Strength to Maintain a Garden

Vermilion Parish is in the middle of spring, and as you drive around you’ll see newly pruned trees and bushes, farmers plowing their fields, and citizens working in their gardens. It’s a time of preparing the ground and planting seeds in anticipation of a large harvest. For some, the reward will be as small as a few ceramic pots filled with Marigolds, and for others as large as fields blanketed in golden grains of rice.

It’s so easy this time of year to plant for the future because the weather and landscape are as beautiful as a postcard. The thought of our fruits of labor motivates us to spend money on potting soil and seeds, and to grab a shovel and dig. But as the days get longer and warmer, and the air gets thicker and wetter, and the insects start partying like it’s 1999, where will you get the motivation to maintain what you’ve planted? Where will you get the strength?

When I first moved back to Cow Island from New York, I became fascinated with my mom’s backyard and some property behind it. Even though I’d grown up back there, I’d forgotten about it and what it offered. I went from an apartment with a potted plant in Manhattan to an entire house with sixty acres of landscape, and a canal filled with snapping turtles and alligators.

I can see the property from the window in my room. When I sit at my writing desk, I often stare through the glass like it’s a television. Some days my mom will walk into my view to throw old fruit over the fence. Other days, my brothers and nephews will make guest appearances on horseback. Sometimes I’m blessed with a memory of my father.

My first spring back in Cow Island, I wanted to be in that picture. I wanted to plant things in the land and watch them grow like a thick enchanted forest. I was motivated by a desire to be part of something, and to build a gift for my family as a thank you for all the support they’d shown me over the years.

For three weeks, building the garden became my number one priority. I tilled soil, planted seeds and trees, hung birdhouses and ferns, installed a fountain, and built a fence out of large fallen branches and rope. I even laid down concrete blocks to create a sitting area where I hoped to be inspired to write.

The result was a colorful outdoor space that made me proud. My family even celebrated Mother’s Day there that year, and contributed to the garden by donating plants, and chipping in for a cypress swing. It was a success in my book, and a symbol for all that I could accomplish if I put my mind to it.

But then summer arrived, and the vision of my potential became blurred by the heat and insects. As I watched the garden from my bedroom window, weeds and poison ivy overtook areas of clear direct lines and mulch. My homemade fence built to create intimacy crumbled apart due to rotten wood and improperly fastened rope.

The hardest slap from reality though, was that by building the garden, I’d created an obstacle for a vital process in maintaining a yard; mowing. The fence, fountain and flowerbeds had made the area inaccessible for a riding mowing machine. So I had to go old school, and begin pushing a Snapper amidst heat, mosquitoes and failure.

I’d built too much, too soon. The result was something pretty, but not practical. Interesting, but not real. Bold, but not strong.

I hadn’t taken the time to get truly re-acquainted with Louisiana’s climate before I began the project. I had worked so hard to build this garden, but didn’t have the strength to maintain it or tear it apart. Instead, I watched it deteriorate from the safety and climate controlled temperature behind a window.

This year I’ve committed myself to cleaning up the obvious mess I made. I moved pots, and tore down flowerbeds so the area can be mowed again. I dusted off the cypress swing, pruned dead branches off of plants, and dropped a few seeds in places that won’t cause obstacles.

Although in some ways the first garden I built failed, I don’t regret the work. I enjoyed watching an idea come to life, and learned from my mistakes. I have cut back on my different growing areas so I am better able to focus on what’s important to me, and what will yield the highest harvest.

So in my opinion, the best way to maintain a garden is to learn about its landscape before you even plant it. Don’t let it scare you, or you’ll never reap the joyous rewards of watching something grow. Instead, arm yourself with knowledge and you will find the strength to build and maintain the chosen garden of your life.

The Concrete Foundation of Meaux Lumber

BOYD MEAUX, CARROLL FONTENOT, CHUCK MEAUX

I’ve never been very skillful with tools except for hammering nails or making funny sounds with a hand saw. So when I had to install a rail on some steps at my mom’s house, I asked my brother Joey for help. I volunteered to purchase all of the supplies in hopes that he’d take charge of the project, and all I’d have to do was hold screwdrivers and make snacks.

Unfortunately, buying the materials for a homemade handrail proved to be more challenging than I had initially thought. Aside from the many different sized pipes, I also needed screws that could be drilled into concrete.

Do those really exist? I wondered. Couldn’t we just super glue it?

The inside of most hardware stores usually intimidated me because of my lack of knowledge as well as the lack of available help. But luckily I did my shopping where customer service is one of the many values drilled into a concrete foundation.

Located at 402 East 11th Street in Kaplan, Meaux Lumber was opened over sixty years ago by the late Harry Meaux. His sons, Ronnie and Gene eventually joined the business and now his grandsons, Chuck and Boyd have a stake in the ownership.

“My grandpa helped a lot of Kaplan residents during World War II when lumber was in short supply,” said Chuck. “He developed a good reputation, so after the war, people hired him to build their houses.”

Meaux Lumber’s product line includes (but is not limited to) doors, windows, plumbing and electrical supplies, hand, gardening and power tools and cabinetry grade hard woods such as oak, maple and poplar. They are licensed residential building contractors, but also fix roofs and do minor home repairs.

“The core of our business is residential building,” says Chuck. “Although I like working in the store, I prefer working on the house projects because they’re more challenging.”

According to Chuck, the toughest part of the construction business is orchestrating the various details involved in the process. This proves to be even more difficult when uncontrollable factors such as weather play a role.

“I learned from my grandpa that the most important aspect of this business is to make sure the customer is happy at all costs,” says Chuck. “When we do a good job, our reputation will help us get another house to build. But if the customer isn’t happy, we might lose two or three.”

First cousins, Boyd and Chuck, started loading trucks and making deliveries at the family business when they were fifteen. Over time, they both left for college and to pursue other interests. But as Meaux Lumber grew, the two men returned to take more active roles.

“Anytime you have a business with family, it’s hard to separate the two,” says Boyd. Consciously knowing is the first step in keeping everything running smoothly.”

When I went to Meaux Lumber for my interview, I couldn’t help but joyfully notice the extra-wide parking spots. Although this may be a minor detail to some, I found it particularly comforting that I could open my car door all the way and didn’t have to suck in my gut to exit.

At first glance, the inside of the building was very similar to most hardware stores. Multi-colored boxes of nails and screws were neatly stacked on shelves, and paintbrushes, duct tape and various tools hung from pegs on a wall.

But a closer look revealed a product that not all stores carry. Mementos like taxidermy mounts, family pictures and old newspaper advertisements hung throughout the building. None of these were for sale, but instead represented values Harry Meaux worked hard to achieve; experience, quality, trust and family pride.


I learned this from personal experience when I purchased the supplies for my mom’s handrail from Chuck. He took the time to explain how the concrete screws worked, and told me to call if I had any problems. He probably spent fifteen minutes helping me even though my total purchase only came out to a few dollars.

Although I had to work harder than I’d initially planned, my brother, Joey and I successfully installed the handrail. I look at it daily, and am reminded of what family members can build when they work together. This is all thanks to the Meaux family, and their concrete foundation.

For more information on the products and services offered by Meaux Lumber, call 643-7465.

ME PRETENDING TO DRIVE A FORKLIFT

Strength to Climb a Mountain

Several years ago, I lived in Lausanne, Switzerland at the bottom of what the Swiss called, “a large hill”. Geologists would probably call it the same, but to a Louisiana boy like me, who got winded when walking up a flight of stairs, it was a full-fledge mountain.

Most of the businesses of the town were located at the top, where there were breath-taking views of the Alps, Lake Leman (Geneva), and Evian, France. It was a magical place, where I spent most of my days and longed to live forever.

To get to the top, my options were a ten-minute bus ride or a twenty-five minute uphill walk. For my first few weeks in Lausanne, I opted for the public transportation because it was faster and easier, and the thought of climbing the mountain without sherpas and oxygen tanks made my head hurt.

I didn’t have the strength to walk to the top of Lausanne, because I thought I’d just climbed up my own mountain in New York. I’d written a book, and planted my flag in the ground in hopes of claiming the territory known as Success. But after almost two years from the date I typed, “The End,” on my story, no publisher wanted to hear it. I felt like I was still at base camp in the land of Failure.

I was mentally and financially broke, and had severely damaged my business career by taking the time off to focus on writing. So my friend, Heather, swooped in like a super hero and took me into her Swiss home. I was there to rest, and decide if I would try to continue my climb towards my dreams, or instead find another flatter course.

So I had no interest in climbing to the new mountain to get to the center of Lausanne. Even though I missed the scenery along the way, the bus was fine for me. Walking wasn’t worth the work and sweat, when I could simply relax and be lifted to the top.

But one cold afternoon while I sat at the bus stop, I began to have a change of heart. I was obsessing about my failure as a writer, and had to move before I died creatively right there on that bench. I needed to walk, but to where? I was already at the bottom, and the only place was up.

Then I began to take note of the people passing by me on their way to the top. There were school children riding on bicycles, a mother pushing a stroller and a senior citizen rolling her wheelchair up the steep incline.

Am I that weak? I thought. Is it really better to sit here at the bottom and die rather than sweat a little to get to the top?

“No,” I said standing up. “I can do this. I have to do this.”

So I climbed. Immediately my heart and lungs began pumping like I was jogging, but my steps were only taking me about ten feet every two minutes. I continued though, to prove that I was not defeated, and was stronger than children and an old lady in a wheelchair.

But then the sky turned dark, and snow began to fall to the ground. Not pretty little flakes that children in fairytales wake up to on Christmas morning. But big hard balls of ice that pelted my face like giant spitballs shot through cannons.

I was in a blizzard, and the course of my journey became more confusing and challenging. My feet slipped with each step, and I soon lost hope in reaching the top. My new goal had become to get to the next bus stop.

But then a flash of revolving color appeared like a light at the end of a tunnel. It looked liked a giant candy cane spinning around, but when I got closer, saw that it was a barber’s pole. I was only halfway up the mountain and didn’t really need a haircut, but the thought of sitting in a nice warm room while someone snipped away my ice filled locks, seemed my only reasonable option.

So I entered the barber’s shop with a hope of being saved while the heavy storm covered the town in a blanket of snow. But I hadn’t taken more than a few steps when a new obstacle in the form of a cow-sized poodle ran out from behind a large velvet curtain and barked and growled at me.

A heavy-set man wearing a bizarre smile appeared a few seconds later. The blizzard began to seem more appealing, but before I could step away, the barber sat me down in a chair and lowered the back until my head leaned into a sink. Without any explanation, he disappeared behind the curtain for a minute. When he returned, classical music filled the air and slowly warmed my body like an electric blanket.

He washed my hair with Mozart, but cut it with Beethoven. His hands danced across my locks like those of a conductor leading an orchestra, and on staccato notes, he cut one strand at a time.

I had feared the outcome, but a look in the mirror reflected one of the best haircuts I’d ever received. Then as if on cue, the blizzard stopped and the sun shone down on beautiful Lausanne, and through the barbershop window.

I made my way to the top of the mountain that day, and enjoyed my prize of the picturesque land below me. A week later, I was rewarded again when I received an email from my agent stating that not one, but two publishers wanted to buy my book.

I haven’t climbed my own personal mountain yet, but I’ve made progress. I now know that I am meant to be a writer, and have a clearer idea of my journey. There are times when I encounter other blizzards, and am not sure if I’ll ever reach the top of where I’m heading. But at least now, I know that I am capable of getting somewhere. At least now, I have the strength to enjoy the scenery along the way.

The Simplest of Sounds

Whenever I drive my mom anywhere, she searches the side of the road for aluminum cans. She’ll tell me explicit details about them, and share her thoughts on re-sale value.

“A red smashed Coke can wrapped in a paper bag!” she’ll exclaim. “Five cents and we can recycle the paper.”

I admire my mom’s instincts to want to keep Vermilion Parish clean, and her ability to spot a nickel a mile down the road. But when I’m focusing on driving or listening to the radio or trying to explain to her that I do indeed have a job, her CAN-nouncements aren’t as endearing.

“Two Dr. Peppers! That’s ten cents!”

“I was in the middle of a sentence, Mom,” I’ll say louder than needed. “Please don’t yell out can thoughts while I’m speaking.”

“I’m sorry,” she’ll say.

Then I’ll feel like the worst son in the world. Guilt punches me in the stomach, and I search for the words to apologize. But my mom speaks first.

“A twenty-ounce Arizona ice tea! Oh wait, that’s a paper cup. Why do people litter?’

Hearing my mom’s can thoughts is something I took for granted until I interviewed Lindsay Aguilar Levier, owner and Dispensing Audiologist of Louisiana Hearing Specialists, LLC. Opened in Abbeville in 2009, the business administers hearing tests and sells a variety of hearing aids, earphones and other audio devices.

“I decided to become an audiologist after working with children at The Baton Rouge Speech and Hearing Foundation,” said Levier. “It was amazing to see them communicate in a non-traditional way. Missing your child say, ‘I love you’ is heartbreaking. I wanted to help.”

Levier has a Masters of Arts with a concentration in Communication Science and Disorders from LSU. With over ten years of experience in audiology, Levier has worked for Miracle Ear, various Ear, Nose and Throat specialists, and the Louisiana School for the Deaf.

“The most challenging part of my job is trying to find a hearing aid for someone with monetary restraints,” says Levier. “It’s very disappointing when I can’t help someone feel and hear better.”

According to Levier, the best part of her job is helping people hear the simplest of sounds that they hadn’t heard in a long time. She had one customer who had forgotten the sound of a buzzing wasp.

“My most memorable experience was with a woman whose husband was dying in the nursing home,” says Levier. “When she put the hearing aid on, she broke down in tears. Her husband died a few days later, but she was so thankful that they had those few moments together.”

Levier suggests having your hearing checked once a year. She says that you should never put anything in your ear smaller than an elbow, and that the largest threat to our hearing is noise exposure.

“The biggest complaint I get is that people can hear, but they can’t understand,” says Levier. “So I find out about their day-to-day activities in order to select the best hearing device for them. I listen to them so they can hear.”

Levier attempted to give me a hearing test by use of a Video Otoscope. A monitor displayed the inside of my ear, which looked like an underwater cave filled with mountains of gold.

“That’s ear wax,” Levier said. “We can’t continue with the hearing test because it interferes with the results.”

I was extremely embarrassed of my improper ear hygiene, but Levier said that she’s seen her share of waxy lobes. She refers customers with gold in their ears to their General Practitioner or Ear, Nose and Throat physician.

Later that day when my mom and I were headed home, I thought about the man who had forgotten the simplest of sounds like a buzzing wasp. Although I wasn’t always in the mood to hear flying insects or about how many cans were in a ditch, the thought of never hearing them again scared me.

My mom had been quiet even though we’d past at least six cans. I missed her voice, and for some reason did something very strange.

“A Pepsi and a Red Bull!” I shouted. “That’s five cents.”

Although my mom’s can thoughts were distracting at times, I didn’t want to ever stop hearing them. But at that moment, the simplest of sounds was on a break.

“Good job spotting the cans,” my mom said. “But if you don’t mind, I’m trying to listen to the radio.”

For more information on the services offered by Louisiana Hearing, call 337-706-8176.

Strength to Dance in the Rain

In most intimate relationships there are daily challenges. Some are mildly inconvenient, but others collect like thick fog in the air, and eventually form into black clouds. Then one day they thunder and burst open into a full-fledge storm, all because of an incident as simple as a dirty pair of underwear left on a bathroom floor.

Many of my relationships ended over trivial issues because I was too weak to handle the stress of a significant other. Sometimes I’d burst the black clouds myself by consciously waving my Fruit of the Looms in the air before letting them fall to the ground like an ax on a chicken’s neck.

But there are those couples who open an umbrella for the storm, or mop up the excess run-off of life so their relationship can flourish. There are those who find the strength.

My brother Mike married his high school sweetheart, Tina Simon when they were both teenagers. In their thirty-five years as husband and wife, they’ve faced many challenges, but have managed to stay together. Their reward has been four beautiful children, and strength for another thirty-five years.

“We began our lives together as best friends, and over the years we have become soul mates,” says Tina. “I am so proud of the life we’ve made together and I thank God for blessing me with such an amazing man.”

Mike has worked in law enforcement since 1982, and is currently the Vermilion Parish Sheriff. According to Tina, as her husband moved through the ranks of his career, there were many bumps along the way. But the roughest were the fifteen and a half years when he worked as a narcotics agent. During this period, he spent a lot of time away from home and was exposed to dangerous situations.

“I found the strength to deal with his absence through prayer and my children,” Tina said. “God kept me sane, and the kids kept me busy.”

Tina channeled her energy towards her children’s education and development. She substituted at school, taught catechism, and took an active role in the Beta Club.

“I not only wanted to be part of our children’s home life,” said Tina. “I wanted to be part of their educational years, spiritual growth and extra-curriculum activities.”

Another great challenge for the couple was during Mike’s campaign for Sheriff. They worked together for sixty hours a week during an eighteen-month period. Their four children joined the crusade, and through moments of sadness, joy, excitement and exhaustion, they found the strength for a victory.

“There were times when we had to give each other pep talks,” said Tina. “But we were so in touch with one another that we found ourselves finishing each other’s sentences and silently thinking the same things.”

I initially wanted to write this story about Tina to hear where she found the strength to be married to a man in both law enforcement and politics. But during our interview, I was surprised to see how well my sister-in-law took the situation in stride.

“It’s hard to view Mike being Sheriff as a challenge after what we went through when he worked in narcotics,” said Tina. “Now he comes home at night so we have more time together. The rough patches made us stronger today.”

I sat on this story for two weeks, a bit irritated that Tina wasn’t having a hard time being married to a Sheriff. Didn’t she know I had an agenda? Was I going to have to make something up to give the column a little spice? But then, as if the universe heard me, inspiration rode up to me on horseback.

It was the late afternoon before my deadline for the column, and as I sat at my desk staring at a blank page, I heard noises coming from outside. I opened my window blinds and saw Mike and Tina on horseback working cattle in the pasture. My first look at the couple was the two of them riding side by side. Their backs were to me, and as they got further away, it was as if someone was standing beside me whispering the story that needed to be written.

Since I am much, much, (much) younger than Mike and Tina, I’ve always known them as a couple. I would often sleep at their home, and catch intimate glimpses of their relationship. There were tough moments, but there were many more filled with happiness, trust and love.

But the recent moment I watched of Mike and Tina on horseback was the most powerful. It was a story of best friends who are human like the rest of us. They’ve been through storms, but stood strong as the black clouds thundered above them.

Both my brother and sister-in-law have been a large part of my life. I believe in them, and their lasting relationship has proven to me that I am capable of having my own. I know that neither of them would ever hurt the other or their family. It is the trust they’ve built over the years that will give them the strength for any storms in the future.

“Mike is the one I can count on to be there for me, to believe in me and to care about me,” says Tina. “Together, we have given one another the strength to conquer all of the challenges that have come our way. We have learned to dance in the rain.”

Training to be a Hero

I had many different jobs in my life, and each one required some sort of training. I’ve gone to archery school, taken computer courses and sat through seminars on how to perfectly fold jeans. Most of the information was necessary, but I often found my attention wandering to other places, unconcerned with the consequences of an improperly folded pair of Levis.

But there are those jobs where being focused during training can be a matter of life and death. Take for example the fire fighter, who trains by getting in a trailer, which is then ignited.

“It’s called a Flash Over Trailer,” says Matt Suire, Assistant Fire Chief of the Abbeville Fire Department. “It trains fire fighters to read how a fire’s gases travel. This way they can prevent the flames from spreading.”

Every new rookie fire fighter trains for fourteen weeks at the LSU Fire Fighting School. In addition to being set on fire, they take classes on climbing ladders, handling hoses and using breathing apparatuses.

“The most important subject the instructors teach is personal safety,” says Suire. “When you go into a fire, you have to watch out for your partner and yourself.”

Suire started his career as a fire fighter back in 1980, and is no stranger to dangerous situations. About five years into his job, the second floor of a burning building collapsed beneath his feet. He fell to the ground floor and broke his ankle.

“Luckily there were other fire fighters inside who pulled me out,” says Suire. “Toxic gases and structures collapsing are two of the biggest dangers when fighting fire.”

According to Suire, every fire fighter is required to have twenty hours of training per month. In addition to controlling fires, the department also responds to medical emergencies. Other responsibilities include inspecting hydrants, public education and pre-fire planning with businesses.

“We keep a file on all of the commercial buildings in Abbeville,” says Suire. “Every business in town has an information sheet with a diagram of the structure. It has who to contact, and lets us know if there are any hazardous materials on the premise.”

Suire was named Abbeville Fire Fighter of the Year as a rookie, and again in 2009. He says the best part of his job is helping the public.

“I have many memorable moments with the fire department,” says Suire. “People are so grateful when we help them. It’s what I love about my job.”

I recently interviewed Suire at the Abbeville Fire Station on West Vermilion Street. While there, I met other members of the team including Fire Chief Elvin Michaud, Captain Jack Harrington, Fire Fighter First Class Brady Barras and Secretary to the Chief, Charlie Romero.

I was given a tour of the facility, which included fire proof uniforms neatly hanging on pegs, coiled up hoses and a variety of different fire trucks. One, called a Tender, holds three thousand gallons of water, and another one is equipped with the Jaws of Life.

MATT SUIRE AND BRADY BARRAS WITH JAWS OF LIFE

Suire and Barras even showed me a public education trailer the department uses to teach school children about fire safety. Don’t worry parents and teachers because this trailer, unlike the Flash Over Trailer, isn’t set on fire. It does however produce smoke, and kids learn how to crawl out safely.

One of the most interesting parts of my tour was the bunkroom. Since fire fighters work in twenty-four hour shifts, they are required to sleep at the station. I love my job at the newspaper, but I’m not sure I’d be wiling to spend the night at the Abbeville Meridional.


But writing is a solo profession, whereas the career of a fire fighter requires cohesiveness. Individually they are human beings with the spirit and courage to help others. It is through teamwork and their continuous training that they become most powerful and transform into heroes.

Anyone interested in becoming a fire fighter will need to take the Civil Service test. For information on dates, call 337-893-1831.

Strength for the First Day of the Rest of Your Life

One of my life’s pleasures when I was a child was chewing gum. I loved its taste, and the way I could maneuver it through every crevice of my mouth. I blew bubble after bubble, and entertained myself with one stick for hours on end. Big Red, Juicy Fruit, Bubalicious, Hubba Bubba, and Trident. Those were my childhood friends who stood by me thick and thin, or at least until their flavor dissolved.

Then on the Mardi Gras when I was six-years-old, my relationship with gum took a new turn. I was sitting on my bed and taking inventory of all I’d caught at the Kaplan parade. There were peppermints, Mary Janes, Chicklets and lollipops that melted into gum. I felt thankful for my treasures, and lined them up in the order I was going to devour them.

But my dad walked into my room, interrupting my plans for domination over the sweets. He was there to recommend that I forgo one of my life’s pleasures as my penitence for Lent. He said that through self-denial for forty days, I’d be re-born on Easter Sunday and would be filled with strength.

“If I can’t chew gum, the only thing that’s going to be stronger is my breath,” I said.

I think I might have burped and then tried to give my dad a high five. But unfortunately, he didn’t always find me as hilarious as I found myself. So his recommendation for penitence suddenly became a punishment, and my pile of Mardi Gras treasures was taken from me like candy from a baby.

Gone were the Mary Janes and magic lollipops that melted into gum. Gone were the chocolate doubloons and candy that I couldn’t identify, but was sure was delicious. Even gum related products were confiscated, leaving me alone to drown in a pool of tears as my dad carried away my baseball cards, Booza Joe jokes, and a Hubba Bubba t-shirt.

My first week of Lent consisted of basic childhood tantrums. These included, but were not limited to, a hunger strike, kicks and screams, and threats to either go blind or run away and live in the forest with my imaginary pet alligator.

The second and third weeks, the tears stopped. But my fight continued on as I walked around our house shirtless in political protest against having my Hubba Bubba t-shirt ripped from my body.

By week four, I knew I had lost the argument. So for the rest of Lent, I changed my focus from protesting, to finding anything in our house that resembled gum. My brothers had eaten all of their Mardi Gras stash, so I searched desk drawers, in-between sofa cushions and through my momma’s old purses. I was finally successful when I found an old cough drop on the floor of the family car. For ten whole minutes, I sat in the back seat sucking on the Halls and pretending it was a Chicklet. A dirt flavored Chicklet.

Then Easter morning came, and before the sun rose, my eyes popped opened like someone had scared me or sprayed me in the face with vinegar. It was still dark, but imagines of Dentyne and Bubalicious danced before me and led me down our hallway to our living room.

To avoid waking anyone in our house, I carried a flashlight and shone its beam underneath our front picture window. There stood a row of baskets filled with chocolate covered rabbits, marshmallow chickens and gum that looked like robin’s eggs.

I stepped towards my prize, fantasizing about pouring the candy all over me. It would be a rain of life’s pleasures, softly kissing my skin before it floated down to my feet.

But before my hand could touch the Easter basket, before I could rip open the cellophane, before I could even smell the sweetness of my reward, my conquest was interrupted. A glow of light seemed to evolve from thin air as if conjured up by a mystical force. But after I caught my breath, I realized it was only my dad turning on a table lamp.

“Happy Easter,” he said. “Right after mass, I’ll give you back your Mardi Gras candy and you’ll be able to open up your basket.”

Regardless of how much I cried or begged or even reasoned, there was no changing my dad’s mind. The few hours I had to wait for my Easter basket were the toughest of the forty days of Lent. Every inch of my body pulsated in pain, and I seriously wondered if I would die before ever blowing a bubble from the robin’s eggs made of gum.

But several years later, I realized that it wasn’t death I was experiencing. It was re-birth. My dad’s promise had been kept, and I was no longer the freewheeling gum chewer who let the likes of Juicy Fruit and Big Red control him.

To honor my late dad, I continue to give up gum for Lent. It’s not as difficult anymore because I’ve outgrown it. But it reminds me of what I can accomplish, and that I have the power to be born again whenever I wish.

To many Christians, this Easter Sunday is about the resurrection of Jesus Christ. To others, it has different religious significance. But regardless of how you celebrate, or what you believe, this day is the first day of the rest of your life. Like spring flowers fertilized with strength as they sprout through the dead leaves of winter, it is our time to blossom.

Picture of Postal Worker

Below: Lloyd Broussard, Tina Perrin, Mary Alice Couvillon, Kenneth Gove, Paula Hargrave

One of the great things about coming from a large family is that when I need information about almost anything, I can turn to a relative. If I need financial advice, I speak to my brother, Joey, who works at a bank. If I want to know why my ice cream is melting in my freezer, I call my brother, Jude, who owns an appliance store. And if I have a question concerning anything to do with the post office, I dial 1-800-ASK-MARY (Phone number not real. Do not call.).

My sister-in-law, Mary Alice Couvillon, is a rural carrier associate with the United States Postal Service. I call her on a regular basis with questions like the current costs of stamps, different shipping options and why the only mail I ever get are bills. She’s always such a wealth of information that I sometimes worry she’ll start charging me by the minute like a telephone psychic.

“My favorite part of the job is working with the public,” says Mary Alice. “Some people will meet me at their mailboxes and tell me about their families.”

Mary Alice started her career with the USPS thirteen years ago in Rayne, but now works in the Abbeville location. Before she was hired, she was required to take the Postal Exam, which tested her memory, comparison and math skills.

“I have to be focused and well organized when I sort through the mail because some of the names and addresses are very similar,” says Mary Alice. “It’s one of the most important parts of the job.”

I recently visited Mary Alice at the Abbeville post office to find out what it was like to be a rural carrier associate. We met in the back of the building, and she led us inside a warehouse where postal workers pushed around carts filled with sacks of mail. Then we sat down on stools and faced a large case with shelves, each one sectioned off by addresses.

“When the mail comes into the post office, an associate sorts it by routes,” said Mary Alice. “Then I take the mail for my route and put it in order by address in this casing. That way, I avoid mistakes during delivery.”

According to Mary Alice, the most challenging part of her job is delivering the mail during bad weather or the summer months. But the rest of the year, she enjoys driving the different routes in Vermilion Parish, especially the ones in the country.

“I love photographing nature,” said Mary Alice. “If I could photograph anything in the world, though, it would be my late parents. I’d love to take a picture of them alive today.”

Mary Alice gave me a short tour of the front of the post office where customers can find change of address and hold mail forms, as well as purchase stamps, money orders and shipping materials. We spent the final part of our interview outside in the back parking lot trying to get a decent photograph of me pushing a cart towards a mail truck.

“Try to make me look muscular and like I’m twenty-one years old,” I said to Mary Alice when I handed her the camera.

She didn’t respond with a sarcastic remark like others in my family would have. But instead took a more subtle approach and made sure that I stood in a shady spot.

I called Mary Alice a few days later to ask more questions about her job at the post office. We began a discussion about photography, which until the interview I had no idea of my sister-in-law’s interest. She revealed a side of herself I hadn’t known, and in a way made our relationship closer. I will always value her knowledge of the cost of stamps, but now I look forward to rewarding conversations about art and family.

For more information on careers at the United States Postal Service, visit www.usps.com.

Strength to Lead a Family

There are many books written by leaders like Presidents, war generals and captains of industry. Each one has their own approach on how to lead nations, armies and companies. Some of their techniques have been successful for large organizations, but where do we turn for advice when raising a family? Where do we find the strength?

On Thursday, January 28, 2010, Marie Lege Dartez woke up and prepared for a family meal to be held at her Kaplan home that evening. It was a weekly supper that she had been cooking for the last forty years. At first it was for her three children and their spouses. But over time, with the addition of grandchildren, great grandchildren and great, great grandchildren, the guest list increased to sixty.

“She loved to cook and bring joy to others,” says Dartez’s daughter, Betty Girouard. “She’d make tarts and fudge for her whole family, bring flowers to thirteen different graves for All Saints Day, and make coffee every Saturday morning for anyone who wanted a cup.”

Dartez’s generosity and suppers became famous throughout her community, and soon friends began joining in the celebration of her family. The Kaplan Herald even did a story about the Thursday evening feasts back in 2004.

In the article, Dartez said, “Keeping my family together and having them know one another is very important to me.”

No one knows for certain what was going through the 86 year-old’s mind on January 28, 2010 while she prepared for the evening meal. Perhaps it was about which side dishes to serve or what the weather was like or how lucky she was to have most of her family coming over that evening. Regardless, this last supper was her most important, because when she went to bed that night, she continued to sleep forever.

At Dartez’s funeral was one of the pots she used for her last supper. Inside was an arrangement of sixty roses to represent each member of her family that she left behind.
On March 15th of this year, what would have been Dartez’s 87th birthday, her family got together and watched a video of her making homemade tarts.

“She used to make tarts for the whole family every year,” said Girouard. “This past summer she said it would be the last time.”

Girouard once interviewed her mother for a paper she had to write for a class. She learned that Dartez grew up on a houseboat and made her own toys when she a little girl.

“I learned so much about my mother’s life from that interview,” said Girouard. “It was a special moment with her that I will treasure forever.”

I first learned of Dartez and her famous suppers the day she died. A friend told me of the tradition, which at the time I found to be very heartwarming. But it never occurred to me to write about it until a month later when I ran into Girouard.

“I get lonesome when I can’t talk to her,” said Girouard. “When I miss her, I think of her alive, or go to her house and sit in her chair with her favorite blanket wrapped around me.”

Girouard invited my mother and me to her home for supper, where I met her husband, Boyd Girouard and one of their two children, Olivia. We spent several hours talking about friends, family and what we’d learned from our parents.

“Ma-mom believed in the value of family,” said Girouard. “She was determined to keep us together.”

Although you will never find a book on leadership written by Marie Lege Dartez, she successfully led her loved ones and taught them about the power and strength of family. But it wasn’t by charging onto a battlefield, or standing on a podium giving speeches. It was from sharing her gift of cooking with her followers, and practicing the art of simple generosity.

“I am so thankful for having her as a mother,” said Girouard. “She gave me the confidence to be who I am, and the strength to hold my head up high.”

The Thursday night my mother and I went to the Girouard’s home, I could tell that Dartez’s influence had been passed on to her daughter. The family prepared a wonderful supper for us, and even wrapped up food for us to take. To them it seemed to be a simple gesture of kindness, but what they might not have realized was that the paper plate carried more than a meal. It held Marie Lege Dartez’s legacy, but most importantly, her strength.

Kaplan Telephone Company

I still have the old black rotary telephone my family used when I was a kid. Its almost fifty years old, but still works and is a fine example of quality and craftsmanship. I admire its sturdiness, and would in fact still be using it today if it didn’t give me a blister on my index finger or take twenty-five minutes to dial.

Building something sturdy, while continuing to improve its quality is a principal the late Lytle Turnley practiced in life and in business. In 1952, he began ownership and management of the organization known today as Kaplan Telephone Company Inc. He initially provided phone service to a little over five hundred customers, but through hard work and support from his family, grew the business into a telecommunications powerhouse that connects residents throughout Vermilion Parish.

Turnley’s sons, Tony and Carl are now president and vice president respectively of Kaplan Telephone Company. The business offers cable television, broadband Internet, cellular and home phone services. Their products include cellular communication equipment, security systems, as well as business telephone systems. In 2001, KTC Telecom completed a fiber optic build out to serve the Abbeville business district.

“Lytle Turnley always stressed that if you worked hard, success would follow,” says Turnley’s stepson, Richard Constantin. “He believed in learning as much as you can about your work so you can be the best at it.”

Constantin is the Financial and Regulatory Manager at KTC. His credentials include twenty-five years of experience in the telecommunications industry, a Bachelors degree in Finance and a Masters in Business Administration from the University of Louisiana.

“I started climbing and working on telephone poles when I was fifteen,” says Constantin. “In the past twenty-five years, I’ve seen the company grow larger, but because of technology, the equipment has gotten smaller.”

Constantin worked as an outside plant technician while learning the ins and outs of the business. One of his favorite memories during this time was when after repairing an elderly customer’s telephone, she cooked lunch for the two of them.

Constantin recalls, ““The food was great, and the woman told me stories of the past. Then on the way out she handed me a paper bag of cucumbers from her garden. I remember thinking, ‘Where but in South Louisiana do you find such wonderful people?’”

I first learned of Kaplan Telephone Company’s history a few years ago when I visited Le Musee de la Ville on Cushing Avenue. Lytle Turnley donated the building for the museum as well as an exhibit of a lady mannequin named Gladys, who sits in front of an antique telephone switchboard.

When I visited KTC last week, Constantin furthered my knowledge and gave me a tour of the building. Because the structure grew with the organization through the second half of the twentieth century, each hallway and office provided architectural features from decades past. That is until we stepped into the future or as Constantin calls, the Central Office.

“It’s where all the telephone calls come through,” said Constantin. “It’s also where cable video and broadband internet transmits.”

I had imagined beforehand that the room would be filled with human versions of Gladys connecting calls with use of an antique switchboard. But instead, computers, routers and switches controlled and transmitted thousands of conversations that swam around me.

My tour of KTC continued outside with Turnley’s grandson, Matt Turnley. He gave me a look inside a box, known as a pedestal, at the base of a telephone pole. It was filled with hundreds of multi-colored wires that wrapped around each other to create giant snakes.



“This box is where phone, internet and cable is transmitted to the homes within certain city blocks,” said Turnley. “With fiber optic technology, we’ll be able to use one wire to replace thirty-two of the older ones.”

To give me a better idea of what it’s like to be an outside plant technician, Turnley let me re-program all of the systems so that customers would have the option to hear conversations in any language they’d like. I’m just kidding. All I did was put on a KTC hat and hold a pair of pliers while Constantin took my picture.

I was a little upset that I didn’t get to climb a telephone pole, but other than that, really enjoyed myself at KTC. I am sorry that I never had the opportunity to meet the late Lytle Turnley. His generosity to his community is evident throughout Kaplan.

What is even more obvious though, is that Turnley believed in creating something sturdy while continuing to improve its quality. Like my old black telephone, he built KTC to last. But it was his principals of education and hard work that enables his family to continuously improve communication amongst the residents of Vermilion Parish.

For more information on the services of Kaplan Telephone Company, call 337-643-7171 or visit www.ktcpace.com

Strength to Break Routines

To break up my routine of staring at the same face in the mirror every day, I sometimes grow beards. Each morning someone different reflects back at me, and for twenty-four hours I become that person.

The first day I’m a late sleeper who forgot to buy razors. The next, I’m on vacation, and the next I’m an international action reporter. Fourthly, I’m a college professor, and after a week, just before I shave my brown and gray beard off, I’m a much more attractive and younger version of Santa Claus.

I usually receive positive responses from friends and family about the change. This often motivates me to try and go past my Claus-in-training face to my ZZ Top. But my goal is suddenly redirected by a painful skin rash and a piercing sound.

“Why don’t you shave that thing off?” my mother will ask. “It makes you look so old and nasty.”

I quickly put the blade of my razor to my face and neck to end my suffering. But also to experience the reward of my clean-shaven skin’s first breath and the image of a man I hadn’t seen in seven days. Then I start all over again, enjoying each new person until day six when the voice and rash return.

But then my strategy to break my routine becomes its own routine and I’m right back where I started; in a routine. We need them to accomplish day-to-day goals and sometimes to build something long-term. But at what point do they stop helping, and instead start controlling? Where can we find the strength to break them?

After I graduated from high school in 1987, I changed addresses every single year until 2008. Sometimes it was just to another floor in the same building or a different part of a city or to an entire other country. My reasons for the moves ranged from necessity to adventure to facing a challenge with which I didn’t want to deal. Part of it all had been a journey, but another part had become a routine.

Because I didn’t move in 2009, my streak is broken. My withdrawal from the race was the result of pure exhaustion, and boredom of only scratching the surface of something instead of digging deeper to find out what was beneath.

As each day of my second year in the same place passes, I realize that my world isn’t ending because I’m breaking a routine. In fact I’ve been rewarded with closer relationships and stories of strength as I build something larger than I could have ever imagined.

Not moving last year was the biggest routine I ever broke. It has given me the strength to make other changes like eating healthier, spending time with family and friends and not immediately becoming angry when something doesn’t go my way.

But being still hasn’t been easy. I had to suddenly stop the routines of the person I was for the past twenty years. My urge for continuous movement, and my fear of responsibility frequently re-emerge, threatening the man I am trying to become.

So I grow beards. With each day’s growth of whiskers, I am reminded that I can be someone else. I can be responsible and passionate and generous and even adventurous. Through each face, I learn and become inspired to be the best I can.

This week I am sending you strength to break a routine. Call an old friend, go for a walk, eat at a new restaurant or take a night class. We all have the power to make positive changes in our lives, but we must take that first step.

As far as my beards go, my mother will be happy to know that since spring is here, I’ll stop growing them. But I seriously doubt she’s going to like my new routine to cope with the heat and humidity of the weather; shaving my head.

Mr. Electric Illuminates the World

I recently visited the store, Abbeville Electric to interview the owner, Rob Roy. When I stepped into the front showroom, I was greeted by a glow of light fixtures hanging from almost every inch of the walls and ceiling. Because of their different shapes and sizes, the room cast shadows and reflections making it feel exotic and magical like Superman’s Fortress of Solitude.

Is Rob Roy a super hero? I thought. Will he be wearing a cape with a picture of a light bulb on it and call himself Mr. Electric?

The man who introduced himself as Roy, was wearing normal clothes, but had the qualifications to be an electric caped crusader if he wished. His credentials include studying electronics at Louisiana Technical College in Abbeville, an apprenticeship as an electrician’s helper, and over twenty years of experience with lighting and electricity.

“I love different challenges such as designing and estimating costs of projects,” says Roy. “I never get bored with my job.”

Abbeville Electric offers consulting on lighting and electrical projects. Their merchandise line includes, (but is not limited to) ceiling fans, cabinet door hardware, landscape lighting, dimmer switches, oilfield related products, light bulbs, generators and receptacles.

“We have a strong relationship with building contractors and the oilfield industry,” says Roy. “But we also have a lot of customers who just need light bulbs.”

According to Roy, the easiest way to save electricity and money is by using Compact Florescent and LED light bulbs. They require less energy to produce more light than many regular bulbs.

Pictured: Me (Jacques Couvillon) replacing a regular bulb with an LED

“You should always use the recommended bulb wattage that is written on the light fixture,” says Roy. “If you use a bulb that is too high, it becomes a fire hazard.”

But Roy and his experienced employees do more than just offer advice on the correct bulbs to use. They can help you choose the right lighting fixture to perfectly illuminate any room in your home or business.

“We consider many factors like the use, size and wall color of the room,” says Roy. “But most importantly, we try to understand the customer’s tastes, wants and needs.”

Abbeville Electric also provides information on current safety guidelines as set by the National Electrical Code. One new requirement for all structures built in 2010 or later is the tamper resistant receptacle, which can be purchased at Abbeville Electric.

Although I learned a tremendous amount about electricity and lighting, the highlight of my interview was the tour Roy gave me of Abbeville Electric. The building was built in 1948 and was originally The Ritz movie theatre. Roy made a few renovations in accordance with the historical society, but did leave a remnant of the structure’s past.

“If you look up at the ceiling, you can see the curtain that dropped over the movie screen,” said Roy. “The old projector lights are still behind it.”

Pictured: Old curtains from The Ritz movie theatre

I have great respect for Roy for honoring the building’s past. But more so for the professionalism he practices when it comes to his job. He is not only there to sell you a light bulb, but to provide information on safety, saving money and illuminating the world. He may not be masked or traveling around on a bolt of light, but in my book, he is an electric super hero.

Abbeville Electric is located at 320 South State Street in Abbeville. For more information on their products and services call 337-898-2922.

Pictured: Steve Hebert and Rob Roy

Strengh to Give Other Strength

My mother has recently decided that the best way to spend her time is by telling me what to write about. She suggests everything from the chaos in other countries to the swine flu to why people don’t pick up the newspapers in their front yard before noon.

I explain to her with each suggestion that there are only certain things I write about. This doesn’t seem to satisfy her though, and she’ll usually push the subject until something new happens, or I threaten not to take her to sell her aluminum cans.

Her most recent writing suggestion is about a black and white photo that she found while cleaning up her office. It’s from a Carnival Ball at E. Broussard High School from 1937, and shows a king and queen surrounded by children, teenagers and adults.

“Write about this,” she commanded me while she shoved the photo in my face.

“I write about careers and strength,” I explained. “Although it’s sort of a miracle that you’re actually cleaning up your office, the photo doesn’t fit into either of my columns.”

My mother continued to strongly suggest (in ways that she seems to have mastered) that I write about the photo. I told her maybe, hoping that either she’d forget about it, or something new happened, like someone else not picking up their newspaper before noon.

But a couple of weeks ago, my mother made me drive her to Piazza Office Supply in Kaplan to make copies of the photo. Her purpose was to give them to different people who were either in, or knew someone from the Carnival Ball court.

Our first stop was at Mike and Ann Langlinais’ house in Cow Island because Mr. Langlinais’ sister, Laura Lee, was one of the children in the photo. She now lives in Lafayette, but she and her sister, Eugenia Mae just happened to be visiting their brother.

Before long, my mother and I were standing outside on a beautiful day with the three siblings and Mr. Langlinais’ son, Chip. While birds chirped and little dogs played around us like children, Laura Lee stared at the photo and smiled.

“Thank you so much for this picture,” Laura Lee said. “I haven’t thought about it in years.”

I’d spent a lot of time on the Langlinais’ property when I was a kid because of my friendship with their children. Being there a couple of weeks ago brought back many pleasant memories from that time. But the entire moment of catching up with old friends, meeting new people, and Laura Lee’s smile did something to me that I hadn’t expected. It gave me strength.

So here is the photo my mother asked me to be write about. Now everyone has a copy and can take a trip down memory lane. But to be clear, I didn’t write about this because of mother’s strong suggestions, or as some may call, “nagging.”

I wrote about the photo because of the time she took to make copies and share. She didn’t do it for a selfish reason like money or a big bag of aluminum cans. Her act was fueled only by the knowledge that it would bring others happiness, and in turn, give them strength.


Pictured from left to right:

Back Row: Lovelace Hebert, Eula Mae David Phillips, J.N. Greene, Janeverette Mouton Frederick, Raywood Mouton, Wanda Dartez Malden, King Billy Trahan, Queen Lily Mae Greene Morton, Azar David, Zoae Hardy Simon, Earl Dartez, Marie Greene Richard, Earl Couvillon, Rita Richard Mouton

Front Row, Left to Right: Dotsie Langlinais, Raywood Menard, Laura Broussard, Laura Lee Langlinais Pears, Larry Whitmeyer, and Maxie Mae Langlinais Trahan

True Calling Found Under the Hood of Truck

I’ve had many different jobs ranging from selling ties to working at a rice mill to serving Crystal Light and lemon meringue pie at the lunch counter at Woolworth’s. At the start of each new one, I’d hope that I’d found my true calling in life, but they’d all end with disappointment. It wasn’t until I was thirty years old that I realized I was meant to be a writer.

But some people, like Brady Abshire, find their true calling much earlier. Before he was even a teenager, he realized that he was meant to repair moving vehicles.

“My dad bought old cars from the 1930’s and we’d restore them together,” says the younger Abshire. “When I was twelve, my cousin and I repaired a 1978 Ford pick-up truck. It felt like a huge accomplishment, and made me interested in automobiles.”

Brady Abshire began his training at eight years old when he swept floors at his father’s business, Truman Abshire Body and Wrecker. He eventually moved on to painting bumpers on trucks, and worked his way up until he became the owner in 2003.

Located in Abbeville, the business services almost anything involved in a collision, including cars, trucks, boats, mobile homes, tractors, eighteen-wheelers and stretch limousines. They’ll replace glass, reactivate air bags, repair engines, repaint bodies and even remove coffee stains from the carpets.

“We’ve towed vehicles from Texas to Florida,” says Abshire. “The best part of this job is seeing a smile on a customer’s face when they see the work we’ve done.”

All of Abshire’s auto body technicians are certified mechanics. They undergo routine ICAR training and are tested every five years by ASE, Automotive Service Excellence. Their technology includes computerized frame straightening equipment, and a computer and camera combo, which can identify the formula for any color paint.

“We continue to invest in the company,” says Abshire. “We stress education, safety and protecting the environment. We recycle as much as we can including anti-freeze and Freon.”

In the middle of my interview with Brady Abshire, I heard my name being called over a loud speaker. I ignored it at first because I thought I had misunderstood. But then the woman made the announcement louder and I was positive she was talking to me.

“Jacques. Come to the front and bring a shammy.”

At first I wondered if Abshire expected me to work in exchange for his interview. The only collision repair experience I had was with a dented fender on my car. I beat it out with a hammer and then put Band Aids over the chipped paint.

“Did I hear right?” I asked Abshire. “Did some woman just announce that I should go to the front with a shammy?”

“There’s another Jacques that works here,” Abshire said and laughed. “He’s an Hebert.”

Abshire gave me an extensive tour of the shop, where I learned the ins and outs of a collision repair center. I saw the guts of a door panel, and was even able to meet the other Jacques, who was working his way up to become a certified auto-body technician.

In the end, I was very impressed with the friendliness and qualifications of the people who work at Truman Abshire Body and Wrecker. The responsibility the company takes towards protecting the environment, and the importance its leader places on safety and education tells us more than it’s just a well run organization. It tells us that Brady Abshire found his true calling in life under the hood of that 1978 Ford pick-up truck.

For more information on the services offered by Truman Abshire Body and Wrecker, call 337-893-8400. For 24 hour towing, call 337-893-1608.

Pictured Left to Right: Christy Brigola, Phyllis Hebert, Brady Abshire, Melinda Abshire

Strength to Move Forward

One of the most common struggles people face today is maintaining a proper weight. The danger in a few extra pounds here and there is that they begin to add up, and before long can drastically change a person’s life. But it is sometimes easier to accept and accommodate a new body, rather than face the challenge of altering routine and working towards a healthier lifestyle.

So when I heard that Jackie Hebert of Abbeville lost seventy-five pounds in two years, I knew I had to interview her. I wanted to know what triggered her decision to take the long journey involved in changing her life. I needed to hear where she found her strength.

“So many different factors led to my decision to lose the weight,” says Hebert. “But the biggest was that it was my time.”

A couple of years ago, when Hebert was about to turn fifty, her health became a concern. Her father passed away at fifty-three years old from a heart attack, and she knew that her weight put her at risk as well.

“I wanted to be around for my three daughters and the rest of my family,” says Hebert. “I needed more energy to spend time with my grandkids.”

Hebert was given a gym membership for Christmas of 2007, and around the same time her company started hosting Weight Watchers’ meetings. She was also motivated by the fact that her middle daughter promised a cruise for the two of them as a reward for losing fifty pounds.

“The economy also played a role,” says Hebert. “I was afraid I might have to find a new job, and I know that appearance is important.”

In January of 2008, Hebert began going to Health Works in Abbeville twice a day, six days a week. She says that the pounds began to immediately melt away, which motivated her to keep up with her workouts.

“I was an athlete in high school and knew that exercise was the best way to lose the weight,” says Hebert. “I’m a routine person and knew I had to fit health into my schedule if I was going to be committed.”

According to Hebert, the hardest part about starting her exercise program was the muscle soreness. But she soon discovered the swimming pool, which helped relax both her mind and body.

“The gym has become a second home to me,” says Hebert. “The people at Health Works have been very supportive and are now a part of my life.”

The benefits for Hebert have been more energy, new friends and positive feedback from her family. Her advice to someone who wants to get in shape is to do it for them self, and to find an outlet they enjoy.

“I love swimming,” says Hebert. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t continue with my exercise program.”

One of the obstacles that Hebert faced in her journey towards a healthier lifestyle is eating properly. Since Weight Watchers no longer hosts meetings at her office, she lost the support of a diet consultant. She has, however, made a new goal to get into the mindset of planning her meals, and to lose another forty pounds.

“Where will you get the strength to change your life once again?” I asked Hebert when I interviewed her.

“By remembering where I was, and reminding myself of where I am now,” says Hebert. “This will give me the strength to move forward.”

My Mother's Make Over

One of the best parts about writing this column is that I get to have new and unusual experiences. I learned how to shuck an oyster, avoided getting a job on an alligator farm and gave my mother an inside look at the cutthroat business of recycling aluminum cans. This week I tried my hand at being a make-up artist.

It was a cold and cloudy morning when my mother and I drove to Abbeville for our latest job interview. We’d normally be drinking coffee at that time, but because of a busy week, I’d had to make an early appointment. It was evident that we hadn’t had time to fully wake up yet, because sleep filled the corners of my eyes, and there was a faint mark of a pillowcase zipper on the side of my mother’s cheek.

“Why are you interviewing Merle Norman?” my mother asked.

“I’m interviewing Anne Eleazar,” I answered. “She’s the owner of the store that sells Merle Norman cosmetics.”

Originally opened in 1988 by Eleazar’s mother, the little green store sits on the corner of the historic streets of North Jefferson and West St. Victor Street in Abbeville. In addition to makeovers and free make-up lessons, Merle Norman’s product line includes twenty-six blushes in three forms, over seventy-five different foundation choices and approximately thirty shades of lipstick.

“I came to work for my mom after I graduated from college,” says Eleazar. “I loved it so much that I’m still here after twenty years.”

According to Eleazar, skin care plays an important part in how good your make-up is going to look. She suggests washing your face every morning and evening, using sunscreen and moisturizer daily, and exfoliating weekly.

“The biggest mistake women make is choosing the wrong make-up,” says Eleazar. “Everyone is an individual, so they should test their cosmetics before they buy them.”

Eleazar’s favorite part of her job is the interaction she has with the customers. She enjoys helping them look their best because it seems to improve their mood.

“My most memorable customer was a little girl with cancer who needed some make-up for her dance recital,” says Eleazar. “She looked so sad at first, but after I gave her a make-over, she couldn’t stop smiling.”

After I asked my last question, I looked around the shop for a job I could work. The walls surrounding me had pictures of giant lipsticks, compacts and women looking down and laughing. It made me feel ashamed as if I’d accidentally stepped into the ladies bra and underwear section at a department store.


“Most men are afraid to come in here,” Eleazar said. “Are you okay? You look uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just a little early.”

I lied. It was time to do a job and the only one I could think of was to put make up on my mother. I began to wish I’d taken the job on the alligator farm.

But a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. So with a little foam pad, I applied blush to my mother’s cheeks, covering the faint mark of the pillowcase zipper.

“You put too much,” my mother told me as we drove away from Merle Norman. “I look like a clown.”

The sun started shining and I got a better look at the makeover I’d given to my mother. She had two red cheeks like a Raggedy Ann doll, or Mrs. Claus.

“Ms. Eleazar was right,” I said and laughed out loud. “Going to Merle Norman does put a person in a better mood.”

For more information on the services and products offered by Anne Eleazar at Merle Norman call 337-893-8463.

Strength for a Healthy Mind and Body

There are many mornings when my body wakes up before my mind. Sometimes a cup of coffee or a shower will make me more alert, but physical exercise usually works best. Even though I know this, I can’t always find the strength to break a sweat.

Something else I know is the importance of making the right food choices. My favorite meal in the world is fried chicken, but after I eat it, my body feels drained and exhausted. Yet I’ll get a six-piece dinner with a biscuit and battered fries and feast on it as if competing in a Popeye’s eating contest at a parish fair.

Everyone is entitled to a little gluttony, and rest and relaxation now and then. But how do we ensure that we don’t enjoy the world’s pleasures too much? Where do we find the strength to stay on track towards a healthy mind and body?

Vermilion Parish resident, Carl Hollier is a living example of the power of maintaining a healthy lifestyle. He started his business, Olympus Wellness and Fitness, with his wife Julie, back in 1981 when he was only eighteen years old.

“At that age, you have no fears,” says Hollier. “I felt invincible because I had no huge responsibilities except for the business.”

Hollier always had an interest in fitness, so when he graduated from high school, he pursued his dream. But as he built his business, he also grew in other areas. In addition to raising two children with his wife, Julie, he also received an undergraduate degree in Pre-law, and a Masters degree in exercise physiology. He currently teaches special education at Gueydan High School.

“My family is my number one priority,” says Hollier. “My responsibility to them kept me focused on staying healthy and accomplishing my career goals.”

According to Hollier, there is nothing closer to the fountain of youth than exercise. Strength training prevents bone loss and can also aid in lowering fever due to illness.

“The right exercise program can reduce injuries and keep people healthy,” says Hollier. “But nutrition is equally important.”

Hollier suggests a balanced diet of complex carbohydrates, proteins and unsaturated fats. These can be found in brown rice and beans, chicken and fish, and a variety of nuts like almonds and walnuts.

“A whole grain cereal with low fat milk is a great way to start your day,” says Hollier. “The complex carbohydrates will give you the energy to get through your morning.”

Hollier says that a reputable fitness trainer will listen to the customer’s goals and chart their progress. He/she should teach how to eat healthy rather than sell, “get fit quick,” products.

“Make sure your exercise program is designed to reduce injuries,” says Hollier. “Nothing is overnight. You’re not going to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger in thirty days.”

Hollier says the best part about working at Olympus Wellness and Fitness are the clients. His most memorable one was a man named Mr. Montgomery who exercised until the day he died.

“You’ve run a successful company for almost thirty years while raising children, getting your masters degree and teaching school,” I said to Hollier when I interviewed him. “Where did you get your strength?”

“Knowledge,” he said. “I learned as much as I could about health and fitness. This and my wonderful family gave me strength.”

I am a firm believer that physical exercise is a major component of being mentally healthy. Use your newfound knowledge and find your strength today.

For more information on the services offered by Olympus Wellness and Fitness call 337-643-6069.

The Soul of a Librarian

I was only a few seconds old the first time I met a librarian face to face. I’d known who she was for about nine months before, but because it was so dark where I lived, we hadn’t been given a formal introduction.

Then one day it was time for me to move into a place with light, and after a man in a white coat slapped me on my bottom, I was introduced to the librarian and told that she was also my mother. She held me in her arms and smiled at me, and since I was so excited, I began talking as fast and loud as I could. But she shook her head from side to side and then put her forefinger over her lips.

Then she leaned her face a little closer to mine and asked, “Don’t you think it’s time you got a job?”

Not much has changed in the forty years since that first introduction. My mother no longer works in a library, but she will always have the soul of a librarian. She still reads constantly, shelves the books in my room in alphabetical order and tapes the, “Want Ads,” to my mirror.

So this week’s career information search was a special one because my mother and I visited the library in Abbeville. We quickly learned that with additional branches in Kaplan, Gueydan, Erath, Maurice and Delcambre, the Vermilion Parish Library System is no longer a place just to check out the printed word.

In addition to books, the library lends out C.D’s, D.V.D.’s and V.H.S. cassettes. Their onsite resources include databases that provide information on everything from writing a resume to learning a language to researching genealogy. Visitors also have access to free internet and computer usage, and workshops like oil painting and dancing.

“This month we’re taking a virtual field trip to Hawaii,” said Genny Vaughn, Children and Adult Services Manager. “With the use of a web camera, participants will be able to interact with survivors from Pearl Harbor.”

If you have a library card, you can also access some of their resources from your home computer. You can learn a language while lounging in your underwear on the sofa or get help from online tutors in core classes like math and geography (You might want to wear pants to do this).

Vaughn, who is also the young adult librarian in Abbeville, is a lifelong supporter and user of the library. She spent most of her childhood summers with a book in her hand, and her love for reading influenced her career choice.

“I was a book nerd,” she said. “As a kid, a librarian made a big difference in my life. If I can help one child see how important reading is, I’ll feel like I did my job.”

According to Vaughn, the biggest challenge of working at the library is getting youth interested in their programs. She says there is a stereotype that the library is just a place for nerds.

“Awareness is difficult,” says Vaughn. “But that’s part of the fun of this job. We have all of these resources and have to be creative to make people aware of them. Especially parents because their influence and support is necessary in gaining children’s attention.”

Vaughn’s most memorable moment was when she challenged a trouble student to read a book and then give her an oral summary. In exchange, she promised him a library card.

“He didn’t seem interested at first, and I wasn’t if I’d ever see him again,” says Vaughn. “But he came back and told me what the book was about. So I gave him a library card and I see him in here reading all the time. He even shows me his school progress report.”

When I was a child, my mother read to me as often as she could. As I grew older and learned to read by myself, she provided me with stacks of books and encouraged me to finish them all. She, like Vaughn and all other librarians were only doing what their souls told them to do; educate and make a positive difference in a person’s life.

When it was time for me to work a job at the library, I decided to try something a little different. I led my mother behind the counter and then asked one of the associates to show us how to check something out. After our lesson, I ran around to the other side and handed my mother a book.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Why did you give this to me?”

“I want you to check me out,” I said. “I think it’s time you got a job.”

For more information on the resources of the library, call 337-893-2674 or visit their Web site at www.vermilion.lib.la.us. A twenty-minute visit can change your life.