A Different Ashes to Ashes Kinda Story...

 

A few days ago, as my aged mom was getting ready to go see another doctor for yet another test, I walked just four doors down the block to 5115 Music Street and snapped these photos. Yes, if you ask, was this damage caused by Katrina and subsequent flood of 2005, but to me, it represents so much more. 

For this was a house that was once the home to one of my childhood friends whose husband just recently passed away after fighting a lifetime of physical ailments. It also was a place I spent many a summer day learning how to hold a hammer, screw in a screw by hand and tighten a bolt with the right wrench. I learned how to handle a variety of hand saws, correctly measure lengths, shop for the right kind of lumber, hang drywall, plaster and putty and paint and plumb and tons of other skills that have come in handy over my adult life. But most of all, it is where I earned my weekly allowance.

I came early over to this house, in order to have some breakfast including the obligatory cooked prunes and if you were late, you were just out of luck. My chores were sweeping up leaves and debris, cutting and edging lawns, trimming box woods, hydrangeas, legustrums and other assorted bushes, flowers and plants as well as, annually touch up the bird bath with acrylic paint. For my services, I received just enough money to get on my bike and ride a couple of miles to the hobby shop where I would completely blow the mornings wages on paint, glue and the latest model airplane kit. At that age, my hero artists were John Steel, Bill Campbell, Jo Kotula, Jack Leynnwood and Tom Morgan because they were the ones who painted those gorgeous model box covers for companies like Revell, Aurora, Monogram, Airfix, Bachmann, Lindbergh, Hawk, and RenWal. Besides the John Nagy, "Learn to Draw" set, I learned much from building and especially painting the models to look as close as I could to what I saw on the boxtop.

This house also doubled as a garage studio where four teenagers would listen to records, record the lyrics and practice our chops when my dad had enough of us practicing in his garage. It is also, at the age of sixteen, where I had an appendicitis attack under the house tightening a water pipes in the dead of summer.

Although I know I have photos, it would take me a month of Sundays to find a picture of how this house once looked in its prime around 1965. It would be decades before I would ever see the inside of the house I spent so much of my youth living and learning in, helping fix up and sharing the good and the bad times. They say you should never go back and memories are better left in black and white, and I concur, but it is really hard to see this house this way, this house, a home once owned by my maternal grandparents, Pops and Cecilia Fortier. And in many ways, as they say, it is indeed, hard to grow old!

You Are Cordially Invited Under Penalty of Contempt of Court to...

Well, well, well, just like the federal government sends you their New Year's greetings in the form of income tax forms, anything coming from the state has got to be equally not welcomed. And, as you know, they do invite you in such a loving, caring way it kinda chokes you up inside to be a citizen of these YOU-nited States. You can RSVP if you'd like, but the state is really expecting you to come. As a matter of fact, excuses for not attending your civic duty will only be accepted by a written note from your doctor, your lawyer, your travel agent, or... your Momma!

Oh and please try to remember to get to the courthouse on time or a little bit early to get the better parking "options." There will be no tolerance for parking violations which are strictly enforced by our fine police department. There can be no parking on paved surfaces, even partially, and no double parking or parking against traffic. All cars parked on our lawn will immediately towed away at the jurors' expense.

We shouldn't have to remind y'all about our dress code. No shorts or tank tops, flip flops or peddle pushers, no bikinis, g-string underwear, untied shoes and certainly no pierced body jewelry. And since Jeremy Shockey has been released from the Saints roster, please refrain from wearing anything with an "88" on it.

As for what you can bring into our highly secured lobby, there's no guns, knives, billy clubs, tazers, sharp objects, hair pins, hair picks, bobby pins, church veils, doilies as hats, nail files, nail clippers, suspenders, garter belts, pointed black brassieres, ( also covered under the dress code! ) brass knuckles, stiletto heals or blue suede shoes. No scissors, rocks or paper heavy enough to be used as a paper cutting device.

All of these rules and regulations makes you wonder exactly what kind of party is being thrown and whose attending. I don't know. It makes you wonder who needs to be told to dress appropriately, to not park on the lawn and leave your weapon of choice at home. How more obvious can this be? It's a Courthouse, for heavens sake!

It just seems we all might take some sort of pride in participating if it all wasn't presented in such a punitive way. It should be a privilege to be a part of our legal system ensuring equal justice with equal representation under the law. To be there deciding a person's innocence until proven guilty. It is our democratic way of life. It is what soldiers have fought and died for to protect. That's really special and a big responsibility as an American.  Somehow it all has been turned into a burdensome drudgery everyone tries like hell to avoid including me. Instead of being a positive force, it kinda puts a sour taste in everyone's mouth.

Of course, since I have to be there, I might as well make it work for me. So, I called the courthouse to ask them if I could bring some pencils and a sketchbook to draw in. Lord knows there will be a wide range of "subject matter" to chose from. The official statement was that it was acceptable... but only if I draw quietly and not disturb my fellow jurors.

See, a positive approach to the problem. There is, still, after all these years, a Santa Claus, a Jiminy Cricket, a Tinkerbell, an Easter Bunny and a Loop Garoo!

Now, what is it they say about lemons?

Five and Twenty Blackbirds...

Yeh, I almost forgot about the Great Backyard Bird Count that began yesterday. I've been doing this annual weekend count since I lived in California. Just 12 left hours to go! I suppose there's been a flurry of activity in Cornell Lab's Johnson Center for Birds and Biodiversity as the staff makes sure every technical detail is in place to begin accepting and displaying data from what they hope will be more than 100,000 checklists during the count. They're ready to start receiving everyone's backyard count! Tally birds for at least 15 minutes starting tomorrow and enter your checklist at www.birdcount.org. Tell at least 10 friends or family members so we can make history with the most comprehensive count in our 14-year history! For me, here's this weekend's take:

• 2 Great Blue Herons ( I rarely see two at one time! )
• 46 Robins ( they always return each November and around this time return north! )
• 7 House Finches ( love their song... it says,"Spring." )
• 15 Brown Nuthatches ( our fearless staple that will feed from your hand if have the patience to invite them. )
• 16 Carolina Chickadees ( our regular staple )
• 7 Crows ( only see them at harvest time and winter, rarely after that! )
• 10 Eastern Blue Jays ( Smart, but aggravating bird because they have many calls and one imitates a hawk perfectly which scatters all the smaller birds from the feeder. )
• 15 Tufted Titmouse ( our regular staple )
• 64 Goldfinch ( they always hit the feeder around November and unfortunately leave just as the males complete their mating colors. )
• 23 Northern Cardinals ( We have about a dozen paired off and one female always sets up shop in our hydrangea plant. )
• 5 Juncos ( Visitors every winter scratching away at the fallen leaves. )
• 10 Bluebirds ( We already have three pair setting up shop in the houses and it is still February! )
• 5 Mockingbirds ( our regular staple )
• 8 English sparrows ( They kill bluebirds in the nest and take over the box. Not a native! )
• 2 Pine Warblers
• 7 Red Breasted Woodpeckers ( our regular staple )
• 2 Eastern flycatchers ( They're many species, but you can tell a flycatcher because of the tail bobbing up and down. They're visitors each winter.)
• 25 Red-winged Blackbirds ( They like swampy areas, but I only see them in the late winter at the feeder )
• 4 Brown-headed Cowbirds
• 1 Snowy Egret ( Pierre, our cocker spaniel likes to chase them off from the back pond! )
• 6 Yellow-rumped Warbler
•  14 Mourning doves ( our regular staple )
• Two Turkey Vultures
• 1 Rufous-Sided Towhee
• 4 Carolina Wren
• a bunch of some kind of ground hugging sparrow( unofficial count since I don't recognize the species. )

Whew, that's a pretty diverse count but nothing new flew in this year. Louisiana has a diverse crowd because it is a major stopping point, coming and going, along the Mississippi flyway. Every early spring, I get a visit from a Rose-Breasted Grosbeak couple. The female arrives a day behind the male and they only stay for a few days and then, they are gone till next year. This has happened every year except 2005 because of Katrina.
--

Okay, What Is A King Cake and who swallowed the baby Jesus?

In New Orleans and southern Louisiana, the tradition of the King Cake was brought to the area by colonists from Spain and France and is mostly connected with Carnival, which is also celebrated in the Gulf Coast area, especially in Mobile where Mardi Gras is celebrated on Fat Tuesday in the same manner as in New Orleans. King cake parties go back to around the eighteenth century. Basically, it is called a King Cake because the tradition of baking and eating them begins on the twelfth night of Christmas, which is, January the 6th.
The king cake comes in a number of styles. The most simple, said to be the most traditional, and the one I am enjoying right now, is a ring of twisted bread similar to that used in brioche topped with colored icing or sugar, usually colored purple to symbolize justice, green to symbolize faith, and gold to symbolize power. Some king cakes are traditionally deep-fat-fried like a doughnut, and there are many variants and many shapes and sizes and some come with a cream cheese, or raspberry jelly or praline filling. These kind are really great but chocked full of calories. Once in a Mardi Gras season should be enough with these kinds. Like beignets, king cakes are great with coffee in the morning.

 Earlier baby dolls as trinkets are documented in New Orleans back to the 1930s and were mostly made of china or porcelain. Today, the plastic baby is more common place and usually colored pink, brown, white or gold. 

 To be politically correct, for a while, 'cuz no one in New Orleans cares about being politically correct, and because some bakeries were shipping cakes out of state and didn't want a lawsuit, they included the baby doll separately from the cake to be embedded just before cutting and serving. "Foreigners" were concerned children could choke on the trinket while eating the cake though no kid I ever knew, and I knew a lot of them, ever choked on the baby Jesus. Some adults, I was told, would swallow the baby rather than admit they got it biting into their slice of cake. Those adults must have really not wanted to give the next party or buy the next king cake to resort to such drastic measures as swallowing the baby Jesus!

Most kids back then, in the fifties and sixties, got their cotillion lessons from parents having king cake parties. In my neighborhood, right after New Years day through to Mardi Gras day, all us kids from sixth grade through eight grade, had weekend parties. The girls got all dressed up and the guys had to wear a suit. We played the standard party games, maybe have a dance or two, to Fats Domino or Louie Prima and try to conduct ourselves politely as little gentleman and ladies... until the king cake was cut. Therese tells me that they never had king cake parties when she was that age. "That was for all those "suburban kids,"she asserts.

Anyway, the tradition at these parties was the same as for the adult participants celebrating in their own adult and scandalous way, which is, that the person who gets the baby doll is declared the King or Queen of the day and obligated to provide the next king cake or host the next party or both. 

Enclosed is a few local bakeries that have been making King Cakes forever. Check 'em out at: http://www.kingcakes.com/, http://www.haydelbakery.com/, http://www.gambinos.com

Please note: No king cakes or bakeries were hurt in being displayed on my blog and no one person or bakery reimbursed me for my wonderful endorsement... but it would be nice!

A Roopa Airaree Oppa ... Ahhhh!

Funny...  I've been a member of a local gym here on the Northshore for about eight years now. When you belong to anything for length of time you learn to love all the crazy characters that hang around. From the gym rats to the beautiful ladies socializing on the tennis court to the senior citizens playing cards resplendent in their blue or gray or strangely blonde hair, it is all a part of the whole experience. And of course, the men's locker room is like most men's locker rooms any where in the world, though it is the personalities that enhance the environment and enrich one's life. You get so familiar with the guys that, after a while, you can tell who's talking to whom even if you are seated in the stalls while taking another lesson on constitutional rights! I can understand why when professional athletes retire, the thing they all seem to miss is the "camaraderie."

In the weight room, most men lift a little weight, stare out the windows, chew the fat and do another set. Most come in to pump up, burn a few calories and release, in a socially acceptable way, their aggressions. I know I do. Some workout in plain clothes, gym shorts, sweats, muscle shirts and such. Some, like doctors, workout between shifts in their scrubs, and some who do wear them, aren't even doctors. And some just look like a "dirty laundry basket." But, almost all are there do their body some good and that can't be bad.

Three times a week, every week around midday and for about three hours, one man comes to the gym to really bust it. He is, besides Jack LaLane, the best looking and best in shape seventy year old I've ever met. He's about 5'9" and a very buff 175. Salt and pepper colored hair, sometimes with a goatee and sometimes not, he wears long jogger's pant with a tank top or shirt and always in black and almost always dripping in sweat. He is a model specimen that all men should aspire to be now and into their golden years.

And, boy does he know it!

Now, I'm not the kind of guy to rip anyone who has the discipline and dedication to look that good at his age or any age, but I was curious about his motivation. When, after many years of seeing him at the gym working his insane routine, I had to inquire about what drove him. He spoke, with all the drama and animation of a Richard Simmoms, of his misspent youth which led to his mid age crisis and his ill health which, according to him, had him on his death bed at 55 years of age. The drama was a bit over the top, but I later found out his other motivation was to make all those younger than him wonder in awe at his physical prowess doing things many twice as young as him could not. It is not enough that the dude looks great in his outfit, but he has another device to attract all those who are a bit blind. He grunts when he lifts the weights or does isometrics, or even sit ups.

Now, as guys pushing iron around, we all have made our fair share of intended and unintended "noises", but this guy beats all.  "HerRump," "Aiyh-YAH-hoo," "Argh-ROPE-pa," and the ubiquitous, "Whoaaa-UP-ah." But, that's not all. If you hang around long enough, say, into his third hour, the grunts seem to send strange, cosmic messages. Or, at least, that's how I hear it! Loud and clear on the up take and kinda mumbly on the down take and with many variations on a theme.

"HerRuuumPAH's gotta-fiddle-di-do"! "Whoaaa-UP-ah inna GumboPot,""Argh-ROPE-pa 4she gos'cuz" and an occasional raspberry like,"FIB-bermagee-gu-GU-roo" or something similar. Every now and then, I can't help but hear soft-core invitational mumblins' between the clink and clunk of weights. It's funny because sometimes I will stop mid rep just waiting to verify what I thought I heard... or worse!

"She-ROPah-soreass-pleeze."

"What is the meaning of all this, I ask you?" What ever it is, it works for him... and in so many ways!

Here you go Tanya, My Birthday Cake Extravaganza...

A good friend and a really good artist told me to celebrate my birthday by painting something. Tanya is always hounding me to stop complaining and paint. So, early this morning I suggested painting me a birthday cake.

She responded," All right, a birthday cake... and post it when you are finished!"

So, instead of pulling out all my paints and busting it to meet a deadline of today for completion, I decided to cheat and use one of my marker comps that I did for Baskin and Robbins years ago. The headline could have said, "61 Flavors" if I wanted to keep the script logo and tag line from the original layout! But originally, I was gonna let Tanya think that I actually did this in five or six hours...  just for my birthday. Never mind that the original was done in about that time frame as part of a four comp presentation.

Even though today is my birthday and I feel like I could whatever I want to, I feared some of my fellow artists who might have seen this comp before, would snitch! Call it Catholic Voodoo Guilt! 

Chronic Lower Back Pain and a Chiropractor's Advice... or "Are you one of those all or nothing kind of guys?

After thirty plus years of ignorance, I finally came to grips with my mortality and I don't like it one damn bit. It's not so much about the aging process, living with pain, being a tough guy or even the thought of what becomes of a person's heart, mind or soul once we pass on... to whatever or wherever.

I've been the recipient of a "tweek" or three doing, sometimes, the most simplest things.

Though baseball players come up with some of the most ridiculously lame excuses for contract violations or their on the field performance, I can really sympathize with Cubs great, Sammy Sosa, when he said he hurt his back sneezing! I have actually done that and it put me out of commission for days. Since that time I have had situations where I am about to blow my brains out with a back breaking sneeze but my brain somehow, I don't know how brains perform this feat, says,"Oh know you don't, nose. Not now, maybe later... I tell you when!"

The anticipation that your big sneeze buildup creates has men diving for cover as women and children run to any escape route. Then, all of a sudden, your sneeze turns into nothing or, at the very least, one of those little, dainty Betty Boop type disturbances like AAAAAH-AH-AH-AH...chu! If you are in public and you pull one of those unmanly, falsetto bloopers someone is bound to tell you later that you can explode your eardrum to bits and pieces by holding back your sneeze.

"Just let 'er rip, dude! Better than splattering bloody ear drum parts all over the walls... dude!' It is easier to just thank them for their concern of my welfare, than to use the Sammy Sosa card.

Nevertheless, I've hurt my back peeling potatoes, chopping onions, pouring oil into the car's engine block, vacuuming, making the bed, unplugging a lamp, popping off a bottle cap, putting on underwear, pulling off underwear, which is a real "right moment" killer, let me tell you! It never happens when you are in the gym trying to impress the guys with your strength ( nowadays, I don't know why you would want to do such a thing! ) or picking up fifty pound sack of live crawfish or pulling your 900 pound lawn tractor out of a ditch that'll hurt your back. It is the little things.

Well, then again, it is the little things after one has a real BIG little thing.

See, I hurt my back, big time, playing flag football in 1976. I know what'cha saying, 1976? And you suffered all this time, never once seeing a specialist or even your son's pediatrician? "What's the matter, no health insurance? Self employed, huh? Man, that's a drag!"

"Well, uh, actually no... and yes!" ( I'll let you figure the correct answer to the appropriate questions, it isn't hard. )

Shall I explain to you how it was the waning minutes of a six point game, with us in the lead, third and about five or six yards to go and I just knew the quarterback was gonna try something underneath in my zone, probably a crossing pattern and how I avoided that offensive guard pulling out, and, and sure enough, out of the corner of my eye, here comes the tight end, zooming across and the ball is thrown and I knew it , I knew it, and I jump up high and ...Crash!

I was the momentary hero because I intercepted the pass, but when I got up, I looked like a pretzel. Felt like one too! Fast forward to the last conversation I had with my chiropractor and new found friend, Fred Miller.

Fred has his practice on the Northshore in Mandeville, LA and was recommended to me by my wife who had injuries sustained in a car accident. He was recommended to Therese by my brother, who is a pain management physician and had been administering prolo-therapy to me and Therese for years. Fred is an athletic style chiropractor having run track and field and cross country in college and keeps himself in shape today playing tennis, mountain biking and running. 

The fibrosis or scar tissue ( http://www.spineuniverse.com/conditions/back-pain/chiropractic-care-back-pain ) surrounding my back that was really starting to affect my mobility and flexibility was being broken up allowing me freer movement.

"Ben, we've been working on you for the last two months, three times a week and I can't believe it, but your body has responded admirably... and after all these years,"

"I know, thank you. I plan to take this body with me when I die," I said. " I know what all the knowledgeable theologian's say, but I don't care, heaven or hell, it is coming with me... or I ain't going!"

Looking rather stunned, he continued,"It is a testament to the body's ability to heal itself and your dedication to stay in shape in spite of the damage you've done to it." ( Doc always has a subtle way of getting his point across! ) He continued, "I'd give us all a B+... but... "Ben, you're not getting any younger and you can't expect your body to do what you use to. For your back and the rest of your body, motion is lotion. I want you to keep on moving, but just try to do it with a little more moderation," he said. "If you don't learn how to tell you body when, your body eventually will!"

And then, he said,"I probably already know the answer to this, but let me ask you anyway, are you a all or nuthin' kinda guy?"

Well, gee, doc, I thought to myself, quickly, how am I supposed to answer that? Should I say no, being as succinct and "nuthin" as I could be. Or should I say, well doc, it all started when I was a little guy and my momma fixed me a pizza, and uh, I went ahead and ate the whole thing in one sitting and from that time on, I never could just, uh... And go on and on, ad infinitum!

I must admit I am as flexible as I can ever recall. I still awaken with dull back pain, but it quickly goes away as I continue moving in the morning. The prospect looks and feels great. I should have listened to my loving wife years ago to go ahead an get it all checked out. I really don't understand why I was so stubborn about something that has been so positive for me. All those years of pain and stiffness and... attitude!

But, I have learned my lesson. No more power sets of fifteen with the dumbbells or impromptu forty mile bike excursions. It will now be just twelve power sets and a "planned" forty mile bike ride instead!

What?