ALWAYS WAITING

I see you, all of you, lined up like a military regiment 7 ever so patiently. Your cover varies, your color varies, your shape varies, but you are what you are and may I add very patient. Innocent enough to look at, and even attractive in your own decadent way. Not a sound comes from you unless disturbed when then it is only sloshing or the clanging of glass from your ornamental cover. Are you the enemy or the protector? That is a matter of opinion. To some who do not see clearly yet, you appear to be the one and only that rescues them from their fears. To those of us who have "gotten it" you are the enemy, and a most deadly one at that. Just ask our families, look at our unhealthy organs, our demolished modes of transportation, the innocent we have caused to suffer. Yes, you are quiet, and sneaky to say the least. I give you that, and you are patient. You know how to wait and then you attack so cleverly we almost do not realize it. You use our own minds, emotions, and feelings as weapons to aid you. How clever you are. You are always there. Even though your numbers may dwindle you are constantly replenished in our factories. Yes, we have created you, or let me say we have perfected you. You will always be there and we have to choose, we have to either fight you or the thought of you, and what you falsely promise or we can fall from grace, fall from the wagon, and give in to what will be ultimate destruction. Yes we are those people who cannot handle you as the average Joe can. And you know it and pray we know it to. We are different, not bad people, just different. Your legion of troops have destroyed many of us, but many of us have survived and flourished after your attacks I for one am a survivor. I have been thought how you operate. I did not know before and suffered the scars of battle. You will always be waiting but I now along with other millions will try to be prepared.

BAYOU TALES ( 4 )

A warm welcome to all. Yesterday a tradition known as "La Tournoi" took place in south Louisiana. This tradition is unique and is not practiced anywhere else in our country. A gentleman named Marcellian Garrand founded our city and brought this custom with him from France. Marcellian Garrand was a general in Napoleon's army before arriving in our country.
"La Tournoi" consists of men who dress in medieval attire and they ride horses who are also adorned in medieval attire. These men compete for the tournoi championship by riding their horse at full gallop around an oval dirt track. They carry with them a lance and they attempt to spear metal rings which hang on posts located all around the track. Their are seven rings that they attempt to spear. Each ring symbolizes an enemy of the cotton crop. For instance one ring symbolizes the boll weevil and another synthetic fabric, and so on. The riders are not only competing for the most number of rings speared but they are also timed from start to finish therefore their speed is also used in determining the outcome of the competition. Each rider is given three attempts around the track in three separate rounds. Their times are calculated and they are given 10 points for each ring speared. The rider with the quickest time and most rings is the winner. Prior to beginning the competition each rider is presented a scarf by his wife who then ties it to his lance for good luck. This competition can be dangerous as the rider must race around the track, control the horse with one hand and attempt to spear the rings with the other.
I remember as a child attending this event which was held across the street from my home. It has since moved out of town so as to have a dirt track to accommodate the riders and horses.
This event is held once every year on the second Sunday of October. Laizzes Le bon temps roule', cher.

BAYOU TALES ( 3 )

At this time of the year a certain memory always resurfaces. It never fails as the months of September and October roll around I travel back in thought to a story my grandmother (Ma Ma Hick) would always tell me during this season. That story consisted of two little girls and an old witch. You see those two little girls would play near the open fields and one of them had beautiful golden hair and the other beautiful blue eyes. Their was this old witch who passed by and cast a spell on the two little girls changing the little girl with beautiful golden hair into a flower with yellowish - golden petals. The other little girl with beautiful blue eyes was changed into a flower with blue petals. To this day one can find these two beautiful wild flowers growing usually near each other along the side of roads, fences, and fields in south Louisiana at this time of the year. It is amazing how a simple little story told by a grandmother so many years ago can remain etched in ones mind and return at the right time of the year when these two beautiful little wild flowers make their appearance. Thank You Ma Ma for passing on to me a story which I will cherish until I am gone. God bless you.

BAYOU TALES ( 2 )

The first Saturday of the month in October is the opening day of squirrel season in Louisiana. On that weekend their will be many a hunter and camper in the woods. Many having already arrived two to three days prior to the opening day. Good food will be a plenty. Cooking outside always seems to bring an added touch of goodness to the dish being prepared. For some it will be a good sauce piquante, but whatever it is it will be fit for a king.
The opening of squirrel season always brings back fond memories of when I was younger and still hunted. The opening day of squirrel season is such a big event in our area of the state that schools are closed on the Friday before the opening day.
My father would bring me camping in an area around Bayou Cocodrie (alligator) and we would eat along the bayou and also camp there. Of course many of the men would partake in the consumption of alcoholic beverages at night and this gave way to much hullabaloo. Their was one elderly man that would speak on a toy telephone to some of his deceased relatives and friends. To hear those conversations made everyone roll with laughter. Please note that these conversations took place after a few alcoholic beverages had been consumed. All in all a good time was had by all and the memories are forever there. Laissiez le bon temps role'.

BAYOU TALES ( 1 )

When I was a young boy their was a man in the neighborhood whom we would call Nonc Cro'bare' (Nonc is french for uncle and Cro'bare' is pronounced-crow bare').
Whenever we would get stung by wasp (and that was pretty often because we stayed outside from dawn to dusk) Nonc Cro'bare' would help ease the pain of the sting by what I thought was pure magic when I was a child. He would wet some tobbaco and place a wad of it on the sting and man oh man would that help cher'. No more pain.
Those old Cajuns knew some tricks ya. Poor old Nonc Cro'bare' is not with us here anymore as he has done moved on and is pushing up daises, but I will never forget him. I am sure if them old wasp are flying around in heaven and stinging them angels he is putting some of that old tobacco juice on the sting. Merci beaucoup Nonc Cro'bare'.

WATER, WIND, AND WOE

Ladies they were not, neither gentlemen either.

Their stay was brief but their sordid presence was felt.

Few were spared totally, most, however, were not.

We have come to expect them as of late, but hope not their presence be felt.

Has man through his ways on earth enabled their visits.

Leave it to man to find a way to destroy himself.

I say, man can achieve so much, why then can he not I question, make these seasonal visitors scarce.

Our lives change due to their visits, change in ways we do not like.

So, these unwelcome visitors must be deterred, I say man, you must, you must discourage their visits.

You were not welcome Lily, Katrina, Rita, Andrew, Gustav, and Ike.

You may have had your way with us but one day your followers will not.

Be Gone, Be Gone you woeful makers of lives.

Be Damn you.

Damn you.

Natures Voice

It is but with nature that one is truly alone if he desires.
Their are voices in nature that one may hear if only nature is allowed to whisper its timeless treasured voice of reason.
The reason of existence, acceptance.
Its voice rings silently the tone of the seasons.
In Spring it is rebirth, in Summer it is joy, in Autumn it is sadness and in Winter, oh yes the cold, bleak, frigid days and nights of old man Winter, it rings the tone of death.
One may see that mans life is of but the tones of nature.
No more and no less.
He begins and he ends only to begin and end again, and again, and again...
You see this day I visited nature, me and nature together, alone, nothing more.
Nature spoke in the tone it knows only as Winter.


" Do not be fearful my child, it is only death.
Death may bring new life.
Nature is never wrong, only man is wrong.
Come listen with me.
Hear the sounds of death.
They are but beauty no less than the others.
It is frigid this day my child, bundle up as you come with me.
Hold my hand, don't be afraid, death in nature is but natural.
Listen, listen well as the lessons of life and death are revealed.
I say hush, sh sh sh .
The voice comes.
Did you hear it?
Listen carefully!
Hear the sounds of death.
Feel the stillness of solitude.
Feel the chill of the melancholy wind as it blows through the barren trees with frowns on their bark along the bayous edge.
Feel and listen to the falling snow so white against the shroud of gloom encircling us.
Run my child, run back to the warmth of your home.
You shall return to it one day, one day when you will understand Natures Voice.
It will always be the same, never changing, never erring, no never erring like the wickedness of man.
You see, nature is perfect my child and man is not-death. "