To Be Inked or Not To Be Inked

One of my favorite pastimes as a child was to apply temporary tattoos to my body, and flex my miniscule muscles to imitate the professional wrestlers on television. I’d dream of the day when I’d be compared to wrestling greats such as Junkyard Dog, and I could get real ink tattoos that didn’t wash off in the shower. But my fantasy of both ended one day when I thought about how painful it would be if someone slammed me against the rink floor and stuck a needle in my body over and over again.

As I grew older though, the art of tattooing re-emerged as one of my interest. I never got one because I didn’t know what I wanted, and because I was still afraid of the pain involved. But the symbolism and design fascinates me, and so this week I found out what it’s like to be a tattoo artist.

Crazy Cajun Tattoos, located at 2154 Charity Street at the Lafitte Mall in Abbeville, has been open since 1995. In addition to their services of tattoo design and body piercing, the business also sells an assortment of graphic t-shirts and novelty items. Zoe Crouch is the owner of the establishment, but her husband, Brian Crouch, is the manager and head tattoo artist.

“I was an apprentice for several years at a parlor in Great Britian,” says Mr. Crouch. “I’d always been interested in art and design, but it was my time there that helped my creativity flourish.”

According to Crouch, people get tattoos for various reasons including rebellion, peer pressure or honoring someone. The most popular designs include tribal symbols, roses, tigers, wizards, dragons and coy fish.

“People can bring in their own artwork or choose from the ones we have here,” says Crouch. “If they ask me to pick a tattoo for them, I tell them to go home and come back when they know what they want. This is going to be on their body forever.”

Crouch has tattooed lawyers, doctors, judges and his seventy-year old grandmother. He says that the best part of his job is working with the customers because they are what make his business successful. But he also loves challenges.

“I’m inspired when someone comes in with a bad tattoo and wants help changing it,” says Crouch. “I like the creativity of taking something the customer doesn’t like and making it into a piece of art.”

Two of Crouch’s regular customers walked into the shop during our interview. One of them, Mike DeBlanc, has been getting tattoos for fifteen years.

“It’s addictive,” says DeBlanc. “Like eating Lay’s potato chips.”

Seth Broussard, another faithful customer, was there to get a new tattoo on his already ornately designed arm. He referred to Crouch as his friend and therapist.

“It’s almost like a beauty parlor at times,” said Crouch. “I’m a marriage counselor, a bartender, and a best friend.”

Crouch allowed me to assist him with the tattoo he gave to Broussard. I got to shave the customer’s arm and then apply a transfer of the artwork, an intricate design resembling a spider’s web.

“My best advice to someone interested in becoming a tattoo artist is to apprentice under someone reputable,” says Crouch. “Also make sure that you’re inspired by their work.”

I knew going into the interview that I could never be a tattoo artist. For one, I can’t draw to save my life, and two, my hands are so shaky that if I were to hold a jar of milk for an hour, it would probably turn into a slab of butter. I couldn’t stand to think of the damage I would cause holding a pulsating needle filled with ink against a person’s skin.

But the knowledge I gained from Crouch was well worth my time at Crazy Cajun Tattoos. We all have creativity inside of us, and it’s our choice how to express it. I left empowered with the message of tolerance and being true to oneself, but also a little embarrassed that a seventy-year-old grandmother faced the pain that scared me away from ever being inked.

For more information on Crazy Cajun Tattoos, call 337-898-0082 or visit their Web site www.crazycajuntattoos.com

Strength to Take Life by the Hour

We are often given big challenges in life, which although are attainable over time, feel overwhelming and impossible. It might be getting a college degree, saving up money for a home or beating an addiction. The sheer size of the journey required to accomplish these goals scares many people from ever beginning. That is unless of course, you’re Charlene Beckett, who found the strength to quit smoking by taking life by the hour.

“I never said I was quitting,” says Beckett. “If I would have said I was going to quit and not done it, I would have felt like a failure.”

Beckett started smoking in college and continued for twenty years. She says that cigarettes relaxed her, and made her feel less vulnerable because they created a smoke screen around her.

“In some ways cigarettes were my best friend,” says Beckett. “They kept me occupied, but never argued with me.”

When Beckett reached her mid-thirties, she became concerned about her health. She woke up one morning, and decided to try and not smoke for one hour. When she accomplished that, she faced her next hour. She continued this strategy for ten years.

“The first day was easier than the second,” says Beckett. “I struggled through my addiction one minute at a time, one hour at a time, one day at a time. It took ten years before I stopped craving them, but now I can say that I’ve been smoke free for a total of twenty.”

According to Beckett the hardest part was the anger. Cigarettes relaxed her, and without them stress levels were high.

“My family’s happy faces and support were great motivators,” says Beckett. “I wanted to quit smoking for them.”

Beckett says that the benefits of smoking have been tremendous. In addition to saving money, she’s healthier, and her home and clothes are cleaner.

“The freedom of not being chained to cigarettes was a great reward,” says Beckett. “There were times when I’d get stressed out if I thought I might not be able to smoke.”

When I sat down with Beckett to discuss her strength, she was poised, relaxed and portrayed a woman of confidence. There was a time before when cigarettes had controlled her, and made her feel safe. But when she realized that what she’d thought had protected her all those years had become a danger, she took one bold step towards what she knew would be a long and hard journey.

“Hour by hour for ten years is a long time,” I said. “Where did you get the strength to face that first sixty minutes?”

“I can’t tell you what got me through those days,” says Beckett. “It was a gift. An extremely amazing gift.”

For more information on quitting smoking, go to www.quitwithusla.org

Featuring This Family

My favorite house in Cow Island is a little green craftsman style structure, shaded by the limbs of oak and pecan trees. It has been there since before I was born, yet I never really noticed it until a few years ago when I moved back home. At first it was subtle changes, like flags blowing in the wind, and boat paddles mounted on the side of a small red barn that grabbed my attention. But it was on clear summer days, when I’d catch glimpses of a pond, fountain and sailboat that I knew this house was special.

“The red barn is my office and work shop,” says Carol Hebert Harper, design consultant for the businesses, Feature This and Curb Appeal For Dummies.com.


Harper runs the two businesses, which opened in 2008, with her daughter, Michelle Molinari. The mission of Feature This is to provide direction to people who would like to redesign their home for living, or would like to sell their house and need help giving it a make over.

“We make sure that a house doesn’t say, ‘Time and money,’” says Molinari. “We offer staging techniques that make it say, ‘I’m worth my price.’”

Curb Appeal for Dummies.com is tailored to help clients who want to make the outside of their house more attractive to potential buyers. Molinari and Harper design a strategy package of simple ways to increase the selling price. It may suggest a paint job, adding more plants or small renovations.

“We super-impose the suggestions on a digital photograph that the client emails to us,” says Harper. “Our customers are from throughout the U.S.”

Harper studied design in California, and has consulted on both commercial and residential spaces in Los Angeles, Palm Springs and Houston. Molinari is a painter, who commissions her work. She trained with Certified Staging Professionals, where she is now an instructor.

“I train brokers and real estate agents how to use staging efficiently and effectively,” says Molinari. “This helps sellers receive a greater return on investment.”

Harper’s mother, Audrey Jerome, inherited the little green house from her parents. It remained unoccupied for several years until 2000 when Harper and her husband moved to Cow Island.

“The house has to be over a hundred years old,” says Jerome. “It was originally a lot smaller, but my dad added on pieces as time passed.”

Molinari moved to Vermilion Parish in 2006 after her home in Texas was destroyed by Hurricane Rita. She wanted to learn more about her Cajun roots and to be closer to her mother.

“We motivate and feed off of each other,” says Molinari. “It helps make us a great team.”

Jerome recently moved back to Cow Island after Hurricane Ike destroyed her home in Bridge City. Harper and Molinari renovated the front part of the little green house and made a small apartment for Jerome.

BEFORE


AFTER


BEFORE


AFTER

My mother and I visited the house recently, and while she talked with Jerome in her living room, I interviewed Molinari and Harper in the back of the house. I was inspired by their design choices like bamboo ceilings, cabinet doors made from old shutters, and framed paint by number scenes of New Orleans, all lit by antique kerosene lanterns.

“It’s kind of funny because you don’t hear of many people who move to Vermilion Parish to get away from hurricanes,” I said. “In a way, this house and two of the Gulf Coast’s biggest storms brought your family together.”

“I’m very grateful to live here,” says Harper. “I love having parties, and especially putting on little parades.”

I was fortunate enough to be invited to a Fourth of July party at the property one summer, and knew of the parades. Both children and adults dressed in red, white and blue marched around the pond while their families cheered them on.

“This is my favorite house in Cow Island,” I said to Harper. “Even though this is my first time inside, it feels familiar.”

The little green house provided both a space for a mother and daughter to run a business, and a refuge for families to reconnect. Harper and Molinari are definitely talented artists who can make a property more beautiful on the outside. But their best work is the home they’ve created within.

For more information on the services of Harper and Molinari, call 337-652-3983 or visit their Web site at www.featurethisdotdotdot.com.

Strength for 2010

For over fifteen Januaries, I’ve made resolutions for a better life in the year facing me. Sometimes I accomplished six or seven out of ten, and other times zero out of five. I’m determined to achieve all of my goals in 2010, but am sometimes overwhelmed and uncertain if I’ll have the strength.

There are some days when I only have time to live, and can’t worry about altering my routine to pursue a challenge for which no one will hold me accountable. So I’ve created a game plan to keep me on track, and remind me of where I’m headed. This week, I’d like to share my strategy in hopes that it will help you while making your resolutions.

1. Spend time to decide what you want.

You’ll never be motivated to accomplish a goal unless it’s one you set for yourself.

2. Write your resolutions down everywhere.

The years that I didn’t accomplish my goals are the ones when I forgot what they were. It is easy to get distracted by every day life. Write your resolutions down on paper. Make copies and put them in frequently seen places like a bathroom mirror, microwave door, or entertainment center holding the television. I wrote my list on the first of every month of my calendar to remind me that a deadline is approaching.

3. Be realistic

Being ambitious can be rewarding, but also discouraging if your goals seem impossible to achieve. Make resolutions that are attainable within a certain time frame, and are a step towards something bigger.

4. Be specific

Instead of writing, ‘Be healthier,’ write, ‘Be able to walk two miles three days a week by March.’ One year I wrote, ‘Save money.’ Twelve months later on New Years Eve, I had fifty cents in my pocket. I’d technically accomplished my resolution, but didn’t feel richer.

5. Make time

Because there are always so many things to do, I sometimes neglect my resolutions. So I’ve set up an appointment with myself every week to focus and work on making my life more fulfilling. Sometimes it’s at a library, coffee shop or park, but I always have something to write with, and my cell phone is turned off.

Every person is different and accomplishes goals in various ways. The pointers listed above are what have worked for me personally, but might not be beneficial to everyone. I’ve shared them with you in hopes that they will not only guide you in your quest for a more enriching life, but to also help me accomplish my number one resolution for 2010; to promote strength in the world, and help people reach their full potential.

Visage Thirty-Nine

Freckles cover my upper back and shoulders due to the many shirtless hours I spent outside as a child. I am now more attentive to protecting my skin, and recently encouraged my mother to do the same. But when I asked her to wear a moisturizer with sunscreen, she frowned at me like I had suggested that she take me out to lunch.

“I’m trying to keep you from getting skin cancer,” I said.

“I’m not outside long enough to worry about it,” she argued. “And since when did you become a doctor?”

I knew that unless I graduated from medical school, worked several years at Abbeville General Hospital, and cured cancer, my mother wouldn’t listen to me. Since I didn’t have that much time to invest to make my point, I decided to seek the assistance of someone in the skin care profession.

Visage Joli’ Spa and Salon, located at 2403 Charity Street in Abbeville, is owned and operated by husband and wife team, Daren and Tiffany Roy. The couple opened their doors in March 2009, and offer services ranging from ion cleanse detox to firming seaweed facials to haircuts, coloring and styling. Their merchandise mix includes vegan cosmetics, handmade baby clothes and candles that can be used as a moisturizer.



“I became interested in the skin care industry after working in the medical field,” says Mrs. Roy. “I love working with people and helping them look and feel their best.”

Mrs. Roy is a licensed esthetician and a graduate of the Aveda Institute in Lafayette. She has received training in various treatments including spider vein reduction, radio frequency skin tightening and laser collagen synthesis.

“The hardest part of owning our own business is the financial stress,” said Mrs. Roy. “My dream is to become profitable enough to expand Visage Joli’ to include nail care and massages.”

Hairstylists Alisha Trahan and Amber Vice operate the salon part of the business. Although it is located in the same building, it is nestled off to the side of the spa, creating a separate environment.

“A woman’s beauty secrets are her own,” says Mrs. Roy. “I wanted to create a place that felt cozy, private and discreet.”

Glenda Abate, Mrs. Roy’s mother, is the receptionist and assistant manager of Visage Joli (Beautiful Face). She suggested that while I interviewed her daughter, I enjoy an ion cleanse detox. I had imagined it to be some sort of drink that would ensure I visited the bathroom regularly. Since I’d already eaten two bowls of raisin brand that morning, I didn’t think it would be wise.

“No thank you,” I said while rubbing my stomach.

“You should try it,” Mr. Roy said. “I do it all the time, and feel a lot better afterwards.”

I didn’t want to be rude, so I said okay, but made a special note of where the bathroom was located just in case there was a problem. But instead of giving me a drink, Mrs. Roy made me put my bare feet in a tub of water. She placed something round like an electric pencil sharper inside, and then plugged it in.

“Is this going to shock me?” I asked.

“The electricity helps extract the toxins from your body,” Abate said. “The water will change color depending on what’s removed.”

While I sat there, Mrs. Roy exfoliated my mother’s face with a diamond chipped laser. According to the Visage Joli service menu, the treatment called diamond microdermabrasion helps rejuvenate the skin and remove fine lines.

“Your skin is dry, Mrs. Couvillon,” Mrs. Roy said. “You should use a moisturizer with sunscreen every day. It will help you look younger.”

“Younger than thirty-nine?” my mother asked. “That’s a good idea. Can you suggest one?”

The water around my bare feet had become yellow. I wasn’t sure it if it was from the toxins in my body, or from the surprise that my mother had accepted Mrs. Roy’s suggestion so easily. For a few seconds I felt hurt, but then realized it didn’t matter because I had achieved my goal.

I enjoyed our time at Visage Joli’. Not only because of their remarkable hospitality and knowledge, but because they had reinforced my belief in the importance of maintaining and protecting our skin.

But later as my mother and I drove away, I couldn’t help but wonder why she’d had a change of heart concerning moisturizer and sunscreen. She’d always insisted that my siblings and I used it when were growing up, but didn’t feel it was necessary for herself.

“Why are you going to listen to Mrs. Roy, but not me?” I asked. “Was that diamond- chipped laser really a mind control device? Can it make you stop asking me when I’m going to get a job?”

“You’re not that lucky or funny,” she answered. “I listened to Mrs. Roy because she said the moisturizer with sunscreen would help me look younger. I’m only thirty-nine, but one day soon I might be able to pass for thirty-eight.”

Strength to Cheer

The ‘Who Dat’ fever has swept across America, and the people of Louisiana couldn’t be prouder of its Saints. Dreams of a Super Bowl hang in the air, and everyone from children to grandmothers are dressing in black and gold to show support.

But there was a time when both the Saints’ playing record and popularity weren’t as bright. The team’s somewhat famous losses sparked jokes and rumors that they had been jinxed or had the voodoo on them. Although fans popped up here and there to support our boys during winning seasons, only a few die-hard cheerleaders had the strength to raise their poms-poms during the good times and the bad.

“I’ve been in the Super Dome when it’s at its fullest capacity,” says Saints’ fan (and my sister), Sandy Richard. “And I’ve been in it when it was almost empty.”

Sandy is a thirty-five year Saints’ fan veteran who believes it is her duty to support this Louisiana team. It was during a recent game we attended together that I realized just how serious and devoted she was to her calling. In addition to wearing an authentic black and gold jersey with Brees written across the back, she purchased a football program and a giant fountain drink to get a souvenir cup.

“My most memorable moment was when I came to a play-off game here at the Super Dome in 2006,” Sandy said. “The energy of the fans was overwhelming. I felt unified with the crowd because we all wanted a victory.”

A couple of women dressed from head to toe in fleur de lis prints danced around my sister and me like they were at the greatest party on earth. Although I’ve never followed sports closely, I was somewhat drawn into the excitement of the event.

“It’s like a family,” Sandy said. “Over the years, you learn so much about the coaches and the players, you feel like you know them.”

I borrowed Sandy’s football program to brush up on my Saints’ knowledge. At a game the year before, I made the mistake of asking the name of the quarterback. Sandy told me that I embarrassed her, and to not ask any more questions until we left the Super Dome.

“Football is something I’ve always shared with my friends and family,” said Sandy. “Especially dad, because he’s the one who got me to start watching.”

The Saints won that night, and as I cheered with millions of fans across America, I felt the unity of which Sandy had spoken. It filled me with energy, and gave me the sense we’d all accomplished something great.

“It’s fun when they win,” I said. “But what gives you the strength to follow the team during their tough times?”

“Pride and dreams,” Sandy responded. “I’m proud to be from Louisiana, and it’s a dream of mine that the Saints go to the Super Bowl. When they do, it will mean that other dreams can come true as well.”

Turn Your Trash into Cash

Ever since I was a child, my mother and I have recycled aluminum cans together. I was responsible for smashing and bagging them, and in return she would drive me to the recycling center and let me keep the money. It was an easy job at the time, because in a family of ten, there were always empty soda cans somewhere around the house.

Since I’ve returned home after being gone for twenty years, my mother and I have started up our business again. But this time, things have changed. I still have to bag the cans, but now I’m driving her to the recycling center, and she keeps the money.

Another change is that my mother has become more aggressive in how she collects her inventory of merchandise. Anytime we drive somewhere, she searches the road and ditches, and points out any aluminum cans she sees. If there are three or more within a few feet, she insists that I stop the car and pick them up. She makes me routinely call my siblings to ensure they are saving their cans for her, and has ordered me to dig through trashcans filled with dirty diapers and bees.

“It’s cash money,” my momma said. “And I have some tweezers to get the bee stinger out of your arm.”

Although I can’t say I enjoy walking in muddy ditches and searching through garbage in the parking lot of Tiffany Plaza, I support my mother’s entrepreneurship 100 percent. Since she taught me that education is the key to success, this week we went and found out what it’s like to be the man who buys the aluminum cans from us.

Located at 723 AA Comeaux Memorial Drive, (Just past the ball park) Abbeville Scrap and Recycling is owned and operated by Earl James Fritz and his wife, Lisa. The company has been open for over three years, and purchases a variety of merchandise including aluminum, brass, copper and automotive batteries and radiators.

“Turn your trash into cash,” says Fritz. “That’s our motto.”



Before starting his business, Fritz worked construction in the oil field. His job sometimes required him to spend extended periods of time away. But now, he runs a business out of his home and yard, and receives help from family members including his dad, brother, cousins and children.

“I started this recycling business to help my community and the earth,” says Fritz. “But most importantly, to spend more time with my family.”

According to Fritz, the most difficult part of running his own business is the financial insecurity. Since so much of his income depends on his inventory, he relies heavily on the public.

“I’m never sure if someone is going to turn into our driveway,” says Fritz. “I once had a customer tell me that the community was lucky to have a place they could sell things to get money. But the truth is, I’m lucky to have them. Without the support of the people, my business couldn’t survive.”

In addition to the items Fritz recycles for his business, he also recycles the paper and plastic his family uses in their home. Although it provides no income, it is something he has done for years in order to do his part for the environment.

“I want to lead by example,” says Fritz. “If my kids see me doing something positive, they’ll follow in my footsteps.”

Fritz welcomed my mother and I into his home like we were long lost family. He gave us a tour of his business, and showed me how to operate the scale on which he weighs aluminum cans. Once I understood the process, I grabbed my mother’s large plastic bag of what she calls her retirement check, and weighed it.




“Ten pounds,” I said. “At thirty cents a pound, that’s three dollars.”

“Weigh it again,” my mother told me. “You’re trying to jip me.”

Fritz checked my work and assured my mother that ten pounds was correct. She accepted his decision, but looked at the sack of cans with a sad face as if they’d disappointed her.



“Did you learn anything that will help your can recycling enterprise?” I asked my mother as we drove away.

I had hoped she’d tell me that she learned the importance of family support when operating a business. Or that in addition to the income recycling brings, it prevents littering and is good for the environment. Or even the importance of an adult leading by example to send a positive message to his community and children.

But instead, she stared out at a crushed soda can in the middle of the road and said, “Yes. I learned that if I want to get more money for my cans, my son will have to put his foot on the scale.”

For more information on the items Abbeville Scrap and Recycling purchases, call 337-523-9322. To learn where you can recycle plastic and paper throughout the parish, call Solid Waste at 337-898-4338.

Strength to be a Soldier

In a few days, on January 8th, 2010, Jonathan Deshotels will report for his call of duty with the National Guard. After a couple of months in Mississippi, he will head off to fight the war in Iraq for his second time. He was a single man his first term overseas, but now he will have to find the strength to leave behind his wife and two children.

“I never thought we’d still be fighting this war,” says Deshotels. “But I’m a soldier. It requires that when you get a mission, you accomplish your task.”

Once in Iraq, Deshotels will be a platoon sergeant for 25 to 30 soldiers. In order to effectively do his job, he searches for inspiration by reading leadership books about coaches, organizational leaders and our founding fathers.

“The secret to being a great leader is to know what your job is, and care about the people you are leading,” says Deshotels. “You can’t fake it or they’ll know. Soldiers become stronger from the strength their leader portrays.”

According to Deshotels, leadership requires constantly ensuring everyone’s well being because their personal life can affect their performance on the mission. He is not only the soldiers’ platoon sergeant, but he his also their friend and family.

It was a week before Christmas when I sat down with Deshotels and his family in their Abbeville home. I was there to find out where a man and his wife would find the strength to be separate for a year.

“It’s important to have the support of your friends and family,” says Deshotels. “Mine sent me two and three packages a day during the holidays when I was away the first time. I started passing them out to soldiers who weren’t receiving anything from home. It gave them strength to get through their day.”

Deshotels and his wife, Valerie have a three year old daughter named Lydia and a seven-month old son, Jules. The family plans to stay in touch via email and a Web camera a few days each week.

“I’m not looking forward to Jonathan leaving,” said Mrs. Deshotels. “But he’s been open and honest about what’s going to happen. Because of him and my family, I’ll have the strength to raise my children.”

While Mrs. Deshotels bounced their son, Julies on her knee, their daughter, Lydia danced around the living room with the innocence and energy only a child has the pleasure of knowing. The Christmas tree lit the room with a glow, and although it had been raining outside all day long, the air felt warm and secure.

I found the answer I’d gone searching for at the Deshotels home. The couple became stronger through open communication, honesty, education and the support of friends and family. As we all face the challenges and resolutions of 2010, I hope that many of you will think of the Deshotels family, and find the strength you need.

Born to Drive

Even though I grew up on a farm, I’ve never been comfortable driving an oversized vehicle. I’ve steered clear of jobs that would require me to do so, often missing out on good opportunities. So this week, I decided to face my fears and find out what it takes to be a professional truck driver.

I didn’t have to look far to find one, because my brother Ray has been driving for over eight years for Acadiana Shell and Limestone. The company, located at 930 South Henry Road, is owned by brothers Kim and Eddie Young.



When I reached their office for my interview with Ray, I imagined the two of us racing across the open road like in the movie Smokey and The Bandit. I’d even come up with a C.B. handle (Green Goose) and saved my money for souvenirs and bumper stickers at truck stops. But due to unforeseeable circumstances, we were only able to ride around the gravel parking lot of Acadiana Shell and Limestone.

“How old were you when you started driving?” I asked Ray as we bounced around in the cab of his tri-axel dump truck.

“Daddy let me drive the tractor to plow the fields when I was about twelve,” he said. “I drove rice trucks at sixteen, and combines at seventeen.”

All of my brothers and I were educated at the Andrew Couvillon Farm Equipment Driving Institution. In my dad’s school, a mowing machine was kindergarten and a combine was graduating with honors. I was expelled during my tractor year when I might or might not have caused a collision with my brother, Mike and his International Harvester.



“I farmed for several years until the economy got tough,” Ray said. “I always enjoyed the driving aspect of it, and decided to pursue it as a career.”

In addition to years of experience, Ray also posses a CDL license, which he attained after training, and passing an exam. He drives mostly around South Louisiana carrying everything from shell to gravel to sand.

“I like driving because I get to travel to different towns,” Ray said. “I also enjoy being alone and listening to music. If I wasn’t a driver, I’d want to be a song writer.”

Ray drove past mountains of shell, limestone, and gravel, which lined the edge of the Vermilion River. I wasn’t used to riding so high in a vehicle, and in a weird way it reminded me of riding on the neck of an elephant.

“The one thing I don’t like about driving a truck is the danger,” Ray said. “When traffic cuts me off, it’s hard to stop on a dime in something so big. Especially if there’s a load.”

We approached a small wooden bridge, which didn’t seem much wider than the dump truck. It made my stomach queasy, but Ray confidently controlled the large steering wheel of the truck as if it was an extension of his hand.

“I feel very lucky that daddy taught me how to drive almost anything,” Ray said. “It allows me to support my family, and do what I love.”

It was then that I knew I didn’t have what it takes to be a truck driver; a steady hand, an ability to react at any given moment, and a true passion. Yet I was inspired by my brother to maybe one day go back to farm equipment driving school and get my combine degree. And when I do, I hope I’m lucky enough to have Ray continue my education where my dad left off.



For more information on the products and service offered by Acadiana Shell and Limestone call 337-893-1111. For information on a CDL license, check out www.test-cdl.com.

Strength to Race

Whether to battle an illness, overcome obstacles or simply get through the grind of everyday life, a person needs strength. But what is it exactly? Where does it come from? How can I find it?

In my search for these answers, I recently spoke with a thirty-six year-old gentleman named Dr. Jeremy Romero. In addition to being a chiropractor with offices in Kaplan and Abbeville, he is also a triathlete. When he’s not working, or spending quality time with his family, he is peddling, swimming and running to train for his next race.

“Your typical triathlon is about 1.2 miles swimming, fifty-five miles on the bike, and thirteen miles of running,” says Romero. “But some, like the Iron Man can be double that.”

Romero ran on a regular basis through high school and college, but stopped to start a family and build his business. When he reached age thirty-two, he became concerned about his health.

“My blood pressure was high, and I had gained weight,” says Romero. “I went to a cardiologist and found out I had acid reflux. When I left his office, I had an epiphany that it was time for me to start running again. I wanted to be a good example to my little boy and girl, Landon and Lene Claire. But most of all, I wanted to be healthy so I could give them and my wife the energy they deserve.”

Romero started out running short distances, but within a year was competing in 5K runs. Each year he ran longer and longer ones, until he decided to start competing in triathlons.

“The uncertainty of my first race scared me,” said Romero. “But I love a challenge and getting out of my comfort zone. It helps me find out about myself, and what I’m made of.”

Romero picks his races based on location. He’s already run in Napa Valley, and plans to run in Hawaii, Panama City and New Orleans in the next few months.

“I love to travel because of my grandma,” Romero said. “She used to send me postcards from all over the world.”

Romero maintains a diet of nuts, chicken, turkey, lean beef, and fresh fruit and vegetables. His training regiment includes three days of cycling and running, and two days of swimming. In order to avoid interrupting family time, he wakes up at four in the morning, while his wife, Tricia and their two children sleep.

“The most challenging part of the triathlon is the wear on the body,” Romero said. “There have been many races when I just wanted to quit in the middle of it. But I never want to fail. I always want to finish.”

Dr. Jeremy Romero has used mental and physical strength to become the man he wants to be; one whom takes care of himself so he can give more to his family. His story has made me stronger, and inspired me to lead a healthier life by eating right, exercising and spending time with loved ones.

“Knowing that Tricia and the kids are waiting for me at the end of each race gives me strength,” Jeremy said. “My most memorable moment was when my five-year-old boy, Landon, met me a few feet before the finish line. He grabbed my hand and ran across with me. That gave me the strength to race for the rest of my life.”

Always consult your physician before beginning any strenuous exercise program. For more information on triathlons, go to www.triathlete.com

Bingo!

To earn a little extra money for the holidays, I’ve set out on the road looking for employment. Each week, I’ll explore a different occupation, and learn what it takes to be successful in that industry. No job is too big or small, as long as it gives me the opportunity to get out of the house and meet the good people of Vermilion Parish.

My first interview was for a position as a bingo caller at the Senior Center in Abbeville. Tucked away on Graceland Avenue, the facility is home to the Vermilion Council on Aging.

“What does a bingo caller do?” my momma asked as we drove to the interview.

“They’re the ones who call out the letters and numbers during bingo,” I said. “There’s a game today, so I’ll get to audition for them.”



When we reached the Senior Center, we were greeted by Rachael August, executive director of the Vermilion Council on Aging. With over 20 years of experience with the organization, her main goal now was to help make life easier for the elderly.

“Welcome,” August said to my momma and me. “I hope you’re ready to play some bingo, Ms. Couvillon.”

“I am,” she said. “But you have to promise me that I’m going to win.”

“I can’t promise you that,” August responded. “But I promise you’ll have a good time.”

Our host led us through the Senior Center to a large room with an assortment of tables and chairs occupied by a group of anxious gamers with bingo on their mind. A woman collected nickels in a blue bowl from the players, and behind them, sat a large screen television, exercise equipment, computers, recliners and a piano.

“Do you think these are the prizes for the game?” my momma asked. “Grab my coin purse.”

My momma was disappointed to find out that the prize for each game were the nickels and dimes collected in the blue bowl. But she was happy to hear that she was welcomed to use the resources of the Senior Center.

“We want seniors to stay both physically and mentally healthy,” said August. “That’s why we’ve created a place where they can socialize, use the exercise equipment, or learn computer skills to re-enter the work place. We also have a small park out back for walks.”

According to August, the purpose of the Vermilion Council on Aging is to assist the elderly in maintaining their independence in their own homes by providing them with a variety of services. These include programs ranging from nutrition to transportation to recreation, such as line dancing, yoga and bingo.

“This is Mr. Couvillon and his momma,” August announced to the room. “He’s here to be the bingo caller, and she’s here to play.”

One of the players smiled and said, “If she wins while he’s calling, we’ll know they cheated.”

“He better cheat for me,” my momma said. “I raised him and changed his diapers.”

I apologized for not learning to use a toilet sooner, and then walked over to the regular bingo caller, Clifton Pierson. I had hoped to be able to use one of those round cages filled with balls, but instead he handed me a stack of cards with letters and numbers on them.

“N 15,” I said loudly. “N 15.”



My momma lost the bingo game that I called, and to prevent from being disinherited, I handed the cards back to Mr. Pierson. Instead, I excused myself to Ms. August’s office to learn more about her life at the Vermilion Council on Aging.

“Do you have a most memorable moment from working here?” I asked.

“I’ve had so many great ones,” August said. “But the most inspirational ones were with a woman who used to manage the Abbeville Senior Center. She had a hearing disability, but she taught herself how to communicate by reading lips. Nothing kept her from accomplishing her goals.”

August said that there is never a dull moment at the center, because every day brings on a new challenge. She said that sometimes the lack of resources can be difficult, but that nothing will stand in her way from helping the elderly.

“They’ve given me so much,” she said. “The center is like my home, and the people who work and visit are like family.”

When we went back out to the bingo room, there was a pile of nickels lying on the table near where my momma was sitting. She looked up at me and winked, and then looked back down at her winnings and smiled.

When we left the Senior Center, my momma asked, “So did you get the job? It would probably be a good one for you since you seem to like hearing the sound of your own voice.”

Although the bingo caller position was a volunteer job, I hoped to do it again in the near future. The positive energy at the Senior Center was touching, but what impressed me most was that there was a place senior citizens and their families could go for assistance. Be it as simple as a bingo game, which promotes mental health, or as serious as information on nutrition, the employees at the Senior Center were eager and qualified to help.

“They offered the bingo caller job to me,” I said to my momma. “But I turned them down. Instead I’m going to bring you here each week, and just live off of all the nickels and dimes you win.”

To volunteer, or for more information on the resources provided by the Vermilion Council on Aging, call 337-893-2563.

Strength to Fight Cancer

Although I am physically healthy, and consider myself lucky for my life, there are mornings when I wish I could lay in bed all day and do nothing. My body feels drained of energy, but I fight to wake up because a list of daily chores waits for me; walk the dog, make the coffee, get the morning paper, etc. As I walk outside to our mailbox, I take a deep breath hoping that my lungs will fill up with the strength to get through another day.

A few weeks ago, I went to the Abbeville Meridinal with an idea for a column that would explore the concept of strength. I hadn’t written anything yet because I wasn’t sure where to start. But inspiration struck when I opened the glass doors of the Meridinal’s yellow building and saw the general manager, Kathy Cormier.

Cormier was diagnosed with breast cancer in July 2007. For the past two years, she’s been through chemotherapy, radiation, and a double mastectomy. But when I saw her a couple of weeks ago, you would have never guessed that she’d been sick a day in her life.

“Where do you get your strength?” I asked Cormier when we sat down in her office.

“Mostly from my family and friends,” she said. “They were there to cook for me, make me laugh and offer support. I also have a mantra, which I wrote on cards and keep in my office, car and bathroom. When I say the words out loud, I feel stronger.”

Cormier originally found the inspirational words in Guidepost magazine, but re-wrote the following mantra for herself:

I am a person recovering from cancer.
My whole life is ahead of me.
I can’t wait to live each day.
I have life ahead of me.

“Did you ever doubt that you could beat this illness?”

“The hardest part of the treatment was the physical exhaustion,” Cormier said. “Sometimes when fatigue set in, I wondered if the cancer had spread. But I kept telling myself, ‘I’m okay.’ As I said it and thought it, it became real. It took two years, but I feel good again. Actually, I feel great.”

Cormier worked full time during the treatment, only taking days off when absolutely necessary. Although the cancer has been in remission for a year now, she still has routine exams to monitor it.

“I just had one a few weeks ago,” Cormier said. “Now that I have a clean bill of health, I’ll forget about it, and enjoy life.”

Although Cormier seemed healthy to me when I worked with her last year, she definitely seemed to have more energy a few weeks ago. In addition to her own thick hair instead of a wig, her voice was strong and enthusiastic.

“Would you say that this has been the biggest challenge of your life?”

“There are so many obstacles in life that affect an entire family that are more damaging,” said Cormier. “Ironically, having cancer has brought us closer together.”

I couldn’t imagine facing a bigger challenge than health issues. But Cormier seemed to have taken life in stride, and was stronger for the experience.

“So you’re saying that in some ways, having cancer has been positive?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” she said. “I learned to appreciate the smaller things in life, accept help from others, and not to assume that I will live forever. In some ways, the cancer has given me more strength than ever.”

My father died of cancer several years ago, and for a long time after, any mention of the disease made me weak and fearful. But Cormier made me realize that maybe the experience had had a positive influence in my life. I also learned that we are not going to live forever, and losing my father did bring me closer to the rest of my family.

“What advice would you give to someone facing health issues?”

“You have to do what is best for you,” Cormier said. “It is your disease, and you have to be comfortable with it. Just remember not to give up, and to accept help from others.”

I had found an example of strength. A woman battled cancer, and instead of war wounds, she seemed to carry around medals of honor to remind her of the difficult journey, and the power of positive thinking and support.

“My dad used to tell me, ‘The greatest thing you’ll ever know is to love, and to be loved in return.’” Cormier said. “I didn’t know what he meant at first, but after all of the support I received from family and friends during the fight against cancer, I finally understand. Love gave me strength.”

For more information on breast cancer and ways to support research, contact Pink Links at 337- 893-1900. You may also check out their Web site at www.pink-link.org.

The Man in the Red and White Suit

For the first few weeks of December, I was in one of those moods that kept me from getting into the spirit of the season. I knew that I needed a jump-start to help me feel jolly, and so I decided that I would apply for a job that had a holiday theme.

I thought about my options, and came up with toy maker, Christmas tree grower and reindeer handler, none of which I thought I was qualified for. But several days ago, while reading The Abbeville Meridional, I found the perfect job to help get me in the holiday spirit. I would apply to work directly for Santa Claus.

After reading about his appearance at the recently passed Cattle Festival, I made a few phone calls and found out that he was going to be in Abbeville the week before Christmas. I managed to get in touch with him directly, and set up an interview at a place called T-Boy’s Flea Market.

I brought my mother with me, and as I drove down Charity Street towards the courthouse, she helped me look for a big blue metallic building. I found it easily because Mr. Claus was sitting in front of it in his red and white suit.

“Why are we here?” my mother asked as we pulled into the parking lot.

“I’m interviewing for a job with Santa Claus,” I said.

She told me that I was too skinny to fit in the suit, and I explained to her that I was applying for a job to work for Santa Claus, not to actually be Santa Claus.

“I’m not even sure who you would have to talk to about becoming the big man,” I said. “But who cares. Maybe he’ll give you something like a bag of aluminum cans.”

We got out of the car and walked towards the front door of the building. Before we arrived, a woman walked out of the store and stood next to the man in the red and white suit.

“This is my daughter, Kimberly,” Santa Claus said.

I hadn’t realized that Santa Claus had a daughter, and I wondered if he’d accidentally told me some big family secret. I thought about threatening to call the National Enquirer with this information unless he gave me a brightly wrapped present from his big black bag of toys.

As I fantasized about what I’d get, my mother asked Santa Claus who his daddy was. Within twenty seconds she knew more about his family than everything I’d learned as a child from watching all of his Christmas specials.

“He’s too skinny,” my mother said and pointed at me. “He can’t be you.”

I didn’t feel like explaining to her again that I wasn’t applying for a job to be the man who slid down people’s chimneys and put gifts into stockings and under trees. So I suggested that she check out what was inside the flea market, and to look for something for me. Mr. Claus’s daughter said she’d be happy to show my mother around, and then the two of them went into the store.

I sat outside in front of the flea market with the man in the red and white suit and wondered how I should address him. I didn’t know if I should call him Santa Claus or go with something more formal like Mr. Claus or Monsieur Kringle. I decided to try and avoid calling him by name, and then looked down at my list of questions.

There was note for me to ask him what types of jobs were available with Santa Claus. I didn’t think I’d like making toys, and probably wouldn’t want to live in the North Pole. I wondered if I could become his sleigh-driver, and if I should tell him about my experience of driving my mother around.

I imagined her sitting in the back seat of the sleigh and yelling at me about speeding as we flew across the sky. I wondered how I would explain to her that sometimes Rudolph got a little freaked out and went faster than he should. Just the image of the situation made me not want to be a sleigh-driver anymore, and so I thought I would ask Santa what it was like to take care of reindeer.

“Have Dasher, Comet or Cupid ever bitten you?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said. “But because I’m Santa Claus, I didn’t get rabies.”

He laughed, and I felt happy to know that Kris Kringle had a sense of humor. This was a requirement I looked for in all of my employers, and I became more enthusiastic about driving his sleigh. I decided that if the position included insurance, and I received a brightly colored package from the big black bag of toys, I would take the job.

A few seconds later, someone walked up and called Mr. Claus by the name, T-Boy. I asked him why, and he said that it was his nickname, and when he was in Vermilion Parish, he liked to be addressed by it. I felt relieved that I hadn’t embarrassed myself by calling him, Monsieur Kringle.

I knew that a man like this had probably seen a lot in his life, and so I asked him to tell me about his favorite Christmas memory. He told me that one time he helped Saint Theresa’s church hand out bicycles to 125 orphans throughout the parish.

“I love working with kids,” he said. “I can’t tell you how good it made me feel to see the smiles on their faces. That is why I do this.”

The story was just what I needed to jump-start my holiday spirit, and I didn’t care anymore if Santa Claus or T-Boy gave me a brightly colored package. The expression on his face told me that this was a man who truly believed in giving, and his words were the only Christmas present I needed.

I realized that since I had become filled with holiday spirit, I didn’t need to get a job working for Santa Claus anymore. I was going to end the interview, but then became confused about why the man in the red and white suit was just hanging out in Abbeville the week before Christmas.

“Shouldn’t you be building toys or something?” I asked.

He shook his head and said, “No. I get a lot of my stuff here at the Flea Market.”

He showed me inside the store, which was a large room filled with amazing collectibles ranging from coffee pots our grandma’s used before cappuccino makers were introduced, and glass bowls and vases of every size, shape and color.

My eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store, and I explored this treasure chest of days passed. As I meandered around a corner, I saw that there was something under the tree for me. It was a used black leather desk chair similar to ones I’d seen new for a couple of hundred dollars.

“I’ll give it to you for $20,” Mr. Kringle said. “Consider it an early Christmas present.”

Celebrating the Holidays

The holidays are here, and for some of us the brightly colored lights, neatly wrapped presents, and shimmering ice cycles surround and comfort us like our favorite warm sweater or blanket. But for others, this time of year is one of sadness, stress and loneliness. I have experienced the latter of the two feelings several times, but a few years ago I realized why.

At the time, I was living in New York and working as a tie salesman at Ralph Lauren. It was my first Holiday season at that store, but I knew from previous retail experience that since I was paid on commission, it could be very profitable. This was important to me because I was in a difficult financial situation. I could barely afford rent and other bills, and would not be able to exchange gifts with friends, or fly home to see my family.

On Christmas Eve, a customer came into the store looking for a last minute gift for her daughter’s new husband. I showed her our most popular items like golf shirts, cuff links and ties, but the customer vetoed all of them because she said she didn’t know her son-in-law’s taste. She finally decided on a pair of $150 red cashmere socks.

“I don’t know if he’ll like them,” she said. “But he better appreciate them because of how much they cost.”

I should have been happy because of the commission, but I was suddenly filled with sadness and a little anger. When the woman left, I excused myself from the sales floor and went to the employee kitchen to think about what I was feeling.
At first I felt hate towards the customer because she had the money to spend $150 on socks, and I had been surviving on cans of soup so I could pay rent. I became more angry as I thought about how I would be spending Christmas day alone, and her son-in-law would have his feet wrapped in cashmere.

But then I realized that what I was truly feeling was jealously, and that the emotion would neither solve or change anything. It would only fill me with more hate and anger and grow like a cancerous tumor.

It was at this moment that I decided to re-evaluate the meaning of the holidays. I knew that to some the time of year was about profit, but to others it was about the celebration of life, and the overcoming of obstacles.

To me, it was a time to get together with family and friends and be thankful for all that I had going for me. I had my health, and people who loved and supported me.

I realized that in a strange way, my interaction with the customer had been a blessing. She hadn’t change what the holidays meant to me, but she had made me think about how I would celebrate them.

I decided that I would no longer let the fact that I couldn’t afford expensive gifts, keep me from enjoying the holidays. I would instead give my loved ones something that I felt was more valuable; time. Socks wear out, but memories of a nice dinner or a walk in the park will stay with people forever.

Later that evening, I called a friend who I knew would also be alone in New York for Christmas. I asked him if he wanted to come to my apartment for lunch.

“I don’t have a Christmas tree, or a gift for you,” I said. “But I can open up the best can of soup I have and maybe even spring for some eggnog.”

There was no cashmere, or mounds of wrapping paper and presents to celebrate the holidays. But I consider the lesson I learned, one of the most valuable gifts I’ve ever received.

Gator Business

My mother has recently threatened to kick me out of her house if I don’t make an effort to find a full time job. She said that this unstable economy has negatively influenced the earnings she receives from recycling cans. I’ve reassured her that I’ve been going on exploratory interviews, and to provide proof, I’ve been writing about my experiences for the paper. But when I told her that she would read about my time at an alligator farm this week, she said that she didn’t believe me.

“Reading about the interviews in the paper, isn’t proof,” she said. “You could be making all that stuff up. I’m going with you to that alligator farm to make sure you’re telling the truth.”

Vermilion Gator Farm is located in the community of Mouton Cove. Surrounded by marsh, canals and swamps, it is the perfect location for Mr. Wayne Sagrera’s family run business. He has been the Wildlife and Fisheries Commissioner for six years, and his son, Stephen, currently holds the position.

“My family has been living off of the marshes of Vermilion Parish for five generations,” said Mr. Sagrera when my mother and I sat down with him in his office. “I started in this business with my father when I was thirteen.”

According to Mr. Sagrera, the alligator industry took off in the early 1980’s. He started his company in 1984, and over the course of twenty years became the largest exporter of alligator skins in the world.

“It was a lot of eighteen hour days,” said Mr. Sagrera. “But I get help from my four sons, Raphael, Kevin, Craig and Stephen.”

It was at that point I realized that I wouldn’t like working on an alligator farm. I didn’t want to work eighteen-hour days, and I didn’t have any children to help me. Then I started to get a little worried that my mother would ask Mr. Sagrera to hire me on the spot.

“How much does it pay?” my mother asked.

Before Mr. Sagrera answered, I asked him if he could tell the difference between a male and a female alligator by looking at them. He told me that the only way to really tell is by putting your finger into the animal’s cloaca.

“How much does it pay?” my mother asked again.

I didn’t know what a cloaca was, and I didn’t want to find out. I knew that the best way to avoid this was to get Mr. Sagrera away from my mother. So I asked him if he could give me a tour (without my mother) of the alligator farm.

We walked outside and up to a row of short buildings with roofs that looked like giant triangles or capital A’s. Mr. Sagrera said it wasn’t a good idea for us to go into a building with the live alligators, because there was a very strong odor, and the heat would fog up the lens cap on my camera.

“We raise the alligators in those buildings over there,” he said and pointed. “And over here is where we grade their skins.”

We walked into the building, and I saw a young lady with a ruler and several piles of skins laid side by side across a long table. Mr. Sagrera introduced me to his Quality Control Agent, Velma Stelly, who showed me how alligator skins were measured and graded.

“These skins are shipped all over the world,” Mr. Sagrera said. “Many are going to be used as watch bands for luxury brands like Gucci, Prada and Ralph Lauren.”

As we walked back towards his office, I became worried that my mother would ask Mr. Sagrera to give me a job, and I’d have to work eighteen-hour days. I started to wonder if I should ask a lot of stupid questions so he would think I was a little weird and tell my mother that he didn’t want me around his gators.

“What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever found in an alligator?” I asked.

Mr. Sagrera looked at me and smiled and said, “Another alligator.”

I managed to get my mother off of the farm before she enlisted me in the gator business. As we were driving home, I wondered if I should tell her that Mr. Sagrera said he wasn’t hiring at the moment. But before I could work out all of the details of the lie in my head, I realized that a thirty-nine year old man lying to my mother was a bit pathetic.

So I decided to sit still, and be quiet, and hope that she didn’t ask me when I was going to start working with Mr. Sagrera. But my plan didn’t work, and half-way home she turned and looked at me.

“You don’t want a job there,” she said. “If you had to work eighteen hour days, you wouldn’t have time to help me recycle cans.”

Sheer Family

This crazy economy has taken its toll on my bank account, so I’ve hit the roads of Vermilion Parish to find out what other sources of income are out there. So far, I worked as a Maytag Man, and learned how NOT to shuck an oyster. This week, I decided to visit one of the most interesting, yet dangerous places for a man to be; my mother’s beauty parlor.

Sheer Country by Angie LeMaire is a one-chair shop located on Highway 14 between Kaplan and Gueydan in the quaint community of Mulvey (my sister-in-law is from there). I had been on that drive many times as a kid, but never realized the beauty of the continuous roadside prairie decorated with ranch style houses and fields of grazing cattle.

When I saw the green and white sign advertising Le Doux’s Jumps and More, I knew it was time to take a right on Hemlock Lane to get to Angie’s shop. About a mile later, I came to the little brown building with a sign that said, “Sheer Country.”

“Angie’s so nice,” my mother said to me when I told her about the interview. “I love going there every week because she’s like my family. Don’t write anything bad about her or I’ll have to find another beauty shop.”

I know that the fastest way to get kicked out of my mother’s house is to steal her aluminum cans, or insult one of her beauticians. So I have spent more time than usual on this article in order to avoid offending Angie in any way.

But it isn’t hard to write nice things about her, because she truly is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. When I called Angie earlier that morning to ask if I could interview her, she seemed a little nervous. I wanted her to be relaxed when I interviewed her, so I asked if I could get a haircut.

“Sure,” she said. “Just come a few minutes before your mom’s appointment, and I’ll squeeze you in.”

When I walked into her shop, she hugged me and said it had been a long time since we’d seen each other. She pointed out of the back window of the shop at the home she and her family recently rebuilt.

“Our old house burnt down just before the holidays last year,” she said. “We just moved into the new one a few months ago.”

Angie told me to have a seat, and then asked me how I wanted my haircut. I had memorized some of my questions, so I could secretly interview her and decided that the best way to do this was by being causal.

“Make the sides short,” I said. “And oh yeah. How long have you been in the beauty business?”



Through my secret investigation, I found out that Angie’s owned her shop for five years, but has been in the beauty profession for over twenty. She is a graduate of Abbeville Beauty Academy, and has worked at several salons throughout Vermilion Parish.

“Can you thin out the top?” I asked. “And how long was the training?”

“The program was about a year,” Angie told me.

I thought about that for a second, and realized that being a beautician probably wasn’t the best choice for me, because I needed an immediate source of income. I couldn’t afford to study for a year, let alone the tuition to beauty school. But Angie had already begun cutting my hair, and so I figured I might as well continue with the interview.

My mother showed up for her appointment before I could remember my next question. The next several minutes were spent discussing the traffic in Kaplan, the Bonne Nouvelle and why men are so hateful. I was saved from having to explain all of mankind’s actions when another customer named Callie Trahan showed up for her appointment.

“Callie was a hair dresser too,” my mother said to me.

“Well, good,” I said. “So I’ll ask the two of you. Can you share a secret for great hair with the people of Vermilion parish?”

Angie said it’s important to remember that what you put into your body affects your hair. She said to eat healthy, and experiment with different products. That made sense to me, but I figured that two hair secrets were better than one, and so I asked Ms. Callie if she had any.

“Start with a clean head of hair,” she said. “And buy good products. You’re not saving any money if the cheap ones don’t work.”

Angie finished my haircut, and I told her to go ahead and put it on my mother’s tab because she was making all that money from recycling cans. My mother scrunched her face up at me like she’d eaten a lemon, and then walked over to the shampoo chair and sat down.

“So, Angie,” I said. “Do you have a most memorable moment from working in this profession?”

Angie leaned my mother back in the chair, and turned the nozzles on the sink until water poured out of a fixture resembling a small showerhead attached to a hose. She took a deep breath, and then looked down at the ground.

“I’d have to say it was after our house burnt down,” she said. “I started working again the next week because I needed an escape from everything that was going on. When I was at the shop, I felt like I had a huge family who was there for me to talk. It was my therapy, and my customers helped me get through that tough time in my life.”

I began to understand why my mother enjoyed coming to Sheer Country each week. It was a place to talk, and be amongst friends and family. Something that I’ve learned we all need in order to lead happy and healthy lives.

I promised my editor at the Abbeville Meridional that I would try every job I went to, and since I didn’t think anyone would trust me to cut their or put it up in rollers, I figured the only thing I could do was shampoo someone. But I wasn’t sure if I felt comfortable doing that to Miss Callie, who I’d only met a few times. So I looked down at my mother, who was reclining in the chair of the shampoo sink.

“I never thought I would ask this question in my life, Angie,” I said. “But would it be okay if I washed my mother’s hair?”

Angie told me that she would start the process because the hose was a lot harder to operate than it looked. She put a couple of squirts of shampoo in her hand, and then rubbed my mother’s head until it was white from the suds.

“Your turn,” Angie said. “Massage the scalp. You want to get the hair clean, but you want the customer to enjoy it.”

I closed my eyes and put my hands on top of my mother’s head and massage it the way Angie had told me to. I thought to myself that it felt nothing like it did when I shampooed my own head. Then I opened my eyes and saw my mother staring up at me.

“How am I doing?” I asked.

“You’re fired,” she said. “And I recycle cans to save the earth. Not to pay for your haircuts.”

For more information about training to become a beautician, call Louisiana Technical College at 893-4984. For info on recycling cans: Abbeville Scrap, Ph: 523-9322, Address: 723 AA Comeaux Memorial Drive.

A Whole Lotta Shuckin Goin On!

I’ve recently started searching for an extra income source so that I will no longer need to ask my mother for a share of the earnings she makes from recycling cans. I’ve decided that before I commit to anything, I’d like to see what jobs are available in Vermilion Parish, and what qualifications I would need in order to be successful in them. This week I had the opportunity to learn how to shuck a good oyster, and have a conversation with one of the two owners of Shuck’s restaurant, Bert Istre.

“He’s the hardest working man in the parish,” my mother said to me when I told her about the interview. “He owns a restaurant, a day care center and a uniform store. Listen good to what he has to say.”

I told her that I would, and then headed on to Abbeville to the restaurant. When I arrived, I was greeted by a young lady named, Courtney Picou. After I told her why I was there, she smiled and said that she used to work for the Meridional, and that she missed all the people from the paper.

“I loved working there, but I wasn’t crazy about the sales position that I had,” she said. “I prefer the atmosphere of the restaurant because customers come here wanting to be served, and I love helping people.”

Mr. Istre showed up then, and we sat down for our interview in the corner of the restaurant. From my right eye, I could see a glass room that reminded me of the Silent Booth that Bob Barker used to put the Miss USA beauty contestants in so they couldn’t hear each other’s Question and Answer session. Above it there was a sign that said, “a whole lotta shuckin goin on.”

It took me a couple of seconds to put two and two together, and I felt a little ignorant when I did. But then I was relieved that I’d realized my mistake before I asked Mr. Istre if they were going to have a beauty pageant in the restaurant.

Instead I asked him how long he’d been in the restaurant business. He told me that twenty years ago he started as a dishwasher and grass cutter at Golden Corral. He worked his way up through the ranks and eventually became the owner of the restaurant in Abbeville.

“I’ve been working in this industry for most of my life,” Mr. Istre said. “I love the hustle and bustle of the employees, and watching the customers enjoy themselves.”

Mr. Istre said one of the toughest parts of the business is the constant upkeep and maintenance of the equipment. He said it was vital because if something like a stove breaks, it can shut down operations.

“It’s like having a stick thrown in the wheel of a bicycle,” he said.

My brother Jude did that to me when I was a kid, causing me to fly into a ditch and scar my knee, which ended up ruining my chance of ever being a professional leg model. But I didn’t tell that to Mr. Istre because I figured he’d think it was a little weird and ask me to leave.

So instead I asked him what qualities he looked for in an employee. He responded that he looks for people who are well groomed, courteous and makes the customer feel at home.

“To be successful in this business, you need to have a desire to serve people and make them happy,” he said. “Otherwise you’ll be miserable.”

“I don’t like to be rushed, or sweat,” I said. “Would this be a problem if I worked in a restaurant?”

Mr. Istre laughed and said, “Yes. A very big one.”

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to meet the co-owner of Shuck’s, David Bertrand. Mr. Istre told me that his partner also worked in the restaurant industry for a number of years. He is the former owner of Bertrand’s Drive Thru, and Bertrand’s Riverfront.

“David’s a great guy,” Mr. Istre said. “I love having a partner because it gives me a little flexibility in my schedule, and gives me a chance to spend time with my family.”

I knew that in order to get the full experience of what it would be like to work in a seafood restaurant, I’d have to get my hands a little dirty and possibly break a sweat. So I asked Mr. Istre if he could teach me how to shuck an oyster.

He gave me an apron and led me to the door of the glass room in the corner of the restaurant. He handed me one rubber glove and a utensil that looked like a knife without a point, which I found out later is called a shucking or oyster knife. Then we walked inside the room, where two piles of oysters were laying on a bed of ice.



Mr. Istre grabbed one from the pile in front of him, and said that the first thing I needed to do was find the opening between the shells, and then use the shucking knife to pry it open and break the seal. He said I should then run the knife along the edges of the oyster, around to the other side.

After he explained the entire process, and shucked three complete oysters from his pile in under ten seconds, I picked one up and looked for the opening between the shells. By the time I found it, Mr. Istre had shucked three more oysters. I noticed that the pile in front of him had become a lot smaller than the pile in front of me.

I figured I should try to catch up, and so I stuck the shucking knife in the hinge and tried to pry it open. It wouldn’t budge, and so I looked for a hammer. But I didn’t see one, and so I rested all of my weight on the handle of the shucking knife, causing the oyster to slip out and fall on the floor.

“Use your wrist,” Mr. Istre said. “It’s a lot easier.”

He only had two oysters left in his pile, and even though I knew I couldn’t win the imaginary shucking contest I was having in my head, I knew my restaurant experience wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t shuck at least one. So I picked the oyster up off of the floor and watched Mr. Istre finish his final two and then start on my pile. Then I used his wrist technique and pried open my first oyster, and gave it a complete shucking.

When I got home from the interview, my momma called me over to her chair in our living room. She asked me if I’d spoken to the hardest working man in Vermilion Parish and if I’d learned anything from him. I told her that I learned a person needs to have a desire to do something in order to be successful. I let her know about the young lady I’d met who taught me that not every job is for everybody, and that’s okay because we all have to find our own way.

“But most importantly,” I said. “I learned that you need a strong wrist to get a whole lot of shucking going on.”

My mother stood up from her chair and then folded her arms in front of her. Then she picked her left arm up in the air and blinked her eyes.

“So?” she asked. “Is he going to give you a job or not?”

Instructions On How to Shuck an Oyster: Find the opening between the two shells and then hold the oyster firmly in one hand and shucking knife in the other. Slip the knife blade between the top and bottom shell right by the hinge on back. Twist your wrist to break the seal and then run the knife along the edges of the oyster around to the other side. Cut the eye of the oyster off of the top shell and then pry the top and bottom shells apart. Then slide your knife under the oyster and cut it free from the bottom shell.

Shucks is currently looking for an Oyster Shucker. If interested, apply in person or call 898-3311 and ask for David or Bert.

My Mother Has Something to Say