Gumbo Weather

When the weather turns cooler in southern Louisiana, folks start licking their lips and mumbling something about it being "Gumbo Weather."

So I went in search of the Perfect Gumbo talker, not recipe, as thems is fightin' words among Cajuns - who each have their own favorite Gumbo recipe.

Someone who knows something about something AND can talk or write about it in a simple yet engaging way has a rare gift.

Sarah Savoy, daughter of Marc Savoy of Eunice, Louisiana, is just such a person, and it is she who speaks from here on (thank you, Sarah):

"It's not the easiest task in the world to get recipes out of someone who doesn't use them. I got these from my dad and had to make them myself many times to figure out the exact measurements.

"They taste right to me, and after 22 years of eating his cooking, I think I can consider myself a pretty good judge. Just keep in mind that the number one rule in Cajun cooking is, as Gil Young says, 'TASTE AND ADJUST!'

"Okay, so summers are often too hot to really want warm soup for dinner. My dad makes this year round. He doesn't care. It's one of the best dishes you can treat yourself to. We can expect him to make a gumbo at least twice a month during the cooler months.

"Often, on Saturday mornings, he'll invite his friends from the Savoy Music Center Saturday Morning Jam Session to head up to the upstairs quarters of the store to have gumbo, baked sweet potatoes, and maybe some potato salad.

"This is another dish that is fun to cook outside. If you have a very large pot, invite a lot of friends for your Cajun feast. Sit around and drink beer, play music and talk while your gumbo is cooking. Serve it with cold beer or cola."

"We normally make a two-gallon gumbo for our family of six. It keeps well in the refrigerator or freezer.

"Let's start with roux. This is available in many stores. My dad used to make his own, but now, because it's easier, he buys Savoie's dark roux in a jar (no relation to our family). Those rare moments I can find the time and patience, I like to make my own. I find there is only a subtle difference in the taste, but some people will disagree. This takes a little practice."

• 1 part white flour
• 1 part vegetable oil (Don't use olive oil, though; I tried it with olive oil and it made a pretty bad gumbo.)

"Heat the oil in a large skillet (lucky you if that skillet is cast iron!) over medium heat. Add the flour gradually, stirring constantly. You will need to stand over the stove stirring this the whole time. The roux is ready when it is a chocolate-to-coffee shade of brown, depending on your preference.

"The length of time will vary depending on the type of pot you are using and the level of the heat under your pot. It is important to know that in a heavy skillet, the roux will continue to darken once you have removed it from the flame. Allow the roux to cool almost to room temperature. You can put the cool roux in a jar and keep it in the refrigerator.

Now, on to the gumbo!

• 2 gallons water
• 4 Tablespoons roux (more if you want it thicker and richer, and vice versa)
• 1 bell pepper, chopped
• 6 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 whole chicken cut up
• 2 large onions, chopped
• 2 pounds sausage (We use garlic pork sausage from LeJeune's Sausage Kitchen in Eunice and all who have tried it are willing to argue that it's the best. I truly recommend you treat yourself and your friends to this. Otherwise use whatever good firm sausage you can find. Many people use deer sausage or andouille when these are available.)
• 1 bunch scallions, chopped, tops only
• 1 bunch parsley, chopped
• salt, black pepper, cayenne

In a very large pot, boil two quarts of water. Once boiling rapidly, add and dilute roux. STIR! STIR! STIR! When the roux is diluted the mixture will begin to foam up rapidly. CONTINUE TO STIR!! Add the rest of the water and stir more. Add the onions, bell pepper, garlic, chicken, sausage, salt, black pepper, and cayenne.

Cook over medium-high heat until tender. DO NOT COVER.

Boil rice.

5 minutes before serving add scallions and parsley. When the five minutes are up, remove the pot from the heat.

"Some people like to add filé powder. We do not use it. If you choose to, use about a half-teaspoon per bowl. If you choose to serve the gumbo with potato salad or baked sweet potatoes, put them in the bowl with the serving of gumbo. Some people also eat gumbo with saltine crackers. It s all a matter of what tastes good to the person eating it.

"Also, the meat that goes into a gumbo all depends on what you like. You can make rabbit gumbo, duck gumbo, squirrel gumbo, deer, wild boar, etc. I've heard of meatball gumbo, also, although I've never tried it. I've also heard of people using nutria, raccoons and opossums. I haven't had these meats, either.

"Then there is gumbo vert, also known as "gumbo des herbes." This is made with mustard greens and other vegetables. You can leave out the sausage.

"No two families make gumbo alike. Figure out your favorite recipe. Enjoy!"

Cool Thang

Part of Heaven on Earth is eating a perfect Sno-Ball.

As you can plainly see at left, someone with a perfect Sno-Ball will deign to look at you if you speak to them, but that will NOT deter or delay them from opening their mouth and placing their lips, teeth, and tongue (and just maybe the tip of their nose) on that cool, crisp surface, then gnoshing down into its mushy melange of sweetened ice crystals.

Paying full attention to you can wait (duh).

Nothing I write about this subject will come anywhere close to the actual experience. In that way, eating a Perfect Sno-ball belongs to that same sublime slurry of subjects such as

- getting a good night's sleep
- taking in a spectacular sunrise or sunset
- playing with a baby who can play back
- touching a surface you love with your fingertips as you think about why you love it
- seeing the face of a loved one after not having seen it for awhile
- feeling a sustained rush of wind at the change of seasons - like now
- hearing a song and getting a lump in your throat due to a remembrance tied to that song
- smelling a favorite dish from your childhood that grandma made and tearing up just a little as you taste it slowly
- and the crown jewel of this category : making love

More on those subjects another time. Now, as summer fades, I wish to praise the perfect Sno-Ball.

1. Perfect Sno-Balls are yours to eat. If someone else has a sno-ball they think is fabulous, but either won't share it with you or won't tell you where they got it, then it's not perfect. This is an oft-overlooked rule. Do all you can to make a Perfect Sno-Ball yours.

2. Perfect Sno-Balls are created from light-as-a-real-snowflake ice crystals and are gently sweetened, not syrupy sweet. Their consistency closely mimicks what they are named after: Snow. They not only don't weigh you down in any way, but they are so light and fluffy that you also have to keep watching that they don't fly off into space or into someone else's mouth. I am not kidding. Now I am a big boy - I don't cry over "spilt" milk. But should I drop or spill my Perfect Sno-Ball, I will cry. Sharing is fine, but only with someone whom you love and who loves you back very much.

3. Perfect Sno-Balls are good for you. You will feel better after eating one, no matter the set of circumstances you find yourself in just before you eat it. They will make almost any situation better. The calories they contain are negligible, and , in fact, it has been proven that you will lose weight if you eat nothing but Perfect Sno-Balls (ask any nutritionist). So why stop at one? (this is what is known as a rhetorical question - please don't flood me with answers)

4. Perfect Sno-Balls are accessible without being omnipresent. You can find them if you look for them, but they are not everywhere. You are blessed if your town has a place that makes them (but PLENTY of places make "just OK" sno-balls, so go out of your way and keep looking for a Perfect Sno-ball). If you find a place that makes Perfect Sno-Balls, share that information with everyone you know, even your vilest enemies. In this way the maker will be able to afford to stay open, which is a must - for the future of mankind. Email me immediately (funburn@gmail.com) all places that make Perfect Sno-Balls of which you are aware.

5. Perfect Sno-Balls in my corner of the world: Hansen's Sno-Bliz at 4801 Tchoupitoulas (just a few blocks west, or uptown, of Napoleon Avenue) in New Orleans. Being a block from the Mississippi River in Uptown, Hansen's was not at all damaged in any way by the hurricanes - do you really think that God is THAT CRAZY ? Have Some Faith ! Perfect Sno-Balls did not only evolve - they were intelligently designed !

Sporting Chance

Brooklyn Dodger Jackie Robinson Stealing Home

Baseball playoffs have begun, and I get heartsick. It happens every year.

Baseball, you see, is at the very center of my life. Its effect on me comes not only from the play of its reality on my very existence, but also from baseball-as-metaphor for many of my life's situations, circumstances, and, most centrally, attitudes.

Brief background: On April 5, 1948, my father appeared on the cover of Life Magazine as a Brooklyn Dodger rookie, and, as a direct result of his playing professional baseball, here I am (along with 17 other descendents, so far).

Mom and Dad met when he played first base and pitched for the Crowley Millers in the summer of 1950. He still holds several team and Evangeline League (south Louisiana) records from that 1945-1954 era of minor-league baseball (post World War II and pre-television).

When that 1950 season ended, Dad returned to Mobile, Alabama and was soon drafted into the Army for the Korean War. But before he left for basic training in Missouri and eventual stationing in Ft. Monmouth, N.J., he made a return trip to Crowley between Christmas and New Year's of 1950 and proposed to Mom. She accepted.

After our growing family of four (it would reach 10) returned to live in Crowley in February of 1954 (after Dad's discharge from the Army), Dad began a coaching career that lasted 20 years. He coached me and hundreds of other boys at every level:

Crowley's Minor League Dodgers (8,9), Little League Ricebirds (10,11,12 yrs old), Pony League Indians (13,14), Colt League Sox (15,16) and American Legion Millers (17, 18). He coached a couple of years before and after I played for him at all of those levels.

His teams always won the pennant or finished second. I was very proud to play under him, as his knowledge and "feel" for the basics AND sublties of the game were legendary in our town.

He "looked" the part too, being the only manager who wore a complete baseball uniform (with spikes) as we players did. You could plainly see the admiration in the eyes of the hundreds of boys who played for him, and how they adored playing for a former professional baseball player.

I never could hit a baseball as well as Dad could, so my 11-year baseball career ended after my freshman year at LSU, where I played shortstop on the LSU Junior Varsity team. After that 1970 season, I gave up the dream of playing professional baseball, and headed in another direction.

But baseball was and still is never far from my mind or heart. Perhaps that's because the life lessons baseball teaches are many and varied.

1. Team first. Individuals may win all sorts of accolades for their stellar play, but the championship is the thing. I was always proudest when my team was crowned champions, despite what kind of season I had personally.

2. Never give up. Baseball, unlike almost every other sport, has no time clock running. You have a chance to win the game until that last out in the ninth inning. In fact, some of the most memorable games in which I played were come-from-behind victories.

3. You don't have to be near-perfect to be great. The BEST hitters fail to get a hit two-thirds of the time. You can swing and completely miss the ball TWICE in each at bat and still you have one more chance.

4. The entire season and/or entire career (like life) is what counts, not temporary streaks of either good or bad performance. Sometimes a small adjustment, the smallest of details, will turn around a poor string of performances on both the team and individual levels.

5. The very best players are good sports both on and off the field, and they continue to learn from older players/managers/coaches and also offer to teach younger players.

6. Risk-taking based on a solid understanding of both the game and your talent is encouraged and rewarded. Crazy risk-taking based on nothing more than adrenaline and testosterone earns you a quick trip to the showers.

7. Baseball requires skills that are not learned or mastered quickly. It takes years of dedication and discipline and continued practice. That "natural touch" you see at the pro level was initiated in the player at age 2,3,4,5, when a father placed a small bat in the hands of his son and encouraged him every step of the way.

Look at Michael Jordan (basketball), Bo Jackson (football), Deion Sanders (football), Dave DeBushchere (basketball) or ANY other top-level athlete who mastered another sport at All-Star caliber but who could NOT translate their talent to baseball at anywhere near the same level of success.

Lesson: Baseball requires more different kinds of skills from an athlete, performed at a higher level of competence, than does any other sport. It has often been acknowledged that hitting a pitched baseball is the most difficult challenge in all of sport.

Dad used to tell me that three things are needed to acquire those skills: Practice, practice, practice.

8. Numbers, consistent numbers, are used as important gauges of success in baseball, and it's the unusual fan who can't rattle off his favorite players' statistics. But players and coaches know that numbers only tell part of the story.

9. At the bottom of all discussions about great players is the issue of "heart." The greatest baseball players had it, and everyone knew who they were and who they were not. Heart, dad always reminded me, was desire translated into clutch performance for the team's sake.

That's the best life lesson I learned from my father, and from baseball.

As I enter the sixth inning of my own life, one phrase still rings true in my ears and echoes in my heart:



Play Ball !

Stretching

A Feeling of E x h i l e r a t i o n is a Major Effect of Stretching

Stretching creates so many feelings inside, on, and outside my body and mind and heart and soul, that its lure is irresistible to me.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but stretching, in its many forms, is one of those actions that is at once necessary to a high quality of life and, I will argue, so full of fun and fear (and then overcoming that fear) that exhilaration is merely one of the many feelings it conjures up.

Let's start with the physical body. If you have never taken a yoga class - run , don't walk - to your nearest ashram and ask about the best local place for yoga instruction. Then sign up for a class. You will never feel the same; you will feel better.

Let's continue to the mind. F Scott Fitzgerald said that being able to hold two opposing ideas in your head at the same time while still being able to creatively function was one sign of high intelligence. That takes some mental stretching, but you are likely to develop more brain power as one result.

Ah, the heart. We all know that feeling when love encourages us to stretch beyond what we thought was possible emotionally. We deepen our connections, gain a richer intimacy with loved ones, and emerge a more complete person.

Finally, the soul. I believe there's a constant tug-of-war between faith (which results in confidence) and fear (which results in cowardice). Stretching your belief system to more fully embrace faith (in yourself, in your God, in others) while respecting yet working through your fears can be one of the most liberating stretching exercises you will ever do.

One note: in the photo below, notice how a more experienced person is helping adjust a pose in one of her yoga students. So, too, in stretching of any kind, it helps (a great deal) to have a mentor. Find one.



Stretching : Life's prescription for facing your fears.

Take a deep breath and start Limbering Up !



P.S. This blog, in fact, began as an exercise in stretching. I was inspired to give blogging a try after having been a longtime reader of Poor Clio , a blog by James Edmunds.

James created the "hip" alternative newsweekly industry in southwest Louisiana (Acadiana) a generation ago with his short-lived but very influential tabloid-sized newspaper named The Spectator.

That lead to The Times of Acadiana, which later was sold to the local Gannett paper. Recently, those successors to James who created the ToA came back into the market and created a competing alternative, carrying The Independent moniker. It captures James' spirit, and I choose to view it as his legacy to Acadiana.

Interstitial

"This cat who lives, sometimes near us, prefers be-
neath the house,
She scavenges to make her way - she never
kills a mouse . . . "

I began that poem many years ago - as a child - and didn't finish it right away, as I recall, because I wanted to watch this cat some more before adding other thoughts and textures and senses (or, to use my phrase at that time : good words) .

I was reminded of this cat from my childhood recently when observing another cat doing the same thing : living in the interstitial spaces between other lives and homes in a neighborhood I frequent.

This present cat (I call her "Stish"), is all shadow and smoke: not only does she display shadowy colors of grays and blacks in sundry shades on her scruffy, short-haired coat,

but she also engages in shadowy behavior : now you see her, now you don't; now she approaches you in case you have - and can share - something to eat, now she skitters away when she judges that you don't or won't .

She obviously likes it this way; perhaps her very life depends upon it.

When I caught a glimpse of her recently, she was already watching me.

I have a habit of saving the juice from a can of tuna and pouring it into a bowl for her. Since I sometimes open the can outside, I feel that - if she's near enough to me at the time - she can hear the manual can opener working, and that sound acts as a Pavlovian "come hither" prompt.

She approaches me up to a certain point (8-10 feet), and patiently waits, exhibiting that "high catness" detachment that expresses perfectly the attitude: "Get on with it - 'cause if you won't feed me I will look elsewhere and pretty damn quickly, so - get on with it ! "

I can't help but grin and shake my head as I study her studying me - often lingering as I pour the juice into her bowl to see if she will ever express impatience; she never does.

AS soon as I retreat past a requisite distance, she's at the side of the bowl in an instant, lapping up the tuna juice.

Then she's suddenly not there.


I think I can finish that poem now :

She comes and goes in shadowlight - we never see her long,
She slips between the spaces where she sings her
daily song:

"Come feed me if you're so disposed, or leave me quite alone
My life is interstitially dependent
for its home.

I did not choose this life, it just evolved this way for me,
But now I can't imagine being any-
thing but free,

Since life is short and brutal and affection rare and sweet,
Dispense to me the latter and the former
you can keep. "

Perfect Day

October's fresh face and encouraging disposition has framed so many "Perfect Days" for me that I tremble with anticipation as it begins anew each year.

Though I know not what October holds for me this year, I can't help but smile.

That's because the simple remembrance of things from past Octobers often transports me into a quasi-meditative state of deep synchrony with everything around me.

This is diametrically opposed to what I feel at those times when - as Woody Allen joked - I chafe at being "at two with the universe."

I'm certain all of this "The Perfect Days of October" thing started because my hometown celebrates it annual harvest festival (The International Rice Festival (RF) in Crowley, Louisiana) on the third weekend of October.

The RF became my focus each year during the previous summer - when i would dutifully earn money I then earmarked for spending at the fair. You met your bestest friends and "best girl" there and luxuriated in spending time with them amongst the fall weather, the distractions of fun-but-crooked games, people watching, and the intoxicating smells and tastes of open-air cooking.

You were also lucky if - while you were spinning around on those dizzying carnival rides - you didn't lose those meals you ate earlier.

But by Sunday afternoon - you were left with a feeling of having just lived several "Perfect Days," and that was enough.

Those early, exhilarating experiences of a "Perfect Day" or "Perfect Moment" or "Perfect" anything captured and set into motion my imagination and focused my determination to have more of them ever since, and I continue to spend lots of time and energy creating them.

One definition of a Perfect Day that my mother "Sis" once mentioned to me was what she described as a triple wish come true:

You were doing exactly WHAT you wanted to do, exactly WHERE you wanted to be doing it, with exactly WHO you most wanted to be doing it with !

When you can add the WHEN and WHY parts in there as well, a Perfect Day can't help BUT occur !

This kind of "Perfect Day" is rare, however - for how often do we think / daydream about preferring to be somewhere else, doing something else, with someone else ? More often, I feel, than we are willing to admit.

Yet, there are people, events, and ". . . places i remember, in my life, though some have gone. . . " (as the Beatles sang) that echo in my heart still - whether it be from one, two, three, 11, 20 years ago and more - and those remembrances encourage me to create as many "Perfect Days" as I can.

Sometimes, I feel that that string of Perfect Days IS my life - or much of what I cherish most about it.

Rebuilding

Best Wisdom on the Rebuilding of Lives and Communitites : Begin !

"Rebuilding" dominates my thoughts and feelings and desires right now - involving almost everything in my life and in the lives and communities surrounding me.

My own life is certainly at one of those "watershed" moments.

Here's a trio of reasons : The death of our family's mother (I am one of eight siblings) in August, followed shortly thereafter by the devastation and disruption of my home state after two category 5 hurricanes struck within a month.

Any one of these events could have caused a paradigm shift in my life on its own; all three guaranteed it. But enough about me, as the old joke goes.

Rebuilding is also going to dominate so many lives in so many communities that surround me, far into the foreseeable future, that for once I feel right in step with the mainstream - a feeling I have seldom been host to in more than a half-century of life.

And one of the desires that runs strongest in me right now is to participate in that rebuilding as I ferociously rebuild my own life. A great place to start : a community where one of my siblings lives - which was in one of the areas most affected by the big wind and water wallop of both hurricanes.

My Brother John's home in New Orleans - July 2005
Here's my blog on rebuilding New Orleans

Funny - the initial feelings of apprehension & preparation before the storms were followed by

feelings of fascination and the relatively calm enduring of the storms themselves,

and finally the feelings of shock & sadness after the storms because of the utter completeness of the destruction wrought.

But now the "rebuilding" gene I must have has kicked in and the adrenaline is beginning to pump, accompanied by the excitement AND terror that often are mates to adrenaline - sorta like standing on the edge of that 10 meter diving board as a 10 year old: it's exciting and terrifying at the same time.

"Don't worry about those butterflies," a favorite mentor used to tell me, "that's normal. Just get 'em in formation !"

Without any doubt - it's time to dive in.

The Sweetest Thing

Autumn, perhaps more than anything else, signals
a seachange in the quantity and quality of the
wind. It not only blows more frequently, but
stronger and cooler.

On my walks, as I thought about the wind and all
the metaphors it is used for,this song (long a
favorite of mine)came to mind,
and suddenly, like a chill north wind blowing
through town at the tip of a front, it seemed
to symbolize both the power of the life force(God)
AND the sweeping changes just ahead for the
thousands of people displaced and/or damaged in some
way by one or both of the two hurricanes.

In fact, you can read this song as being about
the Hurricane-as-part-of-God, and the question
that's begged might be:

How does one gain, keep, or restore
faith in God before, during, and after
those winds blew, and could this song be
read as a paean to God ?

Tell me what you feel and think about this
observation. You can either email me
or simply add to the blog with the tools right
here on this page.

Catch The Wind

by Donovan

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In the chilly hours and minutes,
Of uncertainty,
I want to be,
In the warm hold of your
loving mind.

To feel you all around me,
And to take your hand,
along the sand,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch
the wind.

When sundown pales the sky,
I wanna hide a while,
behind your smile,
And everywhere I'd look, your eyes
I'd find.

For me to love you now,
Would be the sweetest thing,
'twould make me sing,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch
the wind.

When rain has hung the leaves with tears,
I want you near,
to kill my fears
To help me to leave all my blues
behind.

For standin' in your heart,
Is where I want to be,
and long to be,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch
the wind.

(1965)

Falling

Today the first whisper of fall reached the ears of southern Louisiana.

Oh, the FIRST day of September arrived with a whistle of cooler wind to replace the blasts than summer's furnace routinely delivered, but that flirtation with fall lasted only a few days and by week's end the mugginess had returned - not to be blown away until today - the LAST day of September (sigh).

This time of year, when the cycle of seasonal change is so welcome as a respite from the heat, also ushers in a new season of the soul.

I take longer walks. I ponder more. The frenzied pace of summer activities slows to the steady routines of of the season :

- school children's voices in the morning, waiting at the corner for the bus with squeaky brakes;

- the scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch of old men raking leaves on their too-manicured lawns;

- birds joining into flocks to either fly or forage more efficiently and in perfect synchrony;

- smells - especially those of food cooking and various kinds of wood, burning - become more intense as the air chills and brings air molecules closer together;

- sounds seem louder and closer as a result of the same phenomenon of physics, as my science teacher sister Jacqueline would remind me. I can more easily hear the church bells.

As a child, I loved all seasons wholeheartedly, finding in each one, many glorious reasons to enjoy life and exploiting every benefit each season offered.

Fall brought leaf catching and camping out and fairs and festivals and cozy sweaters and snuggling and warm pies and hearty gumbos and cups of rich, sweet, cafe au lait on the porch with grandma Lillian across the street - steam rising in curlicues from the frothy mix of cream and coffee.

As an adult, I find myself gravitating towards loving most that season that mirrors my age: fall. I still love catching leaves and camping out and fairs and festivals, and all those other reasons, too, plus a few more:

- I love seeing longtime friends and am touched by how age has softened not only their features, but their dispositions as well. It's always striking to me to see how my former girlfriends' and/or distaff classmates' faces have not changed hardly at all since I knew them as little girls, or young women, but perhaps my longfelt affection for them places corrective "lenses" on my eyes, as i am regularly startled by the sight of my own features in a mirror.

I am also heartened by the sincere camaraderie expressed by the guys, despite all of the rivalries and other rough treatment we foisted upon one another way back when. Forgiveness, or a bad memory, is a wonderful thing, as calendar leaves fall away.

In calendar terms, by the way, if we are "born" on the first day of Spring (Mar 20) and "die" on the final day of winter (Mar 19), then I am fully "fall" right now :

I'm Oct 6 if I live to be 100, Oct 28th if 90, Nov 25th if 80 (my father's age now), but Dec 29, a week into winter - if I only live to 68 (my father's father's age when he died).

So, time's awastin' ! Time to fully enjoy fall today !

Clarion Call

Their color (bright red) and shape (trumpet) seem to sound a loud and clear call that fall is here. The appearance in the community garden of the Fairy Trumpet was both a surprise and a joy. They sprung up in a dry, thin-soil patch of the garden near the street, and no one recalls planting them !

The hummingbirds and butterflies flirt endlessly, hovering nearby, and then suddenly, boldly, crossing that line from flirting to flaunting their attraction by searching the throats of the Fairies for nectar.

It's a sweet, colorful exchange to watch.

Gardens are legendary for their ability to take you away from worldly concerns and transport you to their own worlds of varied textures, colors, aromas, shapes, sounds, and the interplay of all of the life forms that accept their invitation to stay and enjoy.

Ours is no different - with one exception : we intentionally created a space for meditation. It's shady, hidden from the main view, and comfortable to plop down upon, right on the ground.

After just a few minutes of being fully there you are far away; that's the magic.

Time, like the hummingbirds and butterflies, wings away before you know it, but leaves the indelible stamp of calm, and the feeling of having been spent well.

Find your own garden to enjoy. Then prepare to be romanced there by all the life around you.

If you are adorned with a certain color, perhaps a butterfly will flirt with you.

Ties That Bind

Celebrating a birthday with family & neighbor/friend

AS I continue to work in the relief efforts following hurricanes Katrina and Rita (or KatRita, as one wag coined), more and more lessons are being taught to those who would learn.

Here's the most basic lesson, repeated and enlarged upon - as repetition is at the heart of most learning :

Neighbors for immediate help , Family and Friends for longterm relief.

Three days ago I mentioned how getting to know your neighbors better (and thereby forming stronger bonds with them) was the best single insurance policy for having help when you need it in an emergency.

I have personally seen this rule played out over and over again in the stories of those who lived through the two hurricanes that just ravaged Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas, and Alabama.

Today I add the natural corollary to that lesson: Forming strong Family and Friendship bonds is your best chance of getting longterm help quickly.

This next point may be controversial, but I have seen it over and over in these past few weeks :

Even among the very poorest of the poor (and to a greater degree among the other evacuees) - those who have lived their lives in a way that created and maintained strong family and friendship bonds did NOT have to rely on government help for very long, if at all !

As a relief worker who deals with evacuees every single day, I have noticed this common thread running through our relief efforts to help folks from every race and socioeconomic level.

The most help being given to house and feed evacuees is NOT being delivered by government - but by family and friends of those affected.

This is a powerful lesson.

Let's contact our family members and friends and tell them and also find a way to show them that we love them and appreciate their love and friendship.

Then let's do it again soon. And constantly.

THEY are our connection to the positive life force here on earth, period.

Power of Now

The photograph is of a special place near where I lived in the Columbia River Gorge of the Pacific Northwest. I enjoyed more than a few Shining Moments there.




This poem, brought to my attention through The Writer's Almanac, seemed especially appropriate today. Create, then enjoy, as many Shining Moments in the Now as you can. In fact, today marks the very first Shining Moment in my life : I was born on my father's birthday !

This Shining Moment in the Now

When I work outdoors all day, every day, as I do now, in the fall,
getting ready for winter, tearing up the garden, digging potatoes,
gathering the squash, cutting firewood, making kindling, repairing
bridges over the brook, clearing trails in the woods, doing the last of
the fall mowing, pruning apple trees, taking down the screens,
putting up the storm windows, banking the house—all these things,
as preparation for the coming cold...

when I am every day all day all body and no mind, when I am
physically, wholly and completely, in this world with the birds,
the deer, the sky, the wind, the trees...

when day after day I think of nothing but what the next chore is,
when I go from clearing woods roads, to sharpening a chain saw,
to changing the oil in a mower, to stacking wood, when I am
all body and no mind...

when I am only here and now and nowhere else—then, and only
then, do I see the crippling power of mind, the curse of thought,
and I pause and wonder why I so seldom find
this shining moment in the now.

Poem: "This Shining Moment in the Now" by David Budbill, from While We've Still Got Feet © Copper Canyon Press. Reprinted with permission.

Garden Beauties

Even in the midst of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, the community garden - in which I spend blood, sweat, and tears - continued to flourish.

In preparation for the high winds, I'd staked down (with coat hangers cut to fit) the princes of the place: the pumpkins, and their vines responded by continuing to grow about six inches a day, even during the storm.

We have pumpkin flowers now, as you can see, the males peacocking out and spreading their five petals in that familiar, lush orange tint, and the females forming a more vase-like shape with the slight bulge of the baby pumpkin just below the base of the flower - see?



Bees will handle the rest, and voila !

With continued hot weather (which pumpkins love), we'll have a string of the orange squashes by All Hallows Eve. Already, neighborhood children are all atwitter with the rumor of actual pumpkins growing in their neighborhood !

My grandfather "Acie" would be proud.

Relief / Releaf

The highest-quality relief work down here - for both Katrina and Rita - is being done by private citizens. This must be a universal rule of disaster response.

No matter FEMA; no matter the Coast Guard; no matter the National Guard or the US Armed Forces; no matter the State of Louisiana; no matter The Red Cross; no matter the Salvation Army; no matter the Sheriff, or Mayor, or Parish President, or United Way, or newspapers or TV stations or radio stations or churches - although each of these institutions provide valuable, life-saving help at times.

From my perspective as someone who has lived through plenty of these disasters, and who has worked on the front lines of disasters as a volunteer relief worker, a television reporter/anchor, a print journalist, a school teacher, and a member of local government,

I want to first praise - before any of the aforementioned sources of help - the remarkable resilience, patience, resourcefulness, tirelessness, and all-around loving concern that everyday people bring to a disaster.

Lesson? Get to know your neighbors better than you know them now.

They are your best insurance policy, period.

Hurricane Alley / Ally

Hurricane Katrina in the Gulf of Mexico
Credit: GOES 12 Satellite, NASA, NOAA

We who live on the Gulf Coast of the United States love life beyond all reason.

As we Cajuns like to say : "Come see, and enjoy being unreasonable with us." Or as my maternal grandmother Lillian softly suggested : "To love life, love many things."

Hurricanes are just another "thing" to love, so we do, in a matter-of-fact way without guile, pretension, or worry. We can see hurricanes as not only our bete noirs, but also our allies, by providing much-needed rain and many opportunities to improve our quality of life.

In upcoming entries, I will share feelings, thoughts, and stories that reflect a philosophy of life that espouses neither a predominantly right-eyed (conservative) nor left-eyed (liberal) way, but rather a 3rd Eye's perspective.

Stay tuned and buckle up. It's going to be a thrilling ride.