e been under the weather with health issues yet again. And iv'e been neglecting the blog from shear lack of stamina...
I did see today a great article that got me a little excited. In response to the "Tea Party" (which you can easily see how I feel about them by my blog articles) an new progressive organization has been formed called "ONE NATION"... yea! If anyone has the time to find their website, please send me a link, I haven't been able to find them. What I read sounds like I'm all in favor, but I want to know more. The tea party in my opinion is a very vocal, very harmful, very ignorant, minority... so V.Vocal, H.Harmful, I.Ignorant, M. Minority. here to refered to as VHIM needs to be counter-pointed by a new voice, of what I hope to be Reason. I hope the One Nation group will be a place for media to hear from the rest of us (O.One , N.Nation..= ON! as in the good old days right ON!) ..namely The Majority who elected Obama because we were tired of the crap we were being forcebily spoon fed before by the bush administration, and the ultra conservatives.
So that's where I am at today. Prayers for my health will not be un-appreciated. I'm honestly having a bit of a hard time here.
Blessings, M.Pierre

INDEPENDENCE DAY

2010-07-04T01:48:00.002-05:00

HAPPY JULY 4TH!

MAY WE ALWAYS REMEMBER
THAT THIS IS A NATION OF
LIBERTY, JUSTICE,
AND BLESSINGS,
FOR ALL.

WHOLLY WATER

2010-07-04T01:41:00.000-05:00

   Divine Blessings on our nation,
     This truth should be self evident:
        That all men and women are created
               EQUAL.

NEW FRIEND'S BLOG

2010-07-02T12:50:00.001-05:00

Hey,
I have a friend who has started a new blog. Her and her mom were our closest and very dearest neighbors while my children were growing up. Now she's grown with her family and enjoying Motherhood. If you like natural things, creativity, gardening, cooking, and can relate to the woes and joys of raising children, I think you will like what she has to offer. BTW, I don't know if she realizes, that to me, her Mom is one of the most admirable people I've ever met, and I'm sure she's following the footsteps. Check out "Mamahood" ..link to the left.

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 9

2010-06-30T04:14:00.008-05:00

Sometimes you get a feeling, that nagging duty feeling, the feeling of being drawn back to a task that while necessary, was something your interest had passed on, but needed to be finished to get on to better things. This left me plodding along behind Chin back to the hens.

They were drained now so the next thing was the feathering.

We went to the shop and as instructed Gus had the kettles boiling. He and Chin carried them out to pour into two large buckets, one slightly larger than the other. Gus maneuvered the wash tub of blood waste away and stationed the smaller bucket under the baking hens.

Chin had gotten two full front aprons we put on, they were stained with all manner of what I did not know. She managed to adjust mine for my small stature.

Then to the feathering…Chin plunged a hen into the bucket and hanging it on the nail began to pull the larger feathers off the wings and tails. She let me help a bit here and there. Then we repeated it with hen #2. She let the feathers land in the water, “so as not to make a mess.” Then we both took turns plunging and feathering all the smaller feathers into the larger bucket. When the hens were about naked we washed them off with the hose and hung them back on the nails.

“Now for the feathers,” Chin added. We took what seamed a good amount of time ladling the smaller feathers out of the bucket and onto the screen box and covering it with the other screen to dry out for use later.

Two things they used a great deal in southern Louisiana, for stuffing things like pillows and mattresses were chicken feathers, and Spanish moss respectively. My mother used to tell us a story of how they once were washing out their pillow and mattress covers, a biannual job, for re-stuffing with fresh feathers and moss. And for three or four months or so you would have plump pillows and full mattresses that you could just sink into, in time they would become flat. This particular year as they were throwing out the old feathers, they found some of them sewn together in an x with black and red thread. This meant a hex had been put on your household, especially the person’s pillow it came from. But they didn’t know who’s as they had already dumped all the pillows out.

The people had old ways and old beliefs, and her mother was very alarmed. Being a poor widow, she got help from relatives and found a way (beg and borrow) to pay some ugly old man 50piastre (fifty dollars) which was a fortune in those days, to come make good gris gris (gree, gree) by throwing a pouch under the porch and spiting all over the top of the it. My mom, though young at the time, was appalled at the waste of money on superstition.

Going back to the chickens though, soon we had them cleaned up fairly well. Chin then shaved the pin feathers with the long skinny knife. “Any is left we will burn off inside later.” She explained.

After we rinsed the hens again with the hose Chin got out the wire and using the end like a needle sewed and tied up the anus area of each chicken. ‘Oh my God’ was all I could think, ‘what in the world is she doing that for?’ but I kept it to myself and didn’t question. Then she took the pink sharp little knife and cut a triangle around the place she just tied up. She cut a base of the triangle along the inside of the tail (the tail is called in Cajun the croupier, but pronounced croupiyon) which I found out later first meant the person riding behind the rider on a horse, or on the tail end, before it was a gambling attendant. Anyway the cut was along the inside base of the croupier and like a triangle up either side meeting just above the sewn closed place.

Then pulling the wires all of the innards came out in one blob, to be dropped into the blood waste tub. All except that is the gizzards which she snatched up in her hand before they fell in.

“We save the gizzards you see from the stomach and guts.” She snipped of the line of innards tube, and the gizzards were placed in a little bowl.

“Smells king of stinky.” I observed

“Yes it does but not so much as if I hadn’t tied their butts closed.”

I don’t know why this struck me so but I exploded into laughter. The phrase “tied their butts closed” sounded somehow so funny to me that I couldn’t stop giggling “tied their butts closed” I howled. Aunt chin didn’t see the humor at first but my giggling was contagious and soon we were both belly laughing soo hard that Gus came to see what the deal was.

“Why are you laughing at?” he came out and asked

“Tied their butts closed.” I spurted out. It took Gus a moment at the French explaining from Chin to catch on to the reason for my laughter. We all had a good guffaw. And even later in the house I heard Chin and Gus in another room laughing, and speaking French except the phrase “tied their butts closed” they had gotten the idea of my childish laughable comedy of it all.

After that incident all tension melted away and I saw the hens as food we were preparing now, without any trepidation of the animals they recently were.

Next chin cleavered the heads and sent them to the waste bin, as well as loosening the tubes that led to the guts, the crop, windpipe and such got cut off, the esophagus veins and such were pushed through, holding the neck she ran her fingers in down the neck cavity loosening the other vital organs to come out the bottom. We saved the livers and hearts and added them to the gizzards and removed the necks to keep. Then she ran the hose through the inside of them.

Lastly she cut off the feet just at the leg joint and she set them off to the side. Then she cut open and cleaned out the gizzards showing me the little rocks and such. She took the yellow skin off the feet and snipped the nails and she cut off the pointless end of the wing.

“Why are you saving the feet and wings?” I asked. I knew what the livers hearts and gizzards were for.

“Well I’m goin to add them to the backs I cut from the fryers and boil up some chicken stock…broth,” Chin explained. “unless you want them feet for a lucky ju ju?”

“Naww…” I pshawed, giggling

“Don’t laugh.” She added, “Some folks take it serious and it seams to work for them.”

“You can just boil them, thanks anyways.” I said. I could just picture my mom’s face if I wanted to bring home some chicken feet for luck. And I could picture them being pitched out the window of the car on the way home, as she would be mumbling something about ugly old men spitting on the porch, and fifty dollar superstitions.

Lastly, another washing and the two hens were placed in the rectangular pan looking as though we just bought them at the store.

“So my sweet, thas all there is. Whad’ya think?” Chin looked over for my evaluation.

“I’m glad I helped and watched.” I told her. “ It really wasn’t bad.”

“And you got to see chicken butts get tied closed!” Chin burst into laughter again, and I along with her.

“What do we do with all this stuff now?” I motioned mostly to the waste tub.

“Well that’s what husbands are for.” She chortled. “Actually we gonna take our hens, and that bowl of goodies inside and finish clean up, then I will be back out here for the mess. But I do believe you will be startin some artwork for me eh?”

“OK.” I agreed excitedly. Chin took the tray of chickens and asked me to bring the bowl of ‘goodies’. Off we marched like a parade with an offering back to the house. I realized it was really beginning to get hot outside, especially with the apron on. Looking down at what I was carrying I felt like a hoodoo apprentice, with a bowl of chicken feet , necks, hearts, livers, gizzards and wing tips.

Inside we set everything down and took off our aprons. The fan felt good. I could see Chin was sweating too, as she took our aprons off to the laundry. I was instructed to go start washing my hands “from the elbows down” in the bathroom sink. Chin joined me in a moment and did the same.

As we returned to the kitchen we both sat down to fan and cool off. I had to run and get my fan from the living room. “You want some ice-coffee?” Aunt Chin asked. Not sure what she meant I was about to ask but she saw my expression and volunteered more information. “Just like ice-tea, only coffee.”

“Oh, OK.” I wondered if this would be nasty tasting though. Chin took two glasses to the coffee pot and poured each about a third full with left over coffee. Then she took some ice trays out and took them to the sink. She plugged the sink dumped most of them in, but reserved enough to fill each glass. The she refilled the trays and put them back. To our coffee she added sugar a tad of milk and filled them the rest of the way with water, stirring, and returned to sit by me and serve me my first glass of ice-coffee. I tasted it and was surprised, and I’ve been a fan ever since…and this new generation thinks they invented the cold coffee drinks, latte, frappe, whatever.

“You rest here while I finish these hens.” Chin said as she sprung up and went over to the stove. She burned off any little feathers on the burner then washed them again in the open sink. Then tossed them on the ice and filled that sink with water. It was the opposite of the thaw we did earlier in the same sink, now it was rapid cool down. Later we would wrap them in butcher paper label them and take them to the freezer, in a sort of reverse of the steps we took with the earlier hens. I watched her quietly sipping my coffee. The box fan cooled me from behind, the counter fan still blowing sort of reached one side of my face and my peacock, I used to cool the other.

Chin piddled around, sorting the hoodoo goodies, some in a stock pot and others in the frig. Chicken backs I assumed went from the frig to the pot, the fryer parts in buttermilk went to the frig. The pot went to the sink to fill then back to the stove,…I felt like a person watching a tennis match back and forth, Chin was to and fro. washing her hands in the sink, back to the pot with salt and seasonings, and turning on the fire beneath, top on, slightly askew.

Chin sat for a moment, only a moment, sipping her coffee and fanning, and dabbing her head of sweat. “I need to put them pies in the frig prally (probably) now.” Chin felt the bottom of the pans to see how cool they were, then poof!--up again she was in the frig making room and putting the pies away. And bam back down in the seat fanning and drinking a long sip of coffee. We were making small talk that led back around to my art work and… pop, Chin was up again getting a roll of white butcher paper and some scissors. She metered it out and asked me how big a piece I wanted to draw on, then she cut it off trimmed the edges more evenly, wiped the table of condensation moving my coffee, and laid it in front of me. Soon it was joined by a can of pens and pencils “There,” she said, “you’re all set.”

“I don’t know what to draw.” I told her again.

And her response was the same as before “Pick up a pencil and the idea will pop into you head,” but then she added “draw something big and grand.”

As I picked up the pencil, it happened…How did she know?! I thought of the chicken feet and wondered if she had done a little gris gris to me along the way somewhere. Ole Chin had a bit of magic or something ‘cause just as I picked up the pencil something indeed big and very grand popped into my head.

**

GAY PRIDE

2010-06-23T00:47:00.005-05:00

It is less than a week until the 41st anniversary of the “Stonewall Riots” in New York City’s Greenwich Village. A marked point for the beginning of the gay rights movement, on June 28, 1969, the homosexual community finally fought government sponsored persecution.

This is also Gay Pride weekend coming up in many cities around the country. And June is national LGBT month. As proclaimed by the president of our country. A lot has changed in the last 41 years. And true a lot still needs to change.

But there is a development in this generation, absolutely unheard of when I was young. I’m speaking about openly gay students in school.

Here is a timely story about a sweet brave young girl who is not willing to pretend she is anything other than her true gay self. And she’s standing up to do it, not in some metropolitan city used to diversity but in a tiny one high school town in Mississippi.

Ceara Sturgis, who is openly gay, has attended school in Wesson Mississippi for all 12 years. She is also an honor student. And she also was completely removed from her senior yearbook. Not only was her picture not shown, but any reference to her name her academic honors, list of graduates… all of it was removed.

I have four children, and If it had been my child, well I could hardly bear to see her crying that way. The complete cruelty of it all is unconscionable
But all in all ..they tried to "remove" her, "erase" her, pretend she did not exist in their school,.. and they succeeded in showing her to the world. Bringing her and her sexuality, and their ugliness OUT for all to see. I have to think that's pretty good karma.
Blessings to you Ceara. May your life be full, and Happy.
Another thing I've noticed with my children and many their friends, to a lot of this younger generation, this gay is thing becomming less of an issue. Yes there are still the sad stories of bullying and cruelty, but there are also stories of young openly gay students in High Schools who are accepted by their peers. That would never have happened in my high school. there's hope if the GROWN UPS would quit polluting the young. It's unfortunately mostly our generations lead, like the fat-assed principal, and school board who commit this bigotry. And Im sure in Wesson Mississippi, these fine citizens still have their white robes and pointed hoods, pressed, and hanging proudly in the back of their closet.
Also "DISHONORABLE MENTOION" another Mississippi town, Itawamba, goes to the trouble to put on a "FAKE" prom for Constance McMillen, her girl friend, and a few other undesirable students, while keeping the true prom for the rest of the school a secret. Good ole Mississippi.

REFLECTION

2010-06-22T02:16:00.000-05:00

The power of the ocean,

It stings a good bit when it sprays you in the face.

When you catch sight of your true reflection, in the pool between the rocks, between the breaks…

And you see this old man who you thought outgrew these childish self centered daydreams. And it always happens when you are alone, with no reprieve for at least a confession.

Who do you apologize to, or is it everyone?

When in the splash in the face, you see a certain ugliness reflected from your soul, showing in your features only made worse by age.

WHOLLY WATER

2010-06-20T01:51:00.001-05:00

In Honor of Father's Day

Our Father who art in heaven,

Our Mother who art the earth,

I who am born of both of you,

I the child …

God the father,

God the mother,

God the brother,

God the sister,

God the spouse,

God the child,

God the friend,

God the ocean,

God the mountain,

God the sunset,

God the moon,

God the stars,

God the planet,

God the galaxy,

God the universe,

God the all,

We the children,

who look to Our father,

and art in heaven this day

this moment, For we are always

with Our father

who is always with us

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 8 "chicken demise"

2010-06-19T19:30:00.006-05:00

One of the Queen of hearts little playing card soldiers was pulling at my foot. He was the size of an actual playing card but with a great big normal sized hand on my foot. “Pitou.” he shouted and pulled. “Pitou, Pitou,” I opened my eyes to see Aunt Chin pulling my toe trying to wake me up.
“I fell asleep,” groggily I explained, blinking.

“I see that.”

A thought suddenly roused my mind… “Did you kill the chickens?” I blurted out.

“No Pierre, I tole you I wouldn’t do that. B’sydes you only been sleeping for a few minutes.” She used my full given name instead of Pitou, which made me feel like maybe she was finding my chicken commotion a bit tiresome. That being the case or not, I resolved to quit making a big deal out of it. Plus I was half asleep so some of, …well…actually a lot of the anxiety was gone, even though I had just dreamt about it.

I sat up rubbing my face. “C’mon bebe,” she beckoned, “I could use your help hanging out the laundry.”

I was slow to wake and my mind was all over the place. “Are the pies finished?” I asked trying to picture the finished peach pie with the lemon.

“Yes they are, and coolin on the table.”

I looked in the direction of the kitchen and yawned. “Can I keep my peacock fan?” I asked

“Yes, sweet.” Chin was giggling at me again, “I gave that to you.”

Her giggling made me feel better and more awake. I hopped off the couch and started to follow her lead to the laundry room. At the steps down to the garage room I stopped and sat to stretch a minute, while Chin took out the wash and put it into a the large wicker basket.

“You wanna stretch?” Chin asked. I nodded “Her (here) cher, this is somthin my PaPA used to do for me when I was juss woke up.” She took me by the wrists and held me up high as she could, hanging from my wrists. “Now, juss hang loose and get all the stretching out.” Which I did and it felt great. I wish I had a giant person around now as an adult to hang me by my wrists when I can’t seem to stretch enough upon awakening.

After the hanging, (I ponder now what chiropractors might say about this treatment, is it good for the spine or bad for the wrists) Chin went to the big basket, hoisted it up, and I followed her out the garage/basement/laundry room door to the side of the house where there was a clothesline. It took a while for us to shake out the sheets and table clothes and hang them on the line. I also was handing her clothes pins. When we were done she asked me if I wanted to play “laundry tag.”

“I don’t know. I guess.” I had no idea what this game was.

Chin explained, “Well, I will go to the end of the line her and close my eyes and count to ten. You have to hide somewhere in the laundry. Then I catch you. But I can’t go under the sheets, that’s cheating, I have to run to the end and go back in the row that I juss saw you feet in, but you can run too and keep changin rows at the ends. You can’t go under the laundry either tho’. Sheets on the line is the best thing for this game.”

Why had I never heard of this game? “LETS DO IT!” I exclaimed. We had total fun while we played two times. First she was it, and outsmarted me by being observant and surprising me at the end of a row. So she won. Next I was it, and won just because I was smaller and faster, or possibly ‘cause she let me win. Humm, laundry tag, see what electric clothes dryers have taken from us.

We were laughing when Chin got quiet and with a sterrn cock of her head reminded me of our next task at hand. With a small amount of trepidation I agreed and was ready. The short nap seemed to have taken much of my dread away. Still I thought … ‘let’s do this, … this chicken killing thing, before I change my mind.’

I really didn’t know what to expect, and I didn’t know how totally unexpected it would all be.

We went back into the garage room and she explained to me that we would need a few supplies. There was a little laundry basket in the corner, a smaller replica of the one we just used. “We need that.” she pointed out. Then she got a stack of rags and old towels and some aprons out of a cabinet and put them into the basket. Off we marched through the house and into the kitchen where she, opening a cabinet there, asked me to get the big rectangular pan from the bottom and carry it out for her. She also grabbed an old plastic bowl. As we exited I could smell the peach pie and tried to glance back at the table to see it…but we were busy and Chin wasn’t waiting for anything.

Out the back door we went to the gate and through the fairy-tale village to the garden shed. There we stopped for a smaller metal pan with a few items in it. It seemed sort of like a surgeon’s tray. There was a pink handled little stout sharp paring knife, the sister of the turquoise one she had inside, only dingier. In addition was a big cleaver (oh my) joined by some wire cutters, another very long thin knife, some twine, some wire, and a wide slotted ladle.

We took these things around the chicken run to a place on the other side of the coop. there was a little wooden bench/table, a wooden rack, with nails for hanging things, some buckets and a galvanized wash tub and some screen bottomed wide boxes, made of 2 by 4 frames. We set our stuff down and went to Uncle Gus’s shop.

“Well it’s the tyme.” Chin announced. Gus looked up from his work.

“So you tink you got de bravery to do dis eh?” he addressed me.

“Don’t mess with our child her (here),” she said hugging my shoulder, then added some words to him in French. Chin was on a mission, no nonsense. She went over to the side of the room to a big double hotplate. Removing two of the biggest tea kettles I’ve ever seen, the spotted porcelain camping kind, she motioned for me to follow. “We need to take these out to the hose.” Chin placed one of them in my hand. We went out and filled them from the hose and carried them back to the shop. This was a heavy load for a six-and-three- quarter year old child. Chin put them on the hotplate, “We will need hot water for later.” She explained.

“For pulling out the feathers?” I asked, having remembered this from a time before.

“Yes,” Chin answered looking a little surprised, “So you do know somethin about some of this.” I was happy at the seaming confidence she felt with me now. I was also happy that the fear of this whole thing had not yet returned since my nap and tag. Chin asked Gus to turn on the hotplates “In ‘bout an hour.”

“Well then,” Chin paused a good while, “it’s tyme.” She said again

The anxiety raised a notch, well, many notches. Gus clasped my shoulders slightly giving me a squeeze and said something in French to me that I didn’t understand or try to.

Out Chin and I went to the chicken run. She was being a bit stern and serious about it all. I wasn’t sure if this was as usual …or for my benefit. Chin explained that the laundry basket was to catch the hens easily, so she emptied it and grabbed it. Then she pointed them out. “See those two ones, the bigger is the red one and then that fat white one. They is older than the rest and not laying eggs nomore, so it’s time they got to be bakin hens, not fryin, ones like we thawed. No sense keeping them alive and feedin ‘em until they is too tough to eat.” I understood this …and was intrigued.

“Why can’t you fry them?” I asked

“Good question cher, you want to learn eh?… these hens is as I said already too tough to fry. You need young ones for that.” Chin paused then continued to explain, “Sometymes you raise a few not to lay but just for eatin, and kill’em young to be fryers. Sometymes you just get some hens, that just aint lay-ers, we call them pullets when they are young. I don’t raise the chicks, thass a huge amount a’ trouble an this aint no chicken farm.”

“Like your daddy had?” I threw in.

“Uncle Gus tell you that?”

“Yeah, he said you grew up with knowin about chickens.”

“Guess thass so…anyways sometimes you get pullet hens that just aint lay-ers and my-as-well eat them, get use from them, kill’em young and make fryers. Sometymes they isn’t even a hen at all, especailly if you buy them too young and cheep without lookin good first, which I’ll admit I do from time to time if I don’t got a lot of piastre, so then you can got a young rooster by mistake, and never have more than one rooster in your hen house, so kill’em young and make a fryer.” I didn’t know all this stuff and was enthralled with learning it.

“Now we catch one, cher.” Chin suddenly told me. She was speaking softly. We went into the run by the gate. “I want you to mind this gate. Open it and close it as I need without letting out any of my girls OK?” I got my assignment and was ready. Chin went to the brood of hens and suddenly slapped the basket over one the big red hen. Then she reached under the basket and had grabbed the hen by her feet. This was a difficult task for her as she did it with out getting down on the ground but with just bending over, and straightening up to stand I could see was hard on her back…only this time there was hardly an audible groan. I understood that this was now a QUIET time and restrained my galloping mouth. Chin picked her hen up and carried her asking me quietly to open the gate for us and close the gate behind us. The laundry basket was left in the yard. We went to the place she had shown me… the chicken killing place I figured you could call it.

I watched expectantly and quietly, but my heart was beating rapidly and loud. Damn tell tale, I hoped she couldn’t hear it. I was truly frightened at this point, but putting up a brave front. And I think hiding the fact well that I was trembling a tiny bit.

Chin carried the hen to the little bench and set it down never letting go of its feet. Then she had one hand on its back seaming to sooth it as it stopped trying to flap its wings and settled down. “Pitou,” she cooed, “can you please open up one of those towels on the bench next to me here.” I got a towel and laid it out on the remaining end of the bench.

“Like this?” I whispered.

“Perrrfecttt.” Chin answered in a cooing whisper.

The most amazing thing came next. Chin was stroking the hens back and it was calmed down a great deal, then she turned her hand palm up to stroke. The other hand was still holding the hen’s feet. She gently slipped her hand up the hens back opening her fingers in the middle with two fingers on either side as she continued to where her fingers were on either side of the chicken’s head.
Snap, it was over.
Chin had quickly grabbed the chicken by the neck, letting go of the feet and flipped the body down and the head forward and back breaking the chicken’s neck. And just as quickly in the same motion she laid the flapping body in the towel and wrapped it around the hen to hold it still. “Ummmmmm.” she said slowly looking away, with one hand holding the chicken’s body restrained in the towel “Thank you sweet, you been a good hen… given us good eggs… and I think we will enjoy you deliciousness” She kept her hand in place until the chicken’s body stopped twitching and the legs stopped moving.

There was something Chin had just done… just a little action… that I realized as I got much older, made me see death differently. When she spoke the words to the hen after its demise, she didn’t look at the chicken’s body in the towel, she looked out and up. What ever you may think of animal souls or spirits, the hen’s body now was just a body to Chin, its essence was moving elsewhere. Well at my age I have had to say good bye to many a loved one who has passed on, and this perspective of death and the body, has always been with me sinced

I was so astonished to this day it has,… well, prompted me write a story about Aunt Chin. She looked at me when it was over and all I could respond with was a solemn, quiet, long, “Wooowwww.” Chin had a slight respectful smile on her face. It was like she wanted to say to me... “you got it” and I wanted to say back… “ yes, I get it.” Chin also explained that by holding them in the towel, you didn’t get broken wings and sometimes legs from a thrashing around dead hen, which was not only violent but unnecessary.

“Leaving them to just run around, well you couillon (stupid) if you do that. ‘specially if you chop the head off ‘cause ever-thing is bloody mess after that”

Hen number one lay in her towel not moving now and we repeated everything for hen number two. When it was all done, Chin looked to me and said, “Now you see, no bloody mess, no running around dying chickens…it’s just no need for all that.”

At that moment I hugged Aunt Chin’s neck without reservation. A flood of relief and pent up anxiety and emotion came out. I felt sort of like crying or laughing… or… but it wasn’t the bad feeling I had expected, but a sense that I had shared a solemn moment with her and indeed I had. These hens as she said were “her girls” but the cycles of life are things farm people just do and accept

“We still have some not so pleasant things left to do you know, cher.” She added

“I know …like cleaning a fish.” I noted, “and feathering them hens.” Aunt Chin’s eyebrows raised on her face which nodding to me as if to show me that I knew more than she gave me credit for.

We moved on. She took the hose and asked me to turn it on, to which she rinsed her hands and the chickens off some. Then she tied each hen’s feet together and hung them over the wash tub upside down, by the twined feet. Pink paring knife in hand she instructed me that I might want to turn my head. I started to for a moment but curious to see I turned back around as she was putting the knife into the second hens beak and cutting something (the juggler vein) from the inside the hen’s mouth, to which the hens started draining blood into the wash tub. Chin did not let me linger very long looking at this. She rinsed her hands again and turned to me, “Now we leave for a bit” she explained taking me by the hand and leading my back towards the house.

We went in and both washed our hands in the kitchen sink . All the dishes we had dirtied earlier were drying in the drain board. The counters were wiped down clean, and cleared except for the two large bowls again. The blue one still contained flour, the pink one had a towel over it. I picked up the towel and peaked in not sure of what I was seeing. Chin clarified. “That’s those two fryers cut up and soakin in buttermilk, and finishin thawin juss a bit.” The oven was off and the box fan was again blowing into the kitchen. Honky-tonk music was still playing on the radio. I looked around and on the table were displayed two prize pies cooling. I could just see the blue ribbons sitting in front of them, and Aunt Chin dressed with her red dress and top knot hair, with her hands clasped at her bosom, state-fair-fan in one of them, bowing and smiling to the applauding crowd.

“Hey litta’ Pete,” no one had ever called me that before and I kind’a liked it. “what’s say we pick some vegetables for supper.” That sounded splendid to me.

“What vegetables are we going to pick.” I came back with.

“I think that should be your department to decide,…” she said eliciting a puzzled expression from me. “you will be the decider of our vegetable menu for supper.” Suddenly I had a responsibility.

“What do you have growing?” I asked.

“You been to the grocery store, yeah.” She offered braggadociosly, ‘Well that’s about what we got in the garden.” I eyed her with a bit of doubt and she grabbed up the basket we had used for the fruit which had been set on the sideboard. “C’mon… you’ll---see.”

I couldn’t wait to see, and we were on our way to the veggie garden on the left side of the back property. In no time we were there. It was all fenced in and had a sketch of a flat stone path leading up to it. Chin opened the gate and we entered. A fragrant shrub right next to the gate bushwhacked my nose with delight as we both brushed against it when we entered.

“You see now… well you smell now anyways… this is the best of all the herbs I toles you about, but it gets so much bigger than the uthers so is planted here.” I cocked my head in question.

“You know,…,” though I didn’t, “they say ‘always plant rosemary by the garden gate’ …know why they say that!!”

I wasn’t following all of this but I did vaguely remember that little saying.

Aunt Chin explained, “You always plant rosemary by the garden gate because you will brush agin it when you enter the garden. And juss like now you can’t help but be smellin it like running your hand on the uthers.” True enough this smelt wonderful, and made me feel …well…hungry.

“Smelling this helps you want to cook good things from your garden.” She explained and I totally understood though I had never cooked anything. “It’s the Virgin Mary’s herb you know.”

“Virgin Mary?” I looked up at Aunt Chin.

“Well it makes little blue flowers, in the spring and fall too sometimes. They aren’t exactly roses but we say they are, and that’s Virgin Mary’s color you know...blue, plus it smells like heaven…sooo… roses for Mary, it’s called rosemary.”

‘AHHH’ I thought, and brushed my hand across it again, smelling my hand, this was much nicer than the onions, (chives) but just like them it made you think of good tasting food.

Their garden, which I was told that Uncle Gus mostly tended, was everything she had bragged it was. Between sodden sawdust paths were practically weedless rows and beds of all variety. Some plants like the corn with lima beans growing up the stalks, and the okra, tomatoes, and others, were planted in the ground. Other shorter plants like squash cucumbers and melons and rows of various greens, turnip, radish, and carrot tops were in 12 inch high wooden boxed beds. Green beans crawled along the fence, with half-vineing pea plants just below them. And at the very end of the center path, looking like the altar place in this garden church, a white lattice arbor laden with grapes arched over a gate leading over to the chicken place. You just needed a little linen covered table, with a loaf of bread and a communion cup under the grapes to make it complete. I almost felt the need to genuflect.

“Ok baby, whad’ya think we should eat with supper?” I looked around not knowing where to start. “What does your family like?” I was walking by the tomato and okra plants and on the other side were rows of greens.

“I like tomatoes picked fresh and sliced with salt and pepper on them.”

I was still perusing the place.

“So do I.” Chin agreed, “So tomatoes…” she was picking some nice big red ones.

“My parents like okra, and well,… we kids do too if you can cook it not slimy.” I added.

“I can do that. What about fried okra?” that sounded real good to me and I nodded enthusiastically.

“Irene likes green beans, but she likes to just eat them raw off the fence.” I told her how my sister had at times angered my mom by eating up all the green beans before they got picked.

“Do yall like’em cooked?” Chin giggled.

“Do you got mayonnaise to put on them?” I asked.

“I do indeed got my’nase, a big new jar”

“My mom makes the mayonnaise special with pepper.”

“Pepper my’nase, humm sounds good. I shall have to have her show me when they get back. So its green beans, then, some raw for Irene. And special pepper my’nase to put on the cooked ones” She twittered.

“I thought we decided fried okra.” I returned

“Well do both, maybe somebody doesn’t like the okra.” Chin concluded.

We went over to the fence and picked green beans. I noticed some of my green beans looked brighter green and were short and fat. “What’s wrong with these green beans?” I asked showing them to Aunt Chin.

“Well sir, nothin if you’re lookin for peas. Those aint green beans.”

“Uh oh.” I mumbled.

“Not a problem, I’ll add them peas to some I have in the frig already picked. Just pick the darker ones that’s higher hangin right on the fence, these are the green beans….do you like raw green beans too?”

“Not so much.”

“Did you ever try a raw pea pod?” I shook my head no. “Let’s see here we need some small ones.” Chin was bent down looking for immature pea pods. She had about three picked an a second. And offering me one, she also popped one in her mouth. Bite down silly it’s good.” I did crunch into it, mm crisp and wet, sweet and green tasting.

“It’s almost, it’s like salad.” I said smiling

Chin suddenly had an idea. “You know,…pick a bunch of these small ones, the peas, and I will concentrate on the green beans,” I was looking at her questioningly, “You’ll see it will be good!”

After the green beans we went back over to the okra. “We should have sleeves and gloves for this.” She paused looking at the huge plants, they were a lot taller than me, well i think taller than her as well, and filled with okra pods pointing up to the sky, and they still had many pretty blossoms on them. Okra plants make lovely large white five petaled, cup shaped flowers, with a dark purple center. Sort of like a rose of Sharon ornamental shrub. “Well t-man we will just do our best with these itchy bushes. I’ll snip the okras and let them fall, and you pick them up from below, ok?” which is just what we did. Chin with some little clippers snipped off the right sized pods and I gathered them from below. Still, however we got itchy arms and hands from the fuzzy plants.

“So now what other yellow vegetable do we pick?” I realized years later that they all must have read the same healthy menu cook book, ‘cause every dinner my mom ever served, and this supper of Chin’s, and my other Aunts too…each meal had a meat, a starch, (rice or potatoes or macaroni/pasta) a green vegetable, and a yellow vegetable. I remember my mom telling me that they (green and yellow) had different nutrients needed at your evening meal. And habits die hard, though I’m not sure this is a bad habit. I still feel I need a meat, starch, and two vegetables yellow and green, plus a dessert to “help your food go down”, at every good supper.

Regardless we decided on yellow squash… which I did not really like when all boiled to death, and told her so but at supper that night Aunt Chin braised them slightly with browned onions, sprinkled with seasoned bread crumbs, instead of boiling them to death. And I found that tasty.

From the vegetable garden we went to the “cool shed”. We dropped off a few veggies and got a few others, and Aunt Chin showed me how it worked. The “hutte froi” definitely had a draft sucking into the door and top windows and out the top, and it was I bet a good 15-20 degrees cooler in there.

From there we went back to the kitchen and washed our hands and the veggies. We set them aside and sat for a short fan break waving our paper fans.

“Well are you ready to go finish cleanin out those chickens so we can get to havin some lunch?” Chin proposed.

Lunch sounded great so off we went to return to the chicken task at hand.

**

WHOLLY WATER

2010-06-13T00:39:00.002-05:00

It doesn’t always follow that the ugly little caterpillar will make it long enough to become the butterfly. Sometimes she’s told. “Ewww, you are green, you’re ugly,” or he’s told, “You crawl around eating ravenous all day. You’re a little monster.” Some can pick themselves up to the challenge, but others not. Life and souls are fragile, and easily damaged.

Some caterpillars lose their way and end up struggling inching along in barren spaces with no green food around, only to dry out in the sun or be squashed by some larger creature. Some need to be nudged along to a shady green glen, so they can eat and withdrawal into a cocoon to become their true self. The caterpillar needs to believe it can be beautiful, for it to become so. It needs to believe it can be healthy for it to become so. It needs to believe it can soar for it to do so.

All God’s creatures are we. Am I in touch with my own divinity? Am I the angel that nudges the caterpillar along to a green place, who see’s its beauty so it can see itself? Am I denying my own divinity? Am I a bitter blamer of others and hating the caterpillar’s ugliness and grossness, or worse just squashing it? Or am I the ignorant little caterpillar scraping along for a better existence, wanting to believe and doubting and fearing all at the same time? Dare I try? Dare I hang myself out there on a limb? What karma will my actions weave?

PLEASE

2010-06-10T03:18:00.000-05:00

Does anyone else think it would be the decent thing to do to let this poor girl Katie Kranz, who's father died in a tornado that ruined her town and home only hours before her, would be graduation, alone. She has been in all the headlines today at her actual graduation in tears and grieving over her many losses. She was valadictorian, and bravo for her, but have some heart... she is not a headline but a human wanting to live her grief in private.

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 7

2010-06-09T00:01:00.009-05:00

We were finally getting to the pies. Though I was enthused, the back of my thoughts were creeping closer to the chicken assignation which would come after the pies. Maybe I SHOULD go help Uncle Gus later. Blrlrlrlr… I shook it out of my mind as we entered the kitchen, and set our chicken parcels on the table. Chin filled one side of the sink with warm water then beckoned me to the table and I sat down. “Here mon cher,” she said, bringing me the peaches, a big plastic tub, a little tin can, and a table knife. “I think you can do this, and this knife is sharp enough to cut peaches without cutting Pitous.” A kiss was deposited on my forehead. She showed me that all she wanted me to do was half each peach, take out the freestones, put the halves into the tub, and the stones in the can. I got busy.

Aunt Chin then took the hens from the table and though my back was to her now I could hear her tear open the paper and plop the chicken’s in the water. I knew what she was doing,… my mom thawed chickens the same way.

We were humming along now. Chin was actually humming. My task certainly being easy enough, I turned to see what she was doing. A wide screen of chambray house dress blocked my view. “What’s that you makin?” I quizzed.

“It’s crust for our peach and lemon pies.”

‘Come again’ I thought. That’s the first time she mentioned peach-LEMON pies. “I’ve just had plain peach pie, not peach and lemon.”

“Child, you do make me smile…” she tittered, “that’s two pies, one peach and one lemon.”

“Oh, so that’s what the lemons are f…” suddenly it hit me. Was she talking about my true grand favorite of all summer pies.

I jumped up and turned around to face her so fast and noisily that I startled her. I saw her jump a little and have a disturbed look in her eyes when she turned around… the words were already flying out of my mouth. “Do you mean lemon MERINGUE pie?”

“Yes sweetie,” her reply was tentative, and almost a little aggravated for having alarmed her, “Is that good or bad?” wondering about my reaction.

“That’s good, OH THAT”S sooooo good, it’s my favorite, favorite, FAVORITE pie!” I was actually shouting.

“Whoa there t-man, I’m so glad that we is makin your favorite, favorite, favoritest pie.” She put her floury hands on my shoulders to calm me down. “So now tho’ you get back to them peaches and we can do all this in a minute here.” She moved her hands off me and saw flour on my shoulders, “AW heck now, look what I gone and did.”

She turned to the sink and rinsed her hands, then grabbing a towel both dried her hands and began to dust off my shoulders. “Sooo, Lemon pie huh? I thought you tole Chin your favorite was peach.”

‘Was she doubting me?’ I thought. I HAD gotten a little dramatic about the peach pie earlier. “No,” I corrected “I said I really liked peach pie…it’s my sort of favorite…but lemon meringue pie I like better than anything, it’s my most favorite,… ‘cept maybe pecan pie, but that’s only at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Nothin, nothin, nothin I want to eat more than lemon meringue pie.” I exclaimed waving my hands. I was being dramatic again, but this wasn’t completely an exaggeration. I did then and still do love lemon meringue pie. It absolutely tastes like summer. She looked at me as though she wanted to say ‘ok child get a grip. It’s only pie’ and though she was too kind to say it…I realized it.

Part of me was genuinely excited about this whole day but part of me just kept plopping out over exuberance everywhere in a nervous reaction. I wanted to show Aunt Chin how much I was enjoying myself. Then again, I began to feel there was something nervous in me, something a little ill at ease. Hummm…Knowing what it was, I knew once it was over I’d be more myself.

I was so intrigued with how Aunt Chin kills chickens different than anyone, that I didn’t think I could pass it up, and yet, I was just plain scared, partly of having to participate, and partly of having to put forth the intrepid act while doing so.

I calmed down and sat back down and halved the next few peaches. I closed my eyes and said a little silent prayer… ‘Please God, help me be like a grown up.’ I took a deep breath and decided to get on with other more the fun stuff at hand and in no time…“I’m done.” I announced.

“Are your hands sticky, cher?” She asked making me wonder why.

“Not so much I think.”

“Then I think we need some music, how ‘bout you?” she motioned with her head toward the dining room doors. Her hands were already back in the dough and she had out a rolling pin. “See the radio over by the toaster, turn it on for us?” I looked in the direction she was showing me, and on the other side of the frig, where the counter continued to the wall and bordered the dining room, was indeed some small appliances, including a radio. My hands were too sticky for this however so I rinsed them off and dried them first.

As I went to the radio I noticed an adapter in one of the plugs that had plugged into it, a fan, a little green bankers lamp, a big electric mixer, and the radio. The toaster was in the other outlet. I thought to myself ‘I hope my dad doesn’t see this’. “How do I turn it on?” I called over to her.

“Right in front under the clock is a dial that says on-off.” I found it and turned it and it clicked on playing some honky-tonk country music. Aunt Chin immediately knew the words and was singing along in surprisingly good voice, “Crazy…crazy for feelin so blue…” she stopped to ask me “Isn’t that just the saddest thing about her? I loved her songs so much and will miss her.”

I didn’t want to seem dumb and she thought I should know what she was talking about, so I played it off. “Yesss,” I said long and slow shaking my head, in a complete acting performance. I wouldn’t find out until years later who the woman was, and that she had died in an infamous plane crash just that previous March.

Before I knew it Chin had two crusts in two pie pans and was headed for the box fan. “Well she said our coolness is over for a bit, I gotta turn the oven on,…and the fan around.” which she did. Then she got one of those little metal scraping flint contraptions and lit the gas oven, which involved her getting down on her knees. She grabbed the stove and pushed up with a big groan. She then walked quickly past me to the other side of the kitchen, and turned on the little fan by the radio. It was only then with the flap, flap of her steps that I noticed she was now wearing flip flops. When and where she had put those on I did not know.

“Now were cookin’, cher.” Chin grabbed one of the crusts and put it in the oven, along with a cookie sheet of pie crust scraps dusted with cinnamon and sugar. Another thing my mom also did that I liked.

“Oh, do I get to eat those scraps?”

“Well you will share’em with Aunt Chin no?’

“Sur’nuf.” I answered. But I was also thinking that she had accidentally put an empty pie crust in as well.

I wondered if she noticed, I wondered if I should tell her.

Not wanting to be rude, but not wanting to ruin some pie either, I mentioned. “You DID notice there’s nothing in that pie crust yet, right?”

Chin threw back her head and chortled, “Yes pet I noticed there’s nothing, but there will be before it’s all over. Why don’t you get your chair and pull it over here to watch me.”

I did as she said and soon was standing on the chair next to her between the sink and the stove. “What’s this flour for?” I asked her seeing the big blue bowl still there.

“That will become Chin’s famoouse biscuits for our supper Pitou. And it’s there as, in case I need a tad her and ther for things” I was off again in fantasy with that statement. We had tasted her coffee and beignets, so I could only wonder how good all her other food would be. And now homemade “famoouse” biscuits, the dinner scene in my mind distracted me for a moment. Fried chicken, biscuits, other stuff…fresh vegetables…peach and lemon meringue pie, I could see it now, we would all be eating this incredible supper, and my mom, dad, brothers, and sister, would all be so happy they decided to return for supper. Aunt Chin would tell them all that I helped, and Everyone would be happy with me.

As I watched Chin from my little supper reverie, her hands became a precision machine. The experience of years of good cooking were obvious in the way she did it all. So second nature was the preparation that it was on auto pilot. Aunt Chin was singing with the radio while her hands swiftly peeled and sliced the peach halves into a bowl. She was using a short stout little paring knife with a turquoise plastic handle. “My favorite knife” she said, “but it’s sharp so’s I don’t want you touchin it ok?” A moment’s pause and out came the cooked pie crust and scraps to cool on the table. Then in typical swift Chin style, she had another bowl, and to some sugar, added a handful of flour, a smattering of spices, pinch of salt, blended it and threw it over the peaches and was tossing them in it. Then an egg gets cracked into a little bowl, poof…a splash of buttermilk, a smidgeon of softened margarine, vanilla, and almond, squeeze from a lemon, whip, whip with a whisk, and thrown over the peaches it is mixed all together and voila…it’s all going into the remaining uncooked pie crust. “Now we weave a basket eh?” Chin looked to me.

Rousing from my mesmerized state, “Huh?” came out, but before I had the chance to even register, Chin had gotten a plate from the cabinet with a pie crust rolled on it. This one was cut into strips.

“Here sweetie,” Chin laid a strip on the pie top, then a second, a space away. “Now you do one across the other way…”

I was just realizing that I was to be doing something, and what it was we were doing.. “Oh…(blink, blink) ok,” I picked up a strip and placed it perpendicular to the others. We continued taking turns, her warping to my wefting, until the lattice pie cover was built. Sharp little knife in hand, Chin trimmed the pieces of the weave off to edge the pie, and pinched them into place.

“Now is that not purtty?” Aunt Chin stood back for us to admire our handiwork together. I nodded,… and whoosh the pie was off into the oven, and Aunt Chin was winding a kitchen timer.

“And NOW…?” Chin was looking at me, hands on hips, awaiting an answer.

In a fraction of a second a sudden terror hit me… it was all too fast, I was ill prepared, It was thrust upon me…CHICKEN DEATH…. Searching I fumbled for response. Avoiding eye contact with Aunt Chin I glanced around the kitchen. An empty pie shell and pie crust scraps were on the table to my left. The counter was to my right with the bowl of lemons and the one of eggs. The veil was lifted just as I lifted my eyes to Chin’s again…relief…and now…

“LEMON PIE” we both said in unison.

“Jinx.” Chortled Chin.

It wasn’t the chickens yet…but I knew it was coming. I turned back to the counter, still standing on my chair, and tried to compose my thoughts, shaking off the chicken scare, and return to the fun of pie baking.

Chin was humming to the radio again as she pulled out a sauce pan and set it next to the bowls on the counter. “Three and three.” She remarked to me holding up three fingers. “I find three eggs, and three lemons, to be just right for this pie.” Sure nuf that’s what was left in the bowls. “Do you know that three is a perfect number?”

“What does that mean?” I quizzed.

“To be honest I’m not really sure.” She laughed. “Gus told me that. He said if you gonna’ make a little stool, better to make it with three legs than four cause three is perfect and the stool can not wobble… and IT’S TRUE! I had never thought about it till he taught me that. But I think three is perfect for lemon meringue pie too.”

In a moment she had separated the three eggs, whites in the bowl, and yolks in the saucepan. Aunt Chin leaning on the counter took a lemon and held it up to me. Tap, tap, tap, Attention students… I suddenly felt back in school, “Lemons are the most wonderful thing. They are so pretty a color you can decorate you food with pieces of lemon, with parsley, and red radishes. And …” she added, “ you can use lemon to add a little sumpin, sumpin, to almost any kind of food or drink. A good cook always wants a few lemons in her icebox. You take this one, Pitou, and roll it here whiles pressin down hard. You’re squishing it insyde, but don’t press too hard you split it open.

While I was squishing the one lemon she started grating the zest from the remaining ones into the bowl. We traded, and squished and grated until all three lemons were done. Then with the same little turquoise knife she slit in each lemon a tiny hole and squeezed all the lemon juice into the bowl. Spoon in hand she was fishing out the few seeds that fell into the lemon juice and zest.

Whoosh again a cup of sugar was thrown into the sauce pan, along with some water from a measuring cup, and she spooned some cornstarch from a box into it as well. Frap, frap, frap her hand was whisking the mix together. She looked at me with a smile and went around from my left to my right and set the sauce pan on the burner, turning it on. Slowly she whisked frapped, whisked frapped the mix as it heated.

I was amazed at her efficiency but at the same time my mind was back at my pre-mature reaction from moments ago. I couldn’t get the chickens off my mind. I balled up my courage to say something… “Aunt Chin…” she looked my way still frapping, “The chicken thing…”

“Baby,” she immediately responded before I got it all out, “This has been on your myne all mornin’ eh? And I can see it’s spoilin’ your fun. Hold just a minute whilse this is almose ready.” Chin was whipping the mixture when all at once it thickened into a lovely yellow pudding. Walking back around me she grabbed a potholder and sat the pan down. The lemon mix went in and she never missed a beat of the whisking, “Can you open this for Chin?” she handed me the little bottle of almond extract. I opened it and handed it to her while she put a few drops into the pan and finished the mixing. “Smell!” she held the pan out to me to smell the lovely lemon filling, while on her way to the table to pour it into the baked pie shell. “Perfect.” she noted. “Pull your chair back over her mon cher, and have a seat.”

Having sat the pan on the counter Chin was off into the dining room and back in a jiff with a tall can of long thin items. “What color do you like?”

“Blue,” was my response to what I did not know. She reached into the can and pulled out a blue thingy handing it to me

“This one can be yours bebe. Open it up I can see you are sweating as much as I am.” I realized then as I looked at the little plastic clip at one end that this was another paper fan. ‘My God,’ I thought as I opened it, ‘she has a whole can of fans.’ Mine was a peacock picture which pleased me greatly with my choice. I clipped the handle around to hold it open, and began to fan myself. Chin having returned the can-o-fans to the dining room, stopped off at the frig and took out the water pitcher again. Holding it up to me and raising her eyebrows in a silent question, I nodded in response. In no time we had glasses of cold water on the table, and the pitcher had been refilled and returned to the frig. Aunt Chin sat down and grabbed her fan and hanky.

“My, my it is gotten hot over by that stove huh t-man?” Chin observed and I agreed. “Let me show you some fun,” she continued. Reaching over to a pie crust scrap she showed me to dip it into the pie filling and take a bite. “It’s like potato chips dip in the dip…eh…only sweet.”

This was fun and for a moment we sat drinking our water, fanning ourselves and enjoying crust chips dipped in lemon filling. But then it got serious. Chin put her fan down and looked me right in the eyes.

“This whole chicken thing…I think it would be good you watch TV or help Uncle Gus next thing whiles I take care of the chickens…and not another worry for you. Settled?” she asked. I nodded relieved.

We went on with our water and snack, but after a bit Aunt Chin took the lemon dip away as the pie needed to cool a bit in the frig. “So I her you is a good drawer.” Chin was making conversation.

“How did you know that!” I asked, surprised she had heard that.

“Your momma tole me. Will you draw me a picture later?”

“Sure, of what?”

“Oh I don’t know honey, what ever take your fancy. I would like to have a Pitou original.” This made me feel great. My mom had bragged on me, and drawing was a sure way to impress as it was something I did well and enjoyed doing.

“You want me to draw right now?”

“Less finish up this pie mess first. Then you can draw her whiles I go kill them chickens”

“You need to make meringue on the pie, huh…with the rest of that egg stuff?” I was feeling good now….for a second anyway

“You are so right, smart guy.” Aunt Chin walked over took the egg whites bowl and set it on the other side of the frig by the mixer. Then she went back for the bag of sugar and something off of the spice rack. “This electric mixer is a great invention, when I was a girl we made meringue by hand. Pull your chair over her bebe.”

“How did you make meringue by hand?” I was dragging my chair over to the mixer when it occurred to me that what I had been curious about all morning… “The right way to kill chickens” I would not find out about.

“You beat it and beat it with a whisk like that one over there, until your arm was gonna fall off.” I heard her answer but my mind was back on the chickens.

“Could I just watch you kill the chickens the right way? and…” Chin turned and glared at me. “And then I wouldn’t have to help, …and I could go see Uncle Gus if I decided I didn’t like it?” Chin was visibly exasperated. She stared at me until I averted my gaze. There was a long pause. I looked up she was still staring… “I could just see how it is and then go do something else.” ‘Alright, already Aunt Chin’ I was thinking ‘please answer.’

Chin put her hands on her hips. “Child, child,…OK, but if I think its not good for you, or you don’t like it you go to your uncle.” She cautioned

“OK.” I agreed. Chin slowly turned back to the mixer to start the meringue, maybe waiting to see if I was yet to change my mind again. She put the whites in the mixer bowl with a scraper, and In short order she had it done with sugar added and a smidgeon of cream of tarter.

It was cooler over here away from the stove and by the little fan on the counter. When Chin opened the frig to get the slightly cooled pie out, a swirl of cool air hit us. “AHHH” we both had the same reaction. “That feels good don’t it?” Chin observed holding the door open for a moment. Then she closed it and asked me to join her at the table to add the meringue.

I was looking again at the many items plugged into one outlet. I thought I’d warn her. “My dad says that’s not safe, plugging all that stuff in there.” Aunt Chin had walked over to me to get the bowl of meringue, and I was showing her what I meant.

Chin was certainly patient with me. “Ok, I will take that under consideration.” This was her simple answer case closed. “Do you want a taste of this meringue?”

I pulled my chair over to the table and Chin had one of the few remaining crust scraps dipped in the meringue for me to taste. “Good?” she asked

“Good.” I answered.

And with that she piled the meringue on the pie and started to spoon it around until the pie was covered. Then she pushed the topping towards the middle away from the edges making a little trench all around the meringue’s sides, a trench she then filled with more meringue. “Why are you doing that?” I had to know.

“Well when the meringue cools it shrinks and this keeps it from pulling away from the crust so much.” I didn’t quite understand but pretended to. She then used a spoon and spread and sealed all the openings in the meringue and around the edge, and using a fork made little whip designs evenly all across the top. “Like a cloud eh” she smiled over to me and I nodded. She pointed back at the pie “Oh look there’s a little angel sitting right there in the cloud.” I looked down at the pie again. “Woops, she’s gone.” We both giggled as she put the pie in the oven “Five minutes.” She reported, just enough time for us to sit and finish our water.

“It only takes five minutes for the lemon pie to cook?” I was surprised.

“Oh it’s all cooked baby, just have to brown the meringue then it cools to set.” Chin explained as we sat down with our water and paper fans.

“Oh, ok” I pretended to understand again.

“You know I will still expect you to draw that Pitou original you promised.” Chin finished her water, as did I.

“I will. I promise.” I was trying to think of what to draw. I wished I could draw her, but knew it wouldn’t be very good. “I still don’t know what to draw.”

“Don’t you worry when you get the pencil in your hand the idea will flash in your head.”

“It will?” I wondered if she knew something I didn’t.

Moments later it was time to take the lemon meringue masterpiece from the oven and set it to cool on the same trivet it was on before. We picked up everything else and wiped off the table. The single pie left gleaming in the middle almost seamed to say “TAH DAH!”

“You know,” she said, “ole Chin has a bright idea. Come with me.” And she led the way to the living room. she pulled out a fan from the corner and faced it towards the couch. Then she turned on the TV. Switching around channels she found a game show. “You like this?” she asked and I affirmed. “Good, why don’t you rest in her whiles I finish clean up the kitchen, and that peach pie be done real soon. Then I come get you for our doing a’ the deed with them chickens OK?”

“Will you really come get me?” I was a little suspicious.

“I promise tit-pette, I’s not tryin to con you.”

Satisfied with her suggestion I nuzzled into the soft couch to watch TV, while Chin returned to the kitchen. The show on TV was “Concentration” with Hugh Downs… which I dearly loved. I started to watch and began to stretch out a bit, eye lids becoming heavy. The puzzle being uncovered on "Concentration" had a queen with many hearts... and something I sleepily remember about tarts. Pretty soon my head was close enough to one of the pillows that I just let it rest there…and all she wrote, a dream state gently took me…I was in Uncle Gus' fairy-tale village again with Alice from Wonderland and we were skipping along the path when we heard “Off with their heads!!” we turned to the chicken coop only to see the Queen of hearts had all the chickens lined up to meet their maker.

**

PREJUDICE this is MY sin.

2010-06-08T15:17:00.001-05:00

There is a dirty word I learned at a young age. I grew up during the days of the civil rights movement. So at a very young age I was taught the word “prejudice”, what it meant, and that it was an ugliness not to be taken part of. My dear mom was sharp to pick up subtleties of it, and quick to put them in their place. In her own way she was probably the most un-prejudice person I’ve ever known, having grown up in a poor Cajun family in southern Louisiana back in a time when Cajuns were still looked at as the bottom of the barrel. But a history lesson later. Even with my Mother’s good heart, the truth is there is probably no soul unscathed by the sin of prejudice. Is there anyone among us who can really throw the first stone, who at some point or another has not pre-judged someone, because of their fears, or past experience, or just because they didn’t like the way person’s appearance, or attitude, or the group they belong to?

Now while honestly knowing our own glass house might mean we should not throw stones, it doesn’t mean we should do nothing. I propose there are at least three things we should do. First certainly speak up against prejudice in any form. Do not let it go by un-exposed for the evil that it is. Just remember to condemn the SIN not the sinner, because if you start to hate the sinner(s) you are creating a new group to be prejudice against.

And this sadly… is just what I must confess here… I do all too often.

That brings me to the second thing. I have to stop a moment, anytime I find an incident that brings up bigotry, hatred, esoteric exclusion, infringement of rights, etc… Let me stop myself long enough to see past my indignation and emotions, so I might speak clearly and fairly, and make a well stated point. Emotionalism does not teach others to see, it only incites reaction.

And lastly, at times like this, when I can calmly reflect on my own condition, let my prayer be that I can see myself honestly, and in the light of day find and clean up those dark corners of my heart through education and understanding. I do not want to take part in that dirty word “Prejudice”.

WHOLLY WATER

2010-06-06T00:19:00.000-05:00

I went to wade down the stream but it was uneven and some of the rocks were slippery. So after a time though I needed to proceed, I sat on the bank and watched the water go by. A voice told me to go on.

“You are my child and as such you needn’t fear.”

“How can I be your child? Am I bone of your bone and flesh of your flesh?”

“You are bone of my earth, and flesh of my universe, blood of my sea and spirit of my spirit. As my child you must have faith. It is your power to venture forth. Power I’ve given to you by birthright. You will slip and fall. You will stumble. You will get up and go again. And you will keep going, and you will live and become. The stream is life. It mustn’t pass you by. The water is love. Do not be afraid to immerse yourself in it. And you are as divine as all of these things. You are my child.”

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 6

2010-06-04T12:53:00.005-05:00

I was lost in day dreaming, staring at Aunt Chin’s paper fan and hanky on the table. Next to it was a dry cloth she had used to wipe up the condensation that had puddled under her glass. She had left it there I assumed for me to use when I was done. The faint smell of freshly washed peaches wafted over on the breeze of the fan, which was massaging the back of my neck, and relaxing me. I smelled my hand. Yep still onions. A buzzing bug of some sort was perusing the screen looking for a mar to gain entrance. Beyond the buzzing, in the far distance…the chicken’s small noise was reminding me…reminding me…reminding me. I suddenly felt a little less relaxed. I could hear off in the house somewhere Chin’s soft cheerful humming, which was a tad reassuring. Just as I was finishing my water which didn’t taste as wonderful anymore, I heard Chin calling me, “Pitou, come back here.”

I wiped up the table and deposited my glass next to hers at the sink and laid the cloth on the counter. Then off I flitted to find where her voice was coming from. I had not really seen the house, through the motivation of breakfast smells when we had arrived, or had half seen but not paid attention. I knew the little hall and the bathroom at the end of it. I had used it during breakfast, and I had walked in through the parlor, but not taken it in. Now though, I ventured through the living room, which from the halls entrance, was to the left where the kitchen was to the right. The living room as I expected was a large gracefully pleasing room. The welcome of it made you want to go “Ahhh” in the same way her coffee had that morning. The exquisite wood furniture made the table Gus was building look common. I wondered, and bet, and would have been right, that he had made all of this for her. Including an elegant cabinet the TV sat in, two imposing book shelves on either side of the front window, and some etageres, tables etc… The happy upholstered sofa and chairs, were as plump and inviting as Chin herself. Embroidered pillows and some figurine finery accented around the place, intermittingly mingled with all variety of family photos. The room really was filled with furniture, as Uncle Gus had said.

One photo of my grandparents, that I knew well, hung on the wall in a lovely oval frame. And next to it in a carbon copy of the frame, another couple looked out at me. I stopped to look and realized this must be her parents. They both resembled her. Her mother was plump, not nearly as much a Chin, but she had those same long eyelashes. The carving on the frames caught my notice and I bet, and I would’ve been right, that Uncle Gus had made these frames as well. The corner of my eye caught Chin in a doorway across the living room. “Those were my parents, bless their dear selves.” The fondness in her voice lilted across the room. I was still viewing the photos and frames as she walked beside me and took my hand. “Mon Pere has been gone almost ten years now and MaMA left me two years ago, same year as your grandpa died. It was a hard year and a hard Christmas for Gus and me.” I still hadn’t looked over at her directly when she pulled me along to the other door and just before we exited the living room she grabbed a framed photo and touted, “And THIS, this is my little baby sister Evangeline. We call her Lina. I call her Linapou when she’s being a poot.” And she erupted into giggles.

My confused perception was split between two sites. One being the woman in the picture hardly seemed like any sort of LITTLE BABY anything. She was as full-figured as Chin, possibly more, but did look just as happy.

The second thing that had caught my eye was Chin herself. I had never seen her dressed this way before, and at once she seemed years younger. Her hair was down and shoulder length, filled with billowy shiny brown curls which were only restrained at the sides where she had fastened them back with blue barrettes with little butterflies on them. This, combined with those eyelashes of hers completed Aunt Chin’s own brand of beauty. Her garb was so unlike anything I’d ever seen her wear. She had on what was a sort of unfitted, very large, blue chambray, tent of a house dress, or was it a blouse, because she also had some baggy grey shorts underneath. And she was barefoot. She looked totally comfortable.
“C’mon Pitou.” she said still pulling me along, “we still have so much to do, and the sun is getting higher in the sky.” I started to realize at that time how aware these country people have to be about their day.

“What do you do for air conditioning on really hot days?” I asked her.

She cocked her head to one side curls bouncing, “We turn it on, she laughed.”

“You have air conditioning?” I popped out with surprise.

“Just one, and we paid a good penny for it too.” She spun me around by my shoulders and we looked back into the living room at a large window on the side that I had missed. And there was a BIG window unit. “We’ve had it three years and I love it, but it takes a lot of power to run it so we wait until we have to. We will be turning it on later today and have things as cooled down as we can for your sister after her hottt ride in that car.” She fanned herself with her hand mocking my sister Irene and chuckled again, as did I.

“Now…” she spun me around again. “I’ll quickly show you the rest of the house on the way to the laundry” Just past the living room door, we had just gone back and forth through, was a longer hall than the other with three rooms off of it. The master bedroom was nice and comfortable, fairly neat and orderly. That is except for many belts ties and other things hanging from hooks on the closet door. Pictures and a rosary, some just tacked to and some hanging neatly covered most of the walls. A vanity across the room was covered with all sorts of perfumes and powders and lady stuff, and a paper fan, and a mirror almost framed in snapshots tucked and taped in various ways around the edge. All manner of shoes were haphazardly lined up in pairs in a few various places in the room. It was a very lived in room. Next was the guest bedroom.

This room on the other hand was straight out of a home decorating magazine. Aside from a big white four poster bed, it was a bit more modern than the rest of the house. Straight lines and solid colored fabrics in dark and light blue, and white, and grey adorned the room. It had a very square, very dark wood, dresser and bed stands, so dark I thought them black at first. There was one large blue chair in the room next to a little reading table and lamp. All three matched in design and were marvelously different. Not knowing about decorating or anything as a child, I couldn’t have explained it, but now I would almost bet (but would be wrong) that Frank Lloyd Wright had designed them. Chin explained it, “Gus made that chair and table for someone who didn’t want it when it was done, so we made this room around it, I think it’s so fine a chair, yeah.”

“So do I!”

“Go sit in it,” she prompted, so I did. It had wide wooden arms of the same very dark wood, and just inside of the arms were soft rectangular cushions, atop a just as soft square cushion. The back was another upholstered rectangle slanted just enough for comfort and topped with a small rectangular head rest cushion. There was a small part of me that was already getting tired from the day, and would have loved to stay here and take a nap. The chair was that comfortable.

“Is that Uncle Gus’ job, building furniture?” I inquired.

“Now it is, but until he retired it was mostly a hobby.”

“What did he retire from?”

“Well, when we were just young he drove a steam shovel. But he retired from the refinery in Lake Charles.” Chin explained.

I had been through Lake Charles, and seen other refineries as well. “Those refineries stink like rotten eggs.” I exclaimed

“That they do, cher, or something worse.” She snickered, “as well as do the work clothes of any man who works there. I used to make Gus go straight to the garage, and strip his smelly duds into a separate hamper, then bathe, as soon as he walked in the door.” Aunt chin added that she didn’t much miss those days.

It was time to continue our tour on to the last room. This was a tiny little room that kind of slapped me in the face.

“This, Uncle Gus calls my silly room, but secretly I think he likes it.” I thought to myself … ‘she’s wrong’. It had all manner of feminine foo foo everywhere. And a rainbow of pastel colors represented in various forms of ruffles, frillys, lace, doilies, and more. “Gus would never let me fix the guest room in a girly way, ‘cause he said we might have a man guest some time. So when I got my sewin’ machine, and wanted a sewin’ room… we turned this into MY room, and I fixed it the way I wanted.” She said with conviction.

“What was it before?” I was trying to picture.

“Well it was meant to be a storage place, and we used it for that until we got a storage building outside. So we put in the window, and changed the shelves into a sewin’ center. And I got this big table from a laundry place for cuttin’ out patterns.”

Other than the big white table which had ruffles, and cloth storage satchels on the end, there was indeed a lighted sewing center with the machine in the middle surrounded by shelves drawers and cabinets. Many of the shelves had full bolts of fabric on them. Adorning the shelf top was a valance that matched the one on the little window. That one was over frilly curtains with lace sheers. There was a round table by the window, covered with a ruffled table cloth, and lamp with a ruffled shade, and a little electric fan that appeared as if she had painted the base pink with white flowers. The fan base matched the knobs and handles on drawers and cabinet doors in the sewing center. An overstuffed grandma looking chair sporting doilies on the back and arms filled out the corner next to the table. And a bag of knitting was next to the chair. The walls were a gallery of white ornate frames, around floral prints. But alone in another corner, looking totally out of place without ruffles, sat a black portable TV set. ‘Hummm,’ I thought to myself. ‘you know I bet she really likes sitting in here.’ And if she liked it, then it was good enough for me. Plus I had noticed from the fabric on two of the bolts that she had made her red dress from earlier, and this house dress she was wearing now.

The tour was over and we were at the hall’s end where there was one last door.

Outside the door was what was once a garage as it had steps down to a cement floor, and you could see one wall that had been where a garage door once hung. Now it had an outside exit door with a diamond shaped window in it, and two other windows on each side. “We call this the basement, though there’s no such thing in Louisiana.” She let out a snicker. “But it’s really just the little old garage we had before Gus and your Uncle Lawrence built the separate two car one on the uther side’a the house.”

“I saw it when we got here.” I mentioned. This room was used for all manner of things, including a washing machine and a chest freezer. Ole Aunt Chin had a few more modern conveniences, than I thought. Yet something she said was nagging my mind. What was it?

“Oh I love walkin’ on this cool cement floor on a hot day.” Chin happily tooted, in a sing-song kind of way. She was walking over to a big laundry basket full of what looked like mostly sheets.

“Why is there no such thing as a basement in Louisiana?” the nagging statement having been recalled, I now had the question.

“Have you ever dug very deep in the ground around here? Nuttin but water, cher, Nutttinn but water, same as reason for we can’t have root cellars. I remember my Grandmere hated that. She had come from Illinoize, and they had’em there. She always complained there wer’nt no place to put fresh pick vegetables and canned stuff.”

“Yours are out in that shed, Uncle Gus showed me.”

“He did?… did he show you how it works?” I looked at her totally puzzled… She was loading the washing machine. “He didn’t show you how it worked?” I stood there still clueless… she realized and elaborated, “It’s a “hutte froi” umm…it’s called a cool shed sweetie, it has a big fan on top that sucks out air, and on the sides a’ the roof is two big triangle windows covered with screens filled with moss from the trees. The air sucks in them windows and gets cooled... then goes out the top. Plus it has cement floors, like in here, and storage places made of bricks and cement. That cement it help keep it all cooler.” I sort of understood. “I’ll show you later when we out that way. But if we don’t get busy with nothing but flappin jaws we won’t get everthin done.” She finished putting a load of sheets, and the table cloth from breakfast, and more sheets, and table cloths into the washer, and started them washing. Then she went over to the freezer and pulled out two white butcher paper wrapped packages. “Can you take one of these bebe?” she motioned to me and I went to get one. It was a bit heavy and by the size and shape of it I realized it was a chicken. “Frying hen” was written on the paper.

The sudden possibilities of deliciousness lifted my psyche in the air ten feet “Are we having fried chicken tonight?” I excitedly questioned. I think every kid loves fried chicken, and I could only begin to imagine how delicious hers would be.

“Among other things.” She answered, “You’ll see, ….we need to scoot now, so grab your chicken and, how’bout let’s just get your skinny little butt and my great big b’hine back to the kitchen for pie makin’.”

**

GOOD MORNING

2010-06-02T08:23:00.001-05:00

Bon Matin mes amis

Morning Blessings for a
brand new day.

M. Pierre

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 5

2010-05-31T15:40:00.004-05:00

I walked back through the little village to the gate. I turned and looked at it again. A sudden image came to view: some anonymous children and I playing here in the fairy tale village, imagining tiny fanciful creatures behind the flower pots, our imagination coming to life, a unicorn coming out of the willow tr…

“Pitou.” I could hear Aunt Chin shouting for me from somewhere. “Is that you behind that gate?”

I peeked around and saw her already out by the peach trees. “How did you know it was me?” I hollered back.

“Well cher, t’wern’t hard. You are the only one here today shorter than that gate who would be carrying a broom sticking up above it.”

I smiled walking over to her. Chin had a basket and was eyeing the peaches carefully picking the best ones. “You want me to help you now,” I began, “…or go put the broom away first?”

“Lay the broom down well get it later.” She beckoned. She showed me a peach from the basket. “You see the best ripe ones have a little more than half a side covered in red. But this one is too much red all around, and then you see that then the burds peck out a place down the side.” The very red peach had a trench cut right down the crease on the side. “We can still use this, and cut off the bad place there from the burds, but it’s really too ripe for pies, almost too ripe for eatin. Now you find me two more good ones. That’s what we need left.”

I looked up at her with her nose up in the tree. “Dis has been Chin’s big sadness in life.” Uncle Gus’ words came back to me and I felt my eyes well up. I blinked it away. “Aunt Chin…,” I addressed her. What I was going to ask I don’t know.

“What is it child?” she asked

“Umm…,” I searched and then found something to say looking down at the bird besmirched peach. “Uncle Gus wants you to pick some figs too before the birds get’em.” I decided to start concentrating on finding the two peaches left.

“Why thank you for the message Pitou. I will do just that.”

Just then I saw right in front of me on a low branch a great red peach. I turned it over and it was yellow on the other side. “I found one!” I broadcast. I was going to wait for her to inspect it before I picked it but the twisting I did had broken it off and it was in my hand. ‘Gosh,’ I thought. ‘I sure hope this is a good one since it seems I’ve already picked it.’

Chin reached down her hand and I gave it to her. She turned it around. “Excellent!” was her evaluation. I felt like big stuff indeed. “here.” she said giving it back to me. “put it in the basket. And look down by your shoulder there. Is that another good one.” I turned and saw another peach half red and half yellow on this side. Without touching it this time I bent and looked at the underside. It matched only with the a tad more red.

“I think this one’s perfect.” I announced to her still careful not to touch it.

“Then pick it t-man, I truss your judgment.” I reached over and barely twisted it in my hand and it came off. “When they are ripe, they come off easy you see” she explained. I was a little disappointed as I knew that the peach picking was done. “How ‘bout you carry that basket for Chin eh.” And off she walked to the fig trees.

She was slightly squeezing the darker ones mumbling yes… no… “Just a few here.” And before I knew it she had about five figs in her hand motioning for me to lift the basket up to her.

I was disappointed that she did it all without showing me. “The picking’s done?” I whined. Then I remembered the herbs and turned around to look at the green plot. “Should we pick some herbs?” I hoped she would see that I still wanted to do more.

She did,“I’m sorry cher,” she apologized, “But herbs is cut in the early morning while dew is on them, and I already got all I needed before yall come today.” There was a moment of silence while I was standing disappointed. “But come see” she said. And with no small labor she went over to the fresh green mounds and maneuvered into a position where she sat down on the lawn beside them.

I joined her on the ground, and secretly worried… ‘What if she can’t get up?’ but in the mean time we examined all the herbs.

“Brush your hand across this one,” she would demonstrate, “…now smell the fragrance.” We smelled sage, and oregano, lavender and savory, we crushed coriander leaves, and she broke off parsley for me to smell and taste, and did the same with mint. “We have a rosemary bush by the gate in the vegetable garden.” She pointed to a fenced in place on the opposite side of the yard from the peach trees. “Well smell that later…it’s the very best one. And while we are there later lets just pick some vegetables for supper.” I was excited over that prospect. “BUT…,” she added, “two more things. This that looks like grass is chives and I do need some for potatoes. Would you like to break me off a little handful.”

I did and the smell rose up instantly. “It’s onions.” I proclaimed.

“Pretty similar,” she agreed. “Now for the second thing.” I waited …and she said with a sigh “…how are we gonna get this big ole woman off the ground?”

She was half teasing but I jumped to her aid in suggestion. “Oh MY! do you want me to run and get Uncle Gus?!” I said like Lassie trying to save the day, to which Aunt Chin burst into laughter.

“No sweetie,” she giggled, “I really can do it but it will take a minute. Why don’t you take the fruit and your handful of chives and the broom back into the house, and I is coming.”

I gathered up everything and started tentatively toward the house, watching to see if she still needed help. She laid on her back then rolled over on her stomach with a grunt. Then she maneuvered slowly onto her hands and knees, and from there she began to pull her legs under herself sticking her very broad hips in the air. The back of her dress was way up above her slip line, and her posterior was facing my way. At that moment I realized that the point of me going ahead was to give her some privacy. I felt embarrassed and turned my eyes quickly away slipping into the screen door, and just in time as when I glanced back through the screen she was up and turning around, straightening her dress.

I went over to the counter away from the door so she didn’t know I saw. As I went to put the basket on the counter it was already crowded with various and sundry items. So I turned and put the basket on the table, the chives were still in my hand, and broom in the other, but I wanted to wait till she got to the door before I put up the broom away back by the door. As I waited for what seemed a while standing with these items in my hands. I really didn’t know where to put the chives. I was looking at the counter. There were two bowls, a very large blue one and less large pink glass bowl with flowers around the top. There was a dusty flour sifter so I stood on my toes and realized the bowls each contained just sifted flower. There was a glass bowl with five eggs in it, a whisk, a can of lard, a little bowl with lard in it plus what looked like cut up tiny bits of butter on top, some lemons, and a clear glass measuring cup with I guessed just water in it.

About this time Chin walked in. “Whew.” She exclaimed sitting down on a kitchen chair just inside the door. “It is already getting hot in here.” Pointing over to a sideboard across the kitchen she instructed, “See there baby, is one of aunties fans, by the dining room doors, can you fetch it for me.” I looked and on the end was a round paper fan, the kind you fold the handles and clasp them around to open it. It said “Acadia County Fair” on it. I grabbed it in the same hand as the chives, and brought it to her. As she fanned herself she told me to lay the chives by the sink. I did and then hung up the broom. “Now…” she said fanning herself, “go back to the bureau, and in the middle drawer is some hankies. Bring me one please.” I did as she instructed and sure enough there was some neat clean folded handkerchiefs of various lady like designs. I grabbed the one on top and brought it to her. She used it to wipe her face and forehead. Then she squinched her nose and giggled. I looked her way “It smells like chives from your hand.” she said. “here smell.” She held it out to me and I sniffed. It was the smell of clean, maybe perfumed fabric, and onions. I laughed too, and sat down at the table with her. “You want a glass of waughtta (water)?” she said suddenly, and started to get up.

“I can get it.” I wanted to be helpful.

“Sugar, I don’t think you can reach the glasses.” She pointed to one of the two glass door cabinets on either side of the sink. She was now on her feet.

Very quickly I pulled my chair over to the cabinet with the glasses “Now I can! I’ll get them.” I felt clever with my solution.

Chin sat back down, “OK…” she said, “But be careful. Your momma didn’t leave you in my care to fall and bust your head.”

I got the glasses down and set them by the sink. Then I returned my chair to the table, and went back to the sink turning on the water.

“No, no cher,” came from Chin. “…there’s ice waughtta in the frigerater.”

I turned off the water and went to the frig. Just inside was a large glass round pitcher full of cool clear water. I carefully with both hands carried it to the table. It was cold and heavy and I didn’t think I could pour it, mush less it was immediately sweaty and would be slippery. I turned to get the glasses and bring them to the table and when I got back Aunt Chin already had the pitcher handle in her hand. “Thank you baby,” she intervened, “I’ll pour, it’s heavy.” I put the glasses by her and she poured us each a glassful and handed me the pitcher to return to the frig. It was considerably lighter.

I returned to the table “Water break!” she said in a silly way wiggling her hands in the air, and with a little giggle. And we sat down and each took a drink of water. I don’t know why but it felt so very refreshing and cold going down that I closed my eyes for a moment. “Good huh?” she added, and I nodded.

“So tell me something good.” Piped Chin

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me a good story, or tell me something that makes you happy.”

“You make me happy.” I answered

“Oh… you ARE a little doll aren’t you, you charmer.” Aunt Chin had the biggest grin on her face. Some of her top knot hairdo had fallen down into ringlets around her forehead, and with the light behind her from the door, her chubby pretty face looked like a smiling cherub.

It made me smile too. “Well you know what,” she continued. “you make me happy too.” And I knew I did. And that made an even bigger smile pop out on my face. I couldn’t have held it in for anything. We each took another sip and smiled more.

We sat in quiet for a moment. Chin was in thought, drumming her fingers nails on the table, click, click, click. They were well manicured and painted crimson, which matched her dress, that now had some flour dusted across the bosom. Her lipstick had been red too but it was traveling away on the cheeks of everyone she saw that morning. I still saw her as pretty. She had very long curling eyelashes that hovered over two golden brown Cleary glass marbles. Then she roused from her daydream rousing me from mine. She finished her water, took her glass, and she was up and going again.

“And now to move on, it won’t be getting any cooler today.” Aunt Chin walked over to a window by the stove. There was a box fan in it and she turned it around. Pretty soon the breeze was coming in that window. She explained, “We’ll have to turn it around again later when baking pies to push out the heat, but for now it blows right on us while we prepare, see?.” She walked over to the sink and started washing the chives. Then she bound them with a little rubber band that she took off of the pantry door knob. I thought that odd only because my mom did the same thing with spare rubber bands. if you ever needed one just check out the door knobs of our house. There would be one somewhere. And you know, decades later, yours truly still stores his rubber bands on the doorknobs. I came to find it’s practical. Where ever I am in my house, if I remove a rubber band off, say a newspaper or anything, there’s always a doorknob around. And there the band will stay until I need one.

Chin continued to wash the peaches and figs and set them in the drain board on top of a towel. After this she walked over and hugged my shoulders. “You finish your water, and enjoy the fan, Pitou, while Aunt Chin goes and puts on some work clothes. Then we will bake up some yumm, eh.”

**

LA LLUVIA..THE RAIN

2010-05-31T06:13:00.004-05:00

It's been so hot and dry lately, but yesterday we had an unexpected little thunder shower. it was here and gone but left everything wet and cooled off. and it inspired me.

THE RAIN

Hotness

the boredom of the heat
Days go by
I become too aware of mortality
My heart in need of life
my health is cracked and parched
and the grass browns in the sun.

A rumbling occurrence
Attention
the rolling forgotten sound
quiet little thunder

Wake up!
dare my drying psyche hope
a drop …another
dripping, slapping

Shower
My head thrown back the rain
the rain washes my face and chest
filling the cracks
the earth wetting

Pushing away the dull smells of heat

Clapping big thunder
Watering my heart that it might grow again
Immortality touches the water
coolness is cleaned and wet
and returned

Thirst no more today.
M.Pierre

There is choral piece Isaw performed some years ago called "La LLuvia"..which is spanish for "the rain". It is a certain treat for the ears.
I was only able to find one clip of a performance of it on youtube, and it's not the entire piece but just an excerpt from the middle part..the rainstorm..never the less this is the highlight part. the clip is cut short and the audience cheers at the thunder which is distracting but listen anyway, and watch how they make it happen. listen to the sound of La LLuvia..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DX7lGzUmSMc

IN MEMORIAM

2010-05-31T02:49:00.003-05:00

This is dedicated to all the men and women of the United States military who throughout our history have lost lives in a heroic sacrifice of battle, and to their families who lived on to recall their legacy.

We should remember also, anyone who has been a victim of war in anyway, through loss of life, limb or loved one.

Solemn reverence is also offered to any and all Americans who have died in this past year. May their spirits soar.

Lastly let us recognize American veterans from all branches of service, and recognize those who now serve in our military, here at home, and abroad.

He who has gone,
so we but cherish his memory,
abides with us,
more potent nay,
more present than any living man.

--Antoine de Saint-Exupery

WHOLLY WATER

2010-05-30T07:27:00.003-05:00

The All, the One, the Divine conceived and spoke “Light”

“Let there be Light”

And there was light.

And the light shone into the darkness.

And the darkness could not overcome the light.

And the light shone into all the shadowed places in the hearts of humanity.

And the light showed shame and guilt.

And the shame and the guilt were exposed to the light of the truth.

And the truth set them free.

And all were freed to love the light for its liberation.

And all were freed to love.

And the Divine saw.

And the Divine spoke that this was good.

I TOYS IM TIRED OF YOUR S@^$ #3

2010-05-29T13:22:00.007-05:00

GLENN BECK- your recent disgusting behavior is unconscionable. All the apologies in the world will not change the fact that you are disrespectful of common decency, that to you there are no holes barred, no level to low for you to stoop in the relentless nonsensical ranting pursuit of some sort of control you want conservatives to have. You give conservative Americans an awful reputation. And that any reasonably decent person would support or be a fan of your carrying on, is beyond me, and would make me seriously doubt their judgement. That's really just it isnt it. Anyone who is your supporter lacks decency themselves. Your recent conduct was pathetic enough but what was worse is how you relished it, how much you were totally enjoying yourself when you did it. And this is why no apology will ever suffice, especially one little half-ass statement thrown out to cover your ass. You are and will remain a racist PIG!

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 4

2010-05-29T03:01:00.002-05:00

The back yard was stunning, and filled with flowers, vegetable gardens, and fruit trees all neatly laid out and growing prolifically. We started down a path into Eden leading strait from the back door to the rear of the property. We passed between two fig trees and he stopped. “Yall are gonna pick peaches later, right.” He pointed to the far right and I saw two peach trees.”

“That’s what aunt Chin said.” I reported

“Den, would you remyyne her to get deez figs her too. See deez are ripe and need to be gotten off da tree dis morning b’for some damn burds come peck at’em.”

“Sure’nuf.” I said, copying a phrase, used widely by my French relations. We continued down the path and one side of the path were two well tended rose bushes in bloom. The opposite side had some sort of garden of greenery neatly sectioned off, and enclosed in a scalloped red brick border. “What’s these plant?” I quizzed.

“Dat dere is Chin’s fresh herbs.” He responded pronouncing the “h” in herb.

“Is that the same as an herb?” I inquired, not pronouncing the “h”, and as I did I regretted it. I felt stupid at once. It was an honest question for a split second, as I really didn’t know for sure what he meant. But by the time the question had been posed I realized of course “H”erb and herb were the same. Plus now it sounded like I was correcting him.

“Is dat not what I said” he looked down at me and I avoided eye contact, not knowing if he was perturbed. “Anyways,… you and Chin no doubt, well be pickin some of deez for cookin too.” I wanted to make it better so I complimented him on the beautiful yard. “Tanks.” was his only minimal response as we walked slowly on.

So I thought to elaborate. I was thinking, besides regretting my big mouth, and remembering my parent’s caution, of another yard soo lovely and well placed, where every plant seemed to be producing vivid lush flowers and fruit. My late grandfather, my dad’s, dad, had been famous for his green thumb. I had never seen his farm, one that the old folks used to talk about, as he had sold it before I was around, but their house and large yard had looked like garden Wonderland. I remember my dad telling me that grandpa planted by the moon. I would find out later in life what that meant. So I asked Uncle Gus. “Did you learn how grow things from Grandpa?”

At this he stopped at a gate in a back fence and turned back to survey his lovely yard, slowly perusing the view. “Indeed my litta’ man, my father surely had de gift for growin tings.” I could see my question pleased him. “But your Momma and Daddy, dey garden too, no?”

My parents did garden also and did well at it. And I enjoyed helping them and learning. But there was more to this place. There was the same magic to Gus and Chin’s yard as their sweet little house. I confirmed the inquiry. “Yes they do, we all do, but our yard doesn’t look as good as this, or like Grandpa’s was.”

Gus was still looking day-dreamily at his splendor, “Well in time it may. Chin an I been her tirdy (30) years.” With that we entered the next area with a swing of a gate, another magic kingdom awaited. Remember when Dorothy opens the door of her house to the colorful land of OZ? well that’s what I thought of. I delighted in what looked like a tiny quaint village. The path continued but curved some and branched in a few directions to some ordered diminutive huts and buildings, all dotted with well-shaped bushes, flower pots and flower beds, and a weeping willow tree. Some, accented with gingerbread design, were painted in the same color scheme as their house, and others in different pastel presentations. I honestly almost expected to see Hansel and Gretel come skipping up the path dropping bread crumbs from a basket.

“OH WOW!” I blurted out my wonder. To the left was what I recognized as a chicken coop only because it had a nice chain-link run attached to the end. I began to ask and he in turn answered about every other building. On my tour he showed me the mower shed to right a little house with two small windows and a wide door. And after that the garden shed with workbench inside and pots and dirt and such. Across the path, behind the chicken coop, two storage sheds faced the back of the chicken run. The larger of which looked like a little green barn. The smaller one he showed me was Chin’s canned stuff, and dry goods. I was momentarily distracted looking at the chickens in their little yard, wondering which ones were scheduled for execution.

Gus noticed me looking, “You do not have to help Chin kill dem hen’s you know.”

“I’m wondering though now, how she does it different.” which was an honest answer.

“Chin knows what she’s doin dere. Dat’s why I let her do it. Her daddy had an egg farm, so she’s growed up doin dis.” Gus’ statement just made me more curious. “C’mon we got some sweepin to do.” Gus returned me to the tour. Across the back of the property was a nice sized building. It was built up off the ground like their house and I thought someone must live here. “Dis is my workshop,” Gus announced ascending the steps and opening the door. I was looking way off to the right at the end of a little dirt path at a tiny white cute little hut off by itself. “Oh, dat is de toilet.” Gus explained. “It’s de outhouse.” I looked up at him with furrowed brow.

“Why?” I bid, “if you have a bathroom in the house…?”

“Cause sometyymes I’m out her workin and don’t feel like goin to de house, or maybe my feet is muddy or sometin, and cleaning them to go inside for jus a minute, is too much trouble.” That seemed pretty smart to me.

We entered the shop. Wow again I thought. Even at seven years old I knew this was any man’s epitome of the ultimate work space. The whole building was mostly one open room, with four large windows around the walls. And on top was a skylight. Next to the skylight was a long series of florescent lights. The center had a huge long work table which had a table saw built into the end, and a lathe on the side. My dad had smaller more portable versions of each of these, so I knew what they were. Various tools of all sorts hung around the walls and between those were shelves filled with all manner of stuff. Unlike everything else I had seen this morning THIS place was fairly messy, tools sitting out, saw dust everywhere, paint and stain cans and rags on the floor, and table. The messiness was welcome. I was beginning to feel a little unworthy of all the tidy beauty of their place, so this made me feel a little more at home. It was just enough of a flaw to make it all more human.

At one end of the work table opposite the saw were four curved unfinished table legs lying next to apparently the slightly oval ornate table top. “Dis is de littla’ coffee table I’m building.” Gus took me over to see. He had some wood clamped into a space and some carving tools laid next to it, it had a light drawing on it matching a pattern drawing on paper off to the side. “See her is finished corners.” And he showed me three carved pieces matching the drawing. He was about to carve the fourth. The table legs were to fit into joint spaces already built into the coffee table top. And these carved pieces would cover that. It would truly be a pretty little table as he had said. Then he pulled a sheet off of something set off to the side of the room. It was a beautiful pecan colored étagère with the same carved accents.

“Oh I see. It matches the coffee table” I proclaimed and was proud I noticed. I felt sort of manly out here talking over carpentry in the shop.

“Yes,” he continued, “And I will make an end table to match too.” He showed me some planks of good lumber not yet cut.

“Is this all for aunt Chin?” I assumed, “Is it a surprise?”

“Oh no son, we can’t fit anudder stick of furniture in dat house. THIS is all for a paying customer, an she’s gonna give me some good amount a’ money for it too.” I had to know so I asked how much, not knowing if it was a rude question or not. “Right ner a tousand bucks,” Gus answered with obvious pride, showing me it wasn’t a rude question but the expected one. I was visibly astonished with highly raised eyebrows. Gus itemized, “four for de shelf, tree for de coffee table, an two-seventy-five for de end table…nine hunnerd seventy five piastre!” Piastre (pronounced simply pee-AHS) is the word most everyone in southern Louisiana uses for dollar…and I’m not really sure why, just a slang I suppose. I think Uncle Gus wanted to show off his beautiful craftsmanship, and was pleased with his moment of glory in my eyes.

“Now,” he looked down bending over me just a bit with both hands up palms facing me. The gesture seemed to say “listen”. “If you want to,” he was offering me an out, “would you help me sweep up dis whole place?” I looked around. It was a BIG room, and a lot of saw dust, and I really didn’t want to. But I thought it would’ve been rude to say so.

“All of it,” I had to ask

“Well you do half and I do half.” He showed me another broom he had already out there, besides the one we brought. This seemed a better deal to me.

“Oh OK then” I conceded, not meaning to show my relief at not having to do the whole room.

Gus instructed me to sweep the right side and he’d do the left. “…and we meet in de middle. Anyting on de floor in your way,” he pointed at some paint cans, “jus move and den put back after you sweep by. Den…” he called my attention to a small oil drum looking can…, “we sweeps it all up and dumps it in her (here).”

The can had nothing but sawdust in it so I asked, “So this is the trash then?”

“No,” Gus corrected smiling, “I jus tole you. Dis is de sawduss.”

“Are you saving it?”

“Yessir we are.”

“What on earth for?” I had much to learn, and as the years went on tact was certainly one of them

Gus squatted down to where our eyes were level “Because, my litta’ man, sawduss is great to use all number of ways.” Later that day I’d see how useful it is to cover paths through a vegetable garden.

So we swept, and swept, and swept, and the room seemed to grow. As we got closer to each other in the middle I went to make conversation. I was thinking how much Chin and Gus’ kids must have learned from them. “Are your kids all growed up?” it was an innocent typical kid’s question.

Gus didn’t answer right away. “Chin and I, we did never have any chillren.”

Then I once again passed the boundary of my mother’s caution without thinking. “WHY NOT!” I exclaimed.

Gus stopped sweeping and leaned on the broom handle a moment facing me. “Well.” he said, “it’s jus somtin God decided-- dat we didn’t need to have chillren.”

“That’s dumb. Why would God decide that?” I was not understanding my own insensitivity.

Gus finally decided to help me understand. He put a board on the sawdust can and sat down a minute. “Comere cher,” he motioned for me to quit sweeping and join him. “Why God decides anyting is not for you or me to question. God has reasons. Now does dat still break mine an Chin’s hearts? Yes it does, cause we would have loved to have wonerfull chillren like you. And Chin, …t-boy, don’t mention dis to her. Dis has been her big sadness in life. But we are happy, and God has bless us in many udder ways”

By this time I had grasped the situation, and the tears were not going to stay in “I didn’t mean to upset you Uncle Gustan.” I blubbered out.

Gus took me into his arms and hugged me “Aww now man, you didn’t, and I didn’t mean to upset you eider.” He just hugged me for a bit. Then he released me and looked me right in the eyes. “Now it’s all good, eh?” he got up and found me a clean shop towel “here, blow you nose, or you will have sawduss all stuck to de snot on you face.” I laughed that nervous laugh of relief kids do when the crying’s over.

We went back to the sweeping for a bit in quiet. Gus broke the silence, “Tanks for helping me, I needed to get all dis shit off de groun, so I quit slippin, an slidin, an trackin it all over de place while I work.”

“Sur’nuf.” I affirmed. In a few moments more we were done.

“Good work we jus done!” Gus stated as he offered me a handshake. Then he added squatting down again. “Now…, why don’t you take dis broom back to Chin. I know if she gonna make pies she need to get on it, and get finish wit dat oven before de day gets any hotter.” I now understood why she wanted to get that done first. Gus continued, “And she want you to help pick peaches.” I hugged him excitedly, He tousled my head and sent me on my way.

**

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN..part 3

2010-05-28T17:06:00.004-05:00

“First things first,” said Aunt Chin putting me down. “the three of us need to sit back down for one more doughnut and coffee.” Her Gus and I went back to the kitchen. As we sat down enjoying the food she pointed to one slice of bacon left on the platter. “Now that’s just sad,” she said. I thought she was then going to give it to me, but she was full of surprises. Up she popped like a piece of toast and grabbed the broom. I wondered if I was going to sweep the floor to earn the bacon but that wasn’t her intention. In a wink she had three straws plucked and in her hand. “What we need is a contest” and she leaned over to me and said “pick, short straw wins” I picked, then Uncle Gus picked an obviously smaller one, I felt my face frown but tried to be polite. Then Chin showed us her straw and declared Gus the winner for which she offered the platter and he snatched up the bacon and it was gone…that quick.

My expression must have betrayed my surprise ‘cause he winked at me and said “Well… fair is fair, aye sugar bear?” and he gave me a poke. And all was right with the world.

Uncle Gus pushed his chair back a bit and savored another sip of coffee. “The way I sees it t-boy,” he addressed me…“you has two choices. You can stay and help Chin her (here) or you can help me in da workshop. I’m building a pretty litta’ table”

It took me a moment to realize that was a question not just a statement. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, though I wanted to stay with aunt Chin. And yet, I did want to see the table, but not necessarily help. “Can I do a little of both?” I asked.

“Indeed you can, bebe.” Aunt Chin confirmed. She was already up gathering dishes and things to the sink “we can share you.”

To which Uncle Gus stood up and announced he had morning business to attend to and I could stay there and help Chin until he was ready to go to the workshop. And he turned grabbed a little newspaper from the hall table and retreated with his coffee to the direction of the bathroom. “Don’t you leave that cup in there bring it back to be washed when you finish.” Chin admonished.

Somewhere down the hall already “Yes cher” echoed back.

So I turned to Aunt Chin and wanting to impress I went to the broom and offered to sweep the floor. “Sure ‘nuf,” was her reply, “but first wipe off the table. That way you can brush the crumbs off to the floor before you sweep” and a freshly wrung dishcloth was already being put in my hand, as she took the last of the dishes off the table in one final swoop. Something I was to learn of aunt Chin that day was she was swift efficient and thorough, usually having done something by the time you realized what she was about to do. I remember later, once overhearing my mom query to my dad as to how Chin could stay so large when the woman never quit moving and doing! But that was the bigger than life whirlwind of Chin’s charm. And all the “doing” she did, …she did with a kind of happiness as shiny as polished chrome.

By the time I wiped the table and swept the floor as diligently as I could, I wanted to do a good job for her, she already was handing me the dust pan, and took the broom from me, and instructed me, “You bend down and hold it for me, OK, while I sweep the mess into the pan. You are closer to the floor than ole Chin.” After she swept the debris into the dust pan she walked to the back door and opening the screen for me with her foot, was also hanging the broom on a nail by the door just next to a flyswatter. she told me to throw the dust out side. Sometimes I don’t know how she moved so fast but as I turned back up the steps after emtying the dust pan, and stepped back inside she traded me a dish towel for the dustpan, hung the dustpan up and motioned for me to go to the sink and start drying the dishes she was washing, the drain board was already almost full. “Stack ‘em on the table as you dry, cher. Then when we finish we’ll put ‘em away”

As we did the dishes I asked her what we were going to do today.

“You can help me straighten up.” She remarked. Straighten what? I thought. This place has nothing out of place. “Then I have some wash to do. We’re gonna make some pies... pick some peaches for those pies...”

“I REALLY looove peach pie.” I exaggerated a bit trying to get into the enthusiasm of the moment. She didn’t answer. I looked up from my dish drying

She hesitated a moment then looking down at me she said almost quietly, “Well,…one thing I have to do is kill two chickens so we can add chicken to the supper tonight.” My eyebrows raised, and my eyes got round before I could think to quell my expression. “But if that is too much for you, you can go help your uncle at that time.”

“No, I want to help kill chickens.” Even as I said it I thought it sounded awful, but I wanted to seem brave.

She saw through my façade. “That sounded a little over anxious.” And she paused eyeing me. I wasn’t sure what she was getting at. “Baby you really don’t want to kill chickens, do you?”

“Wellll…” I lingered. “I know we need to kill’em so we can eat’em. And I helped kill chickens before.” I half lied. I had watched other relations kill chickens before and watched part of butchering a hog, but the most I helped was to pull a few feathers.

“And how did that go for you, cher.”

“Well, it was kinda’ bloody and messy.” I answered, which was true

“Mon Dieu (My God!)” she exclaimed. “Some folk don’t know what they is doin’. Maybe you should see it done properly.”

About this time Uncle Gus returned with his cup, walked over and set it on the counter by us. He glanced down at me. “Killin’ chickens huh?”

Aunt Chin interrupted with her arms crossed looking perturbed at him. “Well we are done now! Maybe you should wash that cup y’self.” I saw that this was about the cup… not the chickens. Uncle Gus looked at her through his eyebrows pretending to be very ashamed. “Is a joke tit pette.” She continued and standing on her toes kissed his forehead. Then around she turned and with what seemed like one motion had the cup washed and handed to me, the water draining in the sink, and her cloth wrung out and hanging folded and over the sink edge.

As I dried the cup I returned the conversation to the chickens. “Aunt Chin’s gonna show me the right way to kill chickens for us to eat tonight.” I asserted as though I knew it all.

Chin corrected me a tad, “Well actually sweet, we won’t eat the chickens we kill tonight. I would never eat something the same day it was killed. I jus wanna replace the one’s we will eat.”

I did not understand and implored “Then why kill them?”

“One, they need to go before they get much older and tougher, and two, to keep up inventory.” Her answer didn’t really make sense to me and she could tell. “Let’s just put these dishes away and I will show you later. But we do have to do the pickin’, and the pies, and kill the chickens early in the day before it gets much hotter. Then we will get to the other stuff.”

Uncle Gus put his hands up in an expression of futility “Myyyy, myyy,” he looked at Chin. “I can see you done scheduled up the help, wit no plans of sharing’.” He shook his head. And aunt Chin was cutting her eyes at him.

I felt the need to make peace. “I can help you too uncle Gus.” I looked up at him, and from this close angle I realized just how big his stomach was too. He was quite the cubby guy as well but next to Chin it had escaped my notice.

“I’m playin’ witchu t-man,” he assured me, “actually ole Chin problee needs your help more dan I do.” He looked to Chin. “Can you put your dishes away witout his help, my der (dear)?” he waited, and she nodded “den I will take him from you for a bit, and return him shortly for his day a’ chores.” He looked around as though he had lost something “wer’s dat list she got for you to do, boy, I bet it’s five feet long.” He bantered her direction. “you see son, my lovely bride her(here), never lacks for somtin’ to do. I jus hope you still standin by the end of de day.”

“Awww,” Chin waved us off and we headed out the back door.

“Grab de broom boy.” He instructed me. Which I did and I followed him out to the yard.

**

ART LINKLETTER

2010-05-28T16:45:00.005-05:00

Lately, as you can see by my posts nostalgia has been hanging around. So when I found out that Wednesday, May 26, 2010 our beloved Art Linkletter died at the age of 97, I was immediately transported to a time when I would get comfy in front of the TV anticipating one of my very favorite shows, Art Linkletter’s House Party. TV entertainment was different then with many variety shows which had guest singers, comedians, and more. I miss this form of entertainment.

But “House Party” was so much more. It was a variety show, and a talk show interviewing guests, it was a quiz show with audience participation, there would be skits, comic and not so comic monologues by art and others, informative segmants, entertainment of all sorts, basically, it was a PARTY, and always it ended with the segment...,

“Kid’s Say The Darndest Things” where Linkletter would interview a few children sitting on stools about anything under the sun. If you have never seen a segment of these look them up on youtube. Frankly they are a must see in American classic TV.

Art Linkletter was a natural with people. His simple humor and hominess is what made many of us look forward to tuning in to each show. He was always unscripted and improvised. I remember him and his show with great fondness.

Arthur Gordon Linkletter was survived by his wife of almost 75 years, Lois Forester Linkletter. Lois was a name you often heard mentioned on his show. He was also survived by two of his five children, Dawn Griffin, and Sharon Linkletter, by seven grandchildren and fifteen great grandchildren, and he was preceded in death by his children Diane Linkletter, Robert Linkletter, and Arthur "Jack" Linkletter.

Born in Canada as Art Kelly, he was abandoned at 4 weeks and then adopted by evangelist Fulton John Linkletter, and wife Mary. They moved to California, where Art spent most of the rest of his life.

After finishing high school, Art toured the country working his way along on the railroads, doing odd jobs, and meeting people. He developed his interest in all sorts of people which became a big theme to his later career. Returning home to southern California, he earned a teaching degree, married, then ended up in the field of radio broadcasting. He had two main shows from the mid 40’s to the late 60’s on radio and television, People are Funny and House Party.

Later in life he became a speaker and crusader against drugs, and a voice for conservatives, often speaking eloquently on what he saw was a decline in parts of our society. He also was a leader for Goodwill Industries, and served the organizations of World Vision, and the Arthritis Foundation.

Art Linkletter was a sincere and humble man of fine integrity. Some of his conservative ideas I may not have totally agreed with, but it doesn’t change my admiration for him and the fact that he brought joy, humor and goodness to this world. I offer my condolences to his family.

M.Pierre

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN continued..

2010-05-27T03:25:00.004-05:00

We gathered ourselves and got out of the car. The Ruby waiting expectantly, but properly at the top of the porch steps, clasped her hands against her plentiful bosom. One by one she hugged us as we came up the steps. Welcome she said many times, and I think she said to each one of us that we were pretty. When I reached her I was reminded of nuzzling into my grandma’s soft thick mattress, only her hug smelled like fragrant talcum and her dress was an ever so soft fabric. As she released me, from a hug I could have taken a nap in, she kissed my forehead and mumbled something in French, I heard “mon plus joli t choux” something like I was the prettiest little cabbage. It was only then that I noticed uncle Gus had been standing just behind her. He had been almost diminutive in her shadow. He was as welcoming as her but in a two handed handshake manly sort of way. I again realized as I had once before just what a happy couple they were.

My nose was snared just in the door by the wonderful aroma of coffee, bacon, and some enchanting pastry. It was a familiar scent. I knew it just on the tip of my memory…the smell of powdered sugar on a freshly fried beignet. Ahh… heaven awaited us. I rudely followed my nose on a mission. Flashes of the pleasant house passed as I found my way to the kitchen and the table. Then in splendor, the setting of coffee cups, saucers, bacon and sausage on a platter, cut up melons in a glass bowl, and…oh the beignets in the center were shining like the rising sun on a huge plate. I could think of nothing else at the moment but for all the folks to quit socializing and get in here and eat!

My memory deludes me next except for pleasure. We were all eating our doughnuts and coffee. In my bliss I recall the adults speaking in French, the taste of the powdered sugar, biting off each of the coffee dipped corners of my beignets, then I heard, “Well why don’t you stay with us for the day and for supper?”

“oh please, please can we stay.” I attempted through a mouthful of paradise.

“No” my dad said without ANY hesitation, which seemed so abrupt it truly shot me down…not even a chance to try and talk him into anything. But then he continued, gesturing towards my mom, “We have to get over to her brother’s place and get the papers signed. And then were going to go into Lake Charles to shop.” My uncle Cleo lived in some even tinier small town past here though his dealership was back in the even larger small town where we mostly stayed (with my maternal grandmother and cousins) in the summer.

I waited anticipating the next word… then aunt Chin did just as I was hoping, “Well then let the kid’s stay, and stop by for supper on your way back.” Immediately, “please, please, please, please” was interrupting from my mouth. My mother gave me the look and I hushed at once.

My parents looked at each other and seemed to be debating the idea, I felt like I could burst with impatience. Then my sibling saboteurs had to add that they wanted to go to Lake Charles. I couldn’t blame them. It was a sizable city compared to all the small towns where we usually stayed most of the summer. This was excepting the yearly trip to New Orleans for a few weeks to see family there. But as for me, something, and not just the beignets, but the whole soft welcome of this place and this couple, made me gladly forsake Lake Charles. I wanted to stay with aunt Chin, and so my mouth again expressed my feelings before my brain thought of restraint. “Shut up you stupids” I yelled, “I want to stay here.” My mother calmly took me by the arm without a word and escorted me to the hall where she abruptly put my nose in a corner. Then she walked back in the kitchen. This was not fair. I wouldn’t be there to fight my case!

My parents were debating the merits of taking the interstate back instead of ‘these old country roads’. “It would be quicker.” My dad said.

“And cooler, since we have no air-conditioning in THIS car.” my mom added with a tone that let me know then that even she did not like my dad’s new purchase. My dad sighed and for a split moment I kind of felt sorry for him. It seemed everyone was ragging on his new car.

Then uncle Gus interceded with, “Aww let de t-man stay, he can be our little helper. Den de rest of you can shop, and stop back by her for supper on de way back. He’ll jus be bored wit chu shoppin’ .” Great! He had just thrown me a floaty with a rope and was pulling me out of the deep end. I think he could see I was getting in hot water and figured to give my parents and me both a break. I wriggled in the corner waiting a response…would this work or would my floaty rope get cut?

“Ok.” My parents both agreed. I made a small leap.

“Noooo, It’ll be a HOT ride back,” my sister chimed in

“Do you want to join your brother in the hall,” my mother cautioned, “there’s another corner.”

So it seemed settled, I’d get to stay the whole day! “Can I come out of the corner now.” I yelled from my place. Being sure to keep my face buried deep in the corner, hoping the sound of my muffled voice would make my parents feel a little guilty in front of my aunt and uncle, and reprieve me.

“Ten minutes.” was my mother’s only response. But that was fine I didn’t care. I spent the next ten minutes daydreaming about my day ahead, while everyone else it seemed were readying to go. Next thing I knew they were all in the hallway. “Now?” I asked. My mom answered with an affirmative, and I turned around to my aunt Chin picking me up and smiling.

“You can be with me today, cher.” And she kissed my cheek as she propped me on her ample hip and carried me to the porch. We all said by. My mom kissed me and cautioned in my ear to behave. My dad tussled my head. My siblings were already getting in the car. Then they all pulled out of the driveway and were off. And my adventure I knew was about to start.

**

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, 50th ANNIVERSARY

2010-05-26T01:36:00.004-05:00

If you look, or have looked, in my profile under, favorite books, the first entry marked “hands down” is To Kill A Mockingbird a novel by Harper Lee. Anyone who knows me for any length of time knows my affinity for this book.. ten years ago for Father’s Day, one of my sons presented me with the very special gift of the 40th anniversary special printing edition of my beloved book.. My how time flies. It’s been ten more years already, and I didn’t realize until a friend pointed out to me that yesterday, May 25, 2010, was the 50th anniversary of it’s printing.

I was I believe in fourth grade and looking for a subject of a book report when my mother, and avid reader, gave me her copy of the book. She mentioned she had just had a second read and still enjoyed it very much. “It might be a little old (adult) for your grade but if you need help understanding anything ask me, or look up words you don’t know in the dictionary.” was her only preface. I think she enjoyed seeing me fall into the book and love it. I think I read and re-read it for book reports each time I had a new teacher for a few years. Then I did a paper on it in high school. This classic novel has been more to me than just entertainment. Being from the south I related to the children in the book and the world from their perspective. But even more than that, I came, through this book, to understand literature. I don’t remember reading just for pleasure much before this.

The book’s theme “..it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird, because all they do is sing beautiful music for everyone to hear.” And how that symbolism is used in the book to represent the struggle and crisis of the characters, opened me up to seeing how good writing uses analogy and symbol to enhance our understanding of a story on a conscious and, even better, on a subconscious level. It also showed me how the effective use of such is a true art.

This was Harper Lee's one and only novel. It won her a pulitzer prize and has been a best seller all these years. I used to wish she had writen other books but then when you create your masterpiece...

Aside from the literary lessons, the story itself showed me a glimpse of what kind of man I wanted to see myself as, when I grew up, in the character of Atticus Finch, who is a gentleman southern lawyer in the 1930’s.

There are two stories woven together to become one great tale here. There is the adult story of conflict as Atticus, who is a widower father of two children, ends up court appointed to defend a black man of raping a white woman in a small bigoted southern town of Maycomb, Alabama. As he deals graciously with anything thrown his way, there is a bigger and more intimate story of the children’s adventures real and make believe, and how they intertwine into the adult’s world. And the story is told from their perspective, especially that of the young Scout (Jean Louise) Atticus’ daughter. As the story progresses the children, Scout, her older brother Jem, and their precocious summer neighbor Dill, are intrigued with a very reclusive mentally ill neighbor, and the rumors that have floated around town for some years about him. In the mean time they at first see their father Atticus as a boring, old, unremarkable man. But the events of the story open their eyes, and they, by the end, see him as a hero against ignorance and racism, and for the causes of justice and tolerance. As well they learn a parallel lesson of acceptance in their private fascination with the mentally ill neighbor Boo Radley. The story has a climatic ending with some surprise heroes.

If you have never read this book then take the 50th anniversary as your motivation to pick up a copy. If you have, then maybe do another read of the classic. You will not be sorry. I do believe I’m going to have another journey to Maycomb, Alabama in my special edition. Plus I think I will queue the motion picture on my video service. Gregory Peck does an outstanding performance, but the movie does leave out a few things, and a few characters. It’s, none the less, an excellent film.

Enjoy! M.Pierre

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN..a short story.

2010-05-25T10:32:00.005-05:00

One might wonder as did I, one sunny Louisiana morning, with my head leaning out of the back window of my Dad’s new blue Ford Galaxy,.. what kind of a name is Chin? As I was looking at the moss hanging from the old trees we passed and feeling the already humid thick air on my face, I asked my mother, “why is aunt Chin named that?”

“its only a nick name.” She responded. “ her real name is Lougenia.”

Aunt Chin was married to my father’s older brother, Gustan, (Augustine). And they lived in southern Louisiana, as did all our relatives. We were indeed Cajuns way back before Cajun culture, and food, were cool! Though my immediate family lived in the west Texas desert during the school year, holidays and summers were spent home in Louisiana.

I had met uncle Gus and aunt Chin many times before at family gatherings, but this is the first time I can remember us going to their house. I suspect now, Chin was just another of the many odd sounding nick names folks down there seem to have, odd sounding at least to those not from the area or culture. Names such as Couyou, meaning stupid,-- Papou, meaning just Cajun,-- Catin, meaning doll, and Pitou, nickname for Pierre or Peter, were all names I heard used for family members. Then of course there’s always Cher…pronounced more like Sha, which means “dear” and which everybody calls everybody.

The situation was that my parents were traveling near their house on some business, some papers needed to be signed or something, I believe to do with the new family car my Dad had bought from my mom’s brother Cleophus. We (us kiddos) didn’t really like the new car, “at all” my sister said. It had no air conditioning. And even though it was the early 60’s, my dad had traded in a Chrysler New Yorker, with big turquoise spaceship fins on the back, and air conditioning!!, which even though a luxury at the time, we had grown accustomed to on our summer trips. And now in the Louisiana heat without the AC we had to wonder just what Dad was thinking.

So here we were stopping by for a morning coffee visit, with Gus and Chin. They lived over in Jefferson Davis parish, in a small town near a lake about as far south and a little west as you can go and still have mostly solid land. Past there was marshes.

As we drove I was slightly enthralled in the green of it all. The El Paso desert had neither grass nor trees. And though in late august I loved to return to the mountains of El Paso each school year, I loved, in June, to return to the green lushness of south Louisiana. Yet my mind was still on aunt Chin. She had always intrigued me. She was the sweetest, most joyful soul….and this was matched by the opulence of her body. Aunt Chin weighed somewhere around 400 pounds, I figure, more or less. I remember once looking at her calves as she sat down and comparing them to a large fish bowl full of change on the bureau. The bowl was smaller. I suppose at that young age, I was now about seven, ..she was the first obese person I had ever known. Her weight was more intrigue to me than in any way distaste. I thought she was grand.

Again I queried my mom.. just couldn’t let it go, “is aunt Chin called that cause she’s so fat” I guess in my young thoughts heavier people have double or even triple “chins”, but exactly why the question made since to me I’m not truly sure. Regardless it was a “un grande erreur” (a huge mistake). My mother spun around in her seat, eyes blazing at me. My brother and sister were laughing.

“she is not FAT, she is large, and I had better not hear you say that again.”

My mother had no real Cajun accent, having lived many places in the world as my dad had been career military, and stationed all over.

My dad however never lost his Cajun brogue, and I’m guessing the fear of my candidness causing embarrassment precipitated his threat.. “you had butter shut dat mouth up t-man, or I’ll slap it off your face.” T-man is another Cajun thing. Placing T-, or Tit (pronounced teet) before any male title is a term of endearment. It simply means little, and is short for Petite. So we had boys being called t-man, t-boy, tit-Paul, t-Bud, tit-Mond, nick-name for Edmond, and then there was tit-pette, which meant favorite, and the widely used pauvre-tit (pronounced pauv-teet) which meant for either gender “poor little thing” and was used regularly by the French and English people too as a term of empathy. I still say it without thinking.

After my father’s scolding I decided quickly to shut up. Even an apology would seem risky at this point. They both knew I had a knack for piping up with the “all too honest” observances. And I’m sure they wanted to safe guard my big mouth. So on we drove with no more from me. My siblings snickered for a bit and my parents spoke for a bit in French. We didn’t understand much French, us kids, but I would bet they were discussing aunt Chin’s “largeness”.

So returning my face to the open window, and the terrain I watched farmland turn to oaks then become marsh, back to farm then water, and swamp and back again. The road ahead began to curve and I saw we were coming to some sort of village. The barely descending drive sported a view of a sizable lake just past this little township. It was flat and open and with wonderful cypress trees growing up out of it in places. As I was examining the lake, we were passing the town, but then we turned right and went up a street away from the water. We passed a few homes and then I saw the tidiest sweet house ahead. The yard was beautiful, and the house looked as though it had been painted yesterday. Very pale yellow with red, white, and pale green trim, a little gingerbread work here and there, it was the most pleasing of invitations. It had a homey sweet purity like a picture in a periodical. We turned into the drive. And my spirits lifted with the site of the place. It was like getting the readers digest each month and seeing the new picture on the back for the first time.

I was going to ask a silly question, “is this their house?”…but I didn’t get to it. For almost immediately the “larger” than life figure of aunt Chin appeared out the door and on the porch between two huge rocking chairs. She wore a bright but simple red print dress, a top knot in her hair, and a smile that let you know just how completely happy she was to see us. Framed at the porch center between the rockers she looked like a grand ruby setting in the middle of a fancy dinner ring.

**

to be continued...

WHOLLY WATER

2010-05-23T03:23:00.005-05:00

The angelic ones before time, were like concepts in the heavens, like stars in the mind of God but with no real physical self. They were ethereal spirits. they found they could not relate to one another. They could not embrace for they were not separate and had no touch. They asked their maker to create them further so they were able to differentiate and show love to one another. God said there will be limits for only with limit can you come to know separation and thus know embrace. But God felt the yearning in them to know love and show love, so the mind of God conceived time and space and the universe came into being. The holy ones became part of the physical world and found themselves as souls and then bodies, bodies of all myriads of creatures. As creatures they had limits and varied in self awareness. But as they began to evolve they came to know a new yearning, a yearning to be connected. What was once joined was now separate and longed for the primal memory of oneness again. This became real love, and the ability to embrace was formed. The creatures new not of what they once were, only felt this yearning to be that again, to be connected, unified, one. And God felt this yearning in them called love. And the mind of God decided not to change things this time. For what they knew as Love was nothing less than God’s own self within them. And it was touchable and tangible and real. And God knew that these creatures, because of this, would come to find in their own longings, in this thing called love, their own true Divinity, and come to know that they were still one after all.
Blessings to your Sunday, good fortune to your week ahead..M.Pierre

PLANE CRASH IN INDIA

2010-05-22T19:49:00.003-05:00

Taj Mahal,

the worlds most Beautiful Tomb.

Take a moment of silence please, in

reverence for 158 brothers and sisters

of humanity, who lost lives in

yesterday's disaster in India,

and in consideration of

the families.

NAMASTE: God within you

and God within me

are one.

Harvey Milk Day

2010-05-22T17:15:00.002-05:00

California celebrates it's first Harvey Milk Day on the 80th anniversary of his birth. Well good for you California, I wish I could be in the bay area right now. ( I think I left part of my heart there.) Here's to an honorable man, and an honorable memory.

HAPPY HARVEY MILK DAY.

I TOYS...I'M TIRED OF YOUR S#

2010-05-22T16:25:00.003-05:00

Hey folks, lets have a tea party! and "take our government back." Back to the good old days. the Golden age of America, when no one could concieve of a "colored" president. Let's de-evolve to a time when Gay was criminal, and good old vigilanty justice prevailed. Back to a wonderful time when good old family values were so formost that everyone repressed their disfunctional issues and appeared to be like the Cleavers. when a GOOD family would pre-destine their children to a life of theraputic issues, so the family looked good! Dishonesty was king..Yeah, wave a flag! A time forgotten when all things were black and white (separated of course) but never grey. A time when control prevailed... ahh yes..let's..
....Know What! .....let's not ...and don't even say we did!

Ebbless Progeny

2010-05-22T06:22:00.010-05:00

Salty tears trickle down my cheek,
seven pounds of a wet freshly born son in my hands.
only but a year ago
his brother could lay upon my chest and fit.
        moments become time
and flow to the sea.
     Some year forward
his pride is shown reaching the light switch.
Another son now, tri-joy
     moments become water gone by.
Oh smaller one yet,
     who’s large aqueous eyes shine at her christening.

        One seawater tear
running down my face,
     many inside deluge my heart ..restrain.
     I hold my soaked, injured child
and distract him with tales.

                                               A crash thunderstorm of pride,
                                       his school applauds his departure,
                                         a fine writing achievement.
                       And his little brother is growing so tall.

                time has become a fast flowing creek.
          Her lovely art work displayed with magnets.
       His fingers on the sonata fly through recital.
He delights me, tin-man performance.
             His portrait of me, of me, wins!

           Welling emotion
   strives to flood through a river of time,
         river of many tears dropped.

        I cry for his broken heart.
       I silently weep, a most beautiful young woman
                reaches for a diploma.
A bearded young man who calls me pops,
        we stay up too late
          discussing philosophy.

My son and his bride, walk the beach,
            that ocean is our lives
for saline tears and moments flowed to become
    cascading recollections passed.
And little brother stands so tall,
        when pronounced husband and wife.
Seawater falling from all our eyes,
   eyes that witness an age of joy.


my salty tear trickling,
     I type a heart-sea of blessings, memories,
                  and moments that became, and will become. time,
                     and continue to flow by,
                                to flow by,
                                 flow
                                  by,
                                    by.

WHAT IF..

2010-05-22T00:12:00.009-05:00

Warning this is a very long post but I hope interesting, and I hope you read on to the end to see my point.

I have a, what if, purely fictional idea, a little story. It is most probably going to offend some people but I’m going to pose the thought anyway. It needs a little preface first.

As you may or may not know our Christian new testament that we know today is not by any means the whole body of writings that exist about Jesus and his life and teachings. It is a group of books, letters, writings,.. that the church fathers felt best conveyed the story, and the message of Christianity. These were chosen and grouped as “canonized” books over a long period of time within the early church, from about 180ad to 450ad. Among these writings are the first four books, the gospels. The gospels were not written by Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, but by their respective churches. And they were written probably after the apostles died. The church of Matthew’s followers would have had their best writers write the Gospel according to (the teachings of) Matthew, (about his teacher Jesus). The same for the other three. Actually Mark was probably written first then Matthew, Luke and lastly John. There are other gospels.. the gospel of Thomas, the gospel of Peter are just a few that were not accepted into the canonized Bible.

These early writers borrowed much of their stories from each others writings, and from other non-gospel references. The letters of St. Paul were the first writings recording information about the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. So consequently much was taken from Paul’s writings. One little problem here, Paul never knew Jesus. After Jesus’ death and the very early Christian churches were forming, Saul was trying to bring the Christians down, when he had a conversion experience and felt the presence of Christ. A short time later the scales fell from his eyes he changed his name to Paul and began preaching Jesus’ teachings as he understood them. And as adamant as he was before against them he was just as adamant for them. He was a charismatic, educated, leader, and many followed his “interpretation” of what he thought Jesus had taught. Paul was well versed in many Greek philosophies and even Egyptian and other ancient teachings. Paul was also a man with his own issues. I personally think, and am not alone here, that he had a low opinion of women. He also had much to say about homosexuality, and the Greeks practices of such. He seemed to be quite the perfectionist. One today might say, and here is where I will offend, that he was a woman hating, closeted gay, anal retentive, homophobe… by the way, what he had to say about homosexuality was never even addressed by Jesus.

Paul’s teachings seem very close to the philosophy of Plato. Plato thought that the body and soul were at enmity. The soul sought a perfect place of transcendence and the physical world distracted from it. Only when a soul reached, in it’s physical life and body, a state of true perfection would it transcend to an afterlife of eternal perfection. Sound a little like, ..If you are very good you go to heaven when you die? So much Christian teachings (of Paul’s ideas) tells us we must repent our wrong doings and strive for perfection to be worthy of God’s love. That this world is just a place of misery, of sin and strife, for our soul to be perfected for the eternal reward in Heaven when we die……Funny thing…that’s not what Jesus said. Jesus went to the dredges of society, prostitutes, tax collectors…etc. and he told them that God was like a loving parent and loved them just as they were at that moment. And that by realizing the love of God they could move past cycles of guilt and shame and become happier more whole people, who in turn usually become better people to their fellow humanity. "You are forgiven, go and sin no more."

And now for my final point, the fiction…what if…Paul had been discovered to be a fraud who made up the whole road to Damascus conversion story, (sort of like those today who die and came back, and write a book telling us everything that God is all about, because now that they’ve been there (to heaven) they know). What if the discovery of Paul's fraud came about in say 200ad.

What if Paul and his teachings were reexamined and the un-canonized and canonized books were re-looked at all removing Paul’s influence and just reflecting the teachings of the man Christians are supposed to follow. Jesus Christ. What if.? . How different would Christianity look? How different would our lives be here in a predominately Christian nation? How different would…WWJD actually be?

There is a Bible called a Red Letter Bible. In the new testament written in red letters are all the things that most scholars deduce could have been said by Jesus himself, looking at his body of teachings, the culture at the time, and more. Written in black letters is the rest attributed to him but probably not said by him. They even have one with pink and grey lettering. Red most probably Jesus’ words, pink maybe, grey probably not, and black absolutely not. Buy one or go to the library and see if they have one…read through it,.. it’s enlightening. Thanx for reading my article.

Blessings, M. Pierre

Less in the news, but still a threat.

2010-05-21T01:39:00.008-05:00

This is by the way of a reminder..oil and water don't mix..neither does oil and any creature who lives in the gulf of mexico or the wet lands ashore there. Please remember in prayer, or in meditation, or invocation, or what ever your belief, send positive thoughts to those who live in this area, of any and all species, even Human. I have a lot of family in this area. The oil was creeping around the barrier Chandeleur island only days ago (first photo). The seafood industry is struggling with this. (shrimp boat in second pic) not to mention the effects on hospitality and tourism industry, and the economy of the region. (the third pic shows a NASA view of the spill headed straight for the Mississippi River Delta) Think, have you ever been to New Orleans? Did you enjoy the city and the food? And what of the pleasent west Florida beaches? Also

these wetlands have no real shoreline, (see first photo) so the oil can seep deep into bayous and marshes where lives a myriad of plant and animal life. Already numerous dead dolphins and sea turtles have washed ashore. And the sea turtle nesting season is this time of year. Then there are many protected species of water birds, who feed on sealife. Pelicans have to dive through the surface of the water catch food to eat. Endangered sperm whales who frequent this area have to break the water surface to breathe. The sealife especially crustaceans that breed this time of year have offspring with extremely thin membranes which toxins easily penetrate. The dispersants used in the deep part of the spill have never been used this way before, so we must hope they work and do not impact the environment. I'm not for wasting time debating blame. Heck I also drive a car and use petroleum products. What has happened has happened. Have hearings later, concentrate on cleanup now.What can be done about it to minimize the harm, and what can be learned from it, is what's important at this time. So again send loving positive thoughts to this area.

Thanx, M.Pierre

Dr. Paul Rand

2010-05-20T22:51:00.013-05:00

   Rachel Maddow, gotta love her, I do anyway. Watch a clip, if you haven't already, of her interviewing the new Tea Party Republican senatorial candidate of Kentucky, Dr. Rand Paul. It's lengthy and I don't have a link here but you can find it on her show website at msnbc.com, or go to my friend's blog: Blue Truck Red State..link to the left, and read what he has to say too. He's done a nice presentation. (p.s. while you are there scroll down to Lewis Black's clip about Glenn Beck's N. Tourettes ..priceless). Now back to my post, Dr. Paul's comment when he won the Republican primary was..."a message from the 'tea party' ...we have come to take our government back!" Back from what? It sounds a bit mob mentality to me, more like ..we have come to take our government over, but I digress from the subject of the clip and my post.
   Rand Paul has said that he takes exception with big government dictating what private businesses do with regard to discriminating against minority groups, and people with handicaps. That they should be able to "reserve the RIGHT(?) to refuse service to anyone." Interesting thing is this means restaurants could refuse to serve blacks, hispanics, or other minorities,.. or small private businesses could refuse to hire people on the basis of their race, age, sex, handicap, pregnancy, sexual orientation...you get the point. My first question is why? Why would you want to protect private business ability to discriminate?
   When pressed by Rachel with the question of weather he supported such things as segregated lunch counters...etc, he never answered it. Each time he answered starting with the phrase "Interesting thing is." .and he'd prattle off in another direction. She even asked him "just a yes or no answer Dr. Paul" he answered "interesting thing is"..and yet more evasive nonsense.
    One thing I noticed when questioned about "the people with disabilities act" he was misinformed, if informed at all. I taught a training class on this act at work some years ago. But I don't want to digress again. My point is what is PRIVATE and what is not. To me, looking at this issue, private can only be difined as behind my front door. You cannot have a business that provides services, goods or employment to the PUBLIC. and allow them to discriminate in anyway.
    Philosophically a government has to protect it's minority groups from majority rule, or you have a society that does not provide Liberty and Justice for ALL. Our government has these safeguards built in. You cannot restrict the rights of one group my a majority vote. This is part of the checks and balances with Legislation and Supreme Court system. California skirted this safeguard by voting on how to "define marriage" which is different than voting to remove a right given Gay Americans in California by it's supreme court. Different supposedly, but it acomplishes the same task, just in an underhanded way. Still, to wrap up, I have to ask again, Why would anyone want to protect a private companies ability to discriminate? Which is absolutely the main issue here. And what does that say about the man and his party?

Gently Flowing Waters

2010-05-20T18:33:00.001-05:00

on a lighter note..speaking of WATERS..
I learned today that in Feng Shui, gently flowing water brings good energy to the wealth part of your house. That is the left back corner of your house. Placing a fountain there brings prosperous energy. To boost this add a dragon statue to the fountain facing into the house. To add to this have a light over the fountain to charge good chi for a few hours each day...note..At night turn off the fountain and light, and turn the dragon around to rest.
Hoping your day is a wash with blessings flowing.
M. Pierre

I TOYS... I'M TIRED OF YOUR S%#*

2010-05-20T08:37:00.001-05:00

I FIND IT EVER MORE DIFFICULT TO BE TOLERANT OF INTOLERANCE

dark hearts

2010-05-20T03:28:00.001-05:00

I see your nefarious hearts.
Your guise doesn't hide the scrawny crows
            pecking at the viscerals of Goodness.
   dark hearts wear halos made of foil and cardboard,
they who drink tea and bake up casseroles of bigotry and lies.
          dark hearts..the rightgeous angelic facade
                  for the hyenas
                      who stalk the truth to warp it into their own power..
                               ..need for control.
Oh dark hearts wear splendid holy white robes...
   with fascist white hoods...
                                ..need to control
               all who are different,
                      who are not of their number.
    Beware the seraphic show.
         It doesn't really hide dark hearts of stone
            mortared with malevolence.

welcome to my blog

2010-05-19T21:41:00.000-05:00

Hi,
    M. Pierre here. I always find there are things I want to say, be it political, spiritual, philosophical or more... so I needed an avenue to do this in. And here I am.
   Like water, I may have something stormy to say, or something sweet as morning dew. I may make a political commentary, or post a recipe. This is simply a place for me to be me, opinion and all. If you like something i've written great, if not, great, hope I make you think.
   I'm more liberal than conservative, so that should give you some idea of this blog. In time you will see what I am about. Basically I have opinions and ideas, and I want to have a place to put them down. If they get read, they get read, but regardless they are out there...
ciao, M.

waters

WHOLLY WATER

Night of the Broken Glass

WHOLLY WATER

HELLO AGAIN

THE FEMININE SIDE OF GOD

THE IMAGE OF...

WHOLLY WATER

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 10

JUST STUFF

INDEPENDENCE DAY

WHOLLY WATER

NEW FRIEND'S BLOG

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 9

GAY PRIDE

REFLECTION

WHOLLY WATER

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 8 "chicken demise"

WHOLLY WATER

PLEASE

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 7

PREJUDICE this is MY sin.

WHOLLY WATER

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 6

GOOD MORNING

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 5

LA LLUVIA..THE RAIN

IN MEMORIAM

WHOLLY WATER

I TOYS IM TIRED OF YOUR S@^$ #3

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN part 4

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN..part 3

ART LINKLETTER

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN continued..

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, 50th ANNIVERSARY

MY DAY WITH AUNT CHIN..a short story.

WHOLLY WATER

PLANE CRASH IN INDIA

Harvey Milk Day

I TOYS...I'M TIRED OF YOUR S*#*

Ebbless Progeny

WHAT IF..

Less in the news, but still a threat.

Dr. Paul Rand

Gently Flowing Waters

I TOYS... I'M TIRED OF YOUR S%#*

dark hearts

welcome to my blog

I TOYS...I'M TIRED OF YOUR S#