Lorraine and Harvey's Garden

Several years ago when it was time for me to head out into the world and find my place in life, one of the things I had trouble with was being true to myself. There were so many things I didn’t understand, and it terrified me and caused me to make major decisions without much thought. Over time, I suffered from the effects of sudden change, until I realized that I needed to set goals and not be afraid of hard work if it was something that I truly wanted. This week I visited Lorraine and Harvey Broussard of Forked Island, who have learned similar lessons, and taught me others by sharing their own version of a garden.

When I pulled into the driveway of the Broussard’s home, Mr. Harvey was mowing the yard and Ms. Lorraine was tidying up in the garage. She hugged me as soon as I got out of my car and told me it was good to see me again. I had spent many of my high school days at their home because of a great friendship I had with one of their daughters, Dana.

“Did you make Mr. Harvey mow the yard because you knew I was coming to interview you about your garden?” I asked.

“No,” she laughed. “You just happened to come on his mowing day.”

She invited me inside her home to sit down and then asked me why I wanted to interview her. I had gone to her house a few months before and noticed that in addition to several plants and flowers throughout the yard, she had a greenhouse. I had always loved walking through the structures because the plants seemed to be enjoying themselves like they were at a horticultural ho-down that was by invitation only.

“You have a greenhouse,” I told Ms. Lorraine. “That’s pretty unique and I’m trying to interview people with something a little special in their garden.”

Unfortunately Ms. Lorraine’s greenhouse was empty, because being that it’s summer, she moved everything out and planted it in the yard. However, she did show me some great pictures of flowers, plants and vegetables she had grown in the green house, which reminded me of another exclusive plant party which I hadn’t been invited to.

“About 95% of the plants in my vegetable garden and yard are from seeds and cuttings I grew this winter,” she said. “That’s what I enjoy most. Creating life.”

Mr. Harvey walked in and told me hello, and leaned against the back of a chair. I told him that I was there to interview Ms. Lorraine about her garden, and then wondered if I was mistaken about the true owner.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Whose garden is it?”

“Well,” Ms. Lorraine said. “It’s his yard, my greenhouse and our garden.”

We walked around outside so I could take a few pictures, and I realized that the Broussard’s garden wasn’t limited to a small square patch of cucumbers, okra and bell peppers. It was their entire fenced in yard, which seemed to be around four acres in size. The property was landscaped with an assortment of trees consisting of Cypress, Magnolias, Pecan and Sycamores.

“Do you get a lot of birds?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” Ms. Lorraine said. “Look above the trees at what Harvey built.”

I looked around the skyline and noticed several anti-bellum style bird houses with scenic views of the surrounding landscape. Ms. Lorraine told me that hundreds of Purple Martins lived in them, and she enjoyed hearing them chirp and sing while she was working outside. But many of the birds seemed to prefer the lower lying amenities of the Broussard’s yard, which were flowers, fountains and statues spread throughout the property.

Ms. Lorraine said the greenhouse had just been built in Fall of 2007, and I asked her what she’d learned from the experience of working in one. She told me that people had warned her of how hard it would be to maintain, and that they were right.

“It’s important that you set goals and love what you’re doing if you want to succeed,” said Ms. Lorraine. “I told myself that I would donate the vegetables I grew to the church for its annual fete. Every time I felt tired or discouraged, I thought about my goal and continued to work.”

But Ms. Lorraine told me that she enjoyed every minute of being in her greenhouse. She liked to turn on her radio and travel to her own world, which in her opinion was the best medicine to cure a bad day and to lead a happy and healthy life. Ms. Lorraine said she’d learned from her mistakes like one she’d made with her Bleeding Heart, which she’d put inside the greenhouse during the winter.

“This Spring it didn’t bloom as full as it usually does,” she said. “I think it needed to grow dormant and rest before it could come back to its fullest potential. Not all plants are the same, and you can’t make them something that they’re not.”

I asked Ms. Lorraine if she had any technical advice for someone with a garden. She said that her Grandma Des had told her to throw soapy dishwater on roses to help get rid of insects and disease.

Although I had gone to the Broussard’s home to interview Ms. Lorraine about her greenhouse, I realized that I had stumbled up on something much more. I had found a place where a couple worked together to create their own version of garden, and used it as a guide to help them live the life they imagined.

Being on the Broussard’s property reiterated many of the tough lessons I’d learned out in the world, (Except for throwing soapy dishwater on roses) and taught me a few others. I learned the importance of being independent, but also of appreciating the value of help from those you trust and love in order to create something much larger than a four acre yard with vegetation and a greenhouse. Lorraine and Harvey had created a haven, which illustrated the beauty of learning from mistakes, having goals, and being true to one’s self when pursuing a life of happiness.

Cool and Fresh in Henry

A few days ago I decided to try and beat the heat we’ve been having by packing an ice chest, and driving my mother and nephew, to the community of Henry. They were both familiar with the area and helped me navigate through the bayous and green sugar cane fields to the Circle V Market. I was in the mood for a hamburger, and I figured they had the freshest.

“We grind and season the beef and pork for the hamburgers and boudin right here,” said owner, Jonathon Le Blanc. “And we offer a couple of different poboys at lunch with sausage we make ourselves, like the chicken, and the mixed beef and bacon.”

I had never heard of a beef and bacon sausage poboy, but it sounded genius and I wondered if others were aware of Jonathon’s creation. I had my answer a few minutes later when trucks began driving up both entrances to the Circle V. Before I knew it, the market was filled with workers from the surrounding area, and some from as far as Abbeville.

I decided that we would take our lunch to go instead of eating along the bar or at one of the tables, because I knew my brothers and sisters would never forgive me if I let my mother find a boyfriend at an actual meat market. So we told Jonathon and his staff Britlyn, Claire and Charlie good bye and drove a couple of miles down the road to the peaceful and serene Bancker Grotto.

After reading a plaque at the entrance of the shrine, we walked up a stone path lined with large crosses, and sat on a bench underneath a cool and shady oak tree. The grounds were surrounded by lush palmetto filled forests, cemeteries and the banks of the Vermilion river. The water looked clean and refreshing and I suggested to my mother and nephew that I might take a dip.

“Don’t swim in there,” my mother said. “You might get bitten by an alligator.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said. “But I have a feeling it might do more than just bite me.”

I wanted to know more about the grotto, and so the three of us loaded up and drove over to the Henry Church to speak with a young lady named Linda Choate.

“The shrine was been built in 1935 by Father De Vos to honor Our Lady of Lourdes,” said Ms. Choate. “It’s been through a lot of bad weather over the years, and was restored by Father Stemman and Barbara and Teddy Le Maire in 1996.”

I had never been to the Henry church and was glad we’d stopped by, because I found it architecturally interesting due to its brick bell tower and three separate roofs which create a stairway effect leading up to the sky. On the interior, sun poured through the large stained glass windows creating walls of green illuminated crosses.

We had one more stop on our trip and so we thanked Ms. Choate for her help and drove about mile up to Don’s Boat Landing, located on the Boston (not pronounced like the city is Massachusetts) canal. I was greeted by the smile of Flo Romero, the mother of Tony Romero who along with his wife Norma, own Don’s. Ms. Romero told me that many people who hang out at the landing didn’t even own a boat.

“Some people just come to play pool or cards or listen to music,” she said. “A lot of people wait for the shrimp boats so that they have the first and freshest choice of the catch.”

Ms. Romero said her son could tell me a little bit more about the place, and called him up. He told me that sometimes he has live musicians play, and hosts different fishing rodeos, like the Don’s Boat Landing Fishing Tournament this September 5th, 6th, and 7th.

“I love meeting the different people who come to the landing,” said Mr. Romero. “I’ve met people from all over and even a guy from England.”

While I was on the phone, a gentleman walked in who looked very familiar to me. I recognized him to be Cowboy, someone I had met at the Museum Café when I’d gone to Erath a couple of weeks before. I told him hello and asked him what he was doing there.

“I like to make my rounds around the area,” said Cowboy. “I want to make sure I share my company with everybody.”

When my mother, nephew and I stepped out into the parking lot to walk back to our car, I felt a cool breeze from the Boston canal. It occurred to me that although I had gone to Henry with hopes of spending time with my family and learning new and interesting things, I experienced something much more. I had found a community filled with natural landscaping, friendly and familiar faces, and places to buy the freshest food around.

Sandy's Garden

Summer is obviously here, because I not only have mosquito bites covering my arms and legs, but I also break a large sweat just from walking from my front door to get the morning paper. I’ll admit, it’s not my favorite time of year, but one good thing about it, (besides snow cones and pool parties), is that all across Vermilion Parish, people are enjoying their outdoor space.

A few months ago, I threw together what I thought could be considered a garden by planting some flower seeds, hanging a few ferns, and asking my brothers and sisters to chip in for a cypress swing. I’d spent most of my childhood in that backyard and decided it was time I reconnected with it. I wanted to create a place where I could read, or my mother and I could sit and watch the cows and horses graze in the pasture behind our house.

Our yard is wide open, and so I decided to build a fence to make it feel a little more private. When I buried the last post, my mother walked up to me and asked what I was doing.

“I’m making a garden for us,” I said. “I think it would be nice for us to sit out here sometimes and talk.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You know it’s going to be harder to mow now.”

I convinced my mother to let me build it anyway by telling her that I’d name it Julia’s Garden, and promising that I would push mow. Over the past couple of months, we’ve spent many good times sitting out there and talking about everything from whose getting married to how much money my mother made by selling aluminum cans she’d collected.

The other evening, we sat down in the section of the garden near the wooden fence I built. On one of the post, I hung a sign that had Café Julia written on it in blue and green paint. I sat on a bench, and she sat down on a cast-iron chair and told me a story about my father, which brought tears to my eyes and reminded me of how much I missed him.

“You know, Son,” my mother said. “I’m really glad you put these chairs here. It’s nice out this time of day.”

Then she looked around the yard and back at me, and said, “Just don’t plant anything else or you might have to pass the weed eater too.”

My mother was right about that one, and I’ve discovered that the gardening part of the garden is a lot harder to keep up than I’d realized. I’ve made many mistakes, but am eager to learn. So for the next few weeks, I’ve decided to seek out faithful and committed gardeners who are willing to share their advice. I’ll be visiting different types of outdoor space, and many of them won’t grow a single vegetable but will provide us with food for thought.

This week I’m visiting the home of my beautiful sister, Sandra Richard. I chose her because not only does she have one of the most natural and mysterious gardens I’ve seen, but she’s complained to me for the past thirty three years that when I was five, I broke her wedding china, and so I figured if I wrote an article about her we’d be even.

When I walked into her house to interview her, I saw an aluminum can poking out of the top of a trash bag. I took it out and then dug for others to bring to my mother.

“Oh, goodness,” Sandy said. “You and Momma have a problem.”

I told her that we’d made $12.50 in the last month but she didn’t seem impressed. Instead she told me that I should put the money towards therapy.

“Where do you go for yours?” I asked.

She brought me out to her backyard and turned around and said, “Here.”

In the center of Sandy’s garden stands a tall and mighty oak, whose limbs allow a shadowy draping of Spanish moss. A wooden fence, lined with hibiscus and rose bushes, surrounds the yard to create a sense of intimacy. Beyond the pickets of the fence is a fully-grown forest complete with cypress trees, which protects the space and makes its visitors feel closer to nature.

Sandy and I sat down at a table out in the garden, where I looked at the list of questions I’d prepared for her. I realized that I’d never interviewed someone who’d given me bottles and changed my dirty diapers, and wondered if I was being too formal. I wasn’t sure what story I was looking for, though. I knew I wanted to know more than just the technical elements of gardening, but I didn’t know where to start. So I just read the first question off of my list.

“What’s your favorite plant and why?” I asked.

“Hibiscus,” she said. “Because each one is unique and there are so many different varieties.”

I asked Sandy for a piece of advice when taking care of hibiscus. She said that a gentleman named Red Bernard had taught her to pour one gallon of water mixed with a tablespoon of Epson salt around the roots of the plant once a week.

“It makes the colors of the flower more vibrant,” she said.

I barely have time to water my plants as it is, so I doubt seriously that I will ever utilize the technique. However, I could see the positive results from the bright reds and yellows of Sandy’s hibiscus.

It occurred to me that my sister and I not only had different gardens, but different motives for them. I just wanted a place to read and visit with people, and would actually prefer it if someone else planted and watered for me. For Sandy, that is what she enjoys most about her outdoor space.

“Sometimes when I know it’s going to be a long day,” she said. “I get up a little earlier and come out here and work. It relaxes me and allows me to organize my day.”

That’s when I realized what story I wanted to tell. My time in Sandy’s garden made me understand that in a way, people are unique like hibiscus. We have a similar need to get closer to ourselves and understand the world around us, but we all approach it differently. We all have our own version of a garden, and in order to help it grow to its fullest, it’s important we create the right one for who we are, and encourage others to do the same.

About Being a Writer

One of the best parts about being a writer is having the opportunity to discover new places like the quaint and historic town of Jefferson, TX. But it’s not the cobblestone streets, antique shops and charming bed and breakfasts like the fantastic McKay House (www.mckayhouse.com) that makes Jefferson so great. It’s the people. If southern hospitality was a fast food, then the citizens of this town, super sized it. They smile and joke while they offer you assistance, and you can feel their warmth like a quilted blanket on a cold winter’s day.

I was there for a book signing at Beauty and The Book, the world’s only beauty shop and bookstore. Kathy Patrick created this little literary oasis because she wanted the opportunity to enjoy her two great loves in life; reading and doing hair. Someone had given Kathy my book while she was promoting her book, The Pulpwood Queen’s Tiara-Wearing, Book-Sharing Guide to Life. Kathy wrote to me and said she loved The Chicken Dance and asked if I’d consider going up to Jefferson to meet her book club. I checked out her website and was intrigued, and decided it sounded like a great idea.

My sister Kay was my co-pilot on this journey, and as we pulled into the driveway of Beauty and the Book, we were greeted by a woman with hair so blonde and beautiful, she would make Charlene Tilton jealous. She was wearing a black t-shirt with the words, “Got Wood?” written on the front in pink letters. (I’m wearing one just like hers as I type this.)

I recognized Kathy from her book cover and knew immediately that I loved her, and I just wanted to hug and squeeze her to make sure that she was real. But I felt timid like a dog and only shook her hand.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” she told me. “I’ve organized a chicken and egg themed potluck dinner for tonight in honor of your book.”

Although I draw the line at eating a chicken omelet, eggs and chicken separately are my two favorite foods. I felt really excited like I had won $15 on one of those little scratch off lottery tickets, and then felt a little ashamed that I was so excited.

So I put my head down and walked quietly into the world’s only beauty shop and bookstore. I looked around and noticed stacks of books in every corner and on every surface of the room. Some of the stacks had shampoo bottles on them, and others were leaning against hair dryers. And in one of the corners hung a leopard skin jacket covered in sequin and glitter.

“So this is what a beauty shop and book store looks like,” I said. “I don’t know why but I thought it would be different.”

Moments later, the rest of the book club showed up, all of them carrying some sort of chicken or egg themed dish. They were all women, and most of them were wearing pink t-shirts and tiaras, and some sort of accessory in a leopard print, like a purse or pair of flip-flops. I started thinking to myself, What is going on?

But then later that night while we were sitting in a circle, some of us on the seats of hair dryers, Kathy explained the history of the Pulpwood Queens to me.

“I wanted a place where we could talk about books, and just be ourselves,” Kathy said. “So we all wear tiaras, pink t-shirts and some sort of leopard skin accessory. That way everyone feels safe and is allowed to speak freely.”

I began to feel relaxed, and leaned back on the seat of the hair dryer. I watched the women laugh and share stories of their life, and felt so lucky to be a part of their evening.

This, I thought, is what I love about being a writer.

Finished Garden

Well, after a couple of months, I've finally gotten to a stage in the garden in the back of my momma's house that I think is close to finished. But, like life, I don't think this garden will ever be finished. I need to continue to maintain it and protect it against the elements. I hope you enjoy.

Take Care,

Jacques Couvillon from the back of his momma's house.

Work in Progress

Just wanted to give you a work in progress of my momma's back yard. When I started this project, I didn't really think it would be all that hard. Between the poison ivy, snakes, my momma asking me why I keep putting all that junk in her back yard and my brothers and sisters looking into committing me, it's been quite a challenge. I did get them to chip in for a cypress glider (kind of like a swing)for Mother's Day, so even though they think I'm crazy, they're being supportive. I know the garden still needs some work but I feel like I'm getting closer. It's a garden after all, which takes time to grow and flourish. (spelling?) Which I guess is kind of like life. You don't just wake up one day happy and fulfilled. You need to keep working at it and plant new things and experiment. And just like my momma's garden, even when you think it's finished, there's always going to be something else to do to maintain it. Enjoy the process and one day, it will pay off. I'm learning that all those years of struggling and torment and hating who I was, were part of the process of creating the garden that was right for me. I think that's what I'm learning while I'm building this garden. That and to always wear long sleeves when pulling poison ivy off of the oak tree in the back of my momma's house.



In this next video, I realized that I said, "These cats aren't adorable when you have to wipe their chicken crap off the bottom of your shoes." Don't know why I thought cats produced chicken crap but didn't have time to re-shoot.




In this next clip, I noticed I caught a shot of our dog, Buster, treating himself. Didn't mean to do that.

My Momma's Pump House

The Word

I just got back from the Arkansas Book Festival where I said the word, “prostitute” in front of Kimberly Willis Holt (National Book Award winner) and 9-year old children and their parents. Enough said.

I didn’t mean to say the word, “prostitute”. It’s not like I was taking notes on my presentation and said, “I should try to work the word, “prostitute,” into this. Especially if there are women and children present.”

It just happened, like when you’re trying to release a little gas and something else comes out. There is no easy way to clean that up. It’s there and you just have to be conscientious of it and try to move around as little as possible. That’s what it felt like when the word, “prostitute” came out of my mouth.

You see what happened was, I was trying to come up with a funny profession. I was explaining to the audience that my father was a farmer. When I first left Louisiana and told people my father’s profession, they usually asked, “A former what?” At first I thought they were making a pun and so I laughed. But then I realized that they thought I had said the word, “former” instead of “farmer”.

I still don’t hear the difference between the two but for some reason when I said my, “father was a farmer” when I was speaking at the Arkansas Book Festival on Saturday, I decided to explain that I was not saying the word, “former.” I thought I could turn it into a little joke and so I said, “He was a farmer like a cattle farmer. Not like a former something. I mean he wasn’t a former prostitute or anything.”

Again, I wasn’t trying to work the word, “prostitute” into my presentation. I was just trying to come up with a funny profession. Only I couldn’t think fast enough and so I said the first thing that came into my mind. And that word was, “prostitute”.

Now, Freud might say I have issues. Others might say I’m an idiot. And some may call me a pervert and dirty birdy. The truth is, I am none of these. I am a victim of watching, “Pretty Woman,” on TBS earlier that morning.

That being said, my trip to Little Rock was awesome. The people are so nice and the city itself is beautiful. And the design of the Clinton Museum is great. If you’re looking for a little driving getaway, I’d say definitely visit Little Rock during the spring. I don’t know what it’s like in the summer, fall or winter. I also stopped off in Hot Springs, which was another cool surprise. (Picture above next to Julia Roberts and Richard Gere.) It used to be a resort town and so there are some beautiful old hotels and baths. I used to go to thermal baths in Switzerland and they’re amazing. It’s just nice to be in water without chlorine or salt and it makes your skin feel great. I didn’t go to the baths in Hot Springs because I didn’t have time but I plan to visit again. I did make the mistake of trying to take a sip from one of the fountains of hot springs. I didn’t realize that the water temperature was 120 degrees and so I scalded my mouth and had big red mark all around my lips for the rest of the afternoon.

While at the festival, I met Kimberly Willis Holt. She’s a young adult writer and won The National Book Award for “When Zachary Beaver Came to Town”. It was so weird because she walked up to me when I was at the buffet line filling my plate up with some mini quiches.

She said, “Excuse me. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Kimberly. Would you mind signing your book for me?”

I looked down at her name-tag and saw, “Kimberly Willis Holt.”

I had heard her name numerous times before. Every time I walked into a bookstore, the owner handed me one of her books and told me that I should definitely read her books because she’s one of the best writers in all of Louisiana.

When I saw her name tag, I put down my plate of mini quiches and pointed at her and said, “But you’re Kimberly Will Holt.”

She smiled and said, “Yes.”

“Why do you have my book?” I asked her.

She presented it to me and said, “I’d like you to sign it.”

So I pointed at her again and said, “But you’re Kimberly Willis Holt.”

I couldn’t believe I was talking to her and that she wanted me to sign her book. It was surreal like when I went to see The Jacksons on their Victory tour. I couldn’t believe I was hearing the king of pop with my own ears.

But Kimberly is much cooler than M.J. She is the nicest woman in the world and was the highlight of a great weekend. Hope all of you are doing well.

Jacques

T-Bones

This is just video footage of my momma's back yard. I'm trying to fix it up a little so she'll use it more. The only time my momma every goes back there is to feed her cats or throw away pieces of fat that she cut away from packages of T-Bones.

She cooks T-Bones for me 7 times a week. I've never seen so many T-Bones in my life. We have our own cattle and I think my momma thinks she needs to eat every last one before she dies. There's two of us in that house but we have two refrigerators and three deep freezers. They are all packed with cheese, butter, packages of bacon, gallons upon gallons of ice cream, pork sausage, pizza rolls, pizza pockets, pizza snacks and pizza. Then stuffed in every crevice available are packs of beef, including T-Bones.

You remember that story in the bible about two brothers. And one of the brothers was very faithful to his father and the business. The other brother was a big partier and liked to hang out with the Paris Hiltons of biblical times. Anyway, that brother took his inheritance early and left town for Vegas. Then when he ran out of money, he went back to the farm and said, "Daddy! Give me some money." And then the daddy said, "Sure son, I'm so happy to see you. Let's kill our fattest calf to celebrate your return."

And then the faithful son said, "What is up with that? I've been kissing your backside for the last 10 years and you've never thrown me so much as a strip of bacon! And now this loser shows up and you're throwing barbecues?"

Then the daddy says something about I don't know what. I never got the moral of that story. I kind of agreed with the faithful son at the time. But now, I'm beginning to think I'm the other brother. The one that spent the inheritance. So I've changed my opinion of which brother was right. A calf shall be killed. And my momma seems to agree.

She kills an entire calf about every month. Do you know how big a calf is? It could probably feed an elementary school for three months. I know she doesn't eat it all because I know she gives our neighbor a couple of packs of rump roast to mow our yard. And I've seen my momma leave our house several times with big bags of meat. So I think she's decided to use beef as currency. I think the whole situation is adorable. And so I want to fix up my momma's back yard so I can sit there with her and talk to her and listen to what makes her tick. I have a good feeling that it's T-Bones.

my first thoughts

I know you're busy so I'll keep this short. I took pictures and I wrote down my first thoughts of them. I took the one with the rooster and the Starbuck's sign in Miami last week. The rooster's crow was what brought my attention to him. My first thought was, "Am I drunk?"

But then I saw a guy pick the rooster up and put in the front basket of a bicycle so then I thought, "Yeah, I'm drunk."

But then I stopped the guy in overalls, (see second picture) and found out that he was the rooster's agent, whose name was Mr. Clucky. Then he gave me a business card with Mr. Clucky's website, (Mrclucky.com) and told me that he also had a MySpace Page. At first it didn't surprise me when he told me. But then I was a little surprised that I wasn't surprised. You have to admit. A rooster with a Myspace page and an agent is pretty surprising. But I guess after living in New York, nothing is surprising anymore. Surprising. I just wanted to say the word, "surprising" again. Anyway, I guess I just thought it was weird because it's like I'm starting to see the difference between living in New York where nothing is surprising and living back in Cow Island with my momma who thinks it's surprising that Carla Montgomery (An African American newscaster) has straight hair.

She told me one day, "I have so much respect for that woman. She has white people's hair. How do you think she gets it so straight?"

I looked at her because that surprised me.

Then she asked me again, "How do you think she does it?"

I told her, "I think they sell chemicals that will straighten people's hair (I've used them myself and some are pretty impressive.)"

Then she raised her hand and said, "Well, it's none of my business."

She said the same exact thing the next night. I'm going to have to go and buy her a box of Dark and Lovely and do a demonstration on the few hairs I have left.



Now the other picture is of a Brinks truck that was in front of me at the ATM today. My first thought was, "That's weird. In the movies, they always back up to the bank and load the money in big bags. That's pretty inconvenient if they have to take it out through an ATM at a $300 limit each time. They'll never be able to fill up that truck. Oh, and I'm in a hurry. This shrimp poboy I just bought is starting to stink up my blazer (Chevy, not navy) and I want to make sure that I eat it while it's still hot because there's nothing better than a hot poboy."

So I got out of my blazer (Again, Chevy, not navy) and walked up to the truck and some guy jumped out with a bag and a key. He unlocked something on the ATM with the key and looked at me.

I asked him if he was going to be long and he said, "Probably. But there's another one in the bank."

I felt like asking him if I could just show him my ATM card and he could write my name down and give me $300. But he didn't look like he rolled that way.

Anyway, that's it. I would love to hear what your first thoughts of the pictures.

Peace, laughter and love,

Jacques

Thank You Crissy

I recently spoke at the Carrollton School of Sacred Heart in Miami, Florida. The girls welcomed me with warmth and made me feel like a movie star. The event was arranged by one of their teachers, and my good friend, Crissy Fano. I want to thank Crissy for everything she did for me this past week. Not only did she chauffer me around the city, but she also fed me, gave me a place to sleep and provided an opportunity to spend time with our best friend Heather and her two great children. So thank you, Crissy. You helped create a memory that I will never forget. You are an amazing person and your kindness and generosity contribute to making the world a better place.

The Picture

I called my mom yesterday to ask her to look through my mail and tell me if there were any checks. There weren’t any, but I did find out that I had the chance to win 10 million dollars, and all I had to do was fill out 72 forms over the next 2 years and somehow try to maneuver around getting roped into a magazine subscription for something called, “Pictures of Cats who Knit”. No thank you, Publisher’s Clearing House. I’m still paying for my subscription to, “How to Look Good in Shorts at any Age.” My 79 year-old mother read it the other day and is trying out some of the looks. Since I’ve moved back in with her, I’ve had to cut her toenails, pluck the hairs out of her chin, and sit in on her gynecology examination. I do not need to see her in a pair of cut off jean shorts and red cowboy boots.

Anyway, there was also a UL Alumni magazine that had an article about me in it.

My mom told me, “You want me to read it to you? There’s a horrible picture of you. You look so serious and old.”

I’m not exactly sure what picture she’s talking about, but I think it's the one above. I know I my expression is of a person trying to decide between paper and plastic at the grocery store check out line, but I ask you, what’s so bad about that? Are we supposed to take every picture like we did as kids? Like there’s some moron holding up a sock puppet and singing some song about Old McDonald and his goat?

And maybe I was thinking about something really insightful? Maybe I was solving some of the world’s biggest problems, like media coverage of Brittany Spears and Paris Hilton. And so what if I looked old. You know what mom, I am old. I’m 38 years old. At that age, you’d had seven children and an obvious lack of self-control. So it’s okay if my pictures don’t involve me sitting on Santa’s lap or laying naked on a fluffy pillow. And to tell you the truth, I’m not crazy about my smile. I have a big wide nose that I inherited from your mother, who I loved dearly. And I’m proud of that big wide nose. I just don’t want it photographed.

I love you mom, but when you look at that picture, you need to stop seeing your baby. You need to look deeper and see someone who considers himself the luckiest person in the world to have you as a mother. And this makes him so happy, that he becomes a little sad, because he doesn’t know how to express it.

By the way mom, some woman emailed me about that picture and said she found me very attractive. Granted, she was 75 years old, but she had all of teeth. I guess that’s it. Happy Easter Everybody.

Much Love,

Jacques

Planting Trees Behind my Mama's House

I've been crazy busy so I'm going to video blog a little here and there. Hope you enjoy.

www.

The Little Towns of Michigan

I’m sitting in a hotel room in a little town in Michigan as I write this. It’s 16 degrees outside and the ground is covered with a blanket of snow. However, the sun is shining and the landscape resembles a Norman Rockwell painting.

The reason I am here is because I spoke to students from Freeland, Bullock Creek and Vasser high schools. Speaking to people and having them ask questions about writing and my life is still all new and baffling to me. I can’t believe I just used the word, “baffling.” I guess that “Word a Day,” calendar is really paying off.

Anyway, this whole experience has made me think about what my life used to be like and what it might be in the future. I’m reminded of my days as a tie salesman and running up and down stairs at Ralph Lauren while wearing a three piece suit and carrying a pile of top coats in one hand and a silver tray with a glass of sparkling water in the other. The water was for an impatient customer who couldn’t understand why I wasn’t able to make it up four flights of stairs in three minutes without breaking a sweat or forgetting to put a lemon wedge on the rim of the glass. We weren’t allowed to sweat at Ralph Lauren, because we were supposed to look like we’d just stepped out of a magazine or the “After” picture on one of those make over shows. And after I would manage to do all of this in three minutes and fifteen seconds, without perspiring, the customer would usually down the glass of water and look at me like I was some mangy dog and say, “Let me know when these coats go on sale.”

Those were rough times for me and I spent almost every minute of the day wondering why I was putting myself through that torture. I thought taking a chance and trying to become a writer would never pay off, or that the reward just wouldn’t be worth it. But here in Michigan, I’m reminded that those days of sweat (or trying not to), and tears have paid off.

You see, the teachers at these schools took a genuine interest in their students’ future. They are not rich schools, but somehow found the money and time to have me speak. As I looked out at those students yesterday, who had hopes and dreams of their own, and whose innocence and desire to learn inspired me, I realized that running up and down stairs was a small price to pay. I applaud the teachers of these schools for their determination to make the intimidating and confusing world that teenagers live in, more enjoyable and rewarding.

So to writers, artists, musicians, teachers, philanthropists, environmentalists or anyone struggling to reach their dreams and to make the world a more tolerable and creative place, I am here to tell you that your fight will pay off in the long run. If you don’t believe me, just visit the schools, students and teachers amongst the blanket of snow covering the little towns of Michigan.

What's Funnier Than a Chicken Farm?

Okay, I'm cheating. I'm putting an interview I did with an online magazine because I've been crazy busy trying to figure out where my next meal is coming from and so I haven't had time to sit down and write. Now I realize why writers are so skinny. They don't have any money to eat. But that's another story. For now, enjoy the interview and I'll try to have some fresh material for you next week.


Jacques Couvillon: What’s funnier than a chicken farm?
by Nicole Haddad | 9 Dec 2007

In a moment of clarity, Jacques Couvillon quit his day job with the dream of becoming a writer and no clue how he would get there. Seven years later he is celebrating the publication of his first novel, The Chicken Dance, the story of a boy who finds overnight celebrity when he wins the chicken judging contest in his hometown of Horse Island, Louisiana. Couvillon took time out from writing the book’s sequel to answer some questions for That Other Paper writer Nicole Haddad.

That Other Paper:

When and how did you realize that you wanted to become a writer?

Jacques Couvillon:

I’ve known that I wanted to be a writer since I was 10 years old. I started writing stories, and in journals, up until I graduated from high school. By this time, I’d kind of given up the dream of becoming a writer, because I never thought that anyone would want to hear what a farm boy had to say. When I turned 30, I decided that I wasn’t happy, and since I didn’t appear to be getting any younger, I figured I should take action and change my life. And that is when I pursued writing seriously.

TOP:

You say on your website that the greatest lesson you learned from studying writing was not how to write, but what kind of writer you are. What kind of writer are you?

JC:

I’ve realized that I will never pour out beautiful prose like some of the greats. But I’ve also realized that it’s okay. I think some people like to read a story that feels like a conversation with a good friend. That’s how I feel most comfortable writing. I want the reader to feel like I’ve dropped all of the barriers, and I’m telling them my secrets in good old fashion, plain English.

TOP:

What are the best and worst parts of the writing process?

JC:

The best is getting started. The worst is getting started.

I love the thought of where a writing project can take me. But it is also very intimidating, because sometimes I feel like I might end up in a place that I don’t want to be.

TOP:

Describe your book, The Chicken Dance, in one sentence.

JC:

A zany, madcap, out-of-control, dark comedy about an 11-year-old boy whose life is turned upside down when he becomes the youngest person in history to win the chicken-judging contest at the Dairy Festival in Horse Island, Louisiana.

TOP:

Where does the title of the book come from?

JC:

It’s kind of a long story but I’ll give you the abbreviated version.

The book was the result of a two-page writing assignment in a class I was taking. The original story was called 'Dance' and was about a little boy whose mom made him dance in the middle of a grocery store. I put him living on a chicken farm simply because I thought, “What’s funnier than living on a chicken farm?” But once I began working on the book, I realized how much flavor — no pun intended — the chickens added.

Then it was just a process of thinking and trying new things. For a couple of months, it was called The Dancing Chickens. But as I wrote, I realized that the real story I wanted to tell was about how everyone has their own chicken dance.

TOP:

Where did you get your inspiration for the book’s main character, Don?

JC:

Don is the combination of the kid I sometimes feel like, and the person I always wanted to be.

TOP:

The Chicken Dance is marketed toward young adult readers. What do you think an adult reader can get out of reading a young adult book?

JC:

It’s funny you should ask that. I originally wrote the manuscript for adults but because I had an 11-year-old narrator, I sold it as a young adult novel. So I started reading young adult novels to scope out the competition. I was really surprised by the many adult themes that these books have.

I think most of them were written to help young adults deal with the many issues that surround them. But I realized that adults also deal with many of these same issues. I also benefited from remembering what it’s like to be that age. This helps tremendously when I’m trying to communicate with young adults.

TOP:

Who are some of the authors that have inspired you, not just in the writing of this book, but as a writer in general?

JC:

Well, of course, Judy Bloom. Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret helped me get through my teenage years.

I try to read a variety of different authors to learn about different styles. I think my three favorite have been Jose Saramago, Hans Ulrich Treichel, and Alessandro Bariccio. I find that they tell great stories in a non-traditional way.

TOP:

What is your favorite punctuation mark and why?

JC:

I would have to say a question mark, because every time a question is asked, there is potential for a new story to begin.

TOP:

You’ve lived all over the country, but you’ve said you hope one day to become a permanent Austinite. What draws you to Austin?

JC:

There are so many things I love about the city like the architecture, the nature, and those amazing oak trees with the spiral-like branches. But what I love most about Austin are the people. They have their own sense of style and encourage you to have yours. There doesn’t seem to be fear in people’s eyes of being judged because they don’t judge others. Everyone seems so confident and at peace. The city is an example of diversity living in unity. It is truly an oasis, where people respect each other, themselves, and the environment that surrounds them.

TOP:

Tell me about your next book.

JC:

I just finished the second manuscript and sent it to my editor. So this may change, but I’ll tell you what I’ve written so far. I send Don to summer camp. I wanted to get rid of all of his securities including his chickens, KC and the Sunshine Band, his best friend, his blue ribbon, his parents, and his pretend twin brother. While at camp, Don falls in love with an older woman. And for the first time in his life he speaks to African-American kids. They take him into their group and teach him how to rap.

The book is called Strut, and it is about listening to what our body is telling us. Again, all of this may change once my editor gets a hold of it.

Not Alone in The World

First off, Happy New Year everybody! Every year I buy a journal and make new resolutions. In addition to trying to exercise more and save money, I’ve also resolved to write more on this blog.

I apologize that I’ve been absent for a while. I’ve been crazy busy cleaning my room because my brother came down for Christmas with his girlfriend and her two kids. During all of this, I was trying to finish up my second manuscript. I had already had my agent look at it and we both decided that it needed a lot of work before I sent it off to my editor.

But I did finished the second manuscript, which is entitled, Strut,. I sent it off to my editor a couple of days ago, which is scary because I know she’s going to have a lot of criticism about it. I want her to be honest because I want to release the best book possible, but it’s still difficult when she marks it up with a red pen, because it was such a huge part of my life for the last year and a half. With every suggestion she makes, I feel like an idiot for not thinking of it first. And I feel like she’s going to start to wonder if she made the right decision by buying my book. I worry that she’s going to see me as some country boy who got lucky the first go round, and who doesn’t really know anything about writing.

And that’s kind of ironic considering when I was growing up in Cow Island, I never felt like a country boy. It’s no secret that I wasn’t as rough and tough as my brothers or the other boys I grew up with. I didn’t enjoy being outside in the rice fields and crawfish ponds and felt like an outcast because of it. Which is why I moved away to the city as fast as I could. But when I got there, I felt like a country boy because people made fun of my accent and the way I spoke, and there was so much I didn’t know about the world. Being back in Louisiana now makes me feel like I’m stuck somewhere in between. And I’m not sure how to handle it. It’s kind of tough not knowing where you belong in this world.

When I started writing this blog entry, I planned on writing a story about my momma’s dog, Buster. But somehow it turned into a journal entry. Which is okay because if you good people are willing to give up your time to read something that I wrote, then I want you to know who I really am.

I don’t mean to come off sounding like a crazy, ungrateful, depressed person. I am very happy and grateful for everything that is happening. I guess I’m just a little scared and overwhelmed about everything going on. But thankfully, my family and friends have been very supportive and encouraging. And there have been great people like you who want to know what I have to say and what I’m going through. Hopefully some of you can relate and now know that you are not alone in this world.

jacques

Vanesa

Being the youngest of eight children, I was always the last one to do things. I was the last one to ride a bike, the last one to shoot a gun and the last one to get underarm hair. I would have developed a complex, if I hadn’t of had my next-door neighbor, Vanesa, a brown haired girl, the same age as me. She was my equal and had done nothing before me. And I loved her for it.

But then one day, conflict arose in Eden, and we were no longer equals. I guess it started this one day when Vanesa and I were walking around her front yard shirtless. I don’t remember our exact age, but I think we were around 16. No, I’m just kidding. We were 7 or something like that. Anyway, Vanesa’s mom screamed at her and told her to put on a shirt. She’d never had to wear a shirt before, so we were both baffled at Vanesa’s mom’s response. Especially Vanesa, who threw a fit and then ran into her house.

The next day when I went over to Vanesa’s, she was wearing a shirt. I asked her why and she told me it was because she was a girl and her momma told her that girls had to wear shirts. I still didn’t understand, but for some reason it made me so happy and I felt so special that I didn’t have to wear a shirt and Vanesa did. It was the first time I felt like I was better than someone at something. It made me feel like a movie star. So from that day on, I never wore a shirt. Even in January when it was freezing outside, I didn’t wear a shirt. I’d wear a coat but didn’t have a shirt on underneath. And I soaked up the power like a sponge. I know you’re thinking, “This guy is crazy.” But you have to remember, I was seven years old at the time and having a shirt option felt like power to me.

And then one day the carnival came to E. Broussard Elementary and my reign ended. It happened at the hula hoop contest. I entered the competition because they were giving out trophy’s and I wanted one of those so bad. Unfortunately, I wasn’t even able to get the hoop one loop around me before it fell off of my thirty-pound body. I started thinking that it was humanly impossible and no one would ever be able to do it and that I might still have a shot at a trophy. But then Vanesa walked up and entered the contest and took home the first place trophy! I was so mad and jealous, that I went home and put on a shirt. It was like I’d surrendered. She had a trophy and I didn’t. That was way cooler than not having to wear a shirt.

So that afternoon I went over to Vanesa’s house and her parents were having a party to celebrate Vanesa’s victory. Well, I couldn’t handle that, so when no one was looking, I hid Vanesa’s trophy under her bed and then ran out of the house. A few minutes later, Vanesa and her cousin, Herbert came over to my house and searched my room for the trophy.

“I don’t have it,” I told them.

To tell the truth, I was kind of offended that she’d thought I’d stolen it. I was very religious at that age and didn’t curse or steal. Or smoke.

Anyway, so the next day, Vanesa told me that she found the trophy under the bed.

“I told you I didn’t steal it,” I said.

“Well, you put it under the bed,” she said.

I don’t remember what happened after that. We just somehow became friends again. I have never told anyone else that story because I was so ashamed of it. I’ve been carrying this guilt around for 31 years.

So, Vanesa, if you are out there, I am so sorry that I did that. The best times of my childhood were spent with you catching crawfish from the front ditch or playing in the forest by your house or jumping off your swing set to see how high we could get.

I never meant to hurt you by hiding that hula hoop trophy under your bed. I hope one day, you’ll be able to forgive me.

Peace, laughter and happiness,

Jacques

P.S. If you had looked further under the bed, you would have seen that sometimes I hid your homework under there, because I was jealous that you were faster and smarter than me. I had a lot of problems going on back then.

january 1, 2000

I find it a little ironic that now that I have almost 12 readers, I haven't been inspired to write anything. But I know I can't let you down. So, I decided to pull out an old journal. It's from January 1st, 2000. I was living in Chicago and I quit my job and was wondering if I was insane for doing it. The entry is below:

January 1, 2000

Oh geez. I quit my job. I can’t believe I quit my job. I’m in a café called the Kopi Café right now. I have a horrible headache. Last night was New Year’s Eve. We were so freaked out that the world was going to end when it hit midnight. So we all got really drunk just in case. I think that’s why my head hurts. I can’t believe I quit my job. I’m writing this in a notebook with a picture of Bambi on the cover. All the other journals were like $20 and I didn’t think I needed to spend that kind of money considering I don’t have a job. When I bought the journal, the cashier gave me this pitiful look like he thought I was freak-show or something. I don’t care. It was $3. So I think I’m moving to New York. I can either do that or go back to work and tell my boss that I changed my mind and then I can beg for my job back. Oh geez, this girl I can’t stand just walked in the cafe. She works for this advertising agency we do business with. I’m going to put my head down and pretend like I don’t see her. I know she’s going to ask what’s going on and I’m going to have to either lie to her or tell her the truth. I think I’m still too freaked right now to talk about it. Anyway, I quit my job because I hate it. I just hate it. It can be kind of cool sometimes but the thought of doing this in 5 years makes me sick. Oh good, that girl left without seeing me. I’m sure I’ll be able to find a job in New York that pays a lot more than this one. I might have made a mistake. Everybody keeps telling me how expensive it is in New York and how hard it is to find an apartment. I just know I’m going to have to live in an apartment without a dishwasher. I promised myself I would never do that again. What the hell was I thinking? I can’t go back to that uniform company. Everybody is going to know about it and they’re going to think I’m so dramatic. But I love Chicago so much. I don’t want to leave it. But I know I’m going to hate it if I go back to that place. I have to go now. I think I’m going to throw up.

My Review of This Week's Office

Last night's office had some funny parts but it was not one of their best. I think my favorite lines were from Meredith. "I've done some videos. I'm just not used to having so many people around."

I want to see more Meredith, Phyllis and Angela. I think the writers aren't sure what to do with Jim and Pam now that they're a couple. Nobody wants to sit down each week and watch cute interaction between the perfect couple each week. It will remind us of how many relationships we've messed up over the years.

I'm not sure I like the new Ryan yet. It seemed like a good transition at the time because his character was such a smart alec know it all. I'd like to see him fail soon to knock him down a notch. Maybe it's the beard that's bothering me. And he obviously knows Michael is an idiot. Why hasn't he tried to get rid of him yet?

Please provide feedback on this week's office and give me your favorite lines. That's what she said.

The Menstrual Cycle Lesson

This past Saturday (October 20th) was election day in Louisiana. My brother was up for re-election as Sheriff and won and will get to serve Vermilion Parish for four more years. Congratulations, Mike! But this isn't about him.

While I was at the election party, a friend, who happens to be a teacher, walked up to me and told me that I needed to go to her class and give a lesson on menstrual cycles. My friend, let's call her Mary, said that because of a chapter in my book, The Chicken Dance, I have all the boys at her school asking what a menstrual cycle is. One boy raised his hand in class and asked out loud. Mary told him to come up to her and she'd whisper it in his ear. But about half way there, he realized what it was and asked, "Is it what I think it is?" Mary said, "Yes."

Well, I think that story is hilarious and is one of the things that makes life so great. But to avoid future embarrassment for young boys everywhere, I am going to give you a few hints. If you don't understand what a menstrual cycle is after these hints, then ask your parents. One, it doesn't happen to boys. Two, it happens every 28 days. Three, some people call it the same word that is at the end of a sentence.

Those are all of the hints I'm going to give. For more hints, read The Chicken Dance.

Much Love,

Jacques

The Chicken Dance Commercials

Hey Everyone, (and by everyone, I mean the six people who read this blog)

Go to my website, jacquescouvillon.com and look for links to the three new Chicken Dance commercials. Enjoy and then pass around to your friends.

Thanks,

jacques

Shout Out to Erath Middle School

I spoke at Erath Middle School today and I want to thank them for being a cool group. Some of you said you liked The Office, so read below and leave comments about your favorite characters. When I get the pictures that were taken, I'll post them here or on my website jacquescouvillon.com

Also, need to thank Weston from Arkansas for making the banner on my blog. That's what she said.

Peace,
jacques

The Office Discussion

I just finished watching The Office which is becoming one of my favorite shows. If you've ever worked in an office before, you'll appreciate how realistic it is in a lot of ways. I thought I would check in with my viewers to see how many fans of the show there are. My favorite two quotes are:

When Toby says that all employees should disclose interoffice relationships to HR and Phyllis says, "Even one night stands?"

But my favorite is Angela: "I can be very fun. I like to play games. I dangle things in front of my cats."

I have to say my least favorite character is Michael Scott. I know this is going to cause some controversy but if someone would like to convince me to change my mind, I am willing to listen to them.

So viewers, let's hear your favorite characters and quotes from The Office.

Journal of My First Book Tour

Wednesday, October 10th, 2007

After I picked my mom’s dog, Buster, up from the vet because he got mauled but a large animal (either my brother’s dog, Hercules, or a cow), my sister in law Jessica drove me to pick up my rental car. Then I drove to Birmingham. I’m alone in a hotel room right now. Tomorrow I am going to drive to Nashville for the Southern Festival of Books. I guess you can say it’s my first official day of my first official book tour. Some days I wake up wondering if someone has figured it out. I wonder if they’ve realized that I’m a fake. That I’m not really a writer but a Cajun farm boy who managed to throw a few sentences together and fool enough people to get a book published. I just can’t believe it’s happening.

Thursday, October 11th

Drove to Nashville today. Seems like a nice city. I went for a 3 mile run. I walked most of the way. This summer I was running 4 miles a day without breaking a sweat. But I stopped for about 6 weeks because I hurt my knee and got lazy. My body is in so much pain right now. I’m getting old. Ordered room service and watched The Office and ironed my clothes for the next couple of days.

Friday, October 12th

Went for a longer run. Well, a longer walk. My body is really in pain now. My key didn’t work when I got back to my room. I didn’t have an ID so the front desk was reluctant to let me into my room. Thankfully I had a t-shirt on that said, “I support Mike Couvillon for Sheriff.” So they accepted that as proof that I was Jacques Couvillon. I think it freaked them out that my brother was a Sheriff.

Got a goody bag with a moon pie and a little bottle of Jack Daniels. A Mormon writer gave me her bottle because she doesn’t drink liquor. I was on a panel with Jack Gantos, who nominated for a National Book Award and Jeff Kinney, who was a New York Times Best Seller. It was so intimidating while I was waiting to speak. I thought about excusing myself and then going to the bathroom to drink the little bottles of Jack Daniels. There were about 25 people in the room including two nuns. Jack spoke first. He admitted that he used to be a drug mule and went to jail for it. Kind of made me uncomfortable because of the nuns. But I think everyone knew about it because he wrote a book called, “Hole in My Life” about the experience. Bravo to him for having the guts to admit it and write about it. He’s a really interesting guy. Jeff Kinney spoke next. I think he’s the nicest person I’ve ever met in my life. I read his book Diary of a Wimpy Kid a couple of days ago. It was awesome. I couldn’t believe I was on a panel with those two guys. Afterwards, we had a book signing. (Thanks to Karen Purdy for pictures) Jack had a long line. Jeff and I only had a few. It was cool to have Jeff there because I would have felt like an idiot.

That night I went to dinner with my publicist and some other writers. This one woman lost 170 pounds in one year. That’s how much I weigh. I couldn’t believe it. She did it with diet and exercise. She’s kind of a cool lady because she writes children’s books, romantic novels and works part time as a neurological scientist. Kind of makes me feel like I need to get on the ball. I think people think I’m crazy when I tell them that I’m trying to be a full time writer. I just need to keep reminding myself that it’s what I really want to do.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Couldn’t sleep last night. Look bad today. Almost didn’t check out in time. My clothes were wrinkled. I forgot my facial cleanser so I’ve been using soap. It made me break out. I look like a pimply teenager with a receding hairline and crow’s feet. Went to the wrong place for my panel. By the time I got there, Jeff Kinney had won them over. He had them laughing. When I spoke it felt like the quietest place on earth. But then I read a little and people seemed more interested. During the question session, everyone asked Jeff questions. He is so cool. When he finished answering, he asked what my experience was. When it was time for the book signing, a line of kids went up to Jeff. I went to the section where we were supposed to sign books. I only signed two. One was for a couple who was waiting for Jeff to show up. I convinced them to buy The Chicken Dance. They were from Louisiana and were in Nashville because the woman had a special antibody in her blood and was there to donate it because it cured other people. The other book was for a guy named Ed Sullivan who wrote a book for children about the Atomic bomb.

That evening I drove to Memphis with a writer, her three-year old son, her nine month old daughter and her mom. We stopped at a restaurant called The Log Cabin on the way. I picked the boy up and carried him on my shoulders. When we walked in the mother (writer’s mother) looked at us and said we made a handsome family. I wondered what it would be like if I had a family. I thought it could be nice and kind of felt a little sad that I was missing out on the experience. But then the son, Cal, poured milk all over the floor and cried because he didn’t have any more milk. Then the little girl started screaming. Everyone in the restaurant was looking at us. Especially a big, shaved head man who looked like that X wrestler who is now a governor of I think, Minnesota. That’s when I decided that maybe I wasn’t really the family type. Maybe I’m more of a loner. Is there anything wrong with that?

Sunday, October 14, 2007

I went to TGI Fridays for breakfast. As soon as I sat down I noticed a woman and a little boy about the same age as Cal. He was wearing the same shoes (crocs) as Cal but a different color. He bit into an orange slice and made a strange face and his mother laughed. It was really sweet but really weird because last night, Cal did the same thing but with a lemon wedge. He made a face and his mom laughed. When the little boy from TGI Fridays left, he turned and said, “Bye oranges.” It was really cute. Made me wonder if I could handle raising a child again.

Drove to a bookstore to sign books. It wasn’t an official signing. I just signed books for them to sell. I kept getting lost and irritated but finally found my way. I stopped in a neighborhood that some might not consider too safe. But the guy I asked for directions was super nice and got me there.

Drove into Blytheville, Arkansas. Spent the afternoon in my hotel room. Ironed my clothes and then ran to Taco Bell for dinner. Didn’t feel like eating alone in a restaurant again. Decided to let the TV keep me company. Can’t make a habit of eating fast food. I have to get up at 6 tomorrow and face 150 kids. Should be interesting. I am loving this life.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Went to a high school at 8 in the morning. It’s so weird to speak to high school students. I feel like I’m in high school again and it’s kind of scary to stand up in front of them. It was 150 students. Some of the fell asleep while I was talking. I kept wondering if they thought I was the biggest geek alive. I didn’t sell many books. I think they kind of liked it when I read to them. Some of them laughed. But I’m not sure if they were laughing at me or at the jokes. Nobody wanted to ask questions when I was finished speaking. The second group of high school students seemed more interested. No one fell asleep. I guess it’s going to depend on each group. One guy came and asked me to speak Cajun. It’s funny to think that people think it’s an entirely different language. They seem to like it though. That afternoon, I went to another high school. The drama teacher made some students dress up in chicken costumes and do the chicken dance for me. It was kind of funny. Then I went to an elementary school. They asked more questions. I think I like talking to middle school students more. They seem to be more interested. I guess I can understand. It’s hard being in high school. You’re constantly worried what people think about you. I’m not even in high school anymore and I was worried what they thought about me. Marvel from That Book Store in Blytheville drove me around to all of the schools. She was so nice. Mary Gay owns the store and she’s super nice as well. She told me that when John Grisham published his first book, he went to their store and asked them to sell his book and if he could have an event. They took a chance on him when no one else would. Now, he goes there every time he writes a book and signs all of their stock. Mary Gay said they usually sell around 2,000 copies to people all over the world because they know that the books are signed. Every time an author visits they let him/her sign a chair. It’s a really cool store. I hope I get to go back.

After the last school, I drove for 6 and a half hours in the rain to get to Monroe, Louisiana. After I ironed my clothes and ate some Wendy’s, I fell asleep. Well, I tossed and turned until morning.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

I had to get up at 5:30 this morning. Betty Joe (the coolest woman in the world) from Windows, a Book Shop, picked me up at 6:30 to go to a radio interview with a guy who was kind of a shock jock. He was pretty cool but spoke so loud and I was still half asleep. I could barely speak. The next interview was with a woman and was a little more subdue. She talked about her daughter’s mid-evil themed wedding and how she was going to wear a sexy witch costume and then cackle at her son in law at the reception. Then she looked at me and told me to put on the earphones and said, “We’re on the air.” I think this interview went a little better. It’s kind of hard to speak about the book. I guess I’m just not used to people asking me so many questions. I feel like Don after he won the chicken-judging contest. I went to two middle schools to speak. The kids were very energetic and asked a lot of questions. Some of them are really cool and I feel great that they seem so interested. But then I noticed some of the cool kids and I felt like they were judging me. One of them raised his hand today to ask a question and I was a little surprised. Then he asked me to do the Chicken Dance and I knew he was kind of being smart. So I just smiled and told him that it wasn’t in my contract. Isn’t it crazy that I got intimidated by a 6th grader?

After the second school, I had a book signing at Windows. The women who own it are Pat and Elizabeth. They are really amazing. They do so much for the community. They host a radio program and write book reviews for the Sunday paper. These independent bookstores really reach out to the community and try to get kids to read. I wish there was a bookstore in Abbeville that did the same.

I was so tired after everything that I fell asleep for a few hours when I got back to my hotel room. So that means that I’ll probably be up late tonight. I’m ready to go home. I love what I’m doing but it’s hard living out of a suitcase and being moved from place to place to speak to groups. But I’m still positive that there is nothing that I’d rather do than write and encourage others to do the same.

Chicken Bathroom Bingo

When I was in college, one of my fraternity brothers suggested having a chicken bathroom (the number two) bingo as a fundraiser. He explained that the way the game worked was that you put a caged chicken on top of a piece of plywood painted with numbers like a bingo card. People would buy tickets with numbers on them and hope that the chicken would use the bathroom on that number. None of us had ever seen chicken bathroom bingo before (say that fast five times) and thought it to be a little odd and perhaps dangerous.

We never had the fundraiser but almost fifteen years later, I decided to “use it” in my novel, The Chicken Dance. The local grocery store in the novel used chicken bathroom bingo to pick a number every Saturday morning, and the first customer who bought the exact dollar amount of groceries that morning, won a prize. One morning, Don’s mother was the winner and Don received a KC and The Sunshine Band album. It became a large part of his life and helped him to get through tough times.

When I was living in Austin this summer, I ran across an advertisement for a bar called Ginny’s that played chicken bathroom (not really the word they used but this is a family show) bingo every Sunday night. I had never been to one and decided that I needed to check it out since I had written about it and people might ask questions.

I convinced a friend to come with me, and so we headed to the bar with different hopes and expectations. I fantasized about the chicken looking me in the eyes and then walking over to my number and dropping off a load. Then I imagined balloons falling from the sky and photographers coming from out of nowhere to snap a picture of me, and my winning ticket. I thought the Austin Chronicle would feature a story about me and that I’d have the publicity of my dreams for my novel. My friend hoped that there would be mashed potatoes and a biscuit with his chicken.

“What?” I asked him.

“When we eat the chicken,” he said. “I hope it comes with side orders.”

I asked him what he was talking about and he said that he thought we were going to play bingo and eat chicken.

After I explained it to him, he said, “Oh. Huh.”

“I told you we were going to play chicken bathroom bingo,” I said. “Where did you think the bathroom part came in?”

“I hadn’t figured that out yet,” he said.

I laughed until my side hurt while he stared ahead, upset that he wouldn’t be eating the Kernel’s secret recipe, while an MC yelled out a numbered printed on a little ball.

When we pulled into the parking lot of Ginny’s, we were greeted by a motorcycle gang, contestants from a beauty contest, a wedding party and about 15 dogs.

“Look,” my friend said. “I’ll go in but you have to promise me that we won’t stay long and that we’ll go out for chicken after.”

We shook on it and then made our way into the tiny bar. Inside was a band that played everything from Hank Williams Jr. to Lynard Skynard. The lead singer was a large man who wore a shirt that said, “I’m on a seafood diet. I see food and eat it.”

The rest of the crowd consisted of sorority girls, men with full-grown ZZ Top beards and gold teeth, and a 70 year old woman in a flowered mini-skirt and cowboy boots, who immediately grabbed my hand and told me that I had to dance with her.

After she spun me around for a few songs, she released me and I went stand in line to buy tickets for the bingo. Ginny herself sold me a ticket and kissed me on the cheek and wished me good luck.

“I don’t need it,” I told her. “I wrote a book about this.”

She gave me the smile most people give me when they have no idea what I’m saying and suspect that I might be a few fries short of a Happy Meal. And so I walked over to my friend and showed him our tickets.

“Are you ready to win $100 cash?" I asked. "At $2 a beer, we can pass a good time yeah, cher!”

My friend didn’t understand my Cajun expression and gave me the same smile that Ginny had given me. Then he who told me that he’d spoken to the bride and groom of the wedding party.

“It was a wild west themed wedding,” he said. “And right when the groom was about to say I do, an actor playing Jesse James came up and grabbed the bride. And then they had a pretend gun fight for her.”

“Are you sure it was a wedding,” I asked. “And that he wasn’t just describing a scene from Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman?”

My friend introduced me to the mother of the groom and she assured me that a wedding had taken place and that the entire party had been drinking for three days straight. Then a man standing two feet away vomited on my shoes.

“Fantastic,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go and watch that chicken and make sure it goes number two on 52.”

If you’ve ever watched a chicken and waited for it to use the bathroom, you’ll know that it happens in a matter of seconds. Chickens don’t squat like dogs, so there is no forewarning that something great is about to happen. It just walks around and so you have to watch to see if it leaves anything behind. When it did, the entire crowd cheered and seconds later the room was filled with little red tickets of disappointment, excitement and laughter, flying through the air.

Neither my friend nor I had the winning ticket, but since I’d only spent two dollars, and planned to write it off on my taxes as research, I wasn’t too depressed. I was actually kind of happy because the lead singer of the band (the one on the see food diet) won for the first time in the twenty years that he’d been performing at Ginny’s and I had been there to witness it.

Later that night as I drove my friend to a chicken restaurant so he could get his mashed potatoes and biscuit, I thought about my evening. Although I hadn’t written about a bar in the fictional town of Horse Island, I could picture Ginny’s standing on Main street, sandwiched between Horse Island Food and Furniture and Connie’s Cones and Condiment Stand. Some people have called The Chicken Dance whimsical and borderline unbelievable. Well, these people have obviously never been to Ginny’s for Chicken Bathroom Bingo.

Dear Tony

Dear Tony,

Since you are the only one who reads this blog faithfully, or only say that you read it faithfully, this week’s blog is going to be a letter to you. I can’t believe we're 38 and you have three kids. Dude, we’re like grown up now. Do you remember how cool we thought we were in college? It’s a wonder that we didn’t get beat up. Anyway, yesterday I had a book signing at Lily’s. It was kind of weird to have these people spend $16.95 ($18.31 after taxes) to read something that I wrote. I hope they don’t read it and don’t like. Do you think people can return books? I hope not. I’ve already spent my advance. So, do you ever think about political office? You told me in college that one day you were going to be governor of Louisiana. Is that still the plan? So, you don’t think you look the same as you did back in college? I totally still look like I’m 21. Well, except the hair is growing on my back instead of my head. Oh yeah, two people that I hadn’t seen since college showed up. One was Michelle Vidrine who I was really good friends with my freshman year and the other one was Muffy, a girl I met in my first English class. She’s the one that convinced me it was cool to wear biker shorts to class. I’m sorry but in 100% weather, biker shorts are not cool. I went to her wedding in college and I never got her a wedding gift. I feel so bad. I’d give her a book but she already bought one. Oh well. So tonight I had another book signing. It was at this cool store in Abbeville called The Depot. It was kind of a book signing/party because there were drinks and meat pies. They were really good and this guy named Chef Bobby donated them. His food is amazing. So that’s a party, right? It was kind of cool. I saw a lot of people that I hadn’t seen in a long time. I forgot how friendly people here are. Everyone in the Parish has been very supportive. So I guess what I’m saying, Tony, is you need to buy the book. And you need to buy your parents a book because they were like parents to me and I’d like them to have one. But not a free one. One that cost $18.31 plus tax. I know they’d want you to pay full price for it. Hey, remember when we made that deal that when we got old, the richer of the two would pay off the other one’s credit card debt? Well, guess what. I’m thinking of going to Aruba next month and I don’t have a job. So, I guess that means you win. I’m just kidding. I wouldn’t make you pay up on that debt. We were so stupid in college. But now we’re grown men with ear hair and arthritis. You have a great career, a beautiful wife and three kids. And I’m living in my momma’s house in the same bed in the same room I grew up in minus the Lionel Richie poster. But, I wouldn’t trade it for the world right now. We need to meet up soon. Let me figure out my schedule and I'll email you. Or write it on this blog. So, if you really read this like you say you do, you’ll send me an email and tell me that you read it.

Jake

The Loss of Something

I was always taught that to lose something was a bad thing. But what if the search for the lost item reveals something much more valuable? Is the loss still a bad thing?

I was presented with this question, when I lost a pair of three day old sunglasses. It began with a trip to my now number one favorite swimming hole in Austin. It’s usually a dried up pile of rocks but due to an enormous amount of rain, the pile of rocks has turned into beautiful, flowing river.

My first time to the river to swim was with my sister, Kay who was visiting me. People of all ages sunbathed on the banks of the rivers, or rode inner tubes up and down or just let the rushing water carry their bodies down the stream.

I decided to join in the fun, and let a gushing stream of water pull me down the river. It was a bit scary at first but also somewhat of an adrenaline rush. That is until I lost my sunglasses.

Normally, I would have considered them a casualty of an afternoon of summer fun. But they were only three days old and had been purchased to replace another pair. So I jumped on the banks of the river and then ran down to an area where the water leveled out.

Across the river, a little further down was a small cliff. Perfect, I thought. I could climb to the top of the cliff and look for my sunglasses which I hoped would be floating somewhere around in the water.

On top of the cliff sat a group of teenagers. I wondered if they were also looking for sunglasses or maybe a missing shoe. I was wrong on both accounts because the teenagers were simply waiting for their turn to jump off of the cliff into the water below.

I looked down at the water and my heart sped up. I have a terrible fear of falling and I began to wonder why I had climbed up there in the first place. I didn’t see my sunglasses and so decided to climb back down to the ground below.

But then this one kid who couldn’t have been more than fifteen stood on the edge of the cliff with his back facing the water.

“I’m going to do a back flip,” he said. “But not a real fast one because I’m so drunk.”

At first I thought, Wow. I want to see this. But then the adult in me said I should do something to stop this drunk kid from killing himself. But before I could even think about what to say without sounding like an un-cool old guy, the kid jumped and did exactly what he said he was going to do. He cut a slow back flip and managed to live.

So I start thinking that if a drunk fifteen year old boy could cut a slow back flip from this cliff and not kill himself, then there was no reason that I, a 37 year old sober man, couldn’t at least jump feet first without killing myself. But I was so scared. I wonder what would happen if I slipped or if it wasn’t deep enough. I had a slight ear infection and wondered if the jump would irritate it. I came up with tons of reasons why I shouldn’t jump. But finally decided that they weren’t good enough and wondered what it was that I was really scared of. I didn’t know and decided that I should find out.

And so I took a deep breath and then took a few steps forward and jumped. Every muscle in my body tightened. I could feel my heart beating so fast that I thought it might pop out of my chest. And suddenly my whole body became cold. Then I hit the water. And that’s when I realized what I had done. I had conquered a fear. And in a weird way it made me realize that if I could jump from the cliff that I could handle all of the things that life will hand me. And I learned all of this while searching for a pair of three day old sunglasses.

An Old Journal Entry from Buenos Aires

November 1, 2006

Right now I’m in my apartment eating some empanadas from a place called, Solo Empanadas. They are so good. They should open a chain in the US. They’d make millions.

This afternoon I went for a run and found a running trail through a bird sanctuary. The trail goes along this huge river for a while. It’s really beautiful. There are parrots and these big lizards about the size of a Chihuahua everywhere. It’s kind of freaky when one runs in front of you. But they don’t look like they bite so I should be okay.

There were a bunch of people playing soccer in the fields before the running trail. Every where there is a patch of grass in the city, there are people playing soccer. I think I’ve only played the game once at summer camp for about five minutes. I’m a little scared to tell people here that I don’t really watch soccer. I think that would be a sin here.

I also saw a bunch of heart statues in this plaza. I guess it's part of an outdoor art exposition. I think it's really cool. They did the same things with cows in Chicago and New York and with Pelicans in Lafayette.

I went to the grocery store this morning. I bought what I thought was suntan lotion but when I rubbed it on my skin, I realized that it was liquid soap. I guess I need to learn Spanish. When I first lived in Paris, I did the same thing with cat food and pate'. But if all I have to worry about in life is bringing home soap instead of suntan lotion or cat food instead of pate', then I guess I’m doing okay.