Mad Hatter's Luncheon Pictures

Christian with Saints Michael Lewis (aka Beer Man), Yvonne LeFleur, Dr. Laura Badaux, and associated luncheon ladies

Christian and I walk the plank..er..the catwalk!

Here's my shot with Christian. Geez, could the expression on my face get any worse?!

Here's an action shot

Another one of Christian and luncheon ladies

Christian with some luncheon ladies

Here's an interesting shot -- Christian and a luncheon lady

and a camera taking the same picture

Poor lighting of picture of Eric Paulsen, Christian, and Mr. Andre (Christian's Dad)

In sickness and in health

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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: get a female ob/gyn.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

"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.

"If men had to have babies," she concluded, "they'd be grown in a lab, and bought and sold on eBay!"

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.

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.

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.

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.

Travel light and take care.

Better black dress

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.

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".

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

Kim - Xuan Tailor & Alterations

853 Behrman Hwy, Gretna, LA

504/393-2841

Mon-Fri 10am - 6pm / Sat 10am - 4pm

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:

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?

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.

Christian LeBlanc's Art Show, "In the Nursery"

Christian LeBlanc’s Art Show, “In the Nursery”
Reception – Sat, March 6^th, 2010
Jean Bragg Gallery – 600 Julia Street, New Orleans, LA 70130

Art on display at gallery

“New Snow” – 1996 – Mixed media

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. Through the window a Christmas tree with decorations can be made out, along with a red candle in the window.

Instantly it reminded me of the style of Christmas card I’ve sent in the past: whimsical, peaceful, and charming.

“Late” – 1996 – Mixed media

Elderly lady warming herself by fire after coming in from snow. Cap, muffler, shoes are strewn about on the wooden floor. Two characteristics about Christian’s work: severe level of detail and an absence of color in places. There are pictures within the picture on the bookshelf and mantle that beg further study. Also, the mantle and hearth around the fireplace remain untouched with color. Multiple areas of shadow where the fire’s light bathes the furniture in the room.

Four pictures appeared at the art show commissioned by the Coconut Grove Theatre in Coconut Grove, FL commemorating the theatre’s 40^th anniversary and the premier of the play, “Ladies in Retirement”. The four pieces are entitled: “Lucy in Disguise”, “Nick Nacks”, Albert Upsets the House”, and “Nun on the Run”.

The synopsis of the art read: “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. The play starred Julie Harris, Eileen Brennan, Carol Cook, Lou Leonard, Laura Esterman, and Christian LeBlanc. Julie Harris has the fifth piece.”

“Lucy in Disguise, Ladies in Retirement” – 1995 – Mixed media

At first glance, the female mouse is wearing a red feathered boa; however, on closer inspection, it is a Rapunzel-esque type of wig. Many details to consume: 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. It reads: “Steps to trap Aunt Helen; 1) dress up Lucy, 2) dim light (a lot?)”

“Nun on the Run” – 1995 – Mixed Media

Mouse in “flying nun” habit – unsure if male or female – pulling wooden wagon with “oil” can. Sign on left states “Estuary House”. The details are in the different flowers and grasses that flank the simple dirt path with a faint blue sky in the background.

“Albert Upsets the House” -- 1995 – Mixed media

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. A newspaper is strewn, Groves --- Times, with the headline “petty cash stolen”. Mirror reflection of dancers.

“Nick Nacks” -- 1995 – Mixed media

Female mouse (Lucy?) sits at a piano with a purple cloth across the hood. 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.

“Waiting Up” – 1996 – Mixed media

Mouse in striped cap and pink pajamas holds a candle, waiting for someone to arrive during the night-time snowfall. Dwelling is a mix of tree trunk and brick/mortar. 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.

“Small Talk” – no date – Mixed media

Mouse underwater with snorkel and fin, sitting on a rock on the ocean floor in front of a very large multi-colored fish. Tiny starfish to the right and blue lines delineating water. Fish’s tail is curled around itself, almost to fit into the frame.

“What’s Gnu?” – no date – Mixed media

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.

“Watching the Day Burn Down” – no date – Mixed media

Female rabbit strolls in a garden of yellow daisies and red mushrooms with black dots. Is she in miniature or is everything around her larger than life? She pushes a doll carriage containing a doll of a rabbit and a teddy bear. The time is sunset as the sun goes down and the orange sky gives way to darker skies, stars, and a sliver of moon. 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.

Synopsis at art show: “One of a long line of early commissions for fellow teachers during Christian’s stint as a kindergarten teacher in L.A. One of the pieces (along with “Nicholas Goes Fishing” and “Stepping Out” won Best in Show at his first art exhibit at the Culver City Art Expo in CA.

“Five O’ Clock at the Nine O’ Clock cannon” – no date – Mixed media

Upon closer inspection, part of the buildings in the background have pencil marks, but no coloring. Great detail in expressions on the character’s faces, the bow and wreath on the cannon, and the nearby basket. Beautiful sunset. T-boy is gesturing to a nearby maple. 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.

Synopsis from art show: “From the children’s novel, Tales of the Louisiana Moon”. In 1721, Adrian Pauger laid out the Place d’Arms (today’s Jackson Square) in the little French town of New Orleans. For many years the square was used as a military parade ground. Maple trees were planted on either end of the grounds in 1806. In the ancient New Orleans, a cannon in the Place d’Arms was fired at 9 o’clock every evening announcing the nightly curfew. The town gates were shut tight and all the men of good will were expected to be safely in their homes. Actors: Shemar Moore (Malcolm), Tonya Lee Williams (Olivia), Sinna Goins (Callie), Camryn Grimes (Cassie), and T-Boy (mouse).

“Bon Temps” – 1996 – Pencil.

French for “Good times”. Simple sketch of an alligator carrying a fleur-de-lis embossed umbrella adorned with beads and carrying a drink in his hand. Uniquely New Orleans.

“Le Parrain” – no date – colored pencil

French meaning “sponsor”, but local Cajun refers to a parrain as a godfather. 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.

“Steppin Out” – 1996 – colored pencil

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. There is light detail on the dress, along with the different grasses and a star-studded sky. She looks worried as she steps away from a nearby carousel with a zebra in the background and the face of a hippopotamus.

“Greener Pastures” – 1996 – colored pencil

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. Different flowers and grasses surround her with a faint sketch of the carousel in the background.

“The Horrified Bridesmaid”

Mouse in a blue dress with pink ruffles underneath, full bustle, wearing a feathered hat and gloves. She is carrying the bride’s train. Her expression reveals she has inadvertently taken a peek and discovered something unexpected.

Synopsis at art show: “Title illustration from the commission commemorating the wedding of Laura Lee Bell and her then fiancé Scott Martin.”

“Nicholas Goes Fishing” – no date.

Bayou scene with marsh and cypress trees. A mouse sits on the edge of a wooden dock with a fishing pole watching the bobber (water ripples indicate a possible bite). A variety of flowers and grasses surround the wooden door in the tree. Mouse is in checkered pants, red suspenders, and a red and blue cap. Illustration is reminiscent of works by Arnold Lobel and James Rice.

“Baby and Bunny” – 1996 – Mixed media

Female rabbit tending to child who is tending to her teddy bear in the baby carriage. Under late autumn, early winter tree with brown grass and leaves around them. Careful attention is made to the rabbit’s dress and child. Colorless clouds in the background and the top of the tree shows pencil sketches of higher limbs that aren’t there. They disappear at the top of the drawing.

Christian said the art show at home caused him to feel vulnerable since he’s showing a part of himself that few seldom see. I told him he was very talented and he would be successful in anything he did. I can’t remember a more absorbing and enjoyable evening.

Worth the wait

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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 their 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Bon Appetit!

Tender and mild

I hope everyone reading this had a wonderful Christmas with friends and family. Mine was filled with blessings recognized.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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."

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.

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.

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 I was doing.

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.

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.

I hope you all had as meaningful a holiday as I had.

Take care and travel light

--Kat

JDRF campaign 2009 - homemade prizes

Funny how life imitates art...or plagiarizes it.

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".

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!