tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46317570261630837812024-03-19T05:22:30.799-07:00Kathleen Newsombottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-11729106819495855942017-07-08T20:24:00.001-07:002017-07-08T20:24:42.820-07:00Saturday, August 20, 2016 LA Flood Reflections<h2 class="date-header" style="text-align: center;">
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Since the news of the flooding across the river parishes has escalated from the astronomical amount of water the storm dumped in many areas, to coverage of waiting for the river levels to drop and recovery efforts commencing on a massive scale, it has nudged me back into where I was in 2005 and 2006. The emotional roller coaster that is worrying, recovery, and its aftermath. I divide it into two categories: cookies and crumbs.</div>
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First, the crumbs. I'm right there with every emotionally draining moment the current flood victim is dealing with. Media coverage is not enough or not accurate. Taking too long to get a response on FEMA money and on insurance adjusters coming out to inspect damage. Worrying about how co-workers made out, if relatives are okay, and if anyone heard from the neighbors. You can't help but mentally rewind back to the moments before the storm was broadcast. Everything was antiseptically normal from your routine at work to the to-do list that maybe you'll get to next weekend. If the storm had only moved in a different direction, you could have been spared. Instead, everyone else gets to live a normal, carefree life except you. I understand that mindset.</div>
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I won't go into the full accounting of my Katrina experience, but the emotional moments are conjured up with the recent crisis. Post-Katrina, I lost my mind at a Sprint customer service representative for a late charges and overages, as though life was normal. I think I had three tires replaced within a month of being home due to the construction debris on the roadways. All aspects of life fed into one continuous bad mood: no cable, not finding a grocery store without mold growing up the wall, and waking up everyday as though nothing had improved. Katrina fatigue on the news didn't match the one in my soul. That one was much darker.</div>
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Post-Katrina, I had a house that had limited damage, a job to return to, and I didn't lose a loved one -- the triumvirate of being blessed. Many I knew lost everything. Those who haven't lost anything have a hard time fathoming that everything can't be purchased with an insurance check or a gift card. When the milestones of your time upon this Earth -- school pictures, 3rd place trophies, the birthday cards you meant to scrapbook, every stitch of clothing that was yours -- is in a moldy, muddy heap making up the floor that was once your living room, you understand what irreplaceable means.</div>
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By the calendar, I was back to a normal routine by mid 2006 after being home and working full-time. But feeling normal couldn't be marked on the calendar or timed with a stopwatch. For months, even years afterward, I was still in some form of survival mode. One example was not hanging pictures for fear of "leaving them behind". From June to November, my hobby was watching every spaghetti model and cone of uncertainty on a hurricane map to see if I needed to pack up the car and evacuate at any given moment. You feel like you have to fight everything for anything. And you wind up fighting yourself. </div>
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Where were the cookies? They were there at the time, but I was too consumed in survival to really notice or fully appreciate them. Cookies came in the form of friends who sent money, gift cards, and offered to do anything before I asked. They were in the strangers who bought our meals, visited with us at the hotel we were holed up in for awhile, and kept us in their prayers. They were people who actively searched for me, those who wouldn't get off the phone with me until I told them what I needed, and the local coffee shop owner who said "I noticed your absence" while I away.</div>
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The best litmus test on moving on was from a talk I had with Aunt Jeanette, a wonderful family friend. She lost everything in Andrew. She said that when she reached the ten-year anniversary of Andrew, she didn't mentally mark it. She didn't realize it was coming up. Every other year she counted down the months and days until the anniversary occurred. I did that with Katrina up until a few years ago. You cannot give normalcy or peace of mind to someone. It will come to them in a time frame that is agonizingly slow.</div>
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Those dealing with the ramifications from the flood are in their own personal hell: getting the kids into a routine, trying to balance a work life with every other waking moment dealing with cleaning, insurance, and putting the pieces back together. Give them space. Offer to help. Provide them an open door to comfort or advice if they want or need it. It's easy to jump in and go through the blueprint of your own emotional experience in disaster recovery. Those dealing with the ramifications from the flood shouldn't have to deal with another person's emotional life lessons. Doesn't matter if this their first or if they went through Katrina or another storm. They're emotionally drained and would just like help.</div>
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Another big cookie is the immediate response from the local community to help. Currently non-profit organizations are collecting everything from non-perishable food items, school supplies and uniforms, and rubber boots. Corporations are raising money for non-profits such as the United Way, Red Cross, and Second Harvesters Food Bank. The company I work for had co-workers volunteer to cook hundreds of meals, transport them to fire stations and the Lamar Dixon Center, and serve food to the communities. We have collected food for animals, diapers, toiletries, clothes, and cleaning supplies. Local colleges and faith-based organizations have volunteers to clean out houses, take care of pets in shelters, and transport goods. Fundraisers for the relief are ongoing.</div>
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This past week I purchased a variety of items: bags of rice, dry beans, boxes of macaroni and cheese, bars of soap, antibacterial wipes, many cans of Chef Boyardee meals, jars of peanut butter, and toothbrush packs. I brought them to work for distribution to a church organization in Denham Springs. Next weekend I'm going to survey the volunteer opportunities and help out where I can. Supporting humanity in need is better than screaming rants or practicing apathy.</div>
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We can get caught up in the spirit of giving and helping others without realizing this is not something that will end once we get distracted by football season or the Labor Day weekend. The number of communities have widespread damage, and the overlap needs to be in place to take care of those who transition from shelter to temporary housing to back home. Please consider making a donation of time, money, or goods on a regular basis for the time being. If everyone gave a little, it would mean so much to many. And that is the sweetest cookie of all.</div>
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bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-52615102263805227812017-07-08T20:06:00.000-07:002017-07-08T20:06:02.728-07:00FREE COFFEE!!!....only costs a dollar<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPvjhMWru-kZ8HPbmNT1EsTL_1ZwnfICfb-diEdWCFlf3pg4QLjxzkFAPkDNvVtaDL_pCqfF97cVdlOPadmyy5yHuJz6n_aIws7DWKrNly7XWfCeS9x8y1o9nbOA3tEekVhg5VsO9o6wMu/s1600/scam-d-word-swindle-con-game-to-cheat-you-out-money-surrounded-starburst-fireworks-represent-surprise-deceit-31864244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1254" data-original-width="1300" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPvjhMWru-kZ8HPbmNT1EsTL_1ZwnfICfb-diEdWCFlf3pg4QLjxzkFAPkDNvVtaDL_pCqfF97cVdlOPadmyy5yHuJz6n_aIws7DWKrNly7XWfCeS9x8y1o9nbOA3tEekVhg5VsO9o6wMu/s200/scam-d-word-swindle-con-game-to-cheat-you-out-money-surrounded-starburst-fireworks-represent-surprise-deceit-31864244.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Everyone tries to ignore the flashing pop-ups when maneuvering through websites on your smartphone or laptop. And as many times you hit the "X" banishing the electronic irritants to the darkness of the World Wide Web, others return. It's a menace we persevere in order to stream video or read online content.</div>
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Animated cartoons circling cleaning products, beauty supplies, coffee, and the like advertising free stuff intrigued me. Could I get free products advertised on the internet? Not Groupons, coupons, or discounts. Just stuff shipped to my front door with no cost to me. Free for the asking. I never actively participated in pursuing getting something for nothing. Typing that sentence out, it seems as elusive as chasing rainbows for a pot of gold. Yet these ads exist, populate, and there must be <em>some</em> truth to them, right? I wanted for find out first-hand and get free stuff.</div>
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My mooching experiment guidelines were simple. For a two-week period, I would spend an hour a day filling out online forms for products shipped to me for free, as per their advertising. At the end of the two weeks, I'd tally up the free stuff I received to see if my time and effort were adequately rewarded. </div>
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Where to start? I googled "free stuff on the internet" and found an online article that listed 23 links to websites where anyone could get free stuff just by filling out an online form. I chose my first website, FreeSamples.org. After filling out an online form to get the name-brand products they advertised, I had to agree to receive free e-newsletters, advertisements from other partners, etc. I clicked on the "continue" button and plunged down the electronic rabbit hole.</div>
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In order to get the "best samples matched to my tastes", according to the website, I was asked to answer a few questions. I hadn't planned to do any surveys for free stuff (think "I make $5000 a week filling out surveys and testing products!" scam). Surveys were part of the free stuff process and could not be avoided.</div>
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"Only takes a few minutes" or "a few easy steps" flashed and a percentage bar counted down after every answered question. Okay, I wanted free toothpaste, lipstick, and anything else the website would ship to me, so I answered a multitude of questions. </div>
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General and personal questions looped as did the offers on everything from psychic readings to secret anti-aging cream to debt consolidation. Questions led to advertisements for products, services, and other free stuff websites. I could be completely honest or lie on every question. It didn't matter. I could indicate I didn't experience chronic pain, but I'd still get pharmaceutical ads on pain medication. I received resort information even though I answered no on wanting to go on a vacation. The most unexpected question: "Is your lack of sexual desire to blame on your or your partner's curved penis?" Yes, it was definitely <em>my</em> problematic curved penis that was at fault.</div>
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It's not like ordering and paying for a product online. When making legitimate transactions, you get visual cues that you have successfully completed business such a confirmation number or an email stating you have purchased a product. Something-for-nothing websites do not offer such finality. Remember the "only a few minutes" claim? Doesn't exist. After an hour of electronic interrogation, and going through screen after screen of offers, I was given a final list of items that I <em>could</em> apply for. No indication that any of the free stuff they persuaded me at the beginning of the odyssey was on its way. The provided links went to national websites with offers to register for email updates, download apps, or join their rewards programs. They weren't giving anything away for free, either. Yet, there was a ray of hope. </div>
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One product listed stipulated it was FREE: a bag of coffee by a brand I never heard of. I was given choices such as ground or whole bean, strength of coffee, and even flavored options. I felt like I was entering the free stuff nirvana at last. After I made my selections, I was brought to the page to fill out the information to ship free coffee to my front door. I was also met by the familiar payment grid for credit card or PayPal information. In order to get my "free" coffee, I had to pay $1.00 to cover shipping costs. Hope died a swift death.</div>
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When filling out an online form on a free stuff website, the tiny print underneath absolves the company of any wrongdoing. They do not represent the national products they entice you with. Stock of free items run out. Offers may be pulled at any time. No guarantees. Remember, these websites aren't requiring funds from the consumer to take surveys; therefore, it's not technically fraud. It felt like fraud, though. </div>
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I kept to the spirit of the experiment and did my due diligence. My inbox was jammed with offers to buy my house, tell my fortune, and help my non-existent child with better comprehension skills. I had offers to enter contests to qualify to win free stuff such as a gift card, an iPhone, or FREE COFFEE. I endured a constant loop of the same websites, offering the same survey questions, and learning at the end of the long process that I must purchase something from one of their boards to "qualify" for gift cards or "must claim deal" to continue. </div>
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One website boasted 200 pages of national brand items for free. Unfortunately, the offers were either expired by a few months or the free samples advertised were out of stock by page 5. This, of course, never dampened the website's enthusiasm of offering, promoting, and repeating the offers for free stuff and the survey questions to get them.</div>
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After hours of survey taking, website surfing, and e-newsletters and advertisements sign-ups, my experiment time expired. Below is a snapshot of all the free stuff I received via mail:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSbLDvPJVNZPGTCKgFr74aaGnXMRr6lAix5lstsOXeDRP9-X30_EGs3DLoSwnRyW_w95YOfcGipt9-dapSiIIroEuwU20IKvFVyScrF5fkh7K4s2ajo7bLXWD51UulXBaufqzFiqO5cBZf/s1600/blank+desk+surface.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSbLDvPJVNZPGTCKgFr74aaGnXMRr6lAix5lstsOXeDRP9-X30_EGs3DLoSwnRyW_w95YOfcGipt9-dapSiIIroEuwU20IKvFVyScrF5fkh7K4s2ajo7bLXWD51UulXBaufqzFiqO5cBZf/s320/blank+desk+surface.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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No, I didn't get a free counter top. The reflection from the overhead fluorescent gives a clear negative sign of bupkis. No free samples. Nothing I signed up for came to my door. And it's just as well.</div>
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The only way to get something for nothing requires stealing and I don't recommend that. National brand websites offer the closest to free, but you have to be a consumer and buy from them. You have to download apps, sign up for email on special offers, and be willing to hand over cash when specials are offered. But if you patronize businesses on a regular basis, an offer for a free item seems justified. You have earned getting a free item via your loyalty and being a good customer. </div>
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Please continue to ignore the flashing advertisements from free-for-nothing websites and avoid the hole altogether. I spent an hour one recent Saturday deleting, unsubscribing, and exorcising these survey websites out of my existence. I'm afraid I will have to go through life never knowing the best ways to reduce my wrinkles, watch ScaryMommy on Snapchat, or grow a better beard.</div>
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<br />bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-15176361394151791102013-09-19T19:55:00.001-07:002013-09-19T20:14:48.288-07:00No happy found in birthdaysJust got a giggle...fellow blogger and Twitterverse goddess Eliska Sconce (aka momma problems) was looking for a topic to blog prior to her birthday celebration time and tweeted for ideas. I piped up that I treat my birthdays like a drill sergeant. Each scared cadet representing each past year stands in a long line as the latest gets screamed at in the face filled with spit and venom: YOU'RE NOTHING SPECIAL, MAGGOT!! GET BACK IN LINE! <br />
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BTW, check out her blogspot: mommaproblems.blogspot.com. She is a better blogger than me in terms of content and consistency. But she kinda threw down the proverbial gauntlet. She says she takes the Dr. Seuss view of birthdays. Therefore, I will take the position of The Grinch. <br />
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Birthdays were cool when your entire age fit between two chubby hands of fingers. Fingers filled with fruit punch stains and birthday cake crumbs. You never looked past where you'd go, who'd be at the party, where are the presents and, oh, what to wear! Cards were fun where every other line rhymed with every other line and sometimes you'd get checks or cash snuck in. <br />
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Then you were a teenager and you were closer to :gasp: independence! Each teen birthday never came fast enough. After all, they paved your way to getting a driver's permit. Your first credit card. Your first semester in college. <br />
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Time had a way after reaching official adulthood to add sour to the sweetness of birthdays. "Let's celebrate your special day!" turned into "let's take this day to remind you that you're getting older the other 364 days" routine. No more neighboorhood kids or fruit punch. Maybe you'll get free ice cream at a mediocre restaurant while a group of servers sing off key to your embarassment. Maybe you'll get a birthday post because Facebook will remember your birthday while the majority who friended you on Facebook won't unless prompted. And who doesn't like the non-descript cards from businesses who practice the annual "we remembered your birthday, now buy our products". <br />
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Yes, The Grinch has arrived on his greasy black banana peel for this posting. Go into a party-theme retailer and see the birthday products for those over 30. Hearts and flowers? Nah-uh. Fun and sunbeams? Nope. You have your black balloons, "over the hill" signs, and all the great gag gifts on reaching old age, with the emphasis on gag. "Are we having a good time, kid?" has now become "how does it feel to be insert-age-here"? <br />
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With the most respect to Eliska...take my birthdays, please. Take the 40+ burning candles and the syrupy cards and the funfetti. I stopped getting an actual birthday cake for myself years ago. My birthday is so close to Christmas, it's never a good time. So I took my birthdate and placed in the cedar chest with old photographs of birthdays that were full of promises and blown out candles. <br />
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I'd much prefer to look at life as non-age specific. I may not understand all the references from a twenty year old, but I can keep up pretty well with most of it. I haven't lost my drive or stamina or my ability to want to try new things. I learn new technologies. I have a better body than when I was in college. I don't have to stop and celebrate because I choose to live unaffected by whatever Hallmark tries to throw at me. I never had kids or a husband, so that's not my yard-stick for success. I forged my own. I'm not perfect. My life is not perfect, but I'm making progress. <br />
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I consider myself a work in progress with the hope of never being finished. So please don't put another candle on it. <br />
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bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-52778399412986799412012-06-29T23:07:00.002-07:002012-06-29T23:07:38.833-07:00And then there were none....Times-Picayune subscription ends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Lots of milestones concerning <em>The Times-Picayune </em>have taken place and I will reach a personal one tomorrow morning with the final delivery of my home delivery of the newspaper. I contacted Jeanette Landry, the delivery person responsible for double-bagging my papers to protect them from the rain and getting them on my porch on time for over 20 years, and gave her my regrets with my last payment. I thanked her for her service, but I decided to cancel my subscription now instead of waiting for the three-day-a-week new way of doing things in the fall. And the publisher, Ricky Mathews, could care less. He gives that shit-eating grin in the face of the plethora of stories and angry subscribers with a shake of his head as though we're all going to suddenly embrace this like a new world order.</div>
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Ricky Mathews tried to spin these cataclysmic changes as "out with the old, in with the new, we can't afford it" spiel, but it came too late. Days too late. Story broke through <em>The New York Times</em> and was carried by <em>NPR's Marketplace </em>by the afternoon. Readership was as shocked as the employees of the paper -- three days a week publication beginning in the fall of this year, slashed workforce (but Mathews had the nerve to advertise job openings days after the layoffs -- classless), and all outcries unheard. Mathews' heartfelt comments about the newspaper's past should have been better spent asking for a heart to use in place of the digital tablet he has for one. Less is more. Fewer is better. Let's be like all the newspapers in Alabama. Who needs a regional paper anyway? </div>
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Mathews refuses to listen to the Mayor, Council members, business people who purchase newspaper advertisements, and the readership who may not have the internet and, frankly, aren't all that interested in changing their ways of doing things to suit his bottom line. A reduced newspaper receivership is bad for New Orleans business. Change doesn't always equate progress when you can't maintain what others have managed to do, good times and bad, depression through recession, for 175 years. </div>
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Down here, we do things differently than anywhere else. Than <em>everywhere</em> else. As it's been said many times before: New Orleans is the biggest smallest town in the known universe. But it's not because we take where you went to high school as the reason for it (Mathews, you're such a dumb ass if you truly believe that). It's relationships. And not just the superficial how-do-you-do kind. It's the kiss the ladies hello, tell stories to the kids about their parents when <em>they </em>were kids, and giving a damn about the person who delivers the newspaper, photographs the city, and writes the articles. They aren't statistics -- they're people. And we'd be willing to pay for the priviledge of having the paper delievered seven days a week. But it won't be done because of Mathews and the parties he represent who are not from here and couldn't understand "down here" in a million years.</div>
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After 9/11, there was a significant drop in the conference and convention industries, especially in New Orleans. People relied on teleconferencing from their home offices, sending digital reports, and doing web streaming of products and ideas instead of attending conventions in person. It was less expensive, more efficient, and it gradually changed back to the way business was conducted: traveling to cities and holding conferences and conventions in far away places like New Orleans. Why? Because there's a tactile experience touching products in a conference kiosk. There's more value in shaking someone's hand in a first-impression greeting than in an introduction email. People need interaction with people on a daily basis, especially through a process involving turning tactile pages with smudged fingertips.</div>
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I had my first writing assignment through reporting news for Immaculata High School for the newspaper. I saved the articles, yellowed with age, and they mean more to me than Nola.com's digital "split every story with an ad for car insurance" layout ever could.</div>
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And the fact another newspaper (from <em>way </em>up north) scooped Mathews' byline, he wants us to believe he can live up to the 175 years the newspaper has been in existence. It was his story to tell, probably the biggest story of his career, and he couldn't handle a major leak. I wouldn't put Mathews in charge of covering a spitting contest.</div>
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If I could support the <em>Times-Picayune</em> staff, without helping Mathews, in continuing with my 20+ year subscription, I would. Unfortunately, I had to make a hard choice in not renewing. Yes, there's the digital version, but I don't and won't read it. I'll have to rely on WWL-TV for breaking news, and <em>Gambit </em>for local stories and entertainment. Sadly, I'll have to learn to live without a morning paper over my cappuccino at the coffee shop. Mathews thinks we'll adapt. Well, he can adapt to that.</div>
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The only choices I see are having someone else purchase the newspaper and keep it at seven days a week (I'd pay a price increase -- done it before), have a rival newspaper come into existence and force the paper out, or withdraw all financial backing and let it die a slow, unnatural death. </div>
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If this is what the future is, I'd wish Mathews and his consortium would change the name of the newspaper. It's the absolute least they could do. We could have a jazz funeral for <em>The Times-Picayune</em>, waving white hankerchiefs and reminiscing over all the times we found something or someone in the paper and saved the discolored fragment like a treasure map. Or put the name in the Superdome next to the World Champions flag and retire it like a MVP jersey. Mathews has trashed it long enough. Trashed us in the process. </div>
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The only significant thing Ricky Mathews has done since taking over the newspaper is that he is now the most reviled entity in the city, somewhere between Roger Goodell and Satan. And well deserved, too.</div>
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-30TP-</div>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-33170290177427836722012-02-05T17:50:00.000-08:002012-02-05T17:50:44.104-08:00Resolution Accomplished - WYES-TV Chocolate Sunday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdGHm7A2MWvFkjs2GtNi3nwnX1YmHd3NO0QiWzpCduGFGfCEwTW2pacc18d79oTgFt2hfFespCMO6uZh4VrP6COUI7k0VGmEeVU3KE-_RXFWyELQ6COSAQCjGGL6UyEbfmJHlIixDFVXD/s1600/DSCN0068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" sda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdGHm7A2MWvFkjs2GtNi3nwnX1YmHd3NO0QiWzpCduGFGfCEwTW2pacc18d79oTgFt2hfFespCMO6uZh4VrP6COUI7k0VGmEeVU3KE-_RXFWyELQ6COSAQCjGGL6UyEbfmJHlIixDFVXD/s320/DSCN0068.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The idea of non-stop nibbling at a buffet of chocolate seemed a satisfying and daunting task. I had never been to this and wasn't sure what I'd be in store for as far as offerings. I had some things already planned ahead: purchasing the VIP hour which was an hour ahead of the general public's time and planned to play 30 minutes in the casino in order to get "free" parking. <br />
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When I was younger, it drove me nuts when unexpected happenings would take place whenever I tried to do something out of the normal routine, like it was payback from the unseen protocol board that I should be waxing the garden hose or getting tax items in order. I've learned that you go into each situation like solving a Rubik's Cube -- it's never the same way twice and the probabilities of different outcomes are staggering. (BTW, my way of solving the cube was: 1) take corner piece out, 2) allow other pieces to fall out, 3) reassemble the cube with each side in one color.)<br />
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My planned route to the casino was altered by the police who blocked my way to Convention Center Blvd. I promptly went on Tchoupitoulas long enough to get to Henderson and into the wrong lane. I took an unexpected tour of Mardi Gras World, the Port of New Orleans (cruise ship boarding day!) and the many pedestrians going to nearby Comic Con. I got to the casino's garage, which was another issue since I loathe it. I don't know about you, but Harrah's and Canal Place's garages feel like a combination of an optical illusion and IQ test. I fail at both in driving in these corkscrew patterns and close-knit lanes. I found a decent spot on the 4th level, walked down to the street's garage entrance, walked past the Gulf Stream restaurant, and made my way into the casino.<br />
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I don't gamble. I had my old rewards card from years ago and everything was still set at zero when I activated it inside a slot machine. Do you have any idea how long thirty minutes is to someone who doesn't gamble versus a machine that wants to be fed money constantly? I wasn't halfway through my eighth dollar when I realized I could change games and get one that took only 20 cents a hit instead of 50 cents. And the games aren't like Pac-Man or even slots. I played 20 lines with three rows of nine whatever-those-symbols are and I managed to get my money back when I won the chance for it to play itself. All I had to do was hit a button and feed it money. It was like watching paint dry. I wasn't excited when I won. Wasn't heartbroken when I lost. Because my player's card wouldn't tell me I had qualified for parking, I took a guess and stopped playing after awhile.<br />
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To my delight, they took the early VIPs early, but we had to wait in an alcove near the entrance of the theatre until they opened the doors. Sadly, I witnessed the erosion of today's society's good manners. Across from us was a chorus of men singing to the crowd like a barbershop's quartet. You don't see this everyday, but the folks in front of me apparently get this singing treatment often because they didn't pay attention. They talked, loudly, and played with cellphones, and the applause after the song was dismal at best. Society has forgotten its cue on clapping or showing gratitude. Sad.<br />
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Close to 2pm and the doors opened to a huge table of king cakes: different bakery versions and all covered with icing, sprinkled, and colored sugar in purple, green and gold. A couple of chocolate versions were there, but I grabbed two large pieces and made my way inside the theatre.<br />
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We were each handed one very small Styrofoam plate. There were no rules posted, but you were only issued one plate and if you threw it away, you would no longer be served. <br />
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I went to the table closest the entrance and took two samples to eat later. I later discovered these were alcoholic in nature and, to my non-alcoholic palate, were strong and gross. I quickly recovered with a chocolate covered strawberry and a sample of chocolate cheesecake and a shot of cool brewed coffee. Petit four also tasty. <br />
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Next series of tables held stacks of cupcakes and I chose two. One of them contained cayenne. Would have been nice to have been warned about that ahead of time. And another chocolate covered strawberry and chocolate ice cream and chocolate fancy mini desserts along with my favorite -- dark chocolate tortue from Southern Candymakers. They were the mini-size as expected for charity events. <br />
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I shared a table with two ladies who had been coming for the past ten years. They said I did the right thing by coming early because the regular crowd will be three times as big beginning at 3pm and food will run out shortly thereafter. And then I noticed one of them had a plastic baggie in her purse and snuck certain food items inside it. I saw others do this as well during my visit. They looked guilty, as well they should. A charity event is not the place or time to horde food, as if there's a right time for that.<br />
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From there I had a large piece of ganache cake with chocolate milk and started to feel stuffed. That uncomfortable stuffed feeling. I guess it happened with the weight loss. My mind loved the idea of a free day to eat all the chocolate I wanted, but my stomach told it to talk to my colon. I went to another table and a side room with English teacakes, more strawberries, and I hit the "I'm full" mark. It was disappointing, but I had to obey. I scarfed down one more strawberry with a cup of coffee and I was done. I threw in the towel by tossing away my plate. And it wasn't even 3pm yet. I took pictures of everything (and I'll upload them as soon as the internet gods allow) and called it a day.<br />
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As I left the hall with candy-themed music playing, the main doors with frosted windows barely displayed a crowd of people against them. They were going to let the chocoholics loose and I took the side exit to avoid them. <br />
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I scanned my card to learn I had three minutes of play to do before I got that free parking, which cost me half of my winnings. I took the tunnel back to the garage and thought about going to the gym afterwards since I had half the afternoon left and wasn't in any mood to consume anything else.<br />
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Remember what I said about preparing for things to go wrong? I emerged from the tunnel to the garage on the 4th floor and walked to my car, or at least where I thought I had parked it. Retracing my steps took me a floor higher, then a lower floor, then to the top of the garage to the bottom. I wasn't doing a good job of not panicking. I tried to work at this logically. I pulled into the space, so all other floors with spaces going the opposite direction won't be the correct floor. Once this didn't bring me my car, I took my panic button on the keyring and basically hit every single car as I approached from the floor below. After 45 minutes of power-panic-walking, I had to face the real possibility that my car was stolen. <br />
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I contacted OnStar and the customer service guy was nice enough to blow the horn and flash the lights, but this wasn't a deserted garage at night. I was surrounded by drivers trying to find spaces, people coming and going, and the honking/flashing wouldn't work in this case. I was then transferred to the roadside assistance personnel. Oh where was that chocolate buffet when I needed it?!<br />
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TV is not real life, apparently. McGhee can trace moving cars with a keystroke and a GPS. OnStar cannot do that unless I filed a police report and they would have to contact the police. I studied all the cars and concluded my car wasn't there. Before I went the step of having them contact garage security for me, I went to the elevators and saw the phone number displayed for security. I told OnStar I'd call myself. The call was answered by Demitria Williams.<br />
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In a nice voice she asked, "Which garage did you park in?" The question thunderstruck me since I've always known there to be one garage. She explained there are two, exactly alike, next to each other and I probably went to the wrong one. I looked out the window and saw the top of the casino roof and the building seemed too close to me. I felt like a moron, thanked her profusely, and left the building via the stairs. And there, down the block, was the damned Gulf Isle restaurant sign.<br />
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I couldn't take the stairs back up, so I climbed up the ramp. Yes, it was clearly marked not to do it, but I was frustrated and I believe took care of all remaining calories and built up anxiety. I found the stairwell, went up to the 3rd floor and found my car. Yes, I remembered the incorrect floor. This is me on an adventure, folks.<br />
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I went straight home and took no notice that I spent more time in search of my car than at the actual event. I know what I will do differently next year -- park near the Riverwalk!<br />
<br />bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-65665189245279532952011-12-31T22:03:00.000-08:002011-12-31T22:03:16.831-08:00Merry Marathon to Year's End of 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I can't say the entire year of 2011 has been bad, but I've had challenges to face towards the end of the year. The holidays were somewhat of a blur with having a virus after Thanksgiving (I think projectile vomiting would make a great theft detractor if you worked it right), trying to squeeze in as many meetings, conference calls, and errands within waking hours, and I liked the time off from work and loved the food throughout. Yet I lost momentum towards the end.<br />
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I felt overwhelmed with the receiving of gifts. I am a firm believer that it's the thought that counts, but I've grown tired of receiving certain gifts from well-meaning co-workers who are clueless as to what I like or do (or don't do). For example, I received two holiday ornaments for a tree that has not existed in my house in about twenty years. Decorations require storage and time/energy to put them up and take them down. It's a redundancy I no longer need in my life. I have sensitive skin and everything I use is hypo-allergenic and unscented. Hence the perfume and cute liquid soaps and body splashes won't be used. And I've never had my ears pierced ever. This should be confirmed by the fact I never wear ear decorations -- ear clips, studs, clip-ons, but this goes unobserved. I exercise the right to remain silent, smile, and realize I'll make someone in a thrift shop very happy.<br />
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The Christmas card paradox has been solved -- you send to me, I'll send to you. If your card is late, yours will be as well. If you don't send one to me throughout a full Christmas season, you are off my card list forever. Hate to be cut-throat, but cards and time are money.<br />
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As I sit here and reflect upon the idea of New Year's resolutions, while my neighborhood sounds like a military invasion, I realize I've only had one: get all Christmas chores done and paid for before Thanksgiving. I've lost my fervor for doing this since I found it caused more stress to get a lot done within a short amount of time. Plus, the paying off really didn't help since I get the trifecta of bills prior to Christmas: parish tax, city tax, and my car insurance bill. No sooner I pay off Santa, the "man" is waiting in the shadows. Can't win.<br />
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The standard resolution fodder doesn't apply to me. I'm always trying to lose weight and I'm three pounds from my goal weight being worked on since August. Took a detour for the holidays, but I'm back on track. So my gym membership is always in use. It's a pain with the gym newbies in early January, but they always stop attending by the first carnival parade. I don't smoke, drink, and try to save money when I can by only buying things I need and eating at home more instead of going out.<br />
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I could try to personalize my resolutions to stop unwanted behavior, such as not worrying so much, which would mean I'd have to be in a coma for the rest of my existence. Or trick myself into doing something I don't do and prefer not to do by making it a resolution, such as do the "big" clean of the entire house. Oh that gets kicked to the curb immediately and frequently (gee, dust all the books in the bookshelf or watch my DVR listing...hmmmm).<br />
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Okay, I'll resolve to work on the following during 2012:<br />
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Go to the WYES Chocolate Sunday event -- it's one of those things I've wanted to do and talk myself out of every year because it would means spending money and eating fattening treats. This year I will attend, leave the calorie counting on the front porch until I return home, and tell my inner life coach to shut its pie hole for a day.<br />
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Actually spend the money I received for Christmas -- I have this habit of putting gift money in my savings with the idea I'll spend it later. And I never do. I've worn black pants until they have turned gray. Padding in my dress shoes is thin and patchy. I realized today it's been six years since I've bought a pair of jeans. Seriously. So I will get thee to an outlet mall and update my wardrobe.<br />
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Create a kick-ass costume for the Mad Hatter luncheon -- I have the technology and the creative prowess to pull something off. It may cost extra money, but I've gotten away with cheap for the two years I've attended. Time to do something out of the box. <br />
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Read more -- this is always a fight for me since I have a stack of books and newspapers I never get to because I work three jobs and time tends to be scarce. But, I have a car with a CD player so I could listen to books like I used to. And I can find snipets of time to do it.<br />
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Write more -- oh my journal needs serious updating and I've been assignment driven for so long. And as you can see from the timing of my last blog entry, I haven't kept up with that very well. Writing skill is a muscle that will grow weak without frequent use. No atrophy here. I'll find a way to make it work.<br />
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Visit the Quarter more often -- I don't chastise myself for not going when I was busy every weekend with school or work. Nor do I miss going now at the height of the holidays and bowl game season. I would be out of my mind to go down there with the crowds and lack of parking. But between now and carnival season, I could go and make a day of it with a leisurely stroll and visit my old haunts. Parking fees aren't bad and I'll have some free time before next semester.<br />
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Find my happy place -- okay, that sounds weird to me as I type it out, but it's true. This year I've felt like a machine with completing tasks and getting others done like they were on a never-ending assembly line. I didn't call friends like I should have or made time for visits. I haven't gone to a movie in years. I only went one day to Jazz Fest this year. I attended a few charity events, but I've made little time for myself to do things that won't make me money, skinny, or productive. I need to make more time for pampering, chilling, and withdrawing into myself for inner balance.<br />
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I think I have enough to keep me busy for 2012. I've noticed a few folks have wished 2011 to be over because it was "a bad year" for them. Just remember, we can't control the cards we're dealt -- we can only play them the best we can. Don't say you can't handle one more bad thing because one more will come and then what? Cut the negative people out of your life who insist on holding you back or keeping you down. Focus on what is working positive in your life at that moment. Bad will come back, but you'll be stronger to face it.<br />
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I hope you all have a safe, happy, and hopeful 2012. And let's see how accurate Mayan predictions truly are!<br />
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Annnd, it's midnight and explosions have commenced. Happy New Year!<br />
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Travel light,<br />
Kat<br />
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<br />bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-58372615492008372322011-07-02T17:18:00.000-07:002011-07-02T18:01:42.263-07:00Grocery Checkout - Summer Meal Series: Zoes KitchenAs is most of my writing projects, I tend to do things either as the mood hits me or I have a deadline looming over me. Today, it's the former. <br /><br />I've wanted to do a food blog called "Grocery Checkout" for a long time, but there has always been something else demanding my attention. I'm on a three-day weekend and today clearly exemplifies why I felt the need to do this.<br /><br />If you live in the South, or in Louisiana, I don't need to go into an explanation of how hot it is, or that today is a "heat wave" as all the excited meteorologists love to drone on about. It's hot everywhere you go and the humidity takes on a life form all its own. It is the energy-zapping dripping nemesis that acts like a playground bully or a member of the IRS: you will succumb to its clutches unable to escape.<br /><br />This heat has been unbearable to the point I turned off my gas stove and oven and they shall remain off until fall. Since Memorial Day, we've existed on salads, items we can microwave, or get from different restaurants. You can fall into a rut of eating the same things which we have almost reached the point of microwave fatigue.<br /><br />Of course, there are those who propose grilling outdoors for a meal option, boasting their smokers and propane-tanked grills to serve everything from veggies to a side of beef. I'll address those freakish thoughts here. That won't work for me for a few reasons. Grilling outdoors means (and I'm saying this sarcastically slow) being..in...the...heat. Don't tell me it's cooler in the evenings. Sweat would say otherwise. Plus, I don't have a significant other to "persuade" to go outside to do all the pleasant tasks of prepping the grill, stoking the fire, grilling the food, and doing all the assorted clean up...in...the...heat. Anything I do is up to me -- the curse of being an independent woman. <br /><br />So I decided to let the world do my cooking, or at least some of the local eateries I've never checked out. I'll post them when I find some interesting entrees to have at home that don't require turning on an oven, going through a fast-food drive thru, or microwaving a frozen dinner.<br /><br />I came across Zoes Kitchen by accident. The restaurant is next door to a coffee place nestled in a strip mall off Old Metairie Road. You can't tell what kind of food they serve from their striped awing sign. I went online and reviewed their menu. The idea of grilled food without doing the grilling part sold me on trying it. I did a "dry run" this past week for dinner and thought this 4th of July weekend would be ideal to stock up on meals so I could spend a couple of days at home.<br /><br />My only warning to those who eat here or pick up food: it takes time for a reason. I got a bit impatient when I didn't get my dinner quick enough, but this is not "fast food". Even picking up the "dinner for four" took time, but it is worth it.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624914904728742162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-X2dhYAthFkDsc6HggIZeUpmlbDHOGXlJVQu5jHu6mGPaMkFMBV06R9EOyDrngWhgdXkCItVWWcNPqyPcoi7gE3Cjhs0-nFg_2yLqWXt8RQP5M99prlVGDCoPfmN-flTR1Q3G-A9Ek_1/s320/DSCN0001.jpg" /><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>Marinated Cole Slaw</em></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="left">One of my pet peeves, and on my permanent "food deal breaker" list is mayonnaise. I've never liked the stuff on anything or in anything. It's both a texture and a taste issue for me. So you can imagine how happy I was that Zoes' cole slaw uses oil instead of mayo. It's crispy, cool and is loaded with feta and other spices. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624914907645049346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1wHVqJgbg5FRQVl5V7abbNv7ftaFvdFeP5D9rdXyLZFWRkNmyPePYtE44Zy1Jk6JZ0JQk6kFrre84vu2PLVQ4dMrIjMcUX5pb8IWUcEgWN1U1AU8q0X50QIlJODzTFTc6nD5U5vOSjE9/s320/DSCN0003.jpg" /></div><br /><div align="center"><em>Greek salad for four</em></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="left">Some Greeks may argue it's not an authentic Greek salad, but it seems like that to me. It's not your usual Romaine lettuce mix you see in fast food places passing off "healthy" with fried accompaniments. There's a lot of dark, crispy greens with feta cheese, kalamata olives (a new fave food of mine) along with cucumber, red onion, and grape tomatoes. Not a fan of hot peppers, so I'll eat the green pepper rings instead. The dressing is a vinaigrette consisting of red wine vinegar, oil, and spices. Very refreshing and I'll be grazing for a few days on that. And considering I'm back to eating healthy to lose a few pounds, it's all big points to me.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624914922841724002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivX_2UjGR2_Xlh-mufWvYbtBxmgyoJnkzw9cg_hptZRkfsoDICM-ImUYQjwdLgFz90g8h1dvz5mRgrP3lyll7fGLcKGpQ7lllyoMQOcy1RHHBnRzjD19_AwJyBIm1JW5OMf0QSYhLAn24p/s320/DSCN0007.jpg" /></div><br /><div align="center"><em>Chicken kabobs</em></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="left">The main draw for Zoes is the offering of grilled items like kabobs. They offer chicken, shrimp, steak, and veggie kabobs. I decided to get strictly chicken for my household and it was a hit. We received eight kabobs and three took care of two meals. Wooden skewers hold bite sized chicken, green pepper, red onion, and grape tomatoes. They were grilled perfectly and the rice pilaf is a perfect accompaniment to the meal. I'm always leery of rice from restaurants because it's either mush or hard like rice-shaped gravel. And tasteless. This rice was cooked with some spice because it had a moist mouth-feel and a taste like it was cooked with broth. In any case, you won't feel obligated to eat it because it came with the meal. You'll enjoy it.</div><br /><div align="left"><br />I'll probably try the hummus on my next visit. It has a slew of Mediterranean items and a kid's menu which boasts (get this) <em>grilled</em> chicken tenders! It's worth a try wherever you are and, since it's a chain, you may find one in your area.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">So one restaurant down and one meal down. Again, looking forward to sharing my next summer meal food experience with you.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div><em>Zoes Kitchen</em></div><br /><div><em>Old Metairie Village Shopping Center<br />701 Metairie Rd, Suite 1A103<br />Metairie, LA 70005</em></div><br /><div><a href="http://www.zoeskitchen.com/"><em>www.zoeskitchen.com</em></a></div><br /><div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-82799205635125730482011-06-12T17:16:00.000-07:002011-06-13T18:03:50.794-07:00Mad Hatter's Luncheon - Part III - the genesis of my hat<em>March 12, 2011</em> -- I learned of the Mad Hatter event on Facebook and had visions of doing something different for my hat this year.<br /><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Googling online produced nothing that I could outright buy. I saw a straw number that was sold in the Quarter, but I wanted to spruce it up a bit. Perhaps I could find a stamp that I could emboss the hat to look Louis Vitton-esque. So I made a trip to Michael's craft store in search for the stamp.<br /></div><br /><br /><div>Something caught my eye on a sales table outside the door, but kept on going. Cruising up and down each aisle, I looked at stencils, stamps, buttons, etc., and the only "hat" they had was a sad, straw floppy hat. As I studied everything, that thing I saw when I walked in was at the forefront of my mind. Oh, I thought, just go look at it so you can dismiss it and move on.<br /></div><br /><br /><div>On the sales table were table decorations of different types: some stood up like cones and others were wreaths you could put on a door or a table. I looked at one of the cones and thought, this looks like a hat. Once I picked it up, and it felt surprisingly light, I made the mistake of putting it on my head. It wouldn't stay, but something clicked within my creative senses. I could modify it to stay and it would make a wonderful hat. And, I wouldn't have to do much. I kept the cone with me as I returned inside to find the necessary materials for modification.</div><br /><div><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617499361577887778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQJSu1_575QSOmita1wYIDe9oU4p628EoMbnIHRAIdZulvuT79SHE0UXN5kvUvupE4EPwer0dUDCgJiBIrcPzGV4t0_t43amu9piPmx9tALh_gyqs5IL2iBu8DOQKRmnE0DyGkcKhovcx/s320/Hat+full+1.jpg" />As I said, it was light, but it wasn't featherly light. I needed to make certain it stayed on top of my head. They didn't have any elastic, but they had all different types of ribbon. I selected a dull gold one that was smooth so not to itch.<br /><br /><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617499382913848866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiux73Wt5GafnPg_ExmeJiKp7PN9L5lpQ1MGMrj5ZwECacgxISjfcFlvSQcNVcayvisWgtQOveunw4W5snSDOBS4OhIELbfyvWrB-EQ-GM8H_1_FclV1FOen2wsBTrqn6PN7tJRcsrweJR0/s320/Elastic+and+ribbon+view.jpg" />Total amount for "hat" and ribbon: $9.17 (table decoration cost 6.49 on sale)<br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>The black elastic was purchased at Hancock Fabrics for about a dollar, so I had a hat for a little over $10.00. Pretty good considering I would have paid five times as much for a ready-made hat.</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><em>A week before the event</em> -- This was the first time I saw it on top of my head in the mirror in the bathroom. Shock came over me. The mirror cut the hat off almost in half. I checked the tag on the decoration and it said "19 inches". I was adding a foot-and-a-half of height to myself. It reminded me of a Las Vegas showgirl's outfit. I mentally backed up -- could I do this? How would it be received? I gave myself permission to be foolish and decided not to dwell on what may not happen, which would be complete embarrassment on my part, and focus on the task of getting it stable. Trying on the hat would be kept to a minimum less I'd talk myself out of wearing it.</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>At first I thought about cutting the round base into four parts and wrapping ribbon around cotton to soften it on my head. It was very flexible, but hard plastic. I needed the base to stay intact to keep it stable, so trimming it down was not an option. It was already divided into two halves, so it gave around the crown of my head without too much discomfort. And trying to pad it would detract from the look of it. "You have to suffer to be beautiful" is the old saying and I'd just have to put up with it for a few hours at the event.</div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617499407899030274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2hyHXBvoq0Br-9_JvzM834QpQmJYjl_gYNl4F6xALhIzdYvDF_eUK4b6BzJo8eKt0ttE7ENfaYoEAtuJOZLn_ECCRgom3aEvosWvHN4BgXaHreHIjB8YYiCBOTjdiAbZOqQKR3jOI5Qb/s320/Hat+on+side+under+view.jpg" /><br /><br /><div>I chose the side I wanted to be the front and sewed the elastic on either side to slide under my chin and behind my ears. I'm not that proficient with a needle and thread, but did my best with it. The ribbon served as decoration, coverage of the elastic, and additional stability to the hat. I sewed the knots on either side so they wouldn't come apart.</div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617499396190343586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY7b6nUfT6SRxkQhdOM5pWa54wunnlcjUEWUj8ACMKgALf80MSTn1w0Ih8q0te7nJNTMw8Sl_i1NURRzOoVP2A1jqfq4K61SAed0M8yrJITLllizseW0MNBH1aasV1UNd31fcQDKcpJGqB/s320/tying+ribbon.jpg" /> <br /><div></div><br /><div>I had to trim the ribbon, but didn't want frayed ends. I remembered I had some clear nail polish I used as "lock tight" for my spinning shoes (yes, it's a great multi-tasker). Carefully I sealed the edges of the ribbon with the polish and they didn't fray at all. </div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617499375092635746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9oNr55laBc4hbkNI64XXa6JcX4RLoJxN-NZkLYAPouBLrNqwP9YAmzhqY4X41AD2JaGhld5rKPKQEn5Fwmvnyim8Cb4v46Ku4_TPQNmV_0BIdxks2-Ej7tskoWm-ahVktkEfYo2Jz7Ue6/s320/clear+nail+polish+on+ribbon+end.jpg" /> One tiny piece of ribbon left, so I elaborated the top with a final bow, which I think came out nice.</div><br /><div><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617501688787853314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTex7v3A3_R_dDTMTE_4Q_OBm-lFAjHGStNcKLIvqYFhKbFXpKz0NSELZjvEhyEcoVKUbMqwOGFIcufvqhRQB23-A4gA5ApYKcQR4VQsjaRDOsPjHdvbpHOzmlVa67gXvU09YB1sjjSvYU/s320/ribbon+bow+a+final+touch.jpg" /></div><br /><div>The whole project took about ninety minutes with the sewing and adjustments. Thank goodness it was already together with the colorful material and balls. When I tried to find craft websites on how to convert the table decoration to a hat, all they had was turning a hat into a table decoration. It's official -- I am weird!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617501674037328242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguuZ-lMkrfcLjTsLVnm8w0SuHh23CNiHzRJYFA0ngTPvv9KfTRg5DI3UOeloCI9muu-qFObtJ42Lslo0vG38czIBiKeyWoiHfoUtUFh5UDqr7eF7ESGy9A0LtEGuIKZKuLmd8cyP5zPuIC/s320/final+hat+product.jpg" /> <br /><div>Storing it would be a problem until I discovered that I could stand an old storage box on its side and it made a strange yet wonderful "hat box". </div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617501684599117586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJvcTo62-Y4kqs6a4uwoxsDzKK3lxGthB8xJWipUiGRL4807vV5fcOqGY944bkM_aDVCdj2xzkvRfCvxrt3PmvdqyBChLG8bWMR6JpAgamLBC_1adG65mOJcT8yV8yvubxf5rOB9GOSccW/s320/hat+is+sealed.jpg" /> Now it was a matter of getting through the next few days until that Sunday when I would transport my hat to Cajun country and have an unexpected adventure.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-90909060503133266262011-04-20T18:50:00.000-07:002011-04-20T19:09:36.971-07:00Mad Hatter's Luncheon Pictures Part II NaBranChri<div><br /><div><br /><div>Let's see how many pictures I can fit in before Blogger does something to kick me out. Seriously, do they understand the term "user friendly"? I am posting a series of pictures involving Nadia Bjorlin, Brandon Beemer, and Christian LeBlanc. For the purpose of this particular blog, I'm not going to caption any of the photos. You will see the three of them and think <strong>"NaBranChri"</strong> for that is what they are. A beautiful theatrical triplet thing going on. They had to stay somewhat apart on stage because their lapel microphones reverberated a lovely mechanical shrill ("reverb" in the theatre biz) whenever they got too close to each other. So, although they were never apart thematically, they kept their physical distance or suffered reverb. </div><br /><div><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597852800746453458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDyO71zjin9F_L8e2oxhiiZF5q85feh0cdBD-uMli0jkTw7xayC5t2L_XaHjXAOju-5BCNB0pX1sHzCUiQlgsLeEsylnnXB0-yVSXnRsHhZQTgqKoWXqEV_SRn1ZOABit9kCGkfb-zBSsx/s320/DSCN0076.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597852220255276978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhujOLT-UWsUKIJIHB0J-xvrmWEWAdIv3UXzhXF9rX_B2fGQTPi81k5JPNTHOT-I9JBNbOSVcZ9zkje2O7Pkq8jYMZCfG6EAwsHFJqnGbsPa42sr-QsyjnGvygX-2gSbp05tvDwcdTBZwTe/s320/DSCN0063.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597851074480870834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxezk-8Lnirjvj_yS3zgyvCQb0jHx4-t9dZF3J2nZfJV-r998nqc8WnQtg7O-28KAifOXcGf-f-T7KDp_d9akGt9poAzgXjdrqHvkHpfgz7xFjauL8_T_8DkHP-SN0BSTSp39WYyxGyg9/s320/Copy+of+DSCN0058.jpg" /> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597851709105331010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTyJEAzZxHXtsH9dF2jnce838v163dwO9G6UBOUd6IzY7d_RPO7WoOKQRkCLrnDfjw0XAVSnl_sU-OV03Tu5vVK0Se52zAICqTY1Xv5tu9oSzwyj2_gHA9eo4mv7af5BlWoHccgOmZD_Iv/s320/Copy+of+DSCN0067.jpg" /> <br /><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597849013864453986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW10ioiiXT09kG501xeUFV6ZKDmp1FsLyL41zZNmNjUOkPp0_j4bvywesyZGB_dwbcvGc0GSsNKBWu0TOQDgyCbkHrbNzVLf2u8YcnKkY88y0d_nhodeUiay9k-MMloo9amIfV910OwOia/s320/DSCN0057.jpg" /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-4186097873956875112011-04-13T17:41:00.000-07:002011-04-13T18:22:53.341-07:00"Mad Hatters Goes Couture" - CLB pics part 1<div align="justify">One of these days I need to spend a Sunday afternoon figuring out how to get Blogger to caption photos without making it a jigsaw puzzle with the pictures. Nothing lines up. Can't get more than five pictures to load at a time. And to load more....it becomes a scramble. Therefore, I will break up these photos and put them in installments on my blog. Perhaps, then, Blogger will stop accusing me of not being a part of my own blog! I plan to do separate entries on my hat entry in the competition and my report on how things went.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">In the meantime, the photos below are in sequential order. Lovely lady under the hat is Dr. Laura Badeaux (program co-chair) with Christian LeBlanc. Nadia Bjorlin and Brandon Beemer joined Christian onstage as he took his hat and assumed the role of "the Mad Hatter" over the proceedings. </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595234297000477298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-X1pzjiSxENLdgVGFIgjV4jlwmHudoQn3wiGmG5GWd-TkFdf4SS8fmUaKgLRg9yQEhKXyzzs0D-qkOrPvvnlx8SBEBda0cTko-nN1SlqnIqdW4j4w9Chsx1YsXuI_JaDg4UZ1XNF49TTR/s320/DSCN0052.jpg" /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595234301757708866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7PTcR4zWHtzWPEAcPbTUt01-3HE_13J8vMWEEIgJRRmgV1jKtrrxXOIWQnw7SAuI3DV_m1KhhjALAsqxnaeEceyGA53PQRSsHkm73Dl2nW1n6uAGAx33c7PU0y9yMJObL_1brP42DtvLA/s320/DSCN0053.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595234303802849762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1T5gsK8jCgNoN-1-y7mFVn9SDPOeQzNIVSj4IJN446PsTuuYXDnSPsBzURD9EQ3Gc3DVPfndwdT25cQmqnASvctbc8XzlINhzJs9xqCK5DCXkPJTLdi1XqJuVGA0e9itZau56hMtS1WGO/s320/DSCN0054.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595234308601299682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkGRFN5azowdG1zo6L1dUJSNTS-YxRzZtFS4epdr0hDBxd5ul7Gf6ikk18nbHPHDUN1QVJzB4nc51szbB5AUuS2eSc0R6QsVM4Sdx8emsEvZ3KWHh5NJKlWwWyTZE6_rbDXDJ6Fa77sRa6/s320/DSCN0055.jpg" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZxgETapDSMqFhq9iPQtb6-nJlifENBbk7MytuiR7qJ6TMP_vKQApaX9GJs770RWVo3bE6EP3HLUSDjqHzVwR5_AhkOoNxXmK8lzgflpCZaF8V8n9YXUt4QdWHnkCgO6SD5DylMIIYKXYc/s1600/DSCN0056.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595234312863196210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZxgETapDSMqFhq9iPQtb6-nJlifENBbk7MytuiR7qJ6TMP_vKQApaX9GJs770RWVo3bE6EP3HLUSDjqHzVwR5_AhkOoNxXmK8lzgflpCZaF8V8n9YXUt4QdWHnkCgO6SD5DylMIIYKXYc/s320/DSCN0056.jpg" /></a> <br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-71429202730815409702011-03-07T12:22:00.000-08:002011-03-07T17:53:58.289-08:00Blogging about Vlogging<p align="center"></p><p><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fKV0XjKBffg">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fKV0XjKBffg</a></p><p>As I've said before, I can always count on one of two things whenever I take vacation time: a health issue or something breaking down. It's grass season so I'm dealing with allergies. That's one. And, as of last night, my computer software to burn video of my last speech decided not to work. I literally burned one DVD with no problem and have not been able to repeat the process. I am baffled. </p><p>I've been working with a Flip, a digital camcorder the size of a smart phone, to record myself giving speeches and decided to dabble a bit more into it last night. I don't plan on making a habit of this, but I thought I'd try out the Blogger version of showing video within my blog. It's a step, a small one, to help me feel a bit more comfortable in my own skin.</p><p>I went from cute little girl to awkward teen to the ever-critical woman heading for middle age. I have flaws aplenty, or so I think. I can mentally pinpoint every dark circle, age spot, dimple, excess fat, and discolored hair. Now, I feel I looked better in the past. My past self would have argued I didn't look right back then. I suppose with hormones and evolution comes a fractured vanity that judges far more harshly than before. And in five years, or a week from today, I'll reason I looked better now than in the future. It's such a whacked irrationality.</p><p>But I have to get past it. I can't cringe and avoid looking at myself in video form if I'm going to improve my speech-giving ways. How can I stand in front of a group of people and exude confidence in whatever I'm saying if I don't feel it? Or address problems in delivering a speech if I don't see myself give one in playback form? </p><p>I viewed my last speech last night. Honestly, it wasn't as bad as I thought. I gave the speech with parts of trepidation -- mental hiccups, waves of inner anxiousness of getting to the next point, and trying to remember everything. Still, I hung in there and made the most of the time. I had good feedback from the club for the most part. Doing a speech makes you feel like you're drowning and watching a recording of it gives you a buoy of sorts.</p><p>The video I've uploaded into the blog is a video postcard relaying a story based on the recent event of moving. I wanted to see how I'd do with a shorter amount of time, with nothing prepared, and looking as I would normally do with casual clothes and no makeup. Here's what I discovered in viewing the three minute clip:</p><p><em>I blink too much.</em> Geez, I look as though I have a facial tick. Guess it could be nerves or my allergies, but I didn't have any preconceived fears of filming. In fact, the final version was after a fourth or fifth take. Note to self: steady gaze and settle down.</p><p><em>Voice needs inflection.</em> I've already heard that in the critiques of my previous speeches: use more inflection; do everything bigger on camera. Easier said than done when you live your life as a mild-mannered person who never has the occasion to sound or act like a cartoon character. I've always viewed doing the DAHHLLLINGG! mode as being forced, fake, and shoving myself into another's space in the most obnoxious way. On the fringes, in the background, observing the action, and making my presence through quiet conversation...that's me. I guess the power of vocal variety will come with time and practice. </p><p><em>I'm not fat.</em> Another preoccupation of mine is whether I look pudgy, overweight, and the like. Maybe it was the lighting, but I don't see anything that would make me ashamed of how I looked in the clip. Always room for improvement, but nothing there that would make me reach for the "delete" button. </p><p><em>I'm articulate.</em> I'm not sure why I don't have the Southern/New Orleans accent that was present in certain members of my family. If I have one, it's subtle. It's more audible when I tired or in a rush. It's nothing I consciously work on, but I have a noticeable absence of an accent. At least I'm not into "like" and "ya know" as crutch words. I try to focus on the storytelling and choose my words carefully. Perhaps that translates into how I speak. I'm happy I don't sound like a moron.</p><p>I'm currently working on my next speech which I may give this coming week after the Mardi Gras holiday. It's been a nice vacation despite allergies and computer issues. I found a workaround on connecting the video to my blog through YouTube how-to library. After a few hours, I learned my video was "too big" to upload directly to Blogger. Yet, I can link from YouTube to Blogger without issue. Technology is very confusing.</p><p>At any rate, enjoy the video. Cannot say they'll be plenty more where that came from, but it's a start.</p><p>Take care and travel light.</p>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-4899835791169008822011-02-16T18:36:00.001-08:002011-02-16T19:05:37.934-08:00Peace and Light - Shelby Leonhard<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FKVPAhbrFS6N9ZKigqIZ1dUtn-MqgwYEciEqkpDct9CpB9NmmPX4hyphenhyphen15J9d9S6568NZb5W5c0TkmCzUWiaVzsupn-NAt5K9elMNO2p_E8VrmzQovD3kHL1eSanx7cJrIDFlyVQXHKK5S/s1600/sun-light-from-above_1042.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574481971886929906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FKVPAhbrFS6N9ZKigqIZ1dUtn-MqgwYEciEqkpDct9CpB9NmmPX4hyphenhyphen15J9d9S6568NZb5W5c0TkmCzUWiaVzsupn-NAt5K9elMNO2p_E8VrmzQovD3kHL1eSanx7cJrIDFlyVQXHKK5S/s320/sun-light-from-above_1042.jpg" /></a><br />One of my closest friend's stepfather was in the military years ago. He had the chance to talk with the base's medical examiner one day. Her stepfather couldn't understand why anyone would want to go into such a depressing and horrifying line of work. He asked the doctor what motivated him to do what he did on a daily basis.<br /><br />The coroner related why he worked in his profession in these terms. He held up both his hands as though he wore surgical gloves.<br /><br />"This is my house," he said. "Everyone has one. The human body is the house for your soul. Whenever I enter someone's house, I am very respectful. I must go in to find out how and why they left. And if I'm lucky, I can learn something that may help others stay in their houses a bit longer."<br /><br />Shelby Leonhard could no longer stay in her house. She died today with her family around her.<br /><br />Today we received email from a few sources in and outside the company about the news. My company will have the blood drive on March 3rd, in Shelby's memory, and hopefully help those in need of blood donations.<br /><br />Not everyone knew Shelby personally, but her presence is felt in many places. Tonight I went to my cardio kickboxing class and happened to get to the exercise room a few minutes early. There was a new student talking with Sherian, our instructor. They were discussing how the gym needed to get better boxing bags.<br /><br />"I wasn't going to come tonight," the woman told Sherian. "I've been upset all day and had to work it out." Her daughter was one of Shelby's classmates.<br /><br />In that moment, I realized how small this big town is as far as degrees of separation of knowing people. I also understand her feelings because we've all been there.<br /><br />We have all been a Shelby: a 14-year old student with aspirations of doing grand things and anxiously anticipating the next level of maturity. Driver's permit. School dances. The next big blockbuster hit over the summer.<br /><br />We have all known a Shelby: a classmate who people want to be around and knows all the answers. Respectful. Likable. Studious. Fun to be around.<br /><br />We have all lost a Shelby: through violence or illness or natural circumstances. A close relative. A close friend. A classmate. Old people have lived long and as the age comes closer to our own, the person becomes "so young". Shelby's category: too young.<br /><br />I find grief to be more about emotional paper cuts than hemorrhages. I can't tell you how many times I've heard from friends on how traumatic they found going through their day and believing, just for an instant, that their loved one was still alive. It was as easy as turning down a familiar street or picking up the phone and absentmindedly dialing their number. The realization of this act is painful. Her loss will be felt for a long time and there will be many moments of this shared by many people.<br /><br />I will close this entry with the official statement from the Leonhard family sent to us today:<br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 12.75pt; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 12pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0in; MARGIN-RIGHT: 0in"><i><span style="font-family:'sans-serif';font-size:10;">Last night, our beautiful, brave and beloved Shelby went into the <span id="lw_1297911649_0" class="yshortcuts">arms of God</span>. It was a peaceful ending in a room filled with love.</span></i></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 12.75pt; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 12pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0in; MARGIN-RIGHT: 0in"><i><span style="font-family:'sans-serif';font-size:10;">Our family wishes to sincerely thank each and every one of you for the many prayers and love you have showered on our precious daughter and our family. Please continue to pray for us, especially Barrett and Reese. Please pray that Shelby's loving soul is at peace.</span></i></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 12.75pt; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 12pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0in; MARGIN-RIGHT: 0in"><i><span style="font-family:'sans-serif';font-size:10;">We would ask also that you continue to praise God. He gave us such a precious gift and we feel privileged to have taken this journey with Shelby and with all of you. She belongs to us all, but above all, she belongs now, to God.</span></i></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 12.75pt; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 12pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0in; MARGIN-RIGHT: 0in"><i><span style="font-family:'sans-serif';font-size:10;">With all of our love,</span></i></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 12.75pt; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 12pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0in; MARGIN-RIGHT: 0in"><i><span style="font-family:'sans-serif';font-size:10;">The Leonhards</span></i></p>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-59235408026747670212011-02-12T15:07:00.000-08:002011-02-14T17:56:14.435-08:00Heart Day - Shelby Leonhard<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMS32X2AHz9Djuz6SM-e74FZi4BXmRtLRk9vjzN0qT3i24r_WxId9QyYT8WpmdErxUogi5aQswndAxBwmw4MthWF05wVLsAvy1LsExiJ9J5Ash9mF2AnrfR5VeFY5k-auNVoW5HV5_jpy8/s1600/heart-beat.gif"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 218px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 72px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572943824210523746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMS32X2AHz9Djuz6SM-e74FZi4BXmRtLRk9vjzN0qT3i24r_WxId9QyYT8WpmdErxUogi5aQswndAxBwmw4MthWF05wVLsAvy1LsExiJ9J5Ash9mF2AnrfR5VeFY5k-auNVoW5HV5_jpy8/s320/heart-beat.gif" /></a><br /><br /><p>Today's Valentine's Day. Candy Day. Celebration of St. Valentine...execution of the saint or the massacre...take your pick. </p><p>This year was going to be different than just eating chocolate and making bad jokes. I planned today to donate platelets for Shelby Leonhard (please Google her for more current information).</p><p>The call had been put out in cyberspace on the 14-year <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">old's</span> condition: non-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">hodgkin's</span> lymphoma and in need of whole blood and platelet donations. My company works closely with Shelby's father and a blood drive is being planned. I learned my blood type would be useful for platelet donation. I've never donated platelets. I called the Blood Center and made an appointment to go today after work to do it. </p><p>Oddly enough there wasn't much information on the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">internet</span> about the actual process. I received a tutorial when I arrived at the center this evening:</p><p><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Apheresis</span> (pronounced a-for-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">ee</span>-sis) is a different procedure from the regular whole blood donation I was used to doing. If you've donated blood at a drive or at one of the blood mobiles, you know the routine: fill out questions about your personal love life, the times and places you've traveled abroad, and your overall health. Then you have the iron content in your blood tested by a finger lancet test. If you pass, you then get to spend some quality time bleeding into a bag, squeezing a stress ball, and afterwards drink fruit juice and eat cool junk food. </p><p><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Apheresis</span>, or platelet donation, is a newer medical procedure. With a whole blood donation, gravity does the work through an IV tube into an awaiting bag. This procedure uses a computerized centrifuge where the blood is divided into various parts as it's being drawn: red blood cells, white blood cells, plasma, and platelets. For those playing the "I need to know everything" game -red carries oxygen; white fights infection; plasma brings blood take-out; and platelets clot the works.</p><p>The "screening" process is where I got disqualified. First they check a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">blood donor's</span> veins to see how strong they are to withstand the process. My veins are <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">collapsible</span> and wouldn't be good for it. Had I passed, then I would have had a test on the amount of platelets in a blood sample. Next step would have been being connected to the machine where blood would have been drawn, centrifuged, and saline re-entered to replace the blood taken.</p><p>Those who benefit from platelet donations are patients with blood disorders or cancer, newborns, burn victims, and those who have undergone transplant or cardiovascular surgery. </p><p>My "Plan B" is to donate blood during my company's blood drive. In a show of solidarity, there have been a few blood drives this past weekend for Shelby: Children's Hospital, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ochsner</span> Hospital, and the Plant Gallery. Even though my blood type is not compatible to give to Shelby directly, any amount of blood donated will go towards her total. In other words, for every unit she uses and gets replaced through donation is one less unit on her medical expenses. And, if it is A negative or a compatible match, it will go directly for her use. </p><p>Shelby's current condition is unknown except that she is fighting and needs help from the public to give her direct assistance and replenish the stores. Twitter and the local media have been good getting the word out. Shelby is a loving daughter, a big sister, and a student at Sacred Heart. Her father is a good man and wants her to smile again. If you can help, please do.</p><p>And for those who don't live around here, I'm sure there's a person like Shelby in your world who needs help and would benefit from your support. I can't think of a better way to show how much your heart holds than to give and not count the cost.</p><p>Happy Valentine's Day and travel light.</p>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-51141424786649147792011-01-31T17:11:00.000-08:002011-02-12T15:07:30.612-08:00New Year, New Posts - Jewels Blog Guest Spot<a href="http://www.jewelsfromtherovingstove.blogspot.com/2011/01/new-orleans-restaurant-spy-fat-hen.html">http://www.jewelsfromtherovingstove.blogspot.com/2011/01/new-orleans-restaurant-spy-fat-hen.html</a><br /><br />I've spent the last couple of hours in mental meltdown trying to crack the "find my own blog" code. Have you ever fought with Blogger...and won? I finally got through and was able to post what I hope will be a good read for you.<br /><br />I was "introduced" to Jewels (aka Julie Anne Rhodes) by my friend and fellow foodie Valerie Vallot. Val was fortunate enough to be selected for a recipe that was featured in Julie Anne's blog (a carrot ginger beer recipe, I believe).<br /><br />Jewels asked for submissions for restaurant reviews as a guest blogger ("restaurant spy") on her blog. I contacted her last November on the details. New Orleans is a culinary treasure trove and I had her full support in the effort. Where to begin? I decided to go with my latest love which is Fat Hen Grill in Harahan. The URL above will take you to my entry. Writing about food is just as fun as eating the food I write about. Please check out Jewels' blog (and Fat Hen Grill if you're local).<br /><br />Thank you, Jewels, for your encouragement and support of my writing. You are a beautiful person...inside and out!<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568525900441248210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSe_hm3vPm64uh7ujl-zL_JcfrBMrs0xNSK6t1st7GPdfqIdwnfVLvtkX4iWIIWvmyAubhNxiKL0zEybGeHlAe4eB5Lk8Hl8iaTYXewznKa3ppyR_Bg436bQYZBb-I2nTQX0chMHMdqjez/s320/Fat+Hen+Grill+sign.jpg" />bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-11577019068492984382010-05-30T17:20:00.000-07:002010-05-31T17:59:47.661-07:00Jazz Fest 2010 - Food excursions - May 2nd<div><div><div><blockquote></blockquote><div><div><div>My last day of Jazz Fest on the last day of Jazz Fest. As predicted, rain was expected, but that wouldn't deter me. I still had my plastic poncho and packed myself down with plate caddy, plastic bags, tin foil, and my lawn chair. Hard to believe, but I didn't consider putting on sunscreen - why bother?</div><div></div><br /><div>Now the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">grillades</span> and grits were wonderful the previous weekend - love that roux gravy. My "traditional" breakfast at Royal Blend is a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit. Biscuits are homemade and no cheap fast food dollar biscuit could touch it. A single cappuccino with skim milk and OJ complete the food chain. Normally I wouldn't have singled out such humble fare, but it all looked too <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">photographable</span>. </div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477222506831855890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6S9QPdQPyRXn4dkXMvTzDyqeQvfY_W2e_yI_yUqaI07jPe4E6ZIWf49HhmDK8aHOrteJOEl56ZKI65OlY1Qd7OPhAC_chB5q1cLrfbPfYpqMdcWhxbvX8VvE9GEN4JL0bHmA_j7Hjj-G/s320/050210+Breakfast+at+Royal+Blend.jpg" /></div><p><em>Royal <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Blend's</span> bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit with cappuccino and orange juice</em></p><p>When I arrived at Marconi and waited under the tent at the shuttle area, it began to pour. I didn't need to wait to get on the Fairgrounds to don protective lamination. I mentally prepared myself for arrival and what I would need to do to avoid slipping in the mud or forgetting to buy something. Remember, what I wouldn't accomplish would have to wait until next year.</p><p>There was some wait at the gate and rain fluctuated from hard to light. Once I got in, it seemed like a deserted town. </p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477591764311868130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9EyrPSVIskq2G-U9R8vggC5Kq_H-VFeOjQm5mYNBbQMNFiL0gIkuSl758PgpzIj7EphH84Af_ldXoZ5BdceWYit5gzly_T6UcvRsnY0o42bMSVbiZBSGCW05qeMz7jIFabqLuE66s5g4z/s320/050210+Fest+grounds+early+morning.jpg" /></p></div><p>T-shirt tents were closed temporarily to wait for the rain to subside. Trying to get around in a hard rain would be a problem, so my plan was to get my T-shirt, food, and then go to the Grandstand on the bleachers out of the rain. </p><p>One of the entrees I looked forward in getting was fried eggplant with <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">crawfish</span> sauce. I arrived at the food booth, but was asked to return in 20 minutes. Although they were supposed to be ready before the Fairgrounds opened in order to roll on time, they were ordered to shut off the burner that heats the oil to fry the eggplant. Can't have soggy eggplant, so I strolled around and set my cellphone alarm to ring in 20 minutes time. Once my phone alerted me, I ran back to the booth and received the first order of eggplant <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">crawfish</span> on the last day of Jazz Fest.</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477593936343355474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXoe7UvBOZYQWllst2_Z9Zj5dasIcp1YnaUpzAiPaEmk5PefOUcLoXN2gj_-w0gcFpnwUHuJhQ7ZI5IcI2J75B_qhHk6rfQAi1vvK4F5rM5oHDhYO_URqiU-CeZu2Ax-ARVCEs1jU8rb7N/s320/050210+first+sale+of+Eggplant+with+crawfish+sauce+on+last+day+of+fest.jpg" /><em>Fried eggplant with <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">crawfish</span> sauce - serving No. 1<br /></em><br /><p>I didn't eat it immediately, though I wanted to. Instead I took out tin foil and wrapped it up tight and placed in a large plastic bag with enclosure. Once my T-shirt was purchased, I went in search of an entree I read about in the newspaper. There was a booth selling pies and I felt the urge to try the sweet potato pie and the sweet potato turnover. I purchased them, wrapped them up, sealed them in the bag and finally purchased <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">rose mint</span> tea and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">crawfish</span> strudel. </p><p>As I neared the Grandstand bleachers, I noticed how they were all wet, even the ones at the top. The overhang wasn't enough to spare them and the wind was strong enough to dampen them despite the overhang. I could have opened my chair, but realized rain would come and I'd get soaked. My favorite tree next to the pond on the Fairgrounds wouldn't offer much protection either. I knew the Lagniappe Stage would have protected seats, so I found a dry one under a tent across from the stage.</p><p>I didn't know who was performing and didn't have a program with me. There was a flamenco dancing group with a wonderful Spanish guitar. I took the opportunity to eat as I watched the performance in amazement.</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477596745827736434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeM0rAW3_bhlOo0CWmpQz4qu7mCQecZkUuekE8Q03cf6j1c_mIda-BJTfBKUMCAxd843gH0Wl5JQrcTEmWhVt4d-0YG_q2o-WVNoeQIQsSkxnBVGTzbhEJ6Ed1J6Pot-_FrvNaLpD3kejK/s320/050210+Fried+eggplant+and+pie+close+up.jpg" /><em>"The" Fried Eggplant with <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">Crawfish</span> Sauce and Sweet Potato Pie<br /></em><br /><p>The eggplant was crispy with a light herbal flavor. The sauce was creamy with ample amounts of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">crawfish</span> throughout. I knew what I was expecting and wasn't disappointed. The sweet potato pie was over the moon: flaky crust with the sweet potato filling that had such a wonderful <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">mouth feel</span>. I compare it to the richness of eating high quality ice cream. </p><p>After the flamenco dance group was Nova NOLA, a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Brazilian</span> jazz / New Orleans strut fusion music group. I could not have been luckier since the group was wonderful (Google them, seriously) and the rain had gone from a sprinkle to zero flat. In fact, the sun came out at one point. As the performance continued, I ate the last of my vittles.</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477598714690523090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgE4eWH0Hgu10MFkvATLZ7JJ6EZeBIxCkcHI_XxNLEeEnPKgDqVwYWu_Wi2fptLaTQ2KYG36bl3ZTgV0aT4i5i2Y0F-s2r5e3yPfK3FkYQbXJJKMPETzsGo0NE1eErcKq2aeyyKhD4oMC/s320/050210+strudel+and+turnover+4.jpg" /><em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">Crawfish</span> strudel and sweet potato turnover<br /></em><br /><p>As you have guessed, the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error">crawfish</span> strudel is one of my all-time favorites and would eat it every week if I could. The turnover had somewhat of a soggy crust, but that was my fault. I purchased it early and sealed it in a bag. Condensation from the steam caused it to be soggy. There was a sweet shortbread-like taste to it and the sweet potato filling was thick and rich like the pie. I'll definitely eat another one next year. </p><p>Once Nova NOLA finished their set, I finished my food and walked out of the Grandstand into a sea of people. I wondered if the crowd was different from my "wasteland" picture I took only two hours before. Check it out:</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477600919606565570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCVOrRIwau74sqQR0iVixm1GCRRCBOMudh1S1COsLMZipzgXFukSotF1JmulVFtLBynvbimtjp2MSeCKzQ28H3MzpgOvTY3s5rHPYy8DksST-5PvYf-QfZeMASfl1hdnQcFzRjJgFH9PGZ/s320/050210+fair+grounds+after+130pm.jpg" />And on my way taking this picture, I "ran into" a second line of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error">Mardi</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error">Gras</span> Indians. Only at Jazz Fest. Only in New Orleans. Take care and travel light.</div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477602145318694898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqn9T6u7b1mRO72_EpCuUOLLMottIhILHjfRhXnMJCJ_dD-ajlMuqM3NUvNObbLwSgBmZnl2m9daa5ELMSbBdKrPL0i8MKNbgA_ESiAys1e05qxmvjVzh7lzr79beEE9tuz8jdRXe80FI/s320/050210+mardi+gras+indians+4.jpg" /><em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error">Mardi</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" class="blsp-spelling-error">Gras</span> Indians</em><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><p></p></div></div></div></div>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-61838695495657506982010-05-22T09:09:00.000-07:002010-05-30T17:18:02.390-07:00Jazz Fest 2010 - Food excursions - April 30thJulie, my long-time friend from high school, came into town on business and wanted to go to Jazz Fest on the second Friday. Problem was the possibility of rain, but I managed to find two clear rain ponchos. Last time we went to Jazz Fest was two years ago and all we had were small umbrellas when it poured on us. Tip umbrella forward - back gets wet. Tip umbrella back - lap gets wet. Wind blows rain - doesn't matter because you're soaked. We left before Billy Joel took the stage. The clap of thunder was our signal to leave. Julie brought up our mishaps when we talked about doing the fest again. I assured her that we would leave before the rain drenched us.<br /><br /><br /><br />We arrived from the shuttle and onto the Fairgrounds about 11am. We stationed our collapsible chairs on the front line of the "chairs only" section in front of the Acura stage. We had gone to Royal Blend for breakfast at 8:30am, but once on the Fairgrounds, the smells of seafood cooking just reawakens your appetite. We took shifts in going for food and I made a dash to the Crawfish Monica booth.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474129253243376578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifW6y8dArneMGm3g2DeC0LYBtKCIaOt-gjMqgAa9thfW6nrx9J75LLaLlDjxDYBU0a4AICkKAxoYnAUSDgl6bUvmx_0lhwe_LIsRF-8caESULfMYsA7Z4eHMnh-trVnr3BQ3IeSeKaP9HC/s320/043010+2+Crawfish+Monica+and+Strawberry+Lemonade.jpg" /><em>Crawfish Monica (on a Plate Caddy) with Strawberry Lemonade </em><br /><br /><br /><p>Crawfish Monica is a blend of crawfish cream sauce and fusilli pasta with a dash of spice and special magic that only that dish contains. It's definitely one of my fave dishes on the short "got to get it" list at Jazz Fest. </p><p>The "plate caddy" was an invention I came across during TV viewing several years ago. I usually don't pay attention to such devices, but it immediately struck me that it would be perfect for Jazz Fest. It's been a mainstay of my Jazz Fest ensemble ever since. I usually pack a few paper plates underneath and switch out after one or two uses. There are holes to transport plastic utensils and napkins. One major drawback: large plastic cups will not conform to the built-in cup holder. It's worth being able to balance a few items on the plate than try to juggle them in your arms or hands. I always have someone ask me where I got it. It's great for transporting and eating while seated in a chair. </p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477218651337693138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC_Hp9AA6ByeApsCzOS_AlyttrU6cjBoa5BuSPVos3rVyhD7HJ3GQbeC-itVHc-ThcQcC4uUrJjhaw2TCcz5LMRMAwX9DqWthyphenhyphenuT5L5FtgXb7l0N0J74ObqUZRuVb-iGNv5kEGc9YuEDEF/s320/043010+Crawfish+Beignets+and+Shrimp+with+Grits.jpg" /></p><p><em>Shrimp and grits; crawfish beignets</em></p><p>The shrimp and grits entree was a new offering at Jazz Fest. Unfortunately, it fell flat in my opinion. I looked forward to trying it and the portion given was ample. The grits were lumpy in the stew and the overall taste didn't have enough spice or cajun ambrosia I expected.</p><p>Crawfish beignets are another story. They are on my short list and are a combination of hot and cool. Beignets are small drops of dough containing crawfish which are deep fried. Then a cool remoulade sauce is lathered on top. Remoulade sauce recipes vary, so trying to pick out the ingredients used for this sauce would be a futile exercise. Unless the purveyors who create the entree publish the recipe, you'll never really know.</p><p>Most of the day was spent chatting with Julie, dancing to the Dixie Cups and Earth, Wind, and Fire, and trying to duck the raindrops, which we were most successful in doing.<br /></p><p><br /></p>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-13124519147862582782010-05-04T19:12:00.000-07:002010-06-15T17:45:41.649-07:00Jazz Fest 2010 - Food excursions - April 25th<div align="center"></div><div align="left">My first day of Jazz Fest was Sun, April 25th and preparation is always key, especially going by myself. It was the first time in the ten+ years I've been attending Jazz Fest where I wasn't packed down like a mule. In the early years I came with a beach towel and cash. Now I have a litany of items in my arsenal: collapsible chair in a cloth sheath with a handle, my Old Navy purse sling (with a nifty zippered compartment for my CD player!), a cloth bag to hold my "plate caddy", and cash. But on this day, I knew my order of business was to attend a few food demos (see previous blog) and to eat what my heart wanted most after a year of denial.<br /></div><div align="left"><br />Again, preparation is key and the first order of business was early morning breakfast at Royal Blend on Metairie Road. It's my hangout before business during the work week, but it's base camp before City Park opens for shuttle parking. Usually I eat light, but I was in the mood for one of their Sunday specials I never had before:</div><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><br /><p align="left"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467605446645177074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiu3lxWZLFx6i2LYClZKUli04xEjlqPtry4MP_y8x80_E6l4V1MO6ZdVe8roSW-DeOGU1SHtuqYLVNvlpVQBQT69-kpBAK3Wyxb84YsNcD8RvzpY7VzAljc7Ho3kjvfUo4AsTMLBbz6Ke/s320/042510+grits+and+grillades+Royal+Blend.jpg" /><em>Grillades and cheese grits with a homemade biscuit from Royal Blend (204 Metairie Road in Metairie)</em></p><p align="left">Their version is very good. Basically beef debris cooked down with tomatoes, peppers, onions, etc., and ladled over grits. It gave me a good start to the day since I'd be in the grandstand for a few hours. </p><p align="left">Once I arrived at City Park, the traditional parking mecca had been moved to the Rugby Field across from the new dog park, "City Bark". Once I parked, another part of my Jazz Fest tradition commenced: slathering myself in sunblock. I wait until that moment because I don't want to sit in my car with my legs covered in goo. I don't use SPF 4. I'm far too fair for that. I get the industrial strength SPF 50 and cover every patch of exposed skin. I use baby wipes or the equivalent to wipe off my hands and leave them in the car. </p><p align="left">My arrival in the Fairgrounds and through the gate was around 11am. I knew the first food demo would be around 11:15am, so I made a dash to the Strawberry Lemonade stand and then to get my first taste of Jazz Fest since last year:</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467608195227625826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0YN5PJ0J7ETjEvfK70YAqnCzHVTCMFooMN3-D1ESRM9Cucn_u-5uPsmrgyuItWlESAlhsud8ysPZO6iMTrSOypQ5ay9M4ppECbYx3DTuBUWErqZTpWBUMMsmYCtM-wFmmuUimD3lHZUD_/s320/042510+crawfish+strudel+wc+bread+pudding+strawberry+lemonade.jpg" /><em>Crawfish strudel; white chocolate bread pudding; strawberry lemonade<br /></em><br /><p>The strudel is flaky phyllo dough with a filling of crawfish meat, onions, peppers and all in a stuffing-like consistency. They give you a spork, but I usually eat it like a hot dog. It is spicy, salty, and wonderful. White chocolate bread pudding has a great blend of soft French bread that has been baked with custard and vanilla and then bathed in a white chocolate sauce. I'm grateful that Jazz Fest is only two weekends out of the year or I'd have serious weight problems. The strawberry lemonade never disappoints, always refreshing, and helps with any energy zap from the heat. </p><p>Once the last food demo had concluded, I wasn't hungry. But Jazz Fest is, in my opinion, like dieter's heaven -- throw the rule book out the window for a day or a weekend. You never eat like this normally. This is the food that is only available at the fest and only for a limited time. Get your feed bag on! So I'm eating what I want whether I'm hungry or not, I decided. I went past the Grandstand past the blues and gospel tents to the food area behind the crafts area. It was there I found my final repast for the day:</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467610536282942514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTqs1WjK2ghuK77UXHK579pUsO2N3ISiqtHMdv-ZFBdKypjs2A0uHAaRdW-611LyilVEDngd0cQyko2y6pLd3kjeS0h69Fw0dsvWt037QQ2JTAr3zd7Jo7XRAJsv8MaEn34Z_Ios1ZHvUw/s320/042510+Peach+Cobbler+and+Rosemint+Herbal+Tea.jpg" /> <p><em>Peach cobbler and rosemint herbal tea</em><br /></p><p>Just what I was looking for. The cobbler has a hearty crust, fat peaches, and just enough balance of nutmeg, cinnamon, and sugar. The rosemint tea is a popular manufacturer's blend with a hint of mint. I always add lemon juice offered at the booths and use my personal favorite sugar substitute. </p><p>Now I haven't mentioned prices and don't plan to because "sticker shock" is not the reason for the season. This is my vacation every year and normally people spend more and eat more than they normally do. I buy beverages that are created, not bottled. I eat whatever I want without fear of counting calories or pennies. Life is too short to get stuck on trivialities and it's important to support the local culinary talent by tasting their wares. </p><p>So if you need permission to do what you normally wouldn't do, then I grant it with all my heart.</p><p><br /></p>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-59909771697318283672010-05-03T19:32:00.001-07:002010-05-04T18:01:05.820-07:00Jazz Fest 2010 - Food demonstrations<div>I go to the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival to eat -- each and every day I attend, every year I go. Doesn't matter the band line-ups or the weather forecast. Sometimes I'll get to experience some good musical acts (such as Nova Nola this year), but I always find my food favorites and try out a new dish or two.</div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>This year I had the good fortune of attending the fest on Sunday, April 25th with three wonderful chefs who had excellent food demonstrations on the Zatarain's Food Heritage Stage. In order of appearance:</div><div><br /></div><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467239890783289394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEgzAzvNMnNKHIHyOmC9fdXKVkugt7PZrBOZsVAhcDPI3lc1QOsb-yGONabSN_N1vVjG0zZvdqdXAbSQI4cvVBz_mOg6jecIExqtb704ix2a0tUnfLRHIlBpvr0znlFWgJ2J7tUJ1oWLCW/s320/042510+Richardsons+rice+grits+with+egg+and+andouille+sausage.jpg" /><em>Red beans & rice grits with poached egg & Andouille by Lee Richardson, native New Orleanian and head chef at Ashley's at Capitol Hotel in Little Rock, Arkansas.</em></p><p>Lee was approached by Esquire magazine to do a recipe that is equivalent to eating "like a man". Because rice is prevalent in the bluegrass region, he had experimented with using long-grain rice in different ways. He ground up rice in a coffee mill and found that the taste and cooking times is consistent with regular grits. Because of the "red beans and rice" theme, he cooked his favorite red beans recipe with the rice grits. You can find the recipe on <a href="http://www.nola.com/">http://www.nola.com/</a> under "Food" section from March 18th. As far as the poached egg, the chef explained that there's no recipe for making a soft-boiled egg. In fact, the one he made is far more scientific than anything a novice cook could do at home. First, the eggs are farm fresh and smaller than one at the regular grocery store. And they are cooked in a tub of water (reminded me of an incubator) at a precise centigrade temperature for a specific amount of time. The result is a yolk that is the consistency of firm jelly (think of cranberry sauce out of the can in one piece). Absolutely wonderful. </p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467242873949178802" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7XtiBod-sad-WBm7ycFLLgJjOX-FFp5Q1dgjRETjYqsSodg6c-VEYlppfVwxLQu-iLESfX0MXJYNfZ6yV_gE2fo3NEPL8kQ_00wsYDdgjOcBYCGQ-xF8F7JWYW9SxZvdsjIcnt8jghBR7/s320/042510+Pecan+Beignets+with+Strawberries.jpg" /><em>Pecan Beignets with Louisiana Strawberries by Christy Phebus from Bayona (413 Dauphine St in New Orleans)<br /></em><br /><p>Technically, they aren't beignets. Beignet dough contains yeast and when fried (such as the best ones on the planet at the Original Cafe Du Monde in the Quarter) puff up, but aren't able to fill properly. This recipe is almost like a choux ("shoe") or profiterole pastry dough where once done and baked/fried, you could fill like an eclair. In this particular recipe, the dough was cooked and then eggs were added until it pulled away from the sides of the pan. Once it was this consistency, a commercial product of pecan paste was added. They were fried in canola oil and dredged in cinnamon sugar. Louisiana strawberries were cut up and were only allowed to macerate for a few minutes to have some "strawberry juice" to plate over the beignets. If you place sugar on berries for too long a time frame, you wind up with a mushed up product almost akin to pureed fruit. If you want the recipe, email Christy from the address on Bayona Restauant's website. Great dessert!</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467581006484240770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnyyzxvogMMvO74VP16g929HhF1oM-7s0iFp-KCkVgVudw-tE4U10JrlrnnxoUYOPVpyGpLbDVtrtiIbDUdkxnks5g2jYNmx89Q3q9GK4ymsGRMiHal7j2a6xgWsxiiGK_zOwOSkk2yHR5/s320/042510+Donald+Link+potato+dumplings.jpg" /><em>Smothered Andouille & Potato Gnocci by Donald Link, head chef and owner of Cochon Butcher & Restaurant (930 Tchoupitoulas St in New Orleans) and Herbsaint (701 St. Charles Ave in New Orleans) </em><br /><p>Donald Link recently received the 2010 James Beard Award for his latest cookbook <em>Real Cajun. </em>I'm not sure if the recipe is in there, but it is a basic potato dumpling/gnocci starchy dough. Donald demonstrated that the dough should give a little when pulled after the dough has been formed. Then it is a matter of rolling it out by hand into a long tube. He said it is a great Sunday meal at home where he can make gnocci and toss them with sauce or, in this recipe, saute in oil and add spring onions (or known as green onions everywhere else) and andouille. At the restaurant, he has a gnocci board that will indent the dumplings by passing them over ridges in the board; however, home cooks can mark each dumpling with the tines of a fork. The ridges will catch and hold the sauce, so it is an important step to do. </p><p><em>Cochon</em> is part deli and part butcher shop where you can purchase boudin and andouille that has been made on the premises. Donald said that his cousins still make boudin in different areas of the state, and each one tastes different from the other. They put the sausage in casings by hand whereas the cousins use hoppers and machines to make massive amounts of sausage at a time. One of the attendees lives in Hawaii and planned to bring back 16 pounds (yes, not a typo) of andouille to the island. He attends Jazz Fest every year and uses the sausage year round until he returns for the fest and another supply. </p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><br /><p><br /></p>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-25124179529800374972010-04-11T17:24:00.000-07:002011-02-23T19:06:33.497-08:00Mad Hatter's Luncheon Pictures<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWbQM8tKek7YiM1dvoIaSDQUNrB_tvjk6GB1L6Ym-SjWzjG2FELnug_D4leT7w31nlK8_TvVej35VMOu6lFBc2uo50j41_RKPWch6pqQnLIEM4WSf8sdUOJKLmShHMFWUdSlT0P9xnXxI/s1600/P1010019.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577086567554436194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWbQM8tKek7YiM1dvoIaSDQUNrB_tvjk6GB1L6Ym-SjWzjG2FELnug_D4leT7w31nlK8_TvVej35VMOu6lFBc2uo50j41_RKPWch6pqQnLIEM4WSf8sdUOJKLmShHMFWUdSlT0P9xnXxI/s320/P1010019.JPG" /></a> Christian with Saints Michael Lewis (aka Beer Man), Yvonne LeFleur, Dr. Laura Badaux, and associated luncheon ladies<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU08TjOo9OpDbN9te_FEFWPj85ZAZw42aJ3e7FMwJrTxDeVlJwIxLoNQPVWqhy9OKWgRex7Ws4e9CfG6QeKO5f_1JdMv2oumIjuBPTi1n8WYvnj8X3XVhqm4Jzw-FP32eblFV8sdoVc_Fu/s1600/P1010016.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577085252238315698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU08TjOo9OpDbN9te_FEFWPj85ZAZw42aJ3e7FMwJrTxDeVlJwIxLoNQPVWqhy9OKWgRex7Ws4e9CfG6QeKO5f_1JdMv2oumIjuBPTi1n8WYvnj8X3XVhqm4Jzw-FP32eblFV8sdoVc_Fu/s320/P1010016.JPG" /></a><br /><div align="center">Christian and I walk the plank..er..the catwalk! </div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOF-KiehIK788aD2uPHgQ2P2BiUR5deBA4nHjM2OW2PGIk86S3qD91PthFDc8xu2QsJ43erMbWNhS72YHpcuA6Kx3ONNZ3mZN9RwwivXpR-wsLKuYwUJg5H-jz8f_JWAwTUuthtAyiStf/s1600/Me+%2526+Christian+crop.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 222px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577084931940631202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOF-KiehIK788aD2uPHgQ2P2BiUR5deBA4nHjM2OW2PGIk86S3qD91PthFDc8xu2QsJ43erMbWNhS72YHpcuA6Kx3ONNZ3mZN9RwwivXpR-wsLKuYwUJg5H-jz8f_JWAwTUuthtAyiStf/s320/Me+%2526+Christian+crop.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div align="center">Here's my shot with Christian. Geez, could the expression on my face get any worse?!</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQVSzUQQy2xtzO9dWK5dD2NSlFZ5-IL6SxlZyT_DNA9zLi6tlAXkY23R_IQvvn_azLPvexatSZQsf4Kt5Ww2oc3JlQZ2Suo6OZlXU-lbvbBPLLX8MTpHXin-58wDbYxwHsMznjnTg0Smd/s1600/P1010016.JPG"></a><div align="center"><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577083930489196530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidHMhBeNnkhOtTGUiq7ESqWht4BOwwH_eis2LU-XOgQLnMNI06wJKM8IwsF8HOL2qZ4O2vL38IJgrNfXqWBBzPQwCOjQEu9szeu1HaGsZFxEbmiLcEkfwKyuz18lgWVIOC4PBdU_Aom-GL/s320/P1010004.JPG" />Here's an action shot<br /></div><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpPTMakKxXH7gx7pouAger2d0T3LH-525TlJe5eJiRZYCON_6mAjC4uyantt2PQlETnVW3qhyphenhyphengo36sva-QW7y0Ft6bT5OWZuV53PAMRn4PoO8Yd3QpLlIwwTDeCrFq-TX8B6jIxfUnwFG/s1600/P1010023.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577083293218087298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpPTMakKxXH7gx7pouAger2d0T3LH-525TlJe5eJiRZYCON_6mAjC4uyantt2PQlETnVW3qhyphenhyphengo36sva-QW7y0Ft6bT5OWZuV53PAMRn4PoO8Yd3QpLlIwwTDeCrFq-TX8B6jIxfUnwFG/s320/P1010023.JPG" /></a> Another one of Christian and luncheon ladies<br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidGNnRcaHc0zXXueCjn_vGAnBDLBJhVFrWM_SQVhyrXPCPZpL2hqeLvBs55jqB1sW_Qs1uRydOFFP0jV-Z6apWDVNBm-LYC6ZpVkwYCMbrhqhzURkB8UAwUxdvu2egD7eaiVLNryvKkSdf/s1600/P1010006.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577082397562850178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidGNnRcaHc0zXXueCjn_vGAnBDLBJhVFrWM_SQVhyrXPCPZpL2hqeLvBs55jqB1sW_Qs1uRydOFFP0jV-Z6apWDVNBm-LYC6ZpVkwYCMbrhqhzURkB8UAwUxdvu2egD7eaiVLNryvKkSdf/s320/P1010006.JPG" /></a></div>Christian with some luncheon ladies<br /><div align="center"><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoWkRVu3YGDB0GNwHHbsnVqNJ3Ff0O2Jp8-yBnBznfa5hic97GOt7EG4YdMDFHdWZUvCLbcu6TrauY_iXWQpntDvYCSBcv0n4gSzVfiy7sncc7UTu__V6aZoRtnPIdI57H482wwpCp_AuG/s1600/P1010007.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577081797685107714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoWkRVu3YGDB0GNwHHbsnVqNJ3Ff0O2Jp8-yBnBznfa5hic97GOt7EG4YdMDFHdWZUvCLbcu6TrauY_iXWQpntDvYCSBcv0n4gSzVfiy7sncc7UTu__V6aZoRtnPIdI57H482wwpCp_AuG/s320/P1010007.JPG" /></a> Here's an interesting shot -- Christian and a luncheon lady<br /><div align="center">and a camera taking the same picture</div><br /><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577080386814746946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHqeFOf7RKwtHbi8857Db7gBgL_1NdYctisrYV6y95r_I2ddpHaGpGXHkvrknC4Z76oge2XUfGQ02mwhG1ugoNmp3e0zO1h3rPo7wHdUD0PFfXfblpOtHMIXatBA7OVkYandlRy5n6U1lS/s320/P1010012.JPG" /> <div align="center">Poor lighting of picture of Eric Paulsen, Christian, and Mr. Andre (Christian's Dad)</div><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><div align="center"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgNmfwlIGGkhzevIdbqlJ5ySkI048aJfYNEjU055BDscVuz_KI3tu24PaOPpzW-bHWA70U73mQMqJG4ww4xHxr2VLnPFNA5BqAUtTGz8Co9M8IFJ9TvaQylJm3gErXCGOAyOWKnbjJuS3I/s1600/P1010019.JPG"></a></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br 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href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNz6OCNEMzGhanjgRRP9TnTo9OWsHBgnDRYdAcYMdg6HfBZoOQhb4G7GIf4UZS3vpKfpKdGglMQ4Wgi5z_Nc6ufU2yXWATrjJrgD1YPu3_uGyF9X9VWvijNgJBjwxmAMpVmcPxD5LYFwf7/s1600/P1010011.JPG"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br 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/><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUcbE1l3sVHEbQA7Kt4wBtcHeEI4hCsAo0cyISTVwq3Qa8-nnoHO71Nmj99JShoxH2HHrC8JzOV98L-iUoPvRUIct4xhPvorhAR-7mY9xc245sBQpu1pRBUKfW7w6_h7cSCar5gPWJjMRI/s1600/P1010008.JPG"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br 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href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_alSCNfx_eyj66SMJZgMzJL0O3ZzeukH-pnsoIsSg3ADN0WKkwstCgWdtgxRvaYlyKsXnzNfCq8ZkPx8Jb-3tXjmgZS2fRn3B1qaxXa0bzoMj7mBCcdjbuUKCnGX3hA9KINrIs0kUWAZ/s1600/rib12.gif"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 61px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 86px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452730037417012514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_alSCNfx_eyj66SMJZgMzJL0O3ZzeukH-pnsoIsSg3ADN0WKkwstCgWdtgxRvaYlyKsXnzNfCq8ZkPx8Jb-3tXjmgZS2fRn3B1qaxXa0bzoMj7mBCcdjbuUKCnGX3hA9KINrIs0kUWAZ/s320/rib12.gif" /></a><br /><div>Disclaimer: I'll be discussing subject matter that some may find offensive since it has to do with specific tests and examinations involving female body parts, and a retrospective into the female menstrual cycle. Click off now because I'm going into "TMI" land. Remember, you've been warned.</div><div> </div><div>With everything going on in my personal life, I had pushed off getting my annual pap smear and mammogram. I received letters from Ochsner reminding me it had been thirteen months since I had made an appointment. It was more a time issue than anything else, but I knew it was important to do.</div><div> </div><div>My first encounter with an ob/gyn was when I was 13 years old. I started my monthly cycle in April 1980. Nothing Mom could tell me or the "starter kit" from Stayfree could prepare me for what I would experience. I remember cramps so bad I wanted to put my kneecaps into my eye sockets. What prompted the visit was I almost fainted and experience two cycles in a month. If you thought the onset of turning into a woman for a 12-year old girl was bad enough, it was raised to level orange by going to the doctor.</div><div> </div><div>He was an elderly doctor with many years of experience. He had several daughters, one was his nurse, and I was assured he had seen patients as young as eight. In retrospect, even if Mom had explained every section of the exam, it would have been too much for me to process. All I remember was him putting on a latex glove, covering his hand with a tube of goo, and at the first feeling of "something wrong", I screamed my head off. I was long. I was loud. I drowned out my mother telling me to be quiet and still, the nurse trying to keep me on the table, and the only thing I heard from the doctor as he left was, "I can't take this!" To this day, I firmly believed I cleared the waiting room. He prescribed iron pills and I never went back. I went to a "normal" routine of every 25 days riding the crimson wave.</div><div> </div><div>At the beginning of college, I experienced another two-timer, and went to another male doctor. He was younger and I was older. I didn't scream, but I was tense, nervous, and he suggested I have an ultrasound. I recall that I had to drink about 64 ounces of fluid and my bladder can hold about 60 ounces before I need to urinate. I went to the exam and had the warm gel and cold ball bearing mouse on my abdomen. Every place she pushed and toggled, I thought I would burst. Thank goodness the architect of the building put a ladies room next to the exam room. No problem with the scan: normal. </div><div> </div><div>The next year my doctor left and his replacement (another man) said I would have a physical examination without the ultrasound. When I explained the circumstances about getting the ultrasound, his response was, "we have instruments to assist with that". Never went back. Never had another exam until two years ago.</div><div> </div><div>I turned 39 and was having regular cycles. "Regular" is defined as irritability seven days before I surf. Also part of the package is bloating, wanting to eat 24/7 and feeling like I look like Jabba the Hut's girlfriend. Then the pain, which lasts for 8 hours and the flow, which is heavy for two days and tapers off for three. "I feel pain like being hit by a semi and bloated like roadkill on a highway", is the best way to sum it up. I've never had the inkling of having a baby. As far as I'm concerned, they could take my uterus out, fill it full of candy, and use it as a pinata. No, my decision to get the pap smear and the mammogram was simple: if they found something, I want it to be found early. I started with the simplest solution: <em>get a female ob/gyn</em>.</div><div> </div><div>As I've been told, women who've had children don't have a problem with the exam because once you've gone through childbirth, an exam is nothing. Considering I've never given birth, I knew there would be discomfort. My doctor is wonderful. She understood, made me comfortable, answered my questions, and took her time. I still don't know why a speculum is shaped like a shoehorn, but I conclude the inventor was male.</div><div> </div><div>My first mammogram was more awkward than painful. You never fully undress and the gown is open long enough to expose a breast to the platform of the testing machine. Part of the awkwardness is the fact I don't have many mammary glands. The tech had to coax what I had onto the glass plate, like somehow pooling it all in the middle would make it bigger. Hand around the machine, head back, staring up and somehow not move with a machine feeling me up. And then the other breast. And side views. I was told afterwards that some women get called back because it comes up abnormal and "don't put yourself six feet under if you get a call back". It was fine.</div><div> </div><div>This year I waited to get my mammogram until I talked with my doctor. There had been a new recommendation from a task force about women over 40 only needing mammograms every few years instead of every year. She explained that the task force was not in league with the AMA or the gynecological societies she belonged. She felt the task force's recommendations would do more harm than good because the insurance companies could re-evaluate their stance on paying for mammograms every year for women in their 40s and women won't pay out-of-pocket for them. Money would take precedence over cancer prevention. Another consideration is that young women have abnormal mammograms, go through biopsies, and some cases prove negative. These women "were scared needlessly". My doctor was unapologetic.</div><div> </div><div>"I'd rather scare nine young women than miss the one with cancer!" But she reasoned if it was painful for me or if my insurance didn't cover it, I could go every other year. I told her getting one every year was not a problem, even if I had to pay for it myself.</div><div> </div><div>My doctor just returned from maternity leave and the subject of men came up. I said if men had to have the babies, the world's population would decrease by two-thirds.</div><div> </div><div>"My husband didn't understand," she said. "It's like taking a backpack and putting 30 pounds worth of bricks on your back. Then carry it everywhere and try to do everything with it. I had to examine patients with all that extra weight." Then she went on about how she has multiple bags to carry along with the baby and her husband, at times, will go on without her until she calls him back and makes him take something. One fight began when he had the nerve to try and put his laptop and camera in one of the bags she carried along with the baby.</div><div> </div><div>"If men had to have babies," she concluded, "they'd be grown in a lab, and bought and sold on eBay!" </div><div> </div><div>A week after my mammogram, I received an email from my friend Gary. I hadn't heard from him since my father took ill. The email was about Brenda, his girlfriend and roommate (now his wife) who was battling breast cancer. It had mets that went into her spine. She was recovering, but it had been hard on both of them. He invited everyone to St. Baldricks, an event where recipients volunteer to have their heads shaved to raise money to battle pediatric cancer. After I read the email, I pulled out the card to call and find out the results of my mammogram. I left a message on the recorder.</div><div> </div><div>On Brenda's blog, she talked about how she had lost weight from running and her better health saved her life. It helped her stamina with the chemo, which she'll finish in a few weeks. Gary reasoned that his hair will grow back around the same time Brenda's will. </div><div> </div><div>Brenda also pointed out that she had good health check-ups for years and took them for granted. Shortly after seeing them at St. Baldricks, I received letters from my doctor and the breast center: this year's pap smear and mammogram are normal. No, I won't take those for granted again, either. Life's too short and health's too important. </div><div> </div><div>Get checked yearly and take steps to ensure you'll be around for awhile. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for the people who love you.</div><div> </div><div>Travel light and take care.</div><div> </div>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-90729699637619102672010-03-23T19:28:00.000-07:002010-03-25T16:34:42.311-07:00Better black dress<div><div><div><div>My closet is a testament to my contribution to fashion mediocrity. It is a "working" closet with items that vary from occasion to season, career to casual, and everything has a reason for being there. I can put on anything at a moment's notice, with some items still in cleaner's cellophane hanging at the readiness. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I have coordinated suits for winter, coordinated pants suits for summer, skirt sets, business casual pants with business casual shirts to match. There are items I received as Christmas gifts, but the majority are personal purchases "on sale". I don't know the phrase I love most: "on sale" or "machine washable".</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Dresses range from the black-and-white linen sheath for luncheons, a burgundy Ann Taylor sleeveless for dressier occasions, and a sleeveless sundress that does a great job in covering up the bulges near my underarms (if you ever see a long-haired model with the ends over her shoulders covering her underarms, she has bulges, too). But for many years there was an evening dress and jacket set that had been in my closet that I never wore, yet reluctant to give away. I've moved it back and forth in the closet at least a hundred times. I couldn't wear it without being altered and never got around to doing it. This year I decided I would finally have the outfit altered or give it away.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>My first encounter with the outfit was when I was 17 years old. I don't remember the details on how I got it. It belonged to my mother. I loved the material and the way it looked. Mom had had it in her closet for many years. Even though she went through child bearing and the ware of aging, she never got rid of the outfit. At this time I was at my skinniest -- 110 pounds. I was about six inches taller than my mother and she was petite in frame in her youth. I was able to slip the black satin sheath over my hips and could barely zip it up. I wasn't able to do cartwheels, but it fit well enough to where I could walk. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The matching jacket was almost as long as the dress (knee length), in the same black satin material, with a touch of black velvet at the collar. It seemed pristine, but upon opening the jacket, the pale yellow lining revealed a jagged rip. I wondered if that was the reason that she gave up wearing the dress initially. Don't want to wear the dress without the jacket; can't wear the jacket with the rip. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I probably kept it in my closet the same amount of years as Mom did in hers. I decided, of all days, this past Mardi Gras day, to try the dress on after the last trying on about 25 years ago. To my credit, even 25 pounds heavier and sporting pudgy hips, I was able to slip the dress over my hips. It was loose on top, but there was no way I could zip it. The heavy metal zipper wouldn't budge past the middle of my back. I could move, but it was an effort, like being wrapped in cling wrap and trying to tiptoe. No way I could wear it out in public, so my goal was to find a seamstress and find out what could be done.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I made inquiries of friends and found a seamstress on Behrman Hwy. Kim Xuan was a well-dressed, smiling lady. I explained what I wanted to do. She asked me to try the outfit on in a nearby dressing room and come out. I felt exposed in her tiny shop (we were alone), but I managed to tiptoe with the dress halfway on to the platform where a full-length mirror stood. She studied the dress and with a white piece of tailor's chalk marked areas to be altered. It was like being in pre-op before plastic surgery and the surgeon marks the areas to be cut or sucked with a black marker.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>She asked if I had material to let out the dress. The dress went from seam to seam with no additional fabric to expand it. I didn't have any extra material and the dress' material is about 63 years old (won't find that on the shelf anywhere). Since there was ample material near the lining of the jacket, she decided to remove the extra material there and extend the pale yellow lining. She told me to call her in ten days.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Ten days later, she asked me to come in for a fitting. Colorful pins were placed on either side of the dress, so slipping it on was a challenge. She was embarrassed to say that the replacement zipper she used to replace the old toothy metal one had to be replaced. The fastener to pull the zipper up had broken. We used a safety pin in the interim. The dress felt roomier than before and the added material didn't disturb the ivy pattern in the design. I went back on the platform and she tugged at the back with the pins and studied how the dress draped on me. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Another week and I returned, tried on the dress and it took shape; however, there was one area that she said needed work and the jacket lining still needed to be repaired. I told her I'd return in another week. After all, I wasn't in a hurry -- outfit hadn't been worn in decades. One more week wouldn't matter.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Last Saturday I returned and tried everything on for a final fitting. It fit perfectly. I looked in the mirror and tried to picture Mom as a young adult in this dress. What was she like then? She had to have bought the dress on an excursion on Canal Street. Westbank women flocked to Canal Street for dresses, good shoes, and matching purses. The garment tag was missing, but I remember it was Molly-something from New York. Was this outfit for a special occasion or was this the Saturday night with friends' outfit she wore every Saturday? What happened for the inner lining of the jacket to rip? Why did she hang on to this one dress out, even years after she would never be able to alter it to fit her? I think now the dress has a happy ending. I'll wear it for as long as I can and will give it away once it becomes too small for me.<br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>During this process, we never discussed the price. I was willing to pay what Kim Xuan wanted and I justified it this way: I don't see myself getting married, so no wedding gown in my future. I'm past the time of the prom. I won't be receiving any awards. I figured I could get a lot of use out of this outfit; the little black dress; the better black dress. I silently reasoned I will have to pay for what I want, and if that means rebuilding a dress practically from scratch with repairs on top of that, then it will be uniquely mine and worth it. After all, Kim designed the evolution after piecing fabric fragments together to fit my frame, and repaired it. Final cost for the work on the dress and jacket -- $65. Now that's true sticker shock. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I thanked her profusely and took her business card. I have a few things I can get altered and asked what she did in terms of work. She smiled and said, "Everything! I make new and I repair!" For those local, here's her information:</div><br /><div></div><div>Kim - Xuan Tailor & Alterations</div><br /><div>853 Behrman Hwy, Gretna, LA</div><br /><div>504/393-2841</div><br /><div>Mon-Fri 10am - 6pm / Sat 10am - 4pm</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><p>I have not worn the dress for a specific occasion and not sure if there will be one on the horizon for it to be called to duty. I don't have a picture of me wearing the dress, but the following pictures are of the dress/jacket; jacket only; dress only; and close up of the ivy detail in the fabric:</p><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV901T0PamuffmPjqSlB5mfOspGkJPmZ9jyT76dce6JfT5qcFxaHoxN4HJRdNShhjOJ3wohtU_l0n-CGBve_3bApt1pVeeRnHj9jaiViBAEr5oqt8BXuwH4m3wywbvb3l1saTRaM-EGTbV/s1600/dress+and+jacket+(2).jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452714900891952562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV901T0PamuffmPjqSlB5mfOspGkJPmZ9jyT76dce6JfT5qcFxaHoxN4HJRdNShhjOJ3wohtU_l0n-CGBve_3bApt1pVeeRnHj9jaiViBAEr5oqt8BXuwH4m3wywbvb3l1saTRaM-EGTbV/s200/dress+and+jacket+(2).jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN3ra0ZuVkKneSBWBviC-5Q4WoJVHCBZjXkVMQdcPxhfE36rVQIpgpFb7m1-9u_xlVOqV0NUvMWr6Ey2bLT-7EHfdl3w1iPMLJ6gLlW3k2VwTnuJ8-bEmavdtNcjwkeDlba4BPO1Kuz6I9/s1600/jacket+close+up+collar.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452714913718578034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN3ra0ZuVkKneSBWBviC-5Q4WoJVHCBZjXkVMQdcPxhfE36rVQIpgpFb7m1-9u_xlVOqV0NUvMWr6Ey2bLT-7EHfdl3w1iPMLJ6gLlW3k2VwTnuJ8-bEmavdtNcjwkeDlba4BPO1Kuz6I9/s200/jacket+close+up+collar.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi88umdzDDS2UCnB__3IiuQmsyocFKS-UxK6bWtkS-wtEvRKwAb102iONqaAog1iJQByiZ5a3d0BPLiQ4nDxeP_wa0l0_QjkMCxFsYBF8rn665MWHBdB2qHcf_f1EX79aMUTK8KpmIV_Kyy/s1600/dress+close+up.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452714909022119586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi88umdzDDS2UCnB__3IiuQmsyocFKS-UxK6bWtkS-wtEvRKwAb102iONqaAog1iJQByiZ5a3d0BPLiQ4nDxeP_wa0l0_QjkMCxFsYBF8rn665MWHBdB2qHcf_f1EX79aMUTK8KpmIV_Kyy/s200/dress+close+up.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6vS1RticUWr2H57mWVuYBehusa2JQWtszf2DoJH9Ki2vqYILhEYkvMm9JdIsgInYi1jDdP4MOzcfqEOPGWXxSS39p3upJYfysXjFyJzWRKzKvrSG8BB-HfgD77YmwnN0KSGhcKxHgarJ/s1600/fabric+pattern.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452714925721304706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6vS1RticUWr2H57mWVuYBehusa2JQWtszf2DoJH9Ki2vqYILhEYkvMm9JdIsgInYi1jDdP4MOzcfqEOPGWXxSS39p3upJYfysXjFyJzWRKzKvrSG8BB-HfgD77YmwnN0KSGhcKxHgarJ/s200/fabric+pattern.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6vS1RticUWr2H57mWVuYBehusa2JQWtszf2DoJH9Ki2vqYILhEYkvMm9JdIsgInYi1jDdP4MOzcfqEOPGWXxSS39p3upJYfysXjFyJzWRKzKvrSG8BB-HfgD77YmwnN0KSGhcKxHgarJ/s1600/fabric+pattern.jpg"></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6vS1RticUWr2H57mWVuYBehusa2JQWtszf2DoJH9Ki2vqYILhEYkvMm9JdIsgInYi1jDdP4MOzcfqEOPGWXxSS39p3upJYfysXjFyJzWRKzKvrSG8BB-HfgD77YmwnN0KSGhcKxHgarJ/s1600/fabric+pattern.jpg"></a></div><br /><div><br /><br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6vS1RticUWr2H57mWVuYBehusa2JQWtszf2DoJH9Ki2vqYILhEYkvMm9JdIsgInYi1jDdP4MOzcfqEOPGWXxSS39p3upJYfysXjFyJzWRKzKvrSG8BB-HfgD77YmwnN0KSGhcKxHgarJ/s1600/fabric+pattern.jpg"></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br />I could have gone out and bought a brand new black evening dress, but I doubt I could have found both pieces for $65. I guess you can call it being enviromentally-friendly by recycling vintage clothing. Or thrifty that I altered a dress and jacket for under $100. In the rush of life and all the things we can spend money on, one of the last things I do is something selfish for myself. I believe all of us are worth some sort of indulgence or to break with the routine and do something that would serve nothing more than spending a pleasant afternoon or evening. It make take extra time and cash, but if you enjoy what you've purchased or done, isn't that profitable in a sense? </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I'm a gym rat and there's no way I could have worked out or starved to fit in that dress. Had it been one size smaller, I may not have been able to wear it after being altered. My challenge to all who read this is go into your closet and find the dress or suit that you'll wear after losing twenty or fifty pounds or one day take somewhere to be altered to take it in and let it out. Examine it, try it on, get it altered, and take it out on the town. If you feel it's time to give it away, let it go without regret.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6vS1RticUWr2H57mWVuYBehusa2JQWtszf2DoJH9Ki2vqYILhEYkvMm9JdIsgInYi1jDdP4MOzcfqEOPGWXxSS39p3upJYfysXjFyJzWRKzKvrSG8BB-HfgD77YmwnN0KSGhcKxHgarJ/s1600/fabric+pattern.jpg"></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6vS1RticUWr2H57mWVuYBehusa2JQWtszf2DoJH9Ki2vqYILhEYkvMm9JdIsgInYi1jDdP4MOzcfqEOPGWXxSS39p3upJYfysXjFyJzWRKzKvrSG8BB-HfgD77YmwnN0KSGhcKxHgarJ/s1600/fabric+pattern.jpg"></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6vS1RticUWr2H57mWVuYBehusa2JQWtszf2DoJH9Ki2vqYILhEYkvMm9JdIsgInYi1jDdP4MOzcfqEOPGWXxSS39p3upJYfysXjFyJzWRKzKvrSG8BB-HfgD77YmwnN0KSGhcKxHgarJ/s1600/fabric+pattern.jpg"></a></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6vS1RticUWr2H57mWVuYBehusa2JQWtszf2DoJH9Ki2vqYILhEYkvMm9JdIsgInYi1jDdP4MOzcfqEOPGWXxSS39p3upJYfysXjFyJzWRKzKvrSG8BB-HfgD77YmwnN0KSGhcKxHgarJ/s1600/fabric+pattern.jpg"></a></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6vS1RticUWr2H57mWVuYBehusa2JQWtszf2DoJH9Ki2vqYILhEYkvMm9JdIsgInYi1jDdP4MOzcfqEOPGWXxSS39p3upJYfysXjFyJzWRKzKvrSG8BB-HfgD77YmwnN0KSGhcKxHgarJ/s1600/fabric+pattern.jpg"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6vS1RticUWr2H57mWVuYBehusa2JQWtszf2DoJH9Ki2vqYILhEYkvMm9JdIsgInYi1jDdP4MOzcfqEOPGWXxSS39p3upJYfysXjFyJzWRKzKvrSG8BB-HfgD77YmwnN0KSGhcKxHgarJ/s1600/fabric+pattern.jpg"></a></div></div></div></div>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-9728370520338446522010-03-23T18:21:00.000-07:002010-03-27T15:26:58.760-07:00Christian LeBlanc's Art Show, "In the Nursery"<span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Christian LeBlanc’s Art Show, “In the Nursery”</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Reception – Sat, March 6<sup>th</sup>, 2010</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Jean Bragg Gallery – <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:address st="on"><st1:street st="on">600 Julia Street</st1:street>, <st1:city st="on">New Orleans</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on">LA</st1:state> <st1:postalcode st="on">70130</st1:postalcode></st1:address></span></span><br /><br /><div><div><div><div><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Art on display at gallery</span></span></b><br /></p><div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9CLchFNGXj7VwweJ_3Xc6-U3lsVCWM4alFRzLGrIu_l9LoraDdmi1sf6EG7H6CowRuv14zqOzgmtqNpJNm4Ti5E1ekvt0aRlEvC5cuGx3s35fbrmFkwA6dhuKqa31A1CxJDL1UB-BHF1N/s1600-h/1957leblanc%2520xmas%2520mouse.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 230px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 145px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452014831014091634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9CLchFNGXj7VwweJ_3Xc6-U3lsVCWM4alFRzLGrIu_l9LoraDdmi1sf6EG7H6CowRuv14zqOzgmtqNpJNm4Ti5E1ekvt0aRlEvC5cuGx3s35fbrmFkwA6dhuKqa31A1CxJDL1UB-BHF1N/s320/1957leblanc%2520xmas%2520mouse.jpg" /></a><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><?xml:namespace prefix = v ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:vml" /><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" preferrelative="t" spt="75" coordsize="21600,21600" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path connecttype="rect" extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t"></v:path><?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><v:shape style="Z-INDEX: 1; POSITION: absolute; MARGIN-TOP: 0px; WIDTH: 306.75pt; HEIGHT: 220.5pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; mso-position-horizontal: left" id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"><v:imagedata title="1957leblanc%20xmas%20mouse" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Kat\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.jpg"></v:imagedata><?xml:namespace prefix = w ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:word" /><w:wrap type="square" side="right"></w:wrap></v:shape><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“New Snow” – 1996 – Mixed media<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Colored pencil drawing depicting young mouse looking out of a window of a structure reminiscent of a wooden cottage; winter scene with snow, holly, and red bows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Through the window a Christmas tree with decorations can be made out, along with a red candle in the window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Instantly it reminded me of the style of Christmas card I’ve sent in the past:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>whimsical, peaceful, and charming.</span></p><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWPBjA1t5T-VezWVcDDKqgN27XrStwb_tt9UypIz5xaDxFuA4D5fY5_UbiBcfS8Cq6ZIv8zCa6e1weHsHVBWuaywuKz6CoJ2Bs9ycZBZOm09HoC5UJYbYUZCgMAwBCWPbwmFrOf4icAmj/s1600-h/1989leblanc%2520fireplace.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 222px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 183px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452015320649681298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWPBjA1t5T-VezWVcDDKqgN27XrStwb_tt9UypIz5xaDxFuA4D5fY5_UbiBcfS8Cq6ZIv8zCa6e1weHsHVBWuaywuKz6CoJ2Bs9ycZBZOm09HoC5UJYbYUZCgMAwBCWPbwmFrOf4icAmj/s320/1989leblanc%2520fireplace.jpg" /></a> <div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5h8NyVcRI547ENNWtgs-fbCCftLPFbNXlvm2GoW-ZkVjQEWTVYJsFE8oY9a9Cn31vVg6oRqoTBGWIIFQbSK7_KW5VkerVOCVbUFBbAsJacBiYMJm3ZfLnTDwltDTnjS4tXZj6tKCaMMYJ/s1600-h/1989leblanc%2520fireplace.jpg"></a></div><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" preferrelative="t" spt="75" coordsize="21600,21600" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path connecttype="rect" extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><v:shape style="Z-INDEX: 1; POSITION: absolute; MARGIN-TOP: -0.2pt; WIDTH: 4in; HEIGHT: 237pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; mso-position-horizontal: left" id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"><v:imagedata title="1989leblanc%20fireplace" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Kat\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.jpg"></v:imagedata><w:wrap type="square" side="right"></w:wrap></v:shape><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“Late” – 1996 – Mixed media<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Elderly lady warming herself by fire after coming in from snow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Cap, muffler, shoes are strewn about on the wooden floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Two characteristics about Christian’s work:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>severe level of detail and an absence of color in places.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There are pictures within the picture on the bookshelf and mantle that beg further study.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Also, the mantle and hearth around the fireplace remain untouched with color.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Multiple areas of shadow where the fire’s light bathes the furniture in the room.</span></p><br /><div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></span></b></div><div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Four pictures appeared at the art show commissioned by the Coconut Grove Theatre in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Coconut Grove</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on">FL</st1:state></st1:place> commemorating the theatre’s 40<sup>th</sup> anniversary and the premier of the play, “Ladies in Retirement”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The four pieces are entitled:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Lucy in Disguise”, “Nick Nacks”, Albert Upsets the House”, and “Nun on the Run”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">The synopsis of the art read:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“The director of the Grove thought Christian’s children’s characters dovetailed well with the Victorian whodunit’s aesthetic. Displayed in the theatre’s lobby, the pieces capture different pivotal scenes and contain vital clues necessary to determine the identity of the play’s villain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The play starred Julie Harris, Eileen Brennan, Carol Cook, Lou Leonard, Laura Esterman, and Christian LeBlanc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Julie Harris has the fifth piece.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></span></b><br /></p><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixqyWPbh0j51t3zeSR1hlJHvFllv8Z_BjwtygKon-XQ5mABTiDjstUqJdx_I6E1QlT4oPK8az8EeVzK4sx01e9ZJ6A6T9CbPRWgqwEXFn9xDRudorx_qpzUk00VJGZWL9gJMfgCQ3xm-sS/s1600-h/1985leblanc%2520dress.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 193px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 204px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452005044093951570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixqyWPbh0j51t3zeSR1hlJHvFllv8Z_BjwtygKon-XQ5mABTiDjstUqJdx_I6E1QlT4oPK8az8EeVzK4sx01e9ZJ6A6T9CbPRWgqwEXFn9xDRudorx_qpzUk00VJGZWL9gJMfgCQ3xm-sS/s320/1985leblanc%2520dress.jpg" /></a><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“Lucy in Disguise, Ladies in Retirement” – 1995 – Mixed media<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">At first glance, the female mouse is wearing a red feathered boa; however, on closer inspection, it is a Rapunzel-esque type of wig.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Many details to consume:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>ruffles and bows of Lucy’s outfit, the ribbon under the chair occupied by a male mouse, fruit on the cedar robe displaying two dresses, and the list the male mouse is holding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It reads:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Steps to trap Aunt Helen; 1) dress up Lucy, 2) dim light (a lot?)”</span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4uKEvVpa0PhhTx-1z8SSdau6noSQlXsoxUTR56NSHx3CGgaQrO8b-wdzpApQwZ8zlgvGr77CDjbJ_4101aDfShGCBlXX-hYBWdrZJ-cbELvwF9vXfZpX0dd8Oa0hK6fjcwxcIR44bCkc/s1600-h/1984leblanc%2520nun.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 194px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452005048910805330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4uKEvVpa0PhhTx-1z8SSdau6noSQlXsoxUTR56NSHx3CGgaQrO8b-wdzpApQwZ8zlgvGr77CDjbJ_4101aDfShGCBlXX-hYBWdrZJ-cbELvwF9vXfZpX0dd8Oa0hK6fjcwxcIR44bCkc/s320/1984leblanc%2520nun.jpg" /></a><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" preferrelative="t" spt="75" coordsize="21600,21600" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path connecttype="rect" extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><v:shape style="Z-INDEX: 1; POSITION: absolute; MARGIN-TOP: 0px; WIDTH: 297pt; HEIGHT: 239.25pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; mso-position-horizontal: left" id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"></v:shape><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“Nun on the Run” – 1995 – Mixed Media<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Mouse in “flying nun” habit – unsure if male or female – pulling wooden wagon with “oil” can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Sign on left states “Estuary House”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The details are in the different flowers and grasses that flank the simple dirt path with a faint blue sky in the background.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></span><br style="mso-special-character: line-break" clear="all"></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuSKEffXg9lM3sg9_kRzFA6aFxXGTJZG9fSYq36ZSpIcc1TWVtejolJ-iEcPtcek8IH7rW7fXa7g7hofQTiuUCuQVA8lcqRQavMBxyAmsy2cG3sEGUHFlDvJXYKG9A5FZWSpmm5_Hy4Oa-/s1600-h/1959leblanc%25201.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 185px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 177px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452014388461408386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuSKEffXg9lM3sg9_kRzFA6aFxXGTJZG9fSYq36ZSpIcc1TWVtejolJ-iEcPtcek8IH7rW7fXa7g7hofQTiuUCuQVA8lcqRQavMBxyAmsy2cG3sEGUHFlDvJXYKG9A5FZWSpmm5_Hy4Oa-/s320/1959leblanc%25201.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" preferrelative="t" spt="75" coordsize="21600,21600" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path connecttype="rect" extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><v:shape style="Z-INDEX: 1; POSITION: absolute; MARGIN-TOP: 0.25pt; WIDTH: 324pt; HEIGHT: 254.25pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; mso-position-horizontal: left" id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"></v:shape><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“Albert Upsets the House” -- 1995 – Mixed media<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Four mice – three female, one male (Lucy and Albert?); male and female dance as one sits restlessly in a chair and the other is depicted as a servant (embroidery on her dress); seashells on the floor with glue and more shells on the table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A newspaper is strewn, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Groves</st1:place></st1:city> --- Times, with the headline “petty cash stolen”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Mirror reflection of dancers.</span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0dQj7v8M-Ufw4e6dJH70A6X41UEIYqpFlZabEAjHWj3yaNJGH16lk25IsXacAoYQOweZyDziUHbKOjB8Jy9qP0mVEsiitbl9OYD1g0PjEVSsu5JgqyzCJwmP0NO0ER1akX5Rr6K3rGIuv/s1600-h/1983leblanc%2520head.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 178px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452005486118118962" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0dQj7v8M-Ufw4e6dJH70A6X41UEIYqpFlZabEAjHWj3yaNJGH16lk25IsXacAoYQOweZyDziUHbKOjB8Jy9qP0mVEsiitbl9OYD1g0PjEVSsu5JgqyzCJwmP0NO0ER1akX5Rr6K3rGIuv/s320/1983leblanc%2520head.jpg" /></a><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" preferrelative="t" spt="75" coordsize="21600,21600" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path connecttype="rect" extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><v:shape style="Z-INDEX: 1; POSITION: absolute; MARGIN-TOP: 0.3pt; WIDTH: 324pt; HEIGHT: 245.25pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; mso-position-horizontal: left" id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"><v:imagedata title="1983leblanc%20head" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Kat\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.jpg"></v:imagedata><w:wrap type="square" side="right"></w:wrap></v:shape><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“Nick Nacks” -- 1995 – Mixed media<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Female mouse (Lucy?) sits at a piano with a purple cloth across the hood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Most of the background is colorless pencil as her red hair takes a life of its own and shows different objects among ribbons: a striped, lit candle, pitcher and cup, clock, book (“Mice and Men”), ship with sails, key, and a black teacup with spilt contents. </span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhgQWrKd-APws8m2mnVnOqs68hjOWc-7_DtFPt2FyQtVycUBIu-0WsiDxSb0I6QzA8B2luuDzLlj7E5XLfwm2u3A973k-29lemyvd8CHca9E09qdK2_mgpa1JG8L9GD73pGIaBLJZP5Je/s1600-h/1958leblanc%2520waiting%2520up.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 194px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 185px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452005491988150354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhgQWrKd-APws8m2mnVnOqs68hjOWc-7_DtFPt2FyQtVycUBIu-0WsiDxSb0I6QzA8B2luuDzLlj7E5XLfwm2u3A973k-29lemyvd8CHca9E09qdK2_mgpa1JG8L9GD73pGIaBLJZP5Je/s320/1958leblanc%2520waiting%2520up.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" preferrelative="t" spt="75" coordsize="21600,21600" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path connecttype="rect" extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><v:shape style="Z-INDEX: 1; POSITION: absolute; MARGIN-TOP: 0.25pt; WIDTH: 315pt; HEIGHT: 234pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; mso-position-horizontal: left" id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"><v:imagedata title="1958leblanc%20waiting%20up" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Kat\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.jpg"></v:imagedata><w:wrap type="square" side="right"></w:wrap></v:shape><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“Waiting Up” – 1996 – Mixed media<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-: EN-USfont-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:10;" ><span style="font-size:85%;">Mouse in striped cap and pink pajamas holds a candle, waiting for someone to arrive during the night-time snowfall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Dwelling is a mix of tree trunk and brick/mortar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Round window reveals objects inside on a shelf and takes up a section in each pane: chair, books, and a vase. Background shows a green tree with snow and far background contains white outlines of winter trees. </span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBRVdGaF0copK15pZT25VKSYaB-_IllFHDQM3RXJMCEfglP-VrtZUxEL9ZELI0i9XzB0gJXIqCVf0SipmUv0a1-Dvp0xMHi7AN4vIwaV62lqy6oLd3bvncjyB_JRhnoLbsr9a2avsPxsKH/s1600-h/1990leblanc%2520fish.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 181px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 183px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452005499010321890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBRVdGaF0copK15pZT25VKSYaB-_IllFHDQM3RXJMCEfglP-VrtZUxEL9ZELI0i9XzB0gJXIqCVf0SipmUv0a1-Dvp0xMHi7AN4vIwaV62lqy6oLd3bvncjyB_JRhnoLbsr9a2avsPxsKH/s320/1990leblanc%2520fish.jpg" /></a><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" preferrelative="t" spt="75" coordsize="21600,21600" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path connecttype="rect" extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><v:shape style="Z-INDEX: 1; POSITION: absolute; MARGIN-TOP: 0.05pt; WIDTH: 315pt; HEIGHT: 242.25pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; mso-position-horizontal: left" id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"></v:shape><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“Small Talk” – no date – Mixed media<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-: EN-USfont-family:'Times New Roman';" ><span style="font-size:85%;">Mouse underwater with snorkel and fin, sitting on a rock on the ocean floor in front of a very large multi-colored fish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Tiny starfish to the right and blue lines delineating water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Fish’s tail is curled around itself, almost to fit into the frame.</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break" clear="all"></b></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3sw1YhHbBwKMDjRti9nKpeHsldjTWzOIqz2PzVdWQI87KNPURX2cuE120Tl0ZdbIRwAOG43AFI0eiBaNBgXIJNbr8v7hVNHKvajjZ6dmC_gw2OEJIo26P4nPz2xYUHZMzSLzyexOLaWpw/s1600-h/1986leblanc%2520gnu.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 224px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 175px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452005504636165490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3sw1YhHbBwKMDjRti9nKpeHsldjTWzOIqz2PzVdWQI87KNPURX2cuE120Tl0ZdbIRwAOG43AFI0eiBaNBgXIJNbr8v7hVNHKvajjZ6dmC_gw2OEJIo26P4nPz2xYUHZMzSLzyexOLaWpw/s320/1986leblanc%2520gnu.jpg" /></a><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“What’s Gnu?” – no date – Mixed media<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-: EN-USfont-family:'Times New Roman';" ><span style="font-size:85%;">The gnu has gold-rimmed glasses, a red bow tie, and an academic regalia gown (one stripe – Master’s degree?). He appears to be reading from the podium, which is suspended in mid air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break" clear="all"></b></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWe-x5sLQKKFJRMvhGUER-n4rXHbomtniJFweJk-mt9oViCuJCnbDF2wi2mZIhu64WIm7WyJThuHzYPjG4QH71GRFcLRx6wfqPqZhCP2KykCMqmJH7AXGja9FtHJFIi9U92R9GQeBMKnm/s1600-h/1982IMG_2431.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 126px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452005507656293138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWe-x5sLQKKFJRMvhGUER-n4rXHbomtniJFweJk-mt9oViCuJCnbDF2wi2mZIhu64WIm7WyJThuHzYPjG4QH71GRFcLRx6wfqPqZhCP2KykCMqmJH7AXGja9FtHJFIi9U92R9GQeBMKnm/s320/1982IMG_2431.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“Watching the Day Burn Down” – no date – Mixed media<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Female rabbit strolls in a garden of yellow daisies and red mushrooms with black dots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Is she in miniature or is everything around her larger than life?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She pushes a doll carriage containing a doll of a rabbit and a teddy bear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The time is sunset as the sun goes down and the orange sky gives way to darker skies, stars, and a sliver of moon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The oblong shape of the piece allows the eye to focus naturally up and down, gathering more detail of the grass along a dirt path, and use of shadow behind the female rabbit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Synopsis at art show:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“One of a long line of early commissions for fellow teachers during Christian’s stint as a kindergarten teacher in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">L.A.</st1:city></st1:place><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One of the pieces (along with “Nicholas Goes Fishing” and “Stepping Out” won Best in Show at his first art exhibit at the <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Culver City</st1:place></st1:city> Art Expo in CA.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-x_lJ6xsPHFFaZYvPtzzwxUpHYwTKpdMQhhe_41_3cV3W5cAZOdd4YG2WizfdBlEqizQ_hBWghIxT8Oktv3ocAbP-y-NkPTViskZkkRGkXwic8qiMzzVdNpsiaAQASKn4OhO17DajUFI/s1600-h/1955leblanc%2520cannon.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 226px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 197px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452005839639664210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-x_lJ6xsPHFFaZYvPtzzwxUpHYwTKpdMQhhe_41_3cV3W5cAZOdd4YG2WizfdBlEqizQ_hBWghIxT8Oktv3ocAbP-y-NkPTViskZkkRGkXwic8qiMzzVdNpsiaAQASKn4OhO17DajUFI/s320/1955leblanc%2520cannon.jpg" /></a><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" preferrelative="t" spt="75" coordsize="21600,21600" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path connecttype="rect" extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><v:shape style="Z-INDEX: 1; POSITION: absolute; MARGIN-TOP: -0.25pt; WIDTH: 306.75pt; HEIGHT: 242.25pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; mso-position-horizontal: left" id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"><v:imagedata title="1955leblanc%20cannon" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Kat\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.jpg"></v:imagedata><w:wrap type="square" side="right"></w:wrap></v:shape><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“Five O’ Clock at the Nine O’ Clock cannon” – no date – Mixed media<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Upon closer inspection, part of the buildings in the background have pencil marks, but no coloring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Great detail in expressions on the character’s faces, the bow and wreath on the cannon, and the nearby basket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Beautiful sunset. T-boy is gesturing to a nearby maple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>From the disapproval on the girl’s face, I suspect T-boy has a homemade parachute and announced he would jump out of the tree to try it out.</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break" clear="all"><o:p></o:p></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Synopsis from art show:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“From the children’s novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Tales of the Louisiana Moon</i>”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In 1721, Adrian Pauger<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>laid out the Place d’Arms (today’s <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Jackson Square</st1:address></st1:street>) in the little French town of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">New Orleans</st1:city></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>For many years the square was used as a military parade ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Maple trees were planted on either end<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>of the grounds in 1806.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In the ancient <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">New Orleans</st1:city></st1:place>, a cannon in the Place d’Arms was fired at 9 o’clock every evening announcing the nightly curfew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The town gates were shut tight and all the men of good will were expected to be safely in their homes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Actors:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Shemar Moore (Malcolm), Tonya Lee Williams (Olivia), Sinna Goins (Callie), Camryn Grimes (Cassie), and T-Boy (mouse).<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p></div><div><div><div><div><div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqO5XXTnR3qXPSchdzdDNtXjUYNOa3hDF64Cmqvsj1DPnu2CPjEo5RXWkvAPxgt9nT006INEiBVJrieFggtwrxoxzP7dxDCeQx4reNDVNSFOpB2GXyI-rIyqoXs8FVqrNRFPGa9NnFyDfG/s1600-h/1987leblanc%2520bon%2520temps.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 197px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 168px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452005842176270978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqO5XXTnR3qXPSchdzdDNtXjUYNOa3hDF64Cmqvsj1DPnu2CPjEo5RXWkvAPxgt9nT006INEiBVJrieFggtwrxoxzP7dxDCeQx4reNDVNSFOpB2GXyI-rIyqoXs8FVqrNRFPGa9NnFyDfG/s320/1987leblanc%2520bon%2520temps.jpg" /></a></div><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" preferrelative="t" spt="75" coordsize="21600,21600" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path connecttype="rect" extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><v:shape style="Z-INDEX: 1; POSITION: absolute; MARGIN-TOP: -0.45pt; WIDTH: 234.75pt; HEIGHT: 190.5pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; mso-position-horizontal: left" id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"><v:imagedata title="1987leblanc%20bon%20temps" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Kat\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.jpg"></v:imagedata><w:wrap type="square" side="right"></w:wrap></v:shape><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“Bon Temps” – 1996 – Pencil.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">French for “Good times”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Simple sketch of an alligator carrying a fleur-de-lis embossed umbrella adorned with beads and carrying a drink in his hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Uniquely <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">New Orleans</st1:city></st1:place>.</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break" clear="all"><o:p></o:p></b></p><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiod1QJY-Zufm0m98SAoWKwE9l5UTK7yMGgp3Opd4Evc4hz1fvEYNCuRiwn5mdzfxCx73SM8n-fjjY_VgP6xfwYv7o2yItL9mQ9Tk-D4mRWTRfJJSwjvm-VGDfVZH1m3kvt2YnGkTJeKM-s/s1600-h/1988leblanc%2520parrain.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 217px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 184px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452005845934086530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiod1QJY-Zufm0m98SAoWKwE9l5UTK7yMGgp3Opd4Evc4hz1fvEYNCuRiwn5mdzfxCx73SM8n-fjjY_VgP6xfwYv7o2yItL9mQ9Tk-D4mRWTRfJJSwjvm-VGDfVZH1m3kvt2YnGkTJeKM-s/s320/1988leblanc%2520parrain.jpg" /></a>“Le Parrain” – no date – colored pencil<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">French meaning “sponsor”, but local Cajun refers to a parrain as a godfather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Elderly woodland creature (badger?) with spectacles, blue jacket, checkered pants and a cane with gold tip in front of a cypress tree. Unlike other works where most of the characters are engaged in activities, this rendering shows an aged creature with a bent back, looking melancholy at an autumn tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></span></p><br /></div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha-Q2x6lteKdLv6gGdzvrl3709B5ITPMHbf6Dofgy9_BatCJ0ojdiswB2JHjlYe58PtzuALzKJQaVtaNOToo3ATrX5OLmXAlzNKs_miaK70t4PBmQEYZfec_k1xClJVpzFj_D8vc8V-S8k/s1600-h/1992leblanc%2520steppin.jpg"></a></div><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" preferrelative="t" spt="75" coordsize="21600,21600" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path connecttype="rect" extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><v:shape style="Z-INDEX: 1; POSITION: absolute; MARGIN-TOP: -0.5pt; WIDTH: 286.5pt; HEIGHT: 315pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; mso-position-horizontal: left" id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"><v:imagedata title="1992leblanc%20steppin" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Kat\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.jpg"></v:imagedata><w:wrap type="square" side="right"></w:wrap></v:shape><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></p><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha-Q2x6lteKdLv6gGdzvrl3709B5ITPMHbf6Dofgy9_BatCJ0ojdiswB2JHjlYe58PtzuALzKJQaVtaNOToo3ATrX5OLmXAlzNKs_miaK70t4PBmQEYZfec_k1xClJVpzFj_D8vc8V-S8k/s1600-h/1992leblanc%2520steppin.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 199px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 235px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452005851287130914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha-Q2x6lteKdLv6gGdzvrl3709B5ITPMHbf6Dofgy9_BatCJ0ojdiswB2JHjlYe58PtzuALzKJQaVtaNOToo3ATrX5OLmXAlzNKs_miaK70t4PBmQEYZfec_k1xClJVpzFj_D8vc8V-S8k/s320/1992leblanc%2520steppin.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal">“Steppin Out” – 1996 – colored pencil<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-: EN-USfont-family:'Times New Roman';" ><span style="font-size:85%;">Night scene – large pocked moon in background as a female zebra in a long, yellow gown, sneaks away. Picking up the hem of her dress reveals a ribbon-hemmed petticoat and pink sneakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There is light detail on the dress, along with the different grasses and a star-studded sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She looks worried as she steps away from a nearby carousel with a zebra in the background and the face of a hippopotamus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break" clear="all"></b></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZ7wHB7Eq_6PhzeyenL9xCCRNXUQ5-knBBK1wJiZZJmfVaq1z0JBIQC-U0_Upzrr4lAmqoSqljSOe6BbYg2LToCZXQT2mljljy1IkZnFttZsmWeU4Hmq8jn8mc7bBJ9nN5zPwN3R09QYy/s1600-h/1956leblanc%2520zebra%2520shoe.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 156px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 223px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452005862245022770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZ7wHB7Eq_6PhzeyenL9xCCRNXUQ5-knBBK1wJiZZJmfVaq1z0JBIQC-U0_Upzrr4lAmqoSqljSOe6BbYg2LToCZXQT2mljljy1IkZnFttZsmWeU4Hmq8jn8mc7bBJ9nN5zPwN3R09QYy/s320/1956leblanc%2520zebra%2520shoe.jpg" /></a><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" preferrelative="t" spt="75" coordsize="21600,21600" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path connecttype="rect" extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><v:shape style="Z-INDEX: 1; POSITION: absolute; MARGIN-TOP: 0px; WIDTH: 213.75pt; HEIGHT: 4in; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; mso-position-horizontal: left" id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"><v:imagedata title="1956leblanc%20zebra%20shoe" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Kat\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.jpg"></v:imagedata><w:wrap type="square" side="right"></w:wrap></v:shape><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“Greener Pastures” – 1996 – colored pencil<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Zebra adorned in pink bows on her mane and her blue dress with lace trim. She is either taking her pink sneakers off or putting them on while seated in a yellow chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Different flowers and grasses surround her with a faint sketch of the carousel in the background.</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break" clear="all"><o:p></o:p></b></p><br /><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGVs6orqCRcEcdt42tZ7GY_gsbhoVextzV5r0R7p4_VF0i-3zvtcCWsx_zLbQ9OERrkt4fGfBl4ske0axdQBfAdHuoy83F-wOT2426o-tOrwdoBFbypkoEhplEv2lZkGZaafXdW4wt1OD8/s1600-h/1981leblanc%2520bridesmaid.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 213px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452006106063681986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGVs6orqCRcEcdt42tZ7GY_gsbhoVextzV5r0R7p4_VF0i-3zvtcCWsx_zLbQ9OERrkt4fGfBl4ske0axdQBfAdHuoy83F-wOT2426o-tOrwdoBFbypkoEhplEv2lZkGZaafXdW4wt1OD8/s320/1981leblanc%2520bridesmaid.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" preferrelative="t" spt="75" coordsize="21600,21600" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path connecttype="rect" extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><v:shape style="Z-INDEX: 1; POSITION: absolute; MARGIN-TOP: 0px; WIDTH: 252pt; HEIGHT: 206.25pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; mso-position-horizontal: left" id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"><v:imagedata title="1981leblanc%20bridesmaid" src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Kat\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.jpg"></v:imagedata><w:wrap type="square" side="right"></w:wrap></v:shape><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“The Horrified Bridesmaid” <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Mouse in a blue dress with pink ruffles underneath, full bustle, wearing a feathered hat and gloves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She is carrying the bride’s train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Her expression reveals she has inadvertently taken a peek and discovered something unexpected. </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break" clear="all"><o:p></o:p></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Synopsis at art show:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Title illustration from the commission commemorating the wedding of Laura Lee Bell and her then fiancé Scott Martin.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkORHS2GczmGtRIoe01LKXsdmRCOJsmxPBGtr1cjZt0Iy3HQNFX-E_Yb4D7kOGlhphnQLbYCyvY4tWsBij6BwmrqLAaGDviM1duHBiHRgtHi2V5b_fXfaUPPoceA-v_39uwoOfbUekSSEG/s1600-h/1980mouse%2520fishing.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 197px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 235px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452006108644626898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkORHS2GczmGtRIoe01LKXsdmRCOJsmxPBGtr1cjZt0Iy3HQNFX-E_Yb4D7kOGlhphnQLbYCyvY4tWsBij6BwmrqLAaGDviM1duHBiHRgtHi2V5b_fXfaUPPoceA-v_39uwoOfbUekSSEG/s320/1980mouse%2520fishing.jpg" /></a><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“Nicholas Goes Fishing” – no date.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-: EN-USfont-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:10;" ><span style="font-size:85%;">Bayou scene with marsh and cypress trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A mouse sits on the edge of a wooden dock with a fishing pole watching the bobber (water ripples indicate a possible bite).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A variety of flowers and grasses surround the wooden door in the tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Mouse is in checkered pants, red suspenders, and a red and blue cap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Illustration is reminiscent of works by Arnold Lobel and James Rice.</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break" clear="all"></b></span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiamtgnuwZ5Fyi8RsKunvj1z4jRuZrfmSoUpj4Fn8N_EmFwuqj4IeNVRTkHqUGdBsODKvVVvriUDYXbXEll8yzvEIEhwhpgjS3LdUYuqWMn78ekeqb4rnExJx5qCecmRIx7yRrJZpJsNMMF/s1600-h/1991leblanc%2520baby.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 207px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 204px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452006119940088850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiamtgnuwZ5Fyi8RsKunvj1z4jRuZrfmSoUpj4Fn8N_EmFwuqj4IeNVRTkHqUGdBsODKvVVvriUDYXbXEll8yzvEIEhwhpgjS3LdUYuqWMn78ekeqb4rnExJx5qCecmRIx7yRrJZpJsNMMF/s320/1991leblanc%2520baby.jpg" /></a><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" preferrelative="t" spt="75" coordsize="21600,21600" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"></v:stroke><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></v:f><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></v:f><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></v:f></v:formulas><v:path connecttype="rect" extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t"></v:path><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"></o:lock></v:shapetype><v:shape style="Z-INDEX: 1; POSITION: absolute; MARGIN-TOP: 0.25pt; WIDTH: 297pt; HEIGHT: 279pt; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; mso-position-horizontal: left" id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"></v:shape><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">“Baby and Bunny” – 1996 – Mixed media<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></b></p><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-: EN-USfont-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:10;" ><span style="font-size:85%;">Female rabbit tending to child who is tending to her teddy bear in the baby carriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Under late autumn, early winter tree with brown grass and leaves around them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Careful attention is made to the rabbit’s dress and child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Colorless clouds in the background and the top of the tree shows pencil sketches of higher limbs that aren’t there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They disappear at the top of the drawing.<br /></span><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Christian said the art show at home caused him to feel vulnerable since he’s showing a part of himself that few seldom see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I told him he was very talented and he would be successful in anything he did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I can’t remember a more absorbing and enjoyable evening.</span></p></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-84754227091345109332010-02-06T17:24:00.000-08:002010-02-06T18:52:45.598-08:00Worth the wait<div><div>About forty years ago, give or take a few, the biggest smallest city in the world decided to open a restaurant. Now there were a few good places here and there, full of young talent, but this particular group wanted to compete with other cities (regardless of their size). After some research and scraping together some money, they opened for business in a temporary place. Back then the restaurant was a novelty and opening day turned out very well. It seemed as though the restaurant would get a five-star rating in no time.</div><br /><div></div><div>There were high hopes and lofty expectations. The owners of the restaurant thought that immediate success was assured. After all, the biggest smallest city practically put its particular brand of cuisine on the map. Unfortunately, back then, the other cities had a different palate and their patrons ate high on the hog for years. Other cities wouldn't look in the biggest smallest city's direction, let alone the restaurant. Still, the restaurant had a good local following and felt it may take a couple of years to show a profit and be awarded five-star status. </div><br /><div></div><div>Year after year the restaurant staff worked on the menu. A couple of dishes were great standouts, but the kitchen always ran out when people expected them to be on the menu. Sometimes the food came to the table cold or unappetizing. Patrons wanted what was promised to them, but they were told that the restaurant would hire better people and fix the problems with the menu. But instead of working on this, the restaurant owners focused on a new location.</div><br /><div></div><div>After several years, the restaurant finally relocated to their permanent place and expectations were high. It had new kitchen equipment and the owners bragged to fill every seat in the restaurant and provide the patrons what they expected: a five-star meal.</div><div></div><br /><div>Unfortunately, the patrons discovered that a new facility doesn't make much of a difference if the food is lousy. Despite the new surroundings, the restaurant earned a bad reputation for terrible food. Every once in awhile, a staff member got the order right, but this was rare. Other cities thought the restaurant would never amount to anything. Some patrons still ate at the restaurant, but they wore masks and carried antacid with them at all times.</div><div></div><br /><div>There were signs in the windows of the restaurant over the years: "help wanted", "under new management", "two for one", "hey, we're practically giving it away!" There was a high turnover rate. Good staff members went to the other cities to perform. Those that stayed tried to work the kinks out of the menu. They had great recipes, but they never came out the same way every time. A few head chefs were let go after many promises of change, only to either try weird fusion cuisine (which never works) or tried to play it safe by blaming the decor of the restaurant for their failures. The patrons, who continued to eat there, ate half-heartedly. They didn't want to change restaurants; they wanted their restaurant to change...for the better. If the restaurant couldn't be big in the biggest smallest city, how could it possibly be big anywhere else?</div><br /><div></div><div>One year there was a storm and the patrons fled. When they returned, the restaurant was damaged. There was talk that the staff would relocate and the restaurant would be closed forever. True, the restaurant didn't do as well as others in other cities, but the patrons felt it was <em>their</em> restaurant that served the food they liked. Patrons had been deprived for a long time and they craved it. They starved and wanted it back. The owner of the restaurant hired a new staff, a new head chef, and made preparations to prepare for the grand reopening.</div><br /><div></div><div>The head chef wasn't as flashy as previous chefs who worked in the restaurant, yet he seemed more consistent than the ones in the past. Patrons returned with guarded optimism. Dishes were recognizable with quality ingredients. Occasionally a tray would drop or a dish would be underdone, but at least something positive was being accomplished. Reviews were becoming better, especially after dealing with the aftermath of rebuilding. The second year at being head chef of the restaurant, the restaurant received a three-star rating from his efforts. It was the closest the restaurant ever came to achieving five-star status. It was disappointing that the restaurant couldn't compete further, but at least the restaurant was improving. More patrons made reservations and critical reviews weren't quite as scathing.</div><div></div><br /><div>The head chef hired different staff members and worked with the assemble afforded him. After forty-something years, the head chef found what the restaurant lacked. There was always talk of a secret ingredient by former head chefs that never materialized. It wasn't an ingredient that was lacking; it was the method. The head chef went through the recipes and found the ones that complimented all of the ingredients available. If he couldn't get his desired effect with one, he'd make a substitution with one of equal value. One ingredient didn't overpower a dish. One dish didn't stand out over another. They all had to work together to make each dish the best it could be and all dishes had to arrive at the table at the same time. Suddenly the dishes were hot, appetizing, flavorful, and satisfying. The restaurant didn't have one successful week, but several in a row. Patrons lined up around the block. Never in their wildest dreams did they think that they'd have to wait for a table. But it was worth the wait.</div><div></div><br /><div>The restaurant had a great year and so did the biggest smallest city in the world. Other cities flocked to the restaurant in droves, especially for the most important night of the year. For the first time ever, in the history of the restaurant, they achieved four-star status. For so many years the restaurant struggled and though perservering adversity had managed to do what some believed could not be done. Patrons danced in the streets, masks and antacid long forgotten. No one cared about other cities or other cuisines. The patrons never thought they could get that close to five-star status. </div><br /><div></div><div>Tomorrow night is the big feast for that last elusive star. The final proving ground to all the other cities, the naysayers, the critics; but if the restaurant is successful in achieving it, the victory won't be for themselves. The ones who will savor it the most won't be the restaurant owner, the head chef, or the staff. It will be the patrons who came every week for years dining on what was offered, hoping for something better. Tomorrow, here's hoping, that they have the best meal ever.</div><br /><div></div><div>Bon Appetit!</div><br /><div></div><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435326047328563330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1u-pyG3SotSoQUuhbsK3zGdGXQZbcfGQW1c7wWtHRpVuu5Rv_DXcHFEW7kfpvO_hEi-ojRbiY5Wa4NxCkaBzV1lFdTd3TlUzMqaIdqzZgz2vRQsYA4d_8wn7v7lLcLFCPlIFxJoPFWaYx/s200/2010+superbowl" /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div></div>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-25136320838928889162009-12-27T15:24:00.000-08:002009-12-29T18:20:18.167-08:00Tender and mild<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420062353228624930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5e-ScaEg87FkDmTRgPF1H412PEKEepH3nC5h-tVuqVysOjQwiuMtwoKdIedvKJDEfDvRvZpKI998piB2e0ee8j5RFejVE4pD2PkP0Dta0g-i9Mek0xpWAgvmVN-qDWhskZUCpZ3Drj8I/s320/Christmas+lights.jpg" /> <div><div></div><div></div><div>I hope everyone reading this had a wonderful Christmas with friends and family. Mine was filled with blessings recognized. </div><br /><p>In the past I've busied myself with many lists: Christmas cards, gifts to order and mail, ingredients for treats such as my grandmother's peanut butter fudge, and items for the Christmas meal. Every year I attempt to send out the cards earlier, buy and mail off the gifts as soon as possible, and pay all the expenses off as quickly as possible. It's my version of the holiday Olympics and my main focus from the week before Thanksgiving to the second week of December. Not this year.</p><p>Dad and I have lived together for many years and spend all holidays together, most by ourselves. Most of my friends live out of state and those locally have families and traditions of their own. It was different when I was a child. Dad loved to see me to go under the tree and rip open the wrapping paper. Now that I'm in my 40s and he no longer drives, our "tradition" has been to go to Walgreen's where I head for candy isle and pick out two boxes of chocolates (my birthday is on the 15th) while Dad goes to the card section and select funny cards for my birthday and Christmas. Not this year.</p><p>Two distinct medical issues converged upon Dad in October. Unbeknown to us, his appendix had been leaking and was on the verge of rupturing. He was admitted into the hospital in critical condition and had emergency surgery once his blood was thick enough to operate (blood thinners). The infection caused dehydration and left him weak. The other complication was his enlarged prostate. Before the surgery he was barely emptying his bladder. During the convalescence, he needed the use of a catheter bag. Dad was discharged with one and understanding the nuances of the device was a learning curve for both of us. Over the past two months, he developed two nasty urinary tract infections, both requiring emergency room visits. The most recent one put him in the hospital a couple of weeks ago.</p><p>Dad's had different medical situations over the years and has gone through dozens of tests and medication changes; yet, despite what Dad has been through, he has exhibited the same mild-mannered, easy going attitude he has shown as long as I have known him. </p><p>For example, he was in CCU when the Saints/Cowboys game was televised. He had the game on when I went to see him during the last visiting hour of the day. It was the first time he had the TV on since being admitted. </p><p>"All I could get were Muppets on the TV," Dad said, "and the nurse came and put the game on. I should've stuck with the Muppets."</p><p>Dad has never given up. With each physical challenge, he has challenged himself to do more to become stronger. I'm very proud of him.</p><p>Over the past few months, I've had days where I've felt like Joan of Arc or something that needs to be scraped off the bottom of a shoe. We've taken things as they come along, but it felt as though bad tidings came in rapid-fire mode. I felt helpless with Dad going through medical crises as though I served no important purpose. I was reminded by a good friend that the human body is dynamic and there are internal armageddons going on without anyone's knowledge. The human body, as does life, changes in an instant and we have no control over those changes. </p><p>I realized that my role has never truly changed. As his caregiver, I coordinate his appointments, check his medications, and make sure he receives regular medical attention. As his daughter, the most important task is to love him. Nestled within the medical issues is the essence of my father. When Dad returned from surgical recovery, I went to his bedside in CCU. Dad had IVs coming out of both arms, connected to monitors for his heartbeat and blood pressure, and looked tired. The first thing he asked me what how <em>I</em> was doing.</p><p>The blessings that I recognize this holiday season are numerous. I have friends and family who love and care for us. I'm fortunate to work for a company that understands what I've had to do over the past few months and work with great people who have pitched in during my absence. We've had great support from the hospital, home health, and his doctors. I don't take the basics for granted: a home, a job, a car that runs, food in the pantry, and good health. Now that's a worthwhile list! More important, Dad is on the road to recovery. We still have challenges ahead, but we'll get through them as we always have. </p><p>Dad and I were fortunate on Christmas Day -- he was discharged from the hospital. We didn't exchange presents and didn't need to. Lunch consisted of homemade biscuits with pork and beans, and dinner was a can of vegetable soup we split. We spent time together and it was time well spent.</p><p>I hope you all had as meaningful a holiday as I had.</p><br /><p>Take care and travel light</p><br /><br /><p>--Kat</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420817267327371714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrJ8TcVgkhu3QrnHdx-qRGDKkX2rq1fIVxqBXnzQ9bKx805z4R6CtHAPh9lkwo-iMecCcMNaoWpRBLG9-U9yBsrt2_tKFd6sbc05Hv3gpBPVxuXxxrHhDEqXiCfQ71PPg1PXbMugL2gSms/s320/christmas+florist.jpg" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4631757026163083781.post-25741742711714645792009-10-04T15:19:00.000-07:002009-10-04T15:54:30.795-07:00JDRF campaign 2009 - homemade prizes<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtMTm9UlDNgI2j8K8zaBDV494OfUNO_FzTvBBoJ-LDpS7_AfF5i2oY7ZWUuJr5zJA-sl3KREs2cPZSNt0gs558PX7hrj-9R8jZck3ptbyQOMQzh_-88z_bYt0TNbBXGKpWId01N2RMgJrl/s1600-h/image001"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388881953597377346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtMTm9UlDNgI2j8K8zaBDV494OfUNO_FzTvBBoJ-LDpS7_AfF5i2oY7ZWUuJr5zJA-sl3KREs2cPZSNt0gs558PX7hrj-9R8jZck3ptbyQOMQzh_-88z_bYt0TNbBXGKpWId01N2RMgJrl/s320/image001" /></a> <div><div>Funny how life imitates art...or plagiarizes it. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>When I learned that my company planned to have a corporate team at JDRF this year, I fell back on a motto I've used when coordinating the kickoff meetings: go with what works. The candy vases I made last year went over well. They were a good incentive for selling raffle tickets and they came out "cute".</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I attended the JDRF luncheon, which is the chapter's "kickoff meeting". They distribute the collection envelopes, posters, etc., for captains to use for their company or family teams. This year JDRF had a plastic tub with a removal lid with a slot for change or cash. Sort of like a shaker can. When I saw it, I thought it would make a great candy tub as a raffle prize. Only one issue: shrink-wrap requires heat and the tub doesn't like heat very much. In fact, I had to hold back or I would have created some form of modern art. Molded plastic shrink wrap encasing melted plastic and molten chocolate bars. Possible art titles: "sweets beyond reach" or "booby prize for residents of Hell". Still, the tubs fared well.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>When I decided to do the candy vases and jars this year, I went to Wal-Mart on a recon mission. I looked to see what they had as far as inexpensive candy and just to get some creative ideas in general. One of their new offerings is something called a "Halloween beaker". It's shaped like a chemistry set beaker jar: long, narrow neck and a round base with a flat bottom. There's bone-shaped hard candy (what it tastes like is unknown) and it's only filled 1/4 of the way up. The price was three bucks. I came up with the candy vase first and, in my humble opinion, blows their cheap imitation sky high. Not to mention that recycling vases is a great way to get people involved since I received all of the vases this year via donation, so no additional cost there.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Although the overall look of the vases were good last year, I wanted something better than florist foam wrapped in gift box paper as a stopper. While at Wal-Mart, I noticed in the candy aisle different baked good items for Halloween/fall. One that got my attention was a pack of cupcake paper cups with pumpkin cut-outs on toothpicks. Obviously they were meant for baking cupcakes, but I came up with the idea of covering the top of the candy vases with an inverted paper cup and use the toothpick on top as decoration. I still used the gift box paper as a stopper, but sticking the toothpick into it seemed easier than using florist foam. On some of the vases, I wrapped the paper cups with different colored ribbons, which looked great against the different colored M&Ms and Skittles. I placed all the vases in a box with a lid. I should have considered the height space because all of my little pumpkins were a little bent. They were easily straightened out, but being the perfectionist, it bugged me. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The large square jar should look familiar. It's the same one from the picture last year. It was donated to me by the person who won it as a prize last year. One of the assistants working out at a job site won it this year. We'll see if it gets recycled in 2010.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I'm unsure if I'll do this again next year. I bought gift cards as part of the office raffle offerings and they always go first before any of the candy vases. The superintendents decided to do their own raffle and managed to get four power tools donated for it. In one week, they sold over $2,000 worth of tickets. The office raffle garnished $200. Never underestimate the attractive allure of winning your very own chainsaw!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div></div>bottom drawerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16245164777839886255noreply@blogger.com