Country Roads, Acadiana: The “Hoosegow” in Elton, Louisiana Friday, Jan 27 2012

Don't get caught speeding through Elton!

Traveling east/west across southwest Louisiana Cajun country on US Highway 190, a sojourner will drive through the laid back village of Elton.  And the sojourner should slow down, because E.P.D. is known to lay  cunning speed traps through the 35 mph stretch in the heart of town.

What might the penalty be for being caught speeding?  How about an overnight stay in the “Elton Hoosegow?”

That curious looking facility has intrigued me all the years I’ve passed it driving through the Elton on the way to and from Lake Charles.   Yesterday, I finally pulled over and took the picture, something I’ve been meaning to do for years.

The building looks like a relic from the 1890′s, some bygone era when an open-air, public lockup fronted by the sidewalks of the main thorouoghfare, in full view of society and without electricity or sanitary facilities, would provide a scary deterrent to wrongdoing among the populace.

Padlocks still hang on each of the gates, but more likely to keep curiosity seekers out of the cells than for locking wrongdoers in.  Why the city fathers preserve the building, I don’t know, but I’m truly glad it does.  I only wish they’d place a historical marker of some sort to explain when and how this facility was used.   This is truly a museum piece, a memorial of an intriguing past, and another site worth seeing along the fascinating country roads of Acadiana, Cajun country, way down yonder in South Louisiana.

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The Joys of Grandparenting: The Gene Pool Wednesday, Jan 25 2012

As a youngster, I thought the old folks’ prattling about babies was so much phoo-phoo.

“Oh, she’s got ___’s eyes!” or “That looks just like Aunt so-and so!”

But I’m a grandparent now, and I seize the right to my own phoo-phoo!  This photo of Sarah Ann (Honey, the grandmother) and Payton shows striking familial resemblance.

The genes are indeed persistent!

Gratefully, the child resembles more closely her adorable grandmother than her grandfather. (No disrespect to me–Just the truth!)

 

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Country Roads, Acadiana: Arnaudville and the St. Landry Parish Bayou Country Friday, Jan 20 2012

The outskirts of Arnaudville, on the verge of entering the quaint past of Louisiana bayou culture.

I was in a hurry today as I ran my work-related errands, driving from Breaux Bridge to Cecilia and back home across the Cajun Prairie from Opelousas to Eunice.  But hurry or not, I had to pull over at this point of the return to take a remembrance on the outskirts of the quaint Cajun village of Arnaudville, situated at the confluence of Bayous Fuselier and Teche in the heart of St. Landry Parish.

The  roads through Arnaudville gracefully trace the winding curves of  meandering bayou currents.  None of the roads through town are truly main roads, because no business comes through out-of-the-way Arnaudville on the way to anywhere else.  Perhaps that’s the charm of the community–a place lost in time, preserving the bayou culture of bygone days with the Rexall drug store right across Bayou Fuselier on the way into the heart of town where the spire of the local Catholic church presides over the downtown scene.

I hope I’ll always have time to pause on the way through small-town, out-of-the-way places like Arnaudville.  Life is too short to do otherwise.

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Sing a Summer Song: A Childhood Memoir Wednesday, Jan 18 2012

I dashed out this piece two and a half years ago in a workshop led by Louisiana Poet Laureate Dr. Daryl Bourque.  The verse recalls a childhood memory of me and my sister sneaking out the back door with a bag of “forbidden fruit”–forbidden in that the pieces of fruit were meant for the entire family.  For us, the consumption of the fruit was meant to be administered by strict parental control.  As adventurous preschool aged toddlers, though, we  exceeded our bounds, evidenced by Mama’s swift and punitive reaction to the discovery of our wanton waste.

 

Memoir from the Parsonage (Where I Grew Up)

Recalled from New Zion Church, St. Tammany Parish, Louisiana, Cerca 1956

By David Pulling

July 2009

 

From childhood, a wilderness of memories, 50 years old:

Sing a summer song.

On the kitchen counter

Beside the ice box

A brown paper bag.

Fruit!

Red apples.  Yellow bananas.  Orange oranges.

Temptation gleams in preschoolers’ eyes.

Snatch the bag,

Out the screen door, down the steps,

Crouch beneath the window:

Big brother and little sis,

Like little Adam and Eve

One by one, test the taste,

A test of this, a taste of that,

Bite by bite,

A bag of semi-eaten fruit.

“Which one do you like?”

“I like this one.”

“I like that one.”

“Here. Try this.”

“That’s good!”

“Shhhhhhh! Listen”

The screen door creaks.  Around the corner,

“Mama!”

“Uh-oh.”

Break a switch from the Bridal Wreath.

Teach little ones

To taste not, want not.

Sing a summer song.

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Bon Appetit for Frog Legs? (No, thanks) Thursday, Jan 12 2012

Yuk!

The fresh seafood case at our local South Louisiana Winn Dixie displays rows of delectable  delights: fresh shrimp, crabs, filet of different species of fish, lobster tails, and etc.  But when I spotted this frog leg display among the delicacies of the sea there arrayed, my stomach turned.

This display looks more like lab specimens for Zoology 1011 than it does something I would drop in the deep-fat frier.  In fact, I can’t imagine that anyone would pay $7.99 a pound for these skinless  legs stemming from muscular posteriors, the sinewy layers of muscle evident as from an anatomy drawing .  In my imagination, they must taste like formaldehyde.  Ugh.

I think I’ll save my $7.99 a pound for more conventional fare.  I can’t stomach the thought of consuming lab specimens.

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A Tribute to Raynold Loewer Sunday, Jan 8 2012

Farewell, Ray! We'll see you on the other side.

I received news of Ray Loewer’s passing last week with mixed emotions: Selfishly, I regretted parting with a gentleman farmer whose acquaintance I treasured for more than 30 years; happily, on the other hand, I know Ray’s release from his earthly travail freed him from the infirmity of illness in exchange for the eternal reward that his faith had sealed.  As a result of the latter, his memorial service Saturday morning provided a time of celebration for a life well-lived.

As a student of letters and the discipline of linguistics, one of Ray’s traits that always fascinated me was his acumen for language.  The son of German immigrants, his family’s first language was German.  He learned enough English to begin first grade in the English-speaking public schools, and then picked up conversational skills in Cajun French from the Creole/Cajun farm hands’ kids who helped out on his father’s farm.  A truly fascinating case study, he picked up  language skills without formal training in any of them.

In the respect of Ray’s language skills, then, I recall a French aphorism that Le Conseil Pour le Development de Francais en Louisiane (CODOFIL) used to circulate in the 1970′s: “Un homme qui parle deux langes vaut deux hommes.”  (A man who speaks two languages is worth two men.”)  Applied to Ray, then, the trilingualist, “A man who speaks three languages is worth three men.”

What a fitting way to regard Ray!  Beginning with imposing stature, Ray’s physical presence was striking–There was enough of “him” to make several!  But greater than the  largesse of physical stature, what truly distinguished Ray  from ordinary men was the largesse of his heart.  The enormity of the crowd gathered for his service, in fact, bore witness to this man’s remarkable gift for living and loving with homespun sincerity.  Never flashy, never patronizing, but ever earnest and compelling, Ray practiced a gregarious gift for making others feel accepted, loved, and appreciated. He was a jewel of a man, one whose character will not be easily replaced, and one whom I, along with hundreds of others, will sorely miss.

God bless the memory of Ray Loewer!  Our earthly society is diminished by his passing, as heaven is increased by his going.  We long to see him again in the realm to come.

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Papa’s Holiday Friends: The Joys of Grandparenting Thursday, Dec 29 2011

Papa's Lap Buddies

A few weeks ago, I was visited in my rocker by not one but two spoiled brats–Payton “Elizabuff” and Marley the dog.  I believe Payton was the first one to climb up, but Marley is never outdone.  He came by wagging his tail, looking winsomely at us in a manner of saying, “I want to get up there, too.”  So, as usual, Marley got his way, and the photo tells all.

Actually,  I could make a case that three spoiled brats have climbed into Papa’s lap in that photo since the viewer observes Payton clutching one of her stuffed animal furry-friends.   I can’t see the face well enough to be sure, but what parts of the countenance I can make out resemble Snoopy the Dog.  So the dogs outnumber the little girl.  She is just as happy, nonetheless.

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An Almost Silent Christmas: Remembering Daddy Wednesday, Dec 21 2011

This will be the first Christmas for my brothers and sisters without our earthly father.  My sister Janice wrote the memoir that follows, recalling our Daddy’s last Christmas a year ago at the nursing home in Bogalusa.

AN  ALMOST  SILENT CHRISTMAS

By Janice Adams

 A favorite Christmas memory!  What a difficult task.  I have been blessed with a wonderful family growing up with a loving mom and dad, three brothers and a sister.  On many Christmas Eves we created Christmas “programs” to present to our parents.  The older kids would have the “big parts” speaking or reading, and the younger kids given the “dress up-stand still” or singing parts.  Our programs included  everything from “Jingle Bells” to the Luke 2 reading to “Silent Night”.  Presents were opened on Christmas morning – after Santa delivered them, of course!

Our dad enjoyed his children at Christmas and was even more thrilled when we had families of our own and brought grandchildren home for Christmas.  However, we always knew that no matter how much we shopped for that extra-special gift for Daddy, the wrapped gift often remained in its wrappings, unopened on  Christmas morning. His joy was in watching everyone else open their gifts!  We always got excited if he at least tore off the “end” of a package and peeked at the box or contents!

After many Christmases filled with joy and celebration and family get togethers, Christmas, 2010, was going to be quite different.  Daddy became a resident at Rest Haven in early November.  Bob and I usually traveled to see our children and their families during the holidays.  However, this year we remained in Bogalusa to be with my mom and visit Dad.  Brothers, sister and our children either came to visit before Christmas Day or planned to come afterwards.  Christmas Day would be Mama, Bob, and me visiting at Rest Haven.  Since we’d be hanging out at Rest Haven most the day and there would be some workers there away from their families, Mama and I decided to make special holiday snacks for the nurses and aides on our hall!  They were excited and appreciated our thoughtfulness.  There was enough good food for them to snack on most the day while they were caring for our loved one and the loved ones of others.  It felt good to share in this way.

 

Daddy's last Christmas, a year ago.

We did not know what to expect on this day from my dad.  His Alzheimer’s kept him from showing emotions or understanding much that was going on around him.  We gave him gifts, but were not that disappointed when there was little reaction.  Across many years we had grown used to him not opening his gifts with excitement.

As the day wore on, we kept the food and drinks stocked for the staff and shared Christmas joy as we could with other residents.  Mid-afternoon my mom  went home for a break.  I was left alone with my dad.  I talked to him and read the Christmas story from Luke 2, all the while wondering what was going on in his mind since I was getting no reactions.  At one point I heard an aide singing down the hallway.  I told Daddy, “Let’s sing some Christmas carols.”  His blank stare said, “If you want. . .”!   I started  singing “Silent Night” and even though I was singing quietly, the aide outside the door heard me, stopped by, and helped me sing the complete verse.  We finished singing, Daddy watched her as she left and I suggested to him, “Let’s sing another.”  This time his eyes seemed to say, “Yes!”, so I started “Oh Come All Ye Faithful”.  He began mumbling some sounds along with me.  There were no distinct words but the melody was there.  I was elated!  After a verse of that song,  I suggested we sing “Silent Night” again to see if he could have words or melody to that familiar carol, especially since he had just heard the aide and I singing that one.  His eyes nodded agreement.  About that time my brother in Texas called my cell phone.  I answered and told him, “Listen and join in!”  and began singing “Silent Night”.  I didn’t want to lose that moment with my dad.  I put the phone on speaker and held it up to my dad’s ears.  There in that sparsely furnished room in a nursing home that we didn’t want to be in, the three of us sang “Silent Night” on that Christmas afternoon!  There were a few phrases where I caught distinct words from my dad, but he fully sang the melody!!  With tears in our eyes, my brother and I sang to the end of the song, sharing our joy through that brief experience with our dad on Christmas Day, 2010.

My dad passed on to his heavenly home a month later on January 27, 2011.  That experience will remain special and one of my favorite Christmas Days!

 

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Christmas Imagery: A Mellow Time Wednesday, Dec 14 2011

The soft imagery of the season.

I enjoy studying this picture I took last year.

I had gone out on the patio in the cold, probably to get the dogs to do their business, and noticed through the French doors the Christmas tree inside standing by the cozy hearth, the tree bristling with hundreds of tiny lights as the fire leapt among logs sacrificed to warm the house, the mantle dressed with stockings and lace.

I went back in for the camera and snapped this image–I really didn’t realize at the time what I was preserving, but now I do.

Merry Christmas from the Pullings on Hill Street: T’is the blessed season!

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Grace to Weather the Storm: Remembering a Sweet and Gracious Grandmother Tuesday, Dec 13 2011

I looked in my portfolio to see when I had written the following tribute to Grandma after her passing in December 2005 at the ripe old age of 100. The date on the piece was December 13, 2005, 6 years ago. I have been thinking about her lately, knowing this anniversary was coming up. I offer these respects again–years later–in loving memory of a family treasure.

Grace to Weather the Storm: Reflections on Grandma’s Passing
By David Pulling
December 2005

We could reason, I suppose, that Granny’s passing makes her at least indirectly a Katrina casualty. As I consider that possibility, I believe that her hurricane saga will add a rich chapter to the family lore–our kids and their kids will recount to family generations the story of their 100 year-old great granny’s escape from the nursing home as the flood waters rose, her flight and sojourn to what must have seemed to those old city folks a strange and exotic land in North Louisiana, but where through the provision of grace (an example of miraculous “signs and wonders”) she made the trip fine and landed right down the road from Uncle Fred and Aunt Marion.

 The question could arise as to whether that 3-month interlude is what finally cashed her in physically, but since the arrangements worked out so miraculously as they did, and since she seemed to do so well up there until right before the end, maybe it’s better to reason that God granted those final months to her just so we would have Granny’s Katrina legacy as one more reminder of the Lord’s provision, Granny’s final witness to us of how grace enables us to weather the storms of life.

And so ends another chapter–this one happily for a Saint gone home–in the soul-numbing epic of the great Gulf Coast hurricanes of 2005.

Lord, grant us grace, as you did Granny, to weather the storms to come!

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