Fear no more.

When I was in my early twenties, I suffered from nightmares. The dreams were very vivid, very graphic and very specific. I would often have the same dreams.  The one that I seem to remember the most was about Jesus. I dreamed that I was the caretaker of his hands and feet. Severed hands and feet at that. I had carefully buried them in my backyard so that I would know where they were and no one else.

My nightmare started out with me walking to the back yard and gazing down at the big, black empty hole where I thought they were in safe keeping. I started crying and running around the neighborhood screaming, "Who took Jesus' feet and hands?"  "Where are they?"  "Who has them?" I would spend the rest of my dream crying and searching for his severed limbs believing that the devil had taken them.

 I knew there was much symbolism in that dream. I spent many days, weeks and months thinking about the true meaning of it and what it was that my subconscious was trying to tell me.  The horror of the dream and the fear ran deep.  This was one of many dreams where I felt great evil was at the center. And I was in constant fear. (Having watched "The Exorcist" didn't help any.)

It was my deep fear of the devil and the power that I thought he had over me or the power that I thought he wanted that haunted me the most.  I struggled with the meaning of it all until one day I woke up and made the revelation that he couldn't harm me, hurt me or control me if I didn't believe in him. If he didn't exist, he had no power over me.  As simple as that statement was, it was effective. The realization that I was giving him power through my beliefs changed everything for me at that point. I have had fellow Christians argue the point that I could not believe in one without believing in the other....a judgment I have never felt was theirs to make.

I don't live in fear and that liberation has made me more open, more loving and more accepting of people. 

I figure where there is love, there is God. And I'm good with that.

Bring back to America her heart

The end of a year and the beginning of a new one brings hope and inspiration for me. I usually spend the days after Christmas cleaning out drawers and closets. Well, maybe not every year but it is usually spent going through tall stacks of papers and magazines in an effort to start the new year with somewhat of a clean slate.

Today I am cleaning out one of my drawers that had not been sorted through for years. I carefully went through every scrap of paper and re read every old Christmas card, birthday card, keepsake notes and the like. I enjoyed finding some of the old cards and laughed while sorting through the written memories.

I found old newspaper clippings of mine, Rick's and Ben's. I found old poems, old drawings and old notes of ideas I had long forgot. I also found an old newspaper with a letter to the editor by Sister Helen PreJean. "What's become of compassion for the poor?" was the title. As I began to read the first few paragraphs, it seemed obvious to me that this had to be current. So much of what I read certainly reflected today's view of current conditions.

As I read the article, I realized that it followed Sister Prejean's observations of the Republican Convention held in New Orleans. Not that I remembered when that was, but it did become apparent that this was not as current as I thought. Then I became curious as to the date on the publication. I had to unfold the paper to see that it had been published in The Shreveport Journal in August of 1988. I gasped. It was hard for me to believe that the thoughts and concerns of this New Orleans activist stated nearly twenty five years ago still ring true today.

Sister Prejean writes: "Perhaps now that more of us in the middle class are feeling the crunch of economic policies that have not served us well (job lay-offs, two wage earners per family "to make ends meet",) we can feel more compassion for the poor and forge a new political will for social change in this country.

Somehow, in the swirl and rhetoric of the '80s we bought the package that the poor were to blame for our economic ills, that the so-called poor, most of them, were not poor at all but lazy, shiftless, crime-prone..."

It was Sister Prejeans next statement that rang true with me and it was then that I understood why I held on to this piece of paper.

"After working and living close to poor blacks these past seven years, I believe the heart of the problem of anger at the poor is that we Americans live isolated from each other. We cluster in our still highly segregated neighborhoods, churches and clubs with others who are 'one of us.' This isolation breeds stereotypes, flaming prejudices and fears. The direction for life and healing as a nation lies, I believe, down roads that helps us cross our own brand of Berlin walls, Gaza strips and black townships."

In 1988, when I tore this page from The Shreveport Journal and tucked it away, I had not yet started my own advocacy. The Children's Center was just a couple of years old and it's continued existence was in question mainly because I had made the decision that I wanted to be one of the first integrated programs in town. I would become one of the founders of Cultural Crossroads in 1992 and in 1999 I would accept the challenge of creating a cultural arts center in a black neighborhood.

It saddens me to think that we haven't moved any closer as a nation to understanding each other. Sister Prejean goes on to explain a program she was involved with called "Bridges." It allowed for young participants to live with the poor, to hear their stories, eat their food, play with their children, and attend their church. They came away humbled she said and shocked by the insanity and complexity of the human beings they had met. And the poor black residents also expressed shock that 'those young white folks care about us.'

Sister Prejean ended her long letter to the editor with a statement that I too believe.  "This cross-pollination of rich and poor, black and white, is the magic stuff written about in our civic books. It is, I believe, part of the magic that can bring back to America her heart."

I am definitely interested in cultivating a more compassionate community. I had always been taught 'when we elevate others, we elevate ourselves.'  As we all usher in the New Year, it is my hope and my prayer that we can be more compassionate and understanding, less judgmental and more eager to extend a helping hand to those in need. And in Prejean's words...' be a part of the magic that will bring back to America her heart!'

Happy New Year.

I ALMOST MET SANTA.

It was Christmas Eve. We were living in Okinawa at the time. I had just celebrated my fifth birthday a few days earlier.   My sister, Pam, was a year younger than me. My brother, Bill, was just a toddler and my baby sister, Terry, was just a few months old. 

My Dad had us all in the bedroom reading a story to us. I guess trying to get us into bed was a real challenge.  I heard my Mom yell from the living room, “Chris…Pam…hurry…it’s Santa Claus!”  We scrambled from the bedroom and ran out to the living room. My Mom was at the backdoor holding the screen door open while motioning for us to hurry.  My sister Pam had lost her sock and stopped to pick it up. I waited for her while hollering, “hurry Pam. Hurry.” 

We got to the other end of the living room where the Christmas tree was all lite up. I didn’t notice the presents. I was on a mission to see Santa Claus in person.   My Mom called for us to come to the back door.  “Santa was leaving,” she said.   We ran to the back door and looked up, searching the starlit sky for Santa’s sleigh and reindeer. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. You just missed him,” she said  with great disappointment.  All I could think  about was If I hadn’t stopped to help my sister with her stupid sock, I would have seen Santa Claus.

We came back inside to see that Santa had left us so many presents under the tree.   Mom and Dad guided us back to bed with instructions that we could open them in the morning after a good night’s sleep. Well, who could sleep after that?  All I could think about was next time Santa came, I was leaving Pam behind.  She wasn’t going to slow me down every again.  I was going to see that big fat man in the red suit without her.  

My Christmases after that didn’t compare to that one. I always remembered the time that I almost got to see Santa in person.   It was an incredible memory and I carried the excitement of that close encounter with Santa with me for years after that.  

The Christmas Tree

Finding the ultimate Christmas tree was of particular interest to me one Christmas. I had decided that I would put my creative juices to work and create the ultimate Christmas tree experience.  Ben was probably 10 or so, if I remember right.

We live in the middle of the woods, so finding a tree wasn't going to be hard. I decided that I didn't want just any old tree. So, I cut down a small sweet gum tree.   I spray painted it white and strung white lights all over it. I wrapped it in white tool and carefully placed white snowflakes all over it. I set it up without any guidance or direction from anyone because I wanted to surprise Rick and Ben with this new and lovely white Christmas tree creation.

I had it all set up and lights turned on and ready for that 'ah ha'  moment when we would all gasp at it's loveliness.

Ben entered the room first and just looked at it and didn't say a word.  Rick entered the room and didn't notice it at all. And if you know anything about Rick, you know this was not uncommon.  So, I had to bring it to his attention.  "So, what do you think about our tree?" There was a long pause as Rick studied it. And then he said, "What the hell is that?"

My ego was deflated. "It's our Christmas tree. What do you think it is?" I said.

I can't write what he said at this point but needless to say, he didn't think much of it. I thought I had created a masterpiece and he thought it was the tackiest thing he had ever seen.

It was too close to Christmas to start over. So, we lived with our tacky Christmas tree and around the end of December, we added it to our outdoor fire pit. ....never to be seen or enjoyed again. 

We have laughed about that tree. While Rick and Ben may not have enjoyed the 'true beauty' of it, we have enjoyed the memory of it and our individual memories of it's beauty or lack thereof.

I guess it's true that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  And I say I am the artist and what do they know! Ha! Ha! Ha!

Merry Christmas.

 

How to start a movement

While going about my business of teaching children the joys of art and trying to open their minds to creativity, I wasn’t expecting them to create a movement.

Upon returning to school after the Thanksgiving holidays, I was greeted by children who had spent their days off creating items to sell.  They had made ankle bracelets, duck tape wallets, hand drawn cartoons, and anything else they could think of that would bring in a buck. They had strategically collaborated on a scheme to generate funds, not for themselves but for a cause that they had decided deserved their attention.

While working for a cause is not unusual, the way they collaborated and organized their little team was. Hannah Mosley, a shy and extremely intuitive young fourth grader, had listened intently to some of my rants about their responsibility to keep the arts alive……that they were our future …and of course, I added my own involvement with The Farm into the mix.  What I didn’t realize that out of those rants, I gave Hannah the impression that The Farm was going out of business. 

That notion that the Farm would not be there for her and future generations obviously spoke to her. She had an idea.  And she shared her idea with a friend, Sarah Parnell. The two of them took on the mission and the task of ‘saving the Farm.’  They met with their fellow classmates and began making notes and brainstorming on what things they could do to generate funds.   Lilly Spiller, Katharyn Woodard, Cristalyn McDaniel,  Evie Walker,  Camile Simonton, Avery Myers, and Emily Ramie joined the team.  Then others signed up to work and sell their wares.  Before you know it, they had their entire fourth grade class involved.  They each made long list of items for sale in their notebooks.  They shared their lists and their talents with each other.  They campaigned during the holidays and hit up anyone they could with their idea and their mission to ‘save the Farm.’

What makes this all so incredible to me is that I saw them create a movement.  A movement to save the arts. The idea that the Farm was going out of business was not true. While our revenue streams have dried up and grant dollars for the arts have been drastically cut, we’ve managed to come up with ideas to generate funds to keep the Farm open.  But none so moving as theirs.   The fact that the Farm could go out of business without the continued support of the community was definitely true. 

And while I’ve been waiting and hoping that the community would rise up and realize the importance of the arts and all those things that encourage creativity…. a little girl did!  Hannah and Sarah shared their vision with their friends and classmates and this week handed me an envelope with $55.90 for The Farm.  It took everything I had to hold back the tears.  And with their proud little smiles, they declared there was more to come.  And Hannah, taking the lead, picked up a pen and said “We need a goal.  How much do we need to raise for The Farm?”  “You all will need to decide that,” I said.  “Will $1,000 be enough?”  she said while writing the amount on the board.

At 50c per cartoon and $1 for each ankle bracelet, they were confident that they could do it.  This little army of art warriors had put it all in perspective for me. 

That $55.90 was worth more than a $1,000 to me.  And these two little girls who recruited an army of followers now own my heart. I’m not worried about the future of the Farm or the future of the arts in Minden.  I have Hannah Mosley and Sarah Parnell and an army of creative thinkers who started their own movement.  Power to the people! Power to the creative thinkers!

December 21st

It was December. Four days before Christmas.  We were living in a little subdivision in Doyline, Louisiana. I was 8 years old.  My grand parents had arrived from East St. Louis, Missouri just in time for the Christmas holidays. We didn't get to see my grandparents that often, so it was so nice to have them with us.

I woke up feeling pretty excited. I could smell oatmeal cooking in the kitchen. I thought maybe this is when they're going to notice. I went to the kitchen and my sweet grandmother offered me a bowl of oatmeal. I ate it slowly and remember it being the best bowl of oatmeal I had ever eaten. I don't know what made it so great. Maybe it was just simply that my grandmother, whom I didn't get to see that often, made it for me.

The morning passed and I thought maybe they're going to wait until lunch to say something. Lunch came and went and I went about my day.  Supper. That's it! They're going to do it at supper time. Well, supper came and went and still not a word.

I went to bed that night and fell asleep still not believing that no one noticed. I'm not sure sure what time it was when my mother woke me up.  She sat on the edge of my bed and whispered "Oh Christine, I'm so sorry."  She then walked over to the closet and above the hang ups, she pulled out a box. It was  "Easy Money," a knock off of Monopoly.  She handed me the unwrapped game and said, "Happy Birthday, hon."

I fell back asleep but not without thinking how could my entire family have forgotten my birthday. I was so young and inexperienced in these matters. So, I didn't know to be mad or sad. But I do remember thinking that I would never set myself up for this kind of disappointment again. I would figure that this was going to happen again. And if it did, I would be ready.

I haven't thought about this that often in my life but I have realized for whatever reason that I have spent my life downplaying my birthday. Giving excuses like, it's so close to Christmas, Everybody is so busy with the holidays and whatever else I could say to lower my expectations.

But this year is going to be different. And it's going to different because I'm going to make it different. This year December 21st is significant. Some believe it's the end of the world. Others believe it is simply the end of the Mayan calendar. But either way, it's my birthday. It's my 61st birthday and I plan on making a big deal about it!!! So brace yourselves because December 21st is my birthday!

Rediscovering Vincent

From the time I was twelve years old and stood in front of one of Vincent Van Gogh’s paintings, I have been in love with this man and his art.  As a preteen, I had the unbelievable privilege of being able to see his art at the center of the art universe….Paris, France.

And now nearly fifty years later, I have rediscovered Vincent.  A few months ago, I was standing in front of one of my little kindergarten classes at Glenbrook when Jonathan said, “Mrs. Chris, when are you going to tell us about Vincent Van Gogh. You said you were going to tell us about him.”  I’m sure some of the parents of my Glenbrook students will tell you that no one escapes the story about my favorite all time artist.

So, I set out all my props….the painting of Vincent’s Starry Starry Night, the storyboard…everything I needed to begin my story about the world’s greatest artist.  Halfway into the story, Jonathan comments, “You know his birthday is March 30^th!” To which, “I replied, how did you know that?”  I certainly hadn’t shared that and actually, I didn’t even remember that.   I turned to Jonathan and the other kids and said, “You know what?” …. And almost as if it were rehearsed, you could hear them all say “Let’s have a party for Vincent.”  

I went home that evening and got out my book about Vincent and began to admire his work for the millionth time. And it occurred to me that the little guys might have come up with the best idea yet.  A party for Vincent.  It had merit. It has possibilities. By golly, we’re gonna do it, I thought.

I’ve spent this summer reading up on Vincent life including reading the hundreds of letters he wrote to his brother Theo. My love for Vincent and his devotion to his art has grown even more.  I am fascinated by this man’s drive to create and paint his world.  His letters to his brother are incredible. He describes the colors in his landscapes in such detail that you begin to understand why he chose to paint  in striking colors and with such passion.   While his life was cut short, his vast collection of paintings and the more than 700 letters to his brother chronicle his life and leaves behind one of the most important legacies of painting ever to enrich the world.

I’ve rediscovered Vincent and this coming spring, with the help of a lot of volunteers and a faithful core of board members, Cultural Crossroads will be celebrating Vincent Van Gogh’s 160^th birthday on March 30^th at the Farm.  A little class of kindergarteners had a great idea and thanks to them, we are having a party for Vincent…and you are invited!

 Spring Arts Festival #19

CHICKENSTOCK

"A Party for Vincent"

 at the Moess Center for the Arts & City Farm,

March 29 & 30, 2013 in Minden, La.

How's your brain?

I attended a workshop several weeks ago that addressed the profile of our brains. Not just American brains, but ALL brains. The workshop was sponsored by Blue Cross Blue Sheild Foundation and featured Harold Suire with Emergenetics International, Inc. It was probably one of the best workshops I have attended in quite some time.

According to their hand out, 'Emergenetics provides a window into the way you think and behave.' What I found astonishing was that the work these professionals have done is world wide and that all brains and brain preferences are pretty universal.  

Understanding the brain and understanding my brain was of great interest to me. As a self proclaimed liberal living in conservative community, I've been confused at times as to why I think the way that I do and why others think the way that they do. It's been extremely difficult at times because  I must admit, I do feel like a freak. And the political climate and name calling doesn't help.  So, what is it about me that make me, me....?

Understanding my brain has helped me to understand myself and my relationship with others. While I shouldn't try to simplify this ....I will.  We have four thinking attributes that we are born with. Here is how they defined the different brain preferences:

Analytical thinking is rational, inquiring, and clear. The Analytical part of the brain wants to see data and research. People with a preference for Analytical thought are considered logical, cogent, and objective. They can appreciate the scientific method, and they learn by mental analysis.

Structural thinking is detailed, practical, and methodical.  The Structural part of the brain follows rules and is cautious of new ideas.  People with a preference for Structural thought are considered disciplined, organized, and tradtional.  They like guidelines, and they learn by doing.

Social thinking is relational, collaborative, empathic, and supportive. The Social part of the brain is team-oriented and socially aware. People with a preference for Social Thought are considered connectors and are sensitive to feelings and ideas of others. They are intuitive people, and they learn from others.

Conceptual thinking is imaginative, unconventional, and visionary.  The Conceptual part of the brain likes change and is easily bored. People with a preference for Conceptual thought are considered inventive, original, and innovative. They are intuitive about ideas, and they learn by experimenting.

When you have a preference for a particular Thinking Attribute, that means it plays a prominent role in your thinking processes. 92% of the population has more than one thinking preference.

My brain profile based on my answers to an extensive survey conducted by Emergentics showed me at 80% conceptual; 43% Social; 28% Analytical and 18% Structural.  What it also revealed was that only 12% of the population share my social/conceptual combination. And because my thinking is intuitive, I run the risk of being percieved as "out there," and I may feel out of step with other people in my community or organization. 

I also learned that my preference for Social thinking allows me to see the human side of events and ideas and people who do not share my perference for social thinking may underestimate my intelligence or believe I am too emotional. I also learned that I probably have a vision that extends far into the future, and I expect others to share my enthusiasm for the overall concept or goal.

So, what I also learned from this workshop is that I was born this way and while my thinking may be different from others, there is no "right" or "wrong"....I am unique and I am wonderful the way I am. What I have also come to understand is that we all need each other.  We are all unique and wonderful in our own way and we need to appreciate each other more and stop the name calling and the pigeon holing.  I may be a liberal and you may be a conservative....and that's okay....together we can make a great country greater! or in this case, a great community greater!!!

If you want to learn more about his brain thing, there is a book available on Amazon. Google Emergenetics and check it out. 

Going Union

I was twenty one years old and living in Leesville when I had my first experience with labor unions.  I was working for an extremely successful and profitable cable company.  I worked in the local origination department which was a branch of the company that produced programming for their local station. It was a new market and a new venture.  There were three of us in the department.  The department head, myself and another young man.  I was in charge of writing news stories,  running the camera and anything else that the department head didn’t want to do. The other guy was in charge of selling the programs to local sponsors.

I loved the job. It was creative and challenging.  I had been married for about three years at this time and my relationship with my husband was anything but harmonious.  And this job was very demanding of my time.  It wasn’t a 9 to 5, Monday through Friday job. It was when they needed me, where they needed me, doing what they needed me to do.  And I was told that I had no choice and that I would lose my job if I didn't comply.  I had little say in that which didn’t help matters at home.

This job while the schedule was flexible, the pay wasn’t. I was not allowed to punch a time clock. Instead our department head would turn in our hours for the week on a time sheet he created.  While I worked more than 60 hours a week most weeks, the time sheet that was turned in only reflected a 40 hour week.  I wasn’t considered salaried.  I was only 21 and naive to say the least. I never questioned it. I just believed that the company would do the right thing. 

After working there for nearly a year, I began to question their system when I was denied some time off. I thought that all of the overtime that I had put in could be easily exchanged for some much needed sick leave.  I had tonsillitis and was confined to my home for a week.  I didn’t get paid for that week and it was that action that made me question the integrity of my employer.

Around the same time that I began to feel a little taken for granted, I was visited by a ‘union man.’  He invited me to lunch along with some other executives who had become aware of my situation along with some of the other employees.  It seems their practice of not awarding overtime pay to anyone took in the line crew whose weekly hours exceeded a forty hour week, too.  These labor guys talked to me about heading up an effort to bring a union in.  I didn’t have much experience with unions but I did think that the company should have been more responsible to their employees and held accountable. I agreed to it and went about talking to the other employees about holding an election.  All was going well and it looked like the union was going to pass. 

Before the day of the election, I was approached by the general manager and asked to have dinner with him and a few other executives.  I was told by the union guys that the exes of the company were not allowed to speak to me about the election or try to persuade me to change my vote.  Well, our dinner was all about changing my vote.  They told me that I would lose my job with them and that they would see to it that no one in town would hire me.  They lied to me and told me that all of the employees were going to vote against the union and that I had created havoc and discord amongst the workers and they could not protect me.   It frightened me to say the least.  And there was no peace at home or a shoulder to lean on.  The threats from my husband were  just as real.  I felt alone and abandoned.

I proceeded with the plan to unionize because I thought it was the right thing to do. The elections were held and the employees voted overwhelmingly to unionize.  The cable management changed. A new manager arrived on the scene at the same time that I had decided to leave the company.  They asked me stay and offered me a raise. I declined.  In the weeks to follow, I realized how I had been deceived by the company.  I had come to understand how this all could have been avoided if they had just done the right thing by everyone. If they had just given a fair wage for a fair days work.  Instead they used and abused their employees and deprived them of time and money.  The company was investigated and was ordered to pay for those overtime hours to all of their employees.  Because there were no ‘real’ time sheets, the court estimated the lost wages.  It was far less than was expected but the real change came when the company was ordered to put in a time clock and new policies were set to protect the worker.  

I know that there is a lot of talk against unions these days.  But I must say that I’m not so sure that I agree with that.  I believe that the management of this company was corrupt and abusive. And they took advantage of me and many others.  Other than quitting, what else is there?  Who is out there to protect the worker?  I’m sure people will argue that the unions went  too far…asked for too much and as a result, companies relocated oversees or shut down.   And that may be true.  I think power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely…no matter which side it’s on. 

So what’s the right answer?  Depends on what side you’re on.

Global warming. Fact or Fiction?

I guess it depends on who you ask or what your political affiliation is. Or at least that's what I've come to recognize.  I made a general statement one day about global warming only to have an acquaintance of mine jump down my throat and slam me for suggesting that global warming might be factual.  Of course, I immediately shut my mouth once I realized I had hit a nerve coupled with the  the fact that I wasn't in the mood for an argument. Discussion, yes.    I have often wondered since then what it was that made that person so insistent that global warming was a myth. What did they know that I didn't know?  or What did I know that they didn't know?

Here's what I know personally.  First of all, it's hard for me to imagine that our consumption of fossil fuels hasn't affected our atmosphere. It's hard to think that our massive consumption of our natural resources and our lack of concern for our environment hasn't taken a tole on our ecosystem.

Our earth sheltered home has been the biggest indicator of change for me.  We saw little change in the first thirty years in the interior temperature of our home which is cooled and warmed by the soil around us. But recently, we've seen it change considerably. And that has been the biggest red flag for me.  And the little creek that always ran water in front of our house and was fed by a natural spring at the top of our hill, is now dry and has been dry for the second summer. And some could argue that it's just a cyclical thing and weather patterns change...and so on and so forth. And I can agree with that, too. 

So, while we could argue the point, I decided to do some fact finding. I have copied what I found and I hope that if you are taking the time to read this blog, you'll take more time to read this.....
But beware....it's pretty disturbing and you might find yourself in a position to want to try to do something about it.   But also beware that the political climate is also changing and there are many people who don't want you to know and don't want you to care.....because it affects more than the climate. It affects the bottom line of some major corporations.

The bottom line for me is that I think we need to take better care of our planet.  We can't just simply be comsumers of them and believe there are no consequences.


(Copied from the National Geographic website)
Is It Happening?
Yes. Earth is already showing many signs of worldwide climate change.
• Average temperatures have climbed 1.4 degrees Fahrenheit (0.8 degree Celsius) around the world since 1880, much of this in recent decades, according to NASA's Goddard Institute for Space Studies.
• The rate of warming is increasing. The 20th century's last two decades were the hottest in 400 years and possibly the warmest for several millennia, according to a number of climate studies. And the United Nations' Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) reports that 11 of the past 12 years are among the dozen warmest since 1850.
• The Arctic is feeling the effects the most. Average temperatures in Alaska, western Canada, and eastern Russia have risen at twice the global average, according to the multinational Arctic Climate Impact Assessment report compiled between 2000 and 2004.
• Arctic ice is rapidly disappearing, and the region may have its first completely ice-free summer by 2040 or earlier. Polar bears and indigenous cultures are already suffering from the sea-ice loss.
• Glaciers and mountain snows are rapidly melting—for example, Montana's Glacier National Park now has only 27 glaciers, versus 150 in 1910. In the Northern Hemisphere, thaws also come a week earlier in spring and freezes begin a week later.
• Coral reefs, which are highly sensitive to small changes in water temperature, suffered the worst bleaching—or die-off in response to stress—ever recorded in 1998, with some areas seeing bleach rates of 70 percent. Experts expect these sorts of events to increase in frequency and intensity in the next 50 years as sea temperatures rise.
• An upsurge in the amount of extreme weather events, such as wildfires, heat waves, and strong tropical storms, is also attributed in part to climate change by some experts.
Are Humans Causing It?
• "Very likely," the IPCC said in a February 2007 report.
The report, based on the work of some 2,500 scientists in more than 130 countries, concluded that humans have caused all or most of the current planetary warming. Human-caused global warming is often called anthropogenic climate change.

• Industrialization, deforestation, and pollution have greatly increased atmospheric concentrations of water vapor, carbon dioxide, methane, and nitrous oxide, all greenhouse gases that help trap heat near Earth's surface. (See an interactive feature on how global warming works.)

• Humans are pouring carbon dioxide into the atmosphere much faster than plants and oceans can absorb it.
• These gases persist in the atmosphere for years, meaning that even if such emissions were eliminated today, it would not immediately stop global warming.
• Some experts point out that natural cycles in Earth's orbit can alter the planet's exposure to sunlight, which may explain the current trend. Earth has indeed experienced warming and cooling cycles roughly every hundred thousand years due to these orbital shifts, but such changes have occurred over the span of several centuries. Today's changes have taken place over the past hundred years or less.
• Other recent research has suggested that the effects of variations in the sun's output are "negligible" as a factor in warming, but other, more complicated solar mechanisms could possibly play a role.
What's Going to Happen?
A follow-up report by the IPCC released in April 2007 warned that global warming could lead to large-scale food and water shortages and have catastrophic effects on wildlife.
• Sea level could rise between 7 and 23 inches (18 to 59 centimeters) by century's end, the IPCC's February 2007 report projects. Rises of just 4 inches (10 centimeters) could flood many South Seas islands and swamp large parts of Southeast Asia.
• Some hundred million people live within 3 feet (1 meter) of mean sea level, and much of the world's population is concentrated in vulnerable coastal cities. In the U.S., Louisiana and Florida are especially at risk.
• Glaciers around the world could melt, causing sea levels to rise while creating water shortages in regions dependent on runoff for fresh water.
• Strong hurricanes, droughts, heat waves, wildfires, and other natural disasters may become commonplace in many parts of the world. The growth of deserts may also cause food shortages in many places.
• More than a million species face extinction from disappearing habitat, changing ecosystems, and acidifying oceans.
• The ocean's circulation system, known as the ocean conveyor belt, could be permanently altered, causing a mini-ice age in Western Europe and other rapid changes.
• At some point in the future, warming could become uncontrollable by creating a so-called positive feedback effect. Rising temperatures could release additional greenhouse gases by unlocking methane in permafrost and undersea deposits, freeing carbon trapped in sea ice, and causing increased evaporation of water.
What is Climategate?
In late November 2009, hackers unearthed hundreds of emails at the U.K.'s University of East Anglia that exposed private conversations among top-level British and U.S. climate scientists discussing whether certain data should be released to the public.
The email exchanges also refer to statistical tricks used to illustrate climate change? trends, and call climate skeptics idiots, according to the New York Times.
One such trick was used to create the well-known hockey-stick graph, which shows a sharp uptick in temperature increases during the 20th century. Former U.S vice president Al Gore relied heavily on the graph as evidence of human-caused climate change in the documentary An Inconvenient Truth.
The data used for this graph come from two sources: thermostat readings and tree-ring samples.
While thermostat readings have consistently shown a temperature rise over the past hundred years, tree-ring samples show temperature increases stalling around 1960.
On the hockey-stick graph, thermostat-only data is grafted onto data that incorporates both thermostat and tree-ring readings, essentially presenting a seamless picture of two different data sets, the hacked emails revealed.
But scientists argue that dropping the tree-ring data was no secret and has been written about in the scientific literature for years.
Climate change skeptics have heralded the emails as an attempt to fool the public, according to the Times.
Yet climate scientists maintain that these controversial points are small blips that are inevitable in scientific research, and that the evidence for human-induced climate change is much broader and still widely accepted.

Harvesting Memories.

So, how does your garden grow? …or do you even have one? If you do, you will appreciate this post. If you don’t, then I must encourage you to start a garden. …floral or vegetable, doesn't matter.  They are both so rewarding.   Digging in the dirt is the most spiritually satisfying activity I've found that I can do on my own time and in my own way.

My dad had a garden when we were growing up. I remember very vividly sitting out under one of the big oaks in our back yard and having to shell purple hull peas.  My fingers were purple all summer long.  I couldn’t seem to get that purple stain off of my fingers.  It wasn’t anything that I loved doing but it was one of those chores that my Mom had us do if we wanted to go fishing or swimming.  She was always good about canning all the veggies my dad could produce in his garden.  We had canned tomatoes in the winter for our soups and she would make the best creamed corn. 

The best part of summer when I was growing up was the fresh meals that came out of the garden.  I can remember watching the tomatoes ripen on the vine and when they started to turn, I would watch for the special one and when it looked like it was ready to pick, I would take the salt shaker out to the garden and sit down between the rows and eat it right off the vine. It was soooooo good! I can almost taste it now.  Kids these days have no idea what a real tomato tastes like. 

Today I went to the opening of the Farmers Market at the Farm. It was kind of early for any veggies but they managed to get hooked up with some area growers who are serious about growing for the public…thank goodness.  Bob Evans of Cotton Valley is one of our growers and he managed to have the biggest and prettiest heads of cabbage today.  Freshly dug red potatoes and freshly picked broccoli were for sale today at the market and I was so proud to get there early enough to get some. I got home with my bounty, put on some music, turned our old oscillating fan on and began to dance while cleaning my veggies. It brought back such great memories.

I also brought home some new plants that I bought from Molly. She’s a local horticulturalist who has managed to get her children excited about the earth and gardening and their family was out at the market selling plants, eggs and handmade flowers out of recycled tin cans.  I had to buy one of almost everything, of course.

So, today was a great day and I can’t wait to plant my new plants, eat my new potatoes while patiently waiting for the tomatoes to start making.  Fresh vegetables are a rare treat these days especially those that are grown by the hands of backyard gardeners who learned the art of gardening from their parents and grandparents.   We need more gardeners and more farmers.   Consider being one or at least supporting the ones that live in your community.  Go gardening! Go green! …or Go buy!

The Perfect Day!

It was the laughter that caught my attention.  While working in the "Painting for a Cause" tent, I could see the colorful quilts blowing in the breeze by the side of Zenobia’s old home place.  And on the front lawn, Janell and members of the Pleasant Valley Church were frying chicken for festival goers.  And on the front porch, a couple of teachers from Bossier were enjoying their chicken while watching the traffic go by.  It was the smell of fried chicken, the sound of the laughter and the buzzing of the cooks that made my heart swell and I could feel the grin on my face take over.

It was our 18^th arts festival and the 12^th one to be held on our four acre Farm.  The crowd size was perfect. …any more and the experience would have been different for everyone.  People were busy painting on the outdoor mural, kids were under the tents making faces out of clay and the music coming from the big talent tent reminded you that it was all about the kids.  

Having chaired the festival every year since its inception, there was something different about this year.  Every little detail had been addressed. From the thoughtful placement of the colorful quilts to the whimsical tin flowers scattered around the yard…the entire place was a piece of art.  It was my dream festival.  Everything that had played out in my head was played out in real life…for the first time.  There were no regrets, no complaints, no last minute worries, no forgotten tasks.  The board members and the volunteers who had dedicated their time and talent were now seeing the fruits of their labor, too.  My only hope was that they were experiencing what I was experiencing….pure satisfaction. Pure joy.  The perfect day! 

We created a beautiful scene with real elements and real people on April 28^th and it was truly a masterpiece!

Color in my World

I love diversity and I love experiencing the culture of other groups and other communities. I guess that's why I spent nearly two decades trying to bring those experiences to children each spring during our Spring Arts Festival. As an Army brat, perhaps it was my early exposure to diversity that led me to want to try to expose my own child and my own community to this beautiful world of color.

Looking back on it, I am still astonished at the resistence our festival committee experienced when trying to bring people from other cultures and traditions to Minden.  I remember the year we brought the Houma Nation  to Minden to celebrate Native Americans.  We had gotten word that one of the churches in town was planning to boycott the festival. We were going to honor the tribe's arrival with a community totem pole with colorful blocks created by area school children that included special messages. We took the news in stride and decided that we would make this a teachable moment not only for the children but for adults as well.  I guess it worked. There was no boycott after all.

And I remember the year that we decided to celebrate China. With the olympics to be held that same year, we thought it would be a great idea to honor their country.  We invited the Shreveport Chinese Society to share their art and culture with us.  They brought beautiful pieces of original Chinese art to the Farm for all to enjoy.  I think the most impressive event was when one of our Chinese guests created special calligraphy hangings for festival goers.  It was one of the brightest and most colorful festivals we had ever had.  We ordered original Chinese costumes from China for many of the children to wear for our mini parade.  We had created painted banners bearing special words in Chinese for the children to carry during the parade. We had a young Chinese exchange student sing a Chinese song on stage that brought the crowd to tears.  It was a moment when you didn't have to know what the words were to understand the significance and the meaning.

The controversy this time didn't come from our community. It came from the Chinese Society.  We shared with them the many photographs we had taken of their visit in Minden. And among the photos was one of a young girl holding one of the banners that read  "Liberty" in Chinese. We had taken the suggestion of these painted banners from a page out of a boy scout manual. Unfortunately, our guests thought that we were involved in a conspiracy to disgrace them in their homeland.  We did manage to meet with them and reassure them that everything we did was honorable and certainly not meant to harm them in any way. We were very apologetic. We did manage to smooth things over with them, thank goodness.

We have in our backyard another culture that deserves our respect and attention. And that is of our African American neighbors. My own life experiences have colored my world with such wonderful memories. From Arley James to Mr. Moore to the Thornton sisters, their friendships have given me such joy.  And during this Black History Month celebration I honor their memories and their friendships. And I hope that we can continue to keep our minds and hearts open to experiencing and understanding the cultures and traditions of others even our own.

With all the turmoil and unrest on our planet today, I think its going to take more sensitivity, respect and understanding to get us through these tough times. Our cultures and traditions may be different. Our skin may be different. Our religions and politics may be different.  But we are all still part of the same race....the human race!

There is color in my world, I hope there is color in yours!

Leading by Example

Over a decade ago I noticed a significant rise in violence among the boys at The Children’s Center.  There was more name calling and their aggressive actions were affecting the harmony we had all come to enjoy at The Children’s Center.  Without knowing the direct cause, I attempted to examine what social issues we might have been experiencing that were different than any other time in my fifteen years of care giving.

I sought the advice of professional counselors to see if they too had experienced the same thing. I examined every aspect of the Center from our policies to our supervision.  I was very careful in those days to monitor their Nintendo games and anything they watched on television.  We forbid anything that was violent down to the smallest details including not allowing toy guns at the Center and not allowing the children to make toy guns out of Lego’s (which they often did and hid them under the Lego table.)

The one thing that marked this period in time was the beginning of the Iraq War.  I’m not sure that was the catalyst for their aggressive behavior but I knew that I needed to do something about it for the sake of the kids.  At my own expense, I hired a professional counselor who at the time had designed a program for children called “Cool Waves.”  The idea was to bring youngsters together for special  sessions which included everything from role playing to leadership training exercises and even watching videos designed to teach children how to resolve problems through non violent means.

We pitched the idea of this “Cool Waves” program to the young boys who had displayed aggressive behavior above and beyond what we thought was appropriate.  I secured permission from the parents. A signed contract from the boys meant that they understood that this program was to help them with their aggressive behavior but most importantly it would help them redirect their energy towards a more productive outcome.  They also understood that we were paying for this because we believed in them and we believed them to be our leaders of tomorrow.  “Leaders of tomorrow” was the phrase that appealed to them.  The sessions were held off site each week for a number of months.  The boys were respectful and made every attempt to make this work for all of us. I was so proud of them.  They graduated from the program and were told that it was their job to pass that knowledge and newly-found behavioral skills down to the younger children.  And they did.  The whole atmosphere at the Center changed. Violence was replaced with compassion, kindness and understanding.  Peace had been restored.

I share this story today because I’ve witnessed the same aggressive behavior in society probably more these days than ever before. And not just among children.  Have we replaced compassion and kindness with hatred and violence? Has arrogance and greed along with our hunger for superiority divided us even more?  Have we become a country of bullies?  We seem to bully those who don’t believe as we do. We bully those whose political positions don’t mirror our own. ?  I feel somewhere down the road, we have allowed our egos to get the better of us.   Maybe it’s time we all took a hard look at ourselves.

I’m not excluding myself in this. I have been examining my own behavior and becoming more conscious about my actions and my reactions.  We should all be willing to fight for compassion and not mistake kindness as a weakness.

 Peace be with you!

Helping children discover purpose

The ultimate field trip most summers was a trip to my house.  When I was owner of The Children’s Center, our summer outings usually included a field trip to my house. 

The twenty minute ride to my underground home in the middle of forty wooded acres usually included a conversation about litter and the importance of keeping our good Earth clean.  The ride down Germantown Road also included taking in the bright green road sides and if we were in luck some of the black eyed Susan’s, one of my favorite flowers,  were in full bloom.

Part of the outing included advance preparation. Those in attendance were instructed to bring a change of clothes and a pair of shoes they didn’t mind getting muddy.  We would also start the adventure off with making sure the kids were ‘vaccinated’ with bug spray.  Dressed out in their play clothes and their kick around shoes, we set off to travel the shallow creek that runs in front of our house. 

A natural spring at the top of our hill feeds the winding creek that runs the length of our property and beyond.  Cutting through huge stands of pine trees and winding around massive beech trees, it’s a sight I have never gotten tired of in my more than thirty years here.

I would take the kids down the creek to a hilly area where some of the bluffs that line the creek made the perfect slide.  I remember Daniel Lee having the time of his life sliding down those bluffs to the shallow creek below.  He couldn’t get enough of it.  And then there was Paula Brown who didn’t like getting dirty but accidentally fell in the creek. 

While we were taking our little hike through never-never land, I would always engage the girls in finding young grape vines and wrapping them into fairy wreaths for their heads.  We would add some flowers or whatever they thought would enhance their earthly halo.

Once we made it back to the house, I usually had to wash a few clothes and shoes and the kids would put on one of Rick’s big tee shirts.  They loved sitting around in the den and admiring all the artwork.  And that usually gave me an opportunity to share a true story with them about a particular piece of art in our living room. 

Teaching kids to love and admire art was one of my passions.  I couldn’t understand sometimes why some of the kids didn’t want to paint or draw or learn about this wonderful world of creativity. I would often hear “do I have to?”  And “why do you want us to do this?”  In my effort to expose the children to as many art forms as I could would result in them asking why they had to do this on many occasions.  They just didn’t understand why I thought it was so important. I had always hoped that this field trip to my house would help them understand me and understand why I thought the arts were so important.

One of the most impressive pieces of art in our home is a seven foot wood carving of an old Indian woman.  Carved out of a huge walnut tree, the crippled Indian woman carrying a bundle of wood commands attention.  The kids would want to know who she was, what’s she made of and who made her?  Charles Widmer of Mountain View, Arkansas carved the massive piece around 1990.  How we acquired the piece is another story. 

I started this ‘show and tell’ time with who the artist was and then I would tell them about his childhood…. a story that Charles Widmer shared with us.  As the story goes; Charles ran away from home when he was only 13 years old. He joined a motorcycle gang and for more than twenty five years he would spend his youth traveling the country side trying to survive his chosen hand to mouth existence.  His time as a member of "Hell’s Angels” was not a proud time for him according to Charles.  He was hesitant at first to share his early adolescence with us.  As Charles would tell it, he was a troubled child and didn’t do well in school. In fact he was illiterate. But at some point in his young life he was given a rare opportunity to work side by side with an older gentleman who carved wood. He taught the young Charles to whittle.

At the age of 30 Charles made his way back home to his hometown of Mountain View, Arkansas and moved back in with his father. Without knowing how to read or write and having no skills at all, he struggled with employment.  His dad had mentioned to him that when he was young he seemed to have a talent for whittling and suggested that maybe he could make a living as a craftsmen.  And if you know anything about Mountain View, Arkansas, then you know it is the Mecca of folk art and mountain music.  Charles signed up for one of the wood carving workshops offered at the Ozark Folk Center.  And this is where I explain to the kids that his early exposure to wood carving sparked something in his brain and without knowing it; he was exposed to the one thing that would make him the man he would become. And it would later become his passion and his purpose.

Wood carving was the one thing that he was good at. And not just good, he was great.  As most artists in Mountain View, tourist season would offer opportunities for the locals to sell their art or craft.  Charles began to create and sell original carved creations.  President Jimmy Carter came to visit and happened upon the shop where Charles was selling his work.  President Carter was so taken with the artist and his carving abilities that he commissioned him to carve a life-sized Eagle for the Carter Library. The wood carver from Mountain View, Arkansas who couldn’t read or write was now getting national attention.

The Indian carving in our living room called “The Burden” was carved from a story Charles’ father told him as a child.  The story was about an old Indian woman Charles’s father saw as a young man. The old Indian woman with one crippled leg would walk miles into the Texas dessert to collect fire wood and strap it to her back. She managed to eke out a living selling her wood….and now Charles was doing the same.

The window of opportunity for some of our children is small.  We don’t know what triggers the brain to accept a certain experience or skill.  But for Charles, that early exposure to wood carving hibernated in his brain and was awakened in time to bring him fame and riches.  Of course, his riches were modest but enough to sustain him and his wife.

In sharing this story with the kids that would visit my home, it was my hope that they would come to understand how important it would be in their life, to open their minds and open their hearts to opportunities for greater learning. "Be open to experience new things and learn new ways," I would tell them.  "Reading, writing and arithmetic are important but it’s passion that will help define your lives and give you purpose.  And there is great passion in the arts for those who are willing to open their minds to it."

Measuring success

I am not motivated by money. Never have been.  It is the success of the work or the passion for the project that drives me.  Even when I was an advertising sales person for the Minden Press-Herald, it wasn’t the commissions that drove me to sell more. It was the success of the ad campaign that I designed and the increased business for the client that brought me the most satisfaction.  

I have had many jobs in my life. My first job was with Ma Bell in Minden. I was a telephone operator and worked in the old South Central Bell building behind Minden Medical Center.  I had dropped out of college and sought full time employment.  In my more than one year on the job as a telephone operator, I challenged myself to beat the record for the number of calls completed in an hour.  As best I can remember the record was thirty something.  I had managed to exceed fifty completed calls in an hour.  My supervisors became suspicious. They began to monitor my calls and question my numbers.  I was young and did not realize that these supervisors were also operators at one time and it was their record that I was busting.  It became apparent that they were not happy with my performance and I had reached my goal and was now looking for another challenge.  So, I transferred to a sister company in Shreveport. 

This new job with Ma Bell consisted of reading the stamped time cards and placing them in one of more than fifty slots.  I set a new record there, too.  I left Ma Bell when we were transferred to Leesville. I could have transferred with the company but I was looking for a new challenge.  I eventually went to work for the Leesville Leader. It would be my first time as a sale person.  The managing editor of the Leader was an old newspaper man.  Jack taught me all the in’s and out’s of selling ads.  I not only sold the ads but I had to design them and construct them. I learned fast and before long I was leading the group in sales.  Jack took me under his wing and taught me all that he knew about the newspaper business.  His mentoring was life-changing for me.  I thought I had found my calling.

When we returned to Minden some four years later, I applied at the Minden Press-Herald and was hired on as the advertising manager. I was the first female to hold this position.  Even then, I was not driven by money. It was a good thing because the publisher of the paper  set my salary slightly lower than the salesmen who worked under me.  This was the first time that equality for women in the work place became an issue for me.  I approached my boss about the inequality and he did a very smart thing….he challenged me.  If I could increase the newspaper’s revenue from the previous year, he would raise my pay. I accepted the challenge and set out to break another record.  

I took on many jobs from working as the promotional manager for Channel 6 in Shreveport to in-house illustrator for a national manufacturing company. But it was the advertising and the marketing jobs that brought me the most joy.  So, I decided to start my own business.  I opened an advertising agency, Specialty Design. I had several clients and my success was measured more by the successful advertising campaigns I created rather than the size of my bank account.  And while I enjoyed self employment for more than two years, I eventually sought a more reliable revenue stream and accepted a newly created position as the marketing director for People’s Bank. 

Out of a personal need, I would eventually open The Children’s Center in Minden.  I needed to give my  5 year old son a safe haven for after school care, so Minden’s first afterschool enrichment center was opened.   This became my passion and my favorite job.   Providing a creative space for children set new standards for care for children.  And again I made it about the work and not the money.  I had to take on other jobs to sustain the business until it could sustain itself.  I truly believe that it was that mindset that contributed to the long running success of The Children’s Center. ..Now celebrating more than 25 years and in the hands of my dear sweet friend and former employee, Julie Vogel. 

In all my professional experiences, nothing has changed much.  I did discover my real passion was art and in particular children's access to the arts.  I now work part time as the art enrichment teacher for Glenbrook and love it.  My more than 200 young art students give me great joy and drive my desire to do more to advance the opportunities for children to express themselves.

Money still does not define me.   I know that most people don’t understand that and don’t understand me.  And because of that, my intentions are sometimes misunderstood.  My non paid  job as the executive director of Cultural Crossroads has laid before me the most challenging body of work. With unlimited artistic license, I am challenged to lead a group in the development of a four acre festival site known as The Farm.   But I can’t complete the body of work without money.  The four acre homestead was donated to Cultural Crossroads by my friend Zenobia West.  In 2000, she offered our nonprofit organization the opportunity of a lifetime.   Her desire to create a haven for children and a playground for creative expression has been my greatest challenge.  I promised her that I would see it through.  This sounds a little egotistical and that is not my intention. I don’t mean to discount the many wonderful volunteers who help us drive this project or the many wonderful people who have served on the Board of Directors.  And I don’t mean to discount the many individuals and corporate partners who have contributed funds to this twenty-two year old organization.  However, I do feel an enormous responsibility to make Zenobia’s dream a reality.

Her dream has now become mine. 

Someone once said:  "So many of our dreams at first seem impossible, then they seem improbable and then when we summon the will, they soon become inevitable."

Anger Management

When we returned from Paris, France in 1965, I was a freshman in high school.  Moving back to Doyline from Paris was a huge adjustment, to say the least.  I was so nervous the first day of school.  I remember looking at the old yearbooks from my earlier days in Doyline when I was in the 3^rd to the 6^th grade. I looked at the teenagers in the yearbook and I thought that I had a jump on their fashions by wearing a pair of bobby socks with penny loafers. I didn’t realize that times and styles would change.   

It didn’t take me long to figure out that I missed that by a long shot. I quickly took the socks off and went bared legged the rest of the day. It was a horrible first day.  As I got comfortable with my new surroundings, I brought my own style to Doyline all the way from Paris, France. I started wearing earrings and so did they. I started wearing fishnet stockings and so did they.  I was feeling pretty good about everything.  I was starting to fit in.

The cafeteria at the school was included in the same building that housed the gymnasium.  We were lining up for lunch one day and I happened to be on the opposite side of the gym door.  I overheard Coach Roach speaking to another teacher.  Coach Roach was a wonderful basketball coach. He took the basketball team all the way to State that year.  Everyone liked him. He had such a kind demeanor.  I thought the world of him.

As I stood at the door, I could hear their conversation. It was about me. I was excited at first. And then I heard Coach Roach say “Christine would be a fine student if she didn’t have such a bad temper.  She is such a hot head.”  Those words stung. I pretended that I didn’t hear them. It was hard finishing out the day at school.  His words kept playing over and over again in my head.

When I got home, we had supper and I went to my room to cry.   I was so hurt. How could he say those things about me? I thought he liked me? I thought I had a great relationship with all my teachers.

Doyline had some wonderful teachers.  Miss Mary Stone, my typing, bookkeeping and shorthand teacher; Jimmy Smith, my English and drama teacher; Mrs. Carolyn Burton, my home economics teacher; Mr. Bill Crider, my math teacher; Miss Eloise Sanders, my history teacher; and Coach James Roach, my PE teacher.  I could not have been luckier to have had these fabulous teachers guide me through high school.

While lying in bed that night, I couldn’t help but think that maybe he was right about my temper.  He wouldn’t say anything unkind about anyone if it wasn’t true.  I cried myself to sleep that night still pondering what I could do to correct this obvious flaw in my character.

The next morning I got up and began to think what could I do to change?  I picked up a rubber band off of my dressing table and put it around my wrist.  I have a great idea I thought. Each time I see myself getting angry, I’ll pop myself with the rubber band and count to 10.

I went to school that day on a mission to change my behavior.  From one incident to another, I caught myself in time to pop the rubber band and count to 10. I was successful that day and for the next two weeks. 


At the end of the two weeks, something surprising happened.  I had dressed out for PE like I had for the past year.  At the end of the class, Coach Roach approached me.  He put his arm around my shoulder, looked down at me and said, “Christine, I don’t know what you’ve done these past two weeks, but you are a different person.  You have turned into a sweet girl. Keep up the  good work. ”

That was it! I had succeeded in managing my anger. I had turned a corner.  

Marjorie Broussard Remembered

“Take care of my granddaughter. She’s going to need your support,” was one of Marjorie (Margie) Broussard's last requests.  Margie was always thinking of everyone else.  When Rick’s mother, Margie, was sent home from the hospital to spend her last days at home, we all came to say our good byes. 

Margie was a wonderful mother-in-law.  She was so good to me.  The first time Rick took me to New Orleans to meet his parents, his mother immediately made me feel welcomed.  It didn’t take me long to realize that she and Rick had a very special relationship.  I can hear her voice now, “Rickey, whatcha want me to cook for you when you come down?”  Margie was a fabulous cook.  I remember spending one afternoon with her measuring and writing down all of the recipes she kept in her head.  We had such a wonderful afternoon cooking and laughing.  I later typed and printed all of her favorite recipes in a cookbook for all the family members.

Margie was diagnosed with Melanoma a few years before I met her.  They found a mole on her toe and the struggle to save her life included amputating her foot, then up to her ankle and then finally up to her knee.  She wore a prosthetic leg and wore it with such grace and humor.  She never let it get her down.  When Rick and I were married, we invited his Mom and Dad to join us on our honeymoon.  Now, I’m sure that most people would think that was very odd but for some strange reason, it sounded perfect for us.  She had always enjoyed Rickey (that was what she always called him) sharing his love for the Ozarks.  So, that is where we decided to go.  Our five day trip to the mountains would take us through Heber Springs, Mountain View and all the sights of the Ozarks.  We even took them to our favorite camping site in the middle of a 4,200 tract of land.  She didn’t let the mountains stop her.  She got out of the car and made her way down the mountain to an overlook.  She never complained and she never allowed us to help her. She was so independent and never wanted to burden anyone.

Rick and I were married about six months when I found out I was pregnant.  Rick’s mother was ecstatic. She immediately started crocheting animal toys and making blankets and getting ready for her third grandchild. Fanette Hodges hosted a baby shower for me right before Ben was born.  Margie made the trip from New Orleans to be there.  I was so happy to see her.  She didn’t tell me at the time that her cancer had returned.  I would learn this later.  Her doctor told her before she left to attend the baby shower that her melanoma had returned.  It would have been the fifth anniversary of her diagnosis.

After Ben was born, we spent many weekends in New Orleans.  On one of our trips, it became apparent that she was losing the fight.  She called each one of us into her bedroom to say good bye.  When it was my turn, I tried to stay strong but I didn’t need to because she was strong for both of us.  While I was lovingly stroking her arm while she was talking, she paused and said “Please honey, I love your touch but it’s really painful for anyone to touch me. “  The disease had made its way to her bones at this point. 

She told me how proud she was that Rick and I were together. She said she knew that we would be happy and that made her happy.  She said she regretted that she would not be alive to see Ben grow up but she knew that he would grow up to be a fine man.  She also shared with me that her long time prayer had been that Rickey would find someone who would love him for him.  Her prayer had been answered.

Her loving and caring nature included telling me that I needed to take care of her granddaughter because she was ‘special.’  I reassured her that I would and that I knew she was special. “No, I mean she is really special,” she said.  She looked at me and without saying another word; it was as if our minds were one.  I knew exactly what she meant.  Her granddaughter was gay.  We both knew it before Brenda did and before her parents would learn about it and try to come to terms with it. Brenda was a teenage at the time. I knew the first time I meet her that she was gay.  I had never spoke of it until that day in Margie’s bedroom.   

The years that would follow would include supporting Brenda.   As she struggled with her identity, so did her parents.  She finally decided to move to Arizona.  She worked as a park ranger at the Grand Canyon and sent home a video of her conducting a tour. I remember thinking to myself that Margie would have loved to have seen this. She would be so proud of her.   Brenda grew into a beautiful and talented young woman.  She is still dealing with who she is at times but aren’t we all? But her battle for acceptance is a little different than the rest of us.  I guess Margie knew that.  We love Brenda and her sweet and vivacious personality makes it hard not to love her.

Margie died in April of 1982. She was 65 years old. Ben was eleven months old.  Rick was with her when she took her last breathe.  She was buried next to her first born, Joseph Broussard, who had died at the age of 24 with the same disease.

Margie was always thinking of everyone else.  She was a perfectionist but she never demanded perfection.   She was so loving and tolerant and even when she knew her days were numbered, she spent the rest of her time thanking us for what we meant to her. 

Margie Broussard, we love you and miss you!