Sunday column: What could you live without?

I guess I hated those pictures from the England trip more than I thought. I just tore up the living room and office looking for them and all I could find is this postcard of the York Minster, the big historic church in York, where Hollie went to school for a year.

I remember reading an article years ago about ways to simplify your life. The timing of it was pretty ironic, considering that the story was published during the height of our country’s spend-and-splurge mentality.
Most folks weren’t looking for ways to pare down their lives back then like we are now. Open a magazine these days and you’re guaranteed to find at least one article — if not more — on how to do more with less.
The thrust of this particular story was to re-examine the items we fill our homes with and evaluate what we can do without.
Although I didn’t save the article, I do recall two of its suggestions for things to sacrifice: A garlic press and a hair dryer.
At the moment, I own both of these items; yet, their functions in my lives couldn’t be more opposite.
Can I imagine life without a garlic press? Absolutely. In fact, I bet if you paid me $100 I couldn’t put my hands on the garlic press without tearing up every kitchen cabinet and drawer in a wild search. A garlic press just isn’t worth the trouble, especially when you can buy pre-minced garlic at the grocery store. For the $100, though, I’d find the darn thing.
On the other hand, I wouldn’t be willing to go more than a day or two without my hair dryer. It’s been a fixture in my life for as long as I can remember, and its permanent positioning on the bathroom counter attests to its importance.
The best I can figure is that the author of this particular article was a man. Because a woman, no matter how short her hair, would never dream of suggesting that the hair dryer is a luxury item.
Hair dryers and I have a long and storied history. For years as a young girl I had it easy, because Mom or Dad would dry my hair. Then came the period when I was learning to do it myself, which lead to one particularly unfortunate incident.
I was dutifully blowing away, my head flipped over to dry my hair more evenly and to make an attempt at adding volume to my baby fine hair (it never worked). All of a sudden, it felt as if my brother had grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked. Then came the distinct smell of singed hair.
The hair dryer had literally sucked my hair into its chamber. I screamed and had to be rescued by my parents and a pair of scissors.
Thankfully, the damage was virtually undetectable since it happened to the underneath of my hair. Mentally, though, I was scarred. It was back to Mom and Dad blow-drying my hair for a while — with a brand new hair dryer.
In the years since, I’ve had hair dryers cause my house to blow a fuse (that’s what happens when you run the hair dryer, the microwave and the clothes dryer all at once in an old house), send sparks flying and be temperamental about if they would actually turn on when I pressed the button. Still, I can’t imagine life without one.
I have tried, believe it or not, to go hair dryer-free. During a trip to England I discovered I didn’t have an electrical adapter for my hair dryer, and I couldn’t manage to get my hands on a British hair dryer (believe me, I tried). So I went au natural for a few days and still cringe when I see the pictures from that trip.
Yes, my vanity about my hair is not a personality trait I’m proud of. But don’t we all have little hang-ups we can’t quite get over?
Besides, I can still simplify my life and keep my hair dryer. There are plenty of other things that once were necessities that I’ve been able to eliminate from my life. We all just have to find what works for us individually.
While the author of this particular article could live without a garlic press and a hair dryer, what would he do if I suggested forfeiting his gym membership in favor of taking a jog around the neighborhood? Or breaking out the old set of rabbit ears instead of paying for cable each month?
All of us are experimenting with how far we can cut back and how we can still enjoy the simple things in life while forgoing the lavish stuff we used to spend our time and money on.
Spring cleaning is always a good time to weed out the extraneous things that crowd our countertops and closets. And while I may comb through my house with an editor’s eye, we all know there’s one thing that will keep its spot on the bathroom counter.

Sunday column: Taking back the summer

Ahhh, take me back to the days when summer meant vacation:

On the beach in Pensacola in 1991, before I was concerned about skin cancer, obviously.

1993, first family vacation to Disney World!

In the mountains of Colorado with Hollie and the Biersmiths, 1996.

Mission trip to Mexico with First Presbyterian Church, 1999

Family trip to Washington, D.C., 2002

Since I officially entered “the real world” about six years ago, the summer months have not delivered the excitement and relaxation they did during my days as a student.
Back then, summer was a seemingly endless stretch of laziness and freedom, sprinkled with a few out-of-town trips. Even once I turned 16 and started working, showing up at a part-time job in a ponytail and flip-flops wasn’t exactly hard work. The best part was I worked with my friends and had plenty of spending money to waste on things like Route 44 cherry limeades from Sonic and really bad movies at the Tinseltown in West Monroe.
I traveled to Mexico for a few mission trips, went to the mountains in Colorado (where it snowed one day in June), toured the historical landmarks in Washington, D.C., partied in New Orleans and did a lot of lying around on the beach in Florida.
Even taking classes at Louisiana Tech during the summer was a breeze because everyone was more laid back, the classes whizzed by on an accelerated schedule and I still found myself with plenty of free time to leisurely sip my Route 44 cherry limeades.
But ever since that graduation day in May 2003, when I faced the wide open future of working as a professional for the first time in my life, summer has lost much of its charm.
Those of us who aren’t fortunate enough to enjoy a school schedule that allows for a three-month break know that work is the same no matter what month the calendar is on. Sure, we all have our crazy times of the year, but we’ve still got to show up at the same time every day and perform our daily grind. If we’re lucky, we get a week or two of vacation. But, I’ve always found that it takes about half the week of vacation to actually unwind and before you know it, Monday rolls around again and you’ve got to face an overflowing e-mail inbox and countless voicemail messages back at the office. What a drag.
Despite the harsh reality of summer as a full-time worker, I’ve resolved to change my attitude this year. I will try to savor the summer, rather that write it off as a time only students and teachers can enjoy. I want to take back the summer!
Nevermind that I used my precious week of vacation back in January to recover from the holiday madness. I don’t need time off to make the summer fun; I can squeeze in fun things at night and on weekends. Here are a few ideas I came up with to help myself take advantage of the hot and humid time of year that soon will be upon us.
• Get outside more often. I hate the heat as much as the next person, but the weather isn’t so bad in the evenings once the sun starts to set. Working in an office with no windows and darting from the air-conditioned car into the air-conditioned house is standard procedure for me during the summer, but I’m feeling the need for some fresh air. When I was younger, I’d spend summer days on the softball field, at the park and in the backyard “digging a hole to China” with my brother and sisters (Dad didn’t like that little project). This year, I’m going to extend my daily walks with Casey the dog, get out to Lincoln Parish Park more often and just sit in the backyard coated in Off with a tall glass of water — or a Route 44 cherry limeade.
• Watch more bad movies. Every week when Friday rolls around, my husband takes it as his cue to start asking me to go see a movie at the theater. I don’t know how this happened, but somehow I stopped going to the movie theater except on very rare occasions. Well, not anymore. In the tradition of my teenage years of cash burning a hole in my pocket and nowhere else to go, I’m going to go see more movies this summer. And I won’t let it bother me if the movie isn’t an Academy Award winner. I’m just going to enjoy the freezing air conditioning, the overpriced concessions and a little quality time with my husband.
• Take on a couple of (doable) projects. My mom was the queen of the summertime projects back when my three siblings and I were growing up. This was probably out of sheer necessity, because how else do you keep four kids occupied for three months while school is out? She’d cook up some crafty ideas and help us put our own spin on them, and it always left us with something to hold up and feel proud of at the end of the summer. I’m not going to get too ambitious and say that I’m going to sew myself a new wardrobe over the summer, but I am going to peel myself off the couch after work and try to be a little productive.
My summer 2009 experiment could prove to be a smashing success or a disastrous disappointment. Either way, though, I’ve got to at least try. I just can’t let the students have all the fun.

Sunday column: Reality check

Lucky for us, our wedding day was a moment of bliss amid the tumultuous pre-wedding and newlywed months that surrounded it.

This column was inspired by my re-reading the brilliant book What No One Tells the Bride by Marg Stark given to my by my genius friend Jessica (thanks Red!).

My best friend is getting married in the fall, and I find myself in somewhat of a strange position.
I want to be helpful but not overwhelm her with unsolicited advice. I want to keep my mouth shut and listen to her, but there are times I can’t help but comment. I want to relate my wedding experience to her without saying “At my wedding ...” 100 times in a single conversation.
It’s a fine line, I tell you, and crossing it could sting us both a little.
There are many differences between the way she and I approached our weddings. Mine was a traditional affair with all the bells and whistles. Looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing. But, seeing her nontraditional approach has opened my eyes to the variety of ways couples can plan a wedding that is special and sacred.
But beyond the minute details such as who processes in with whom, how big the guest list should be or what type of reception menu to order, there are other — more important — aspects of being engaged, getting married and being a newlywed that I want to share with her.
For example, I want her to know that she and her new husband likely will have some vicious fights in the months following the big event, and they’re not alone. I want to tell her that she will mourn the death of her single life more than she ever dreamed she would. I want to warn her that everyone will expect her to be bubbly and happy leading up to and after the wedding, but there will be times when she probably will be flooded with the exact opposite emotions, and that’s OK.
These are the things that no one tells the bride, so when they happen, we feel like something is wrong with us, our relationship or our fiance/husband.
The truth is, though, that these and lots of other feelings are normal parts of making one of the biggest changes in your life.
Committing to sharing your life with another person until death do you part is one of the most major, if not the most major, decision that most of us make in our lives. It should be considered natural that a mixed bag of emotions — not just complete joy — will come along with it. The problem is that the wedding magazines don’t write about that. The Web sites gloss right over it in favor of “50 tips on how to create the perfect bouquet.”
That bouquet will be dead in a day; your marriage, however, should be more long-lasting.
My husband and I are still considered newlyweds by most people, but in the short amount of time we’ve been married we’ve already been through some ups and downs.
I’ll admit that it took me a while to figure out a balance in our relationship after being single for many years. I still haven’t completely adopted the “we” and “our” language, and maybe I never will. Thankfully, my husband is good-natured about it, even when I refer to “my” bank account instead of “our” bank account.
Every couple needs to just give themselves time to adjust and realize that nothing is perfect and no one is perfect. The marriages you’ve witnessed so far in your life do not necessarily set an example for what your marriage will be like.
Growing up, I always saw my parents, who have been married more than 30 years, go to bed at the same time. Thus, when I got married I expected that Nick and I would do the same. It was actually hard for me to accept the fact that he is rarely ready to go to bed at the same time as me. After trying to force the issue for a while and feeling like a complete failure, I finally just accepted the fact that he was a night owl. Know what happened? Now, on the rare occasions when we do go to bed at the same time, I find myself tossing and turning for longer than normal because I’m used to having the whole bed to myself and him crawling in later.
It may seem insignificant, but these are the types of things that can really weigh on the mind of a newlywed. We want things to be “perfect,” like they show in the magazines. But, it’s time we all take a reality check and understand that each unique couple will develop the type of marriage that’s right for them, no matter what Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa or any other couple has done in the past.
After nearly two years of marriage, I’m just starting to realize this. I only hope my best friend gets it faster than I did. It will save her some heartache, that’s for sure.

Sunday column: Family (again)

The state of the economy has forced people here and across the country to do many things they otherwise never would have dreamed of.
Thought you’d never buy furniture at a thrift store or forgo one season without adding a few new wardrobe items? How about this one — moving back in with Mom and Dad? How many of us loaded up our college-bound cars years ago with every intention to never look back?
The global economic meltdown is forcing many of us to consider some possibilities and make decisions we never thought we’d have to. Returning to Mom and Dad’s house may be one of them. But, I wonder, is it really that bad?
Especially for families with children, sharing a home with your parents, or your spouse’s parents, could have a couple of perks. I know for most people it is not an ideal scenario, but these days we’re all having to “turn lemons into lemonade,” as the cliché goes.
I was fortunate enough to have a close relationship with my grandparents while they were living. Although we didn’t live in the same city, much less the same house, I still treasure the time spent with them and the memories we made.
When I met my husband, I remember feeling more than a twinge of jealousy when he told me that three of his four grandparents are still living. Mine have been gone for years, and I miss them.
After all, my mom never kept several flavors of ice cream in the freezer year-round, or let me eat blue Jell-O with my fingers out of a big bowl on the living room floor, or play endless games of Monopoly and Scrabble with me. Those are the kinds of things only grandparents would do.
I grew up with two cousins close to my age, and our tradition every summer was to spend a week together at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. They lived in a tiny town with just a Wal-Mart and a Piggly Wiggly, so we three girls were creative in the ways we entertained ourselves through the years. But, we were certainly never bored.
Grandma, a retired nurse, and Grandpa, an artist and carpenter, tolerated our antics (such as half-hour giggling fits, half-finished craft projects and many unsuccessful attempts at press-on nails) with saintly patience and humor. Would Mom and Dad have been so agreeable? No way. That’s what’s special about grandparents.
I’m sure they were exhausted and relieved every year when our parents rolled into the driveway to pick us up, but that never stopped them from hosting us again the next summer.
I can only imagine how many more fond memories I would have if we’d all lived in the same city. Yet, I’m grateful for the closeness we did have, especially once I realized that not everyone’s extended family lives within driving distance.
So, maybe the kids are a little more spoiled when Grandma and Grandpa are around, but it usually doesn’t cause much harm. The closeness of family is a gift not everyone is fortunate enough to enjoy, so those of us who have it should appreciate it. Even if we unexpectedly find ourselves in close quarters.
I’ll be the first to admit that family relationships are challenging, and that’s putting it mildly. Sometimes we wonder how we’re even related to those people. But when it comes down to it, the lucky ones can always rely on family, despite our differences.
In recent months we’ve all seen how unstable things can really be. We question the reliability of our jobs, our finances and even our government. Those of us with families we can count on must truly realize how fortunate we are.
We may grow out of the phase where a little blue Jell-O and some press-on nails are all it takes to make our day. But, when the people who wanted to see us smile back then are still there for us now, that’s something to truly be happy about.

Sunday column: Safety first

When it comes to safety, let’s just say that my husband takes it very seriously.
Don’t get me wrong — I’m not complaining; being safe is important. And, it does mean a lot to me that he cares enough about me to always want to make sure I’m safe.
But, he can get carried away.
For as long as I’ve known him, Nick has had a nightly routine of making certain “checks” before he goes to bed. This consists of things like checking that the knob, deadbolt and chain are locked securely on both the front and back doors, checking that the oven and all burners on the stove are off, checking to ensure windows are closed and locked, that kind of thing.
These are all important safety measures no matter where you live or how many valuables your home contains.
And now, in light of the several tragic house fires that recently have happened in our area, Nick has added another check to his nightly routine.
Every night, and it’s usually pretty late because he is a night owl, my husband feels compelled to push the “test” button on our smoke detector. He wants to make sure it still works, he says. I was OK with this the first time, since we hadn’t checked the functionality of our smoke detector. It was a logical thing to do.
But, to check it every night? I don’t find that quite as logical. That sucker is loud, and it can be heard from outside the house. And no matter how much I beg, Nick refuses to not check it. It’s become a compulsion for him.
I can only imagine what our neighbors must think. Please accept this as an apology for my husband, who suffers from a slight case of safety OCD.
I wouldn’t be surprised if his next course of action is to draw out a fire evacuation plan for the two of us. While these are important and necessary for families, when there are two adults living in a small house, evacuation pretty much boils down to “Get out however you can.”
On the road, Nick’s safety mechanisms are just as active. He never, ever speeds and always volunteers to be the designated driver.
Anytime I go somewhere without him, he checks to make sure my cell phone is fully charged and accessible in case I need to call him. And before I walk out the door, it’s always, “I love you. Be safe.”
As amusing as it sometimes is, though, I find Nick’s overactive safety awareness reassuring. Maybe it’s because as a child, I had my own fears of what could happen once the sun went down.
For whatever reason, I went through a period during my childhood in which I was terrified to go to bed at night. I’d lie awake in my bed with my overactive imagination running wild about all the things that could happen during the night. I had one particular fear that the bathroom faucets would be left running all night and the upstairs of our house — where my bedroom was — would flood. Rational? Of course not. But it was a very real fear to me at that time. It was so real that I’d get up periodically to make sure the faucets were tightly turned off.
I’m the one who forced my family to have fire drills and develop a fire evacuation plan. I even begged my parents for a little rope ladder to put in my upstairs room so I could climb out in case of emergency.
Eventually, I suppose I outgrew my irrational nighttime fears. Or at least, I learned to suppress them to the point that I could sleep at night. Living alone for many years, a few times in big cities, really tested my ability to keep my imagination in check. Because, if you let yourself, you can dream up all kinds of scary things that can happen while you’re alone at night. Especially if you’re a young single girl working the night shift at a newspaper.
So maybe it was kismet that I would fall in love with and marry a man with an eye for safety. At least if I know he’s worrying about all those scary things, then I can put my mind at ease.

Special holiday column: Christmas music

Christmas music seems to be a love-hate kind of a thing. People either love it or hate it, and there doesn't seem to be any in-between.
I'm one of the love-it types. Once Dec. 1 rolls around each year, I'm scrambling for my favorite Christmas music CDs, much to the irritation of my husband. My top three Christmas CDs? Harry Connick Jr., Diana Krall and Aaron Neville. All of these stick with the traditional arrangements of the holiday classics but still manage to give them a special touch. It makes for delightful Christmas listening.
I think my love of Christmas music stems from my junior high choir experience. I was one of the fortunate ones deemed good enough at auditions to be chosen for the choir (although the standards couldn't have been terribly high, because now that I'm an adult, I realize I was no Charlotte Church).
The best thing about junior high choir was the two major productions each year — the Christmas concert and the spring musical. Ms. Couvillion, the choir director, was a fantastic and encouraging teacher who we all admired. When she found out I was taking piano lessons, she bestowed the ultimate responsibility on me by asking me to play the piano accompaniment to one of the songs in the Christmas concert.
I was thrilled — and terrified. I immediately went home and practiced "The First Noel" until my fingers cramped. It was an easy song to play, but I wanted to make sure I didn't screw up on the big day.
When that day arrived, my mind raced with the lyrics to the carols on our program, the advice Ms. Couvillion had given us about not locking our knees on stage and, of course, the timing of my piano debut.
When the moment arrived for "The First Noel," all my practice paid off. Yes, I may have rushed through the song just a little (in my hurry to get that terrifying two minutes behind me), but all in all, it was a success.
To this day, "The First Noel" is always on my top three list of all-time favorite Christmas carols. It's followed closely by "Christmas Time is Here" (from A Charlie Brown Christmas) and "O Holy Night."
The hands-down best version of "O Holy Night," my mom would be quick to point out, is by Aaron Neville. Walk into my parents house at any time during the weeks leading up to Christmas and there's a 99.9 percent chance Mom will have this song, cranked loud enough to be heard throughout the house, on repeat.
One year, Mom's Aaron Neville Christmas CD got "lost" (well, she couldn't find it, but I don't know if it was technically lost. It likely was hijacked by one of my siblings and stashed in a super-secret location, never to be found again).
Could we have Christmas without Aaron's soulful rendition of "O Holy Night" being played around the clock? Not prepared to risk it, good old Dad promptly went out and bought Mom a replacement CD. Whew, crisis avoided.
Despite the slight overkill through the years, Aaron is still one of my standby favorites.

Sunday column: TV-free living

Someone once described television as "the menace that everyone loves to hate but can't seem to live without."
For the past year, though, I've done the seemingly impossible — I've lived without TV.
Why would a person do such a thing, you may ask? The answer is simple: To save money.
Now, I realize that the $30 or $40 or $50 a month savings may not seem significant enough to sacrifice cable TV, but I beg to differ. When your financial situation is as tenuous as ours is (thanks to my husband being a full-time student and my choosing an industry not known for its millionaires), every little bit counts.
Forgoing cable TV is not a big deal in larger markets where you can still pick up a few local channels with the trusty rabbit ears. Believe me, I've gotten my money's worth from the pair I purchased years ago.
Here, though, we're too far away from any of the regional channels' satellites to reliably catch the major networks on any kind of consistent basis.
Believe me, I've tried.
Even with the help of a "signal booster" compliments of my dad, our TV channel reception has been spotty at best.
Believe it or not, this is not the first time I've lived life without television. When I was in high school, I did it for more than a year. My friends all thought I was crazy. After all, by not watching TV how could I keep up with the latest music videos on MTV (back when MTV still showed music videos … occasionally) or the newest twist on My So-Called Life, Dawson's Creek, Party of Five and any number of other high school nighttime soap operas?
Somehow, I managed. In fact, my no-TV project of the '90s started out as only a two-month undertaking, and I voluntarily extended it. Why? Because I was using all that time I otherwise would have spent in front of the TV in a much more productive way.
And that's the same thing that's happening now. Instead of watching back-to-back episodes of Law and Order — which I would if I could — I've come up with lots of other ways to fill my time.
I take Casey the dog on long walks, I cook, I read, I even do a little cleaning. Thanks to this no-TV lifestyle, I've already got Christmas gifts for all my friends and family. And, I didn't go out to the store and buy them. Nope, I made them all by hand. The lack of TV availability forced me to finally clear off a spot for my sewing machine and viola! Christmas gifts. Not only are they handmade with love, making them gave me a rewarding feeling that you just don't get when you buy a gift, no matter how perfect it is.
The homemade Christmas gifts also have contributed to my efforts to save money, because I spent the same amount on supplies to make a bundle of gifts that I otherwise would have spent on one gift for one person. Now I'm no math genius (clearly, I'm a writer), but even I know that adds up to some savings.
Before I get too carried away, though, I must admit that this no-TV picture isn't 100 percent rosy. Take my disgruntled husband, for example. Without his minimum daily allowance of sports, COPS and the occasional SpongeBob SquarePants episode, he's understandably grouchy. But even he has flexed a little to accommodate TV-free life. Early on, he discovered 97.7 FM ESPN sports radio, and he hasn't looked back since. He's also visited the public library more times in the past year than he probably did in the first 20 years of his life. While he does grab a book now and then, his primary motivation is the library's collection of movies and TV shows on DVD. So although he hasn't completely surrendered his TV-watching, the frequency has diminished significantly.
I've written before about his total inability to eat a meal without watching something on TV. Thanks to DVDs, I'm happy to report he has not gone hungry yet.
I'm sure the TV-free days at my house won't last forever. It did bug me that during the presidential campaign and on Election Day I had to resort to radio and the Internet for up-to-the minute voting reports. But even that wasn't too bad.
On that glorious day when cable TV turns on at my house once again, the key will be to remember all the things I've been filling my time with. Although it will take some willpower not to succumb to marathons of Project Runway and Grey's Anatomy, I think I can stay strong. At least until it's time for Law and Order to come on.

Sunday column: Family

Disclaimer: I feel fairly confident that my family members mentioned in the column that follows have a thick enough skin to appreciate the humor I was attempting. If not, however, read at your own risk. And grow a thicker skin!

“When our relatives are at home, we have to think of all their good points or it would be impossible to endure them.”
— George Bernard Shaw

Family is a wonderful thing, especially around the holidays, right?
True, but let’s be honest — everyone’s family has its own set of idiosyncrasies and challenges. These are the things that are glossed over in the holiday made-for-TV movies and Christmas carols. They are what makes us wonder why we willingly drove two hours or more to spend time with these people who know how to push all of our buttons and inevitably do so, year after year.
So in the spirit of the holidays, I’d like to present a more realistic family portrait of my own. As the oldest of four children, it has been my pleasure and my curse to watch the three people I claim as siblings develop into functioning adults. Well, at least we’re functioning most of the time. The beauty of this exercise is I get to leave myself out of the picture because not only am I the oldest and the bossiest, I’m the writer. They won’t get their say until well after this is printed and sitting in driveways.

No. 2 of 4: The brother
As one of only two men trying to hold their own in a household of women, I have to give my brother credit for being the underdog. As my sisters and I agonized over hair styles, boyfriends and clothes, he understandably holed himself up in his room with only his friends and his electronics to console him.
Phillip, a Louisiana Tech alumnus, has been the only one of us four to choose a major that could actually guarantee a healthy bank account. And believe me, he’s worked that angle for all it’s worth. Although he will go to his grave denying it, Phillip is a true yuppie at heart, evidenced by his downtown apartment furnished with Pottery Barn and Ikea designs, his souped-up black BMW and the fact that he will drink only gourmet coffee, freshly ground and French pressed.
But despite all of that, he’s actually a nice guy. He’s helped me move countless times (although he probably has kept count and will hold it against me to the end), and he was even a Boy Scout. This is probably why, to this day, I have a soft spot for Boy Scouts.
In a one-on-one situation, Phillip is easy-going and fun to be around. But bring the whole family into the mix and there will be trouble. Especially when No. 3 of 4 is around. The tension, and the sarcasm, get thick.

No. 3 of 4: The middle sister
When I refer to her as the Black Sheep of the Family, don’t think I’m hurling a stinging insult her way. Carolyn embraced this title years ago and certainly has lived up to it. A painter, a raw-foodist and lover of all music that would make most normal people run screaming, she is truly unique. But in addition to all that, Carolyn is a hard worker and, when the mood strikes, can make the people around her feel happy and alive. When the mood doesn’t strike, though, she can make your blood boil in 10 seconds or less.
Middle-child syndrome was rough on her, and her episodes of acting out probably permanently made my parents dread answering the phone.
It seems South Louisiana suits her best, since that’s where she’s stayed the longest. And in just a few weeks, she’ll graduate from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette with a degree in painting (see, I was right about Phillip — engineers can pay the bills. Painters and writers, not so much).

No. 4 of 4: The baby sister
Is it wrong that sometimes I still think of her as a kindergartner? It’s strange that I do, especially when I’m helping her edit a 300-level English paper she’s written for one of the many advanced courses she’s taking at the University of Louisiana at Monroe. I guess at any age, the youngest sibling is always considered “the baby.” And in our family, Julie is usually the peacemaker, too. She’s as flexible and easy-going as they come — probably out of sheer necessity. Growing up with three older siblings like us, she had to be laid back simply to survive.
Don’t let her low profile fool you, though, because her tongue can cut deeply if you touch a nerve. This is probably another survival mechanism developed from years of watching the three older ones go at it.
Julie and I have a lot in common, which makes being her big sister even more fun. I’ve dragged her around as my sidekick for years, and I hope she knows I plan to continue doing so for many more to come.

This may be the first holiday in years that the four of us won’t all be together under one roof, which I admit feels strange. However, experiences in the recent past make me think that it may not be the worst thing in the world. Now that we’ve all got unlimited text messaging, we can pick and choose what we say to whom and when. If we all text carefully, then this may prove to be the best holiday yet.

For Your Marriage

Click right here and you'll see a column I wrote featured front and center on the Web site. How exciting! I originally wrote the column for the paper, then on a whim e-mailed the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops to tell them that their campaign made me stop and think. I included the column in the e-mail and offered it to them if they had any use for it. Looks like they did! It think this is a wonderful message the Catholic Church is trying to spread, and I'm excited to be a small little part of it.

Sunday column: Casey and me

I'm not ashamed to admit that I love a good routine.
Chalk it up to the unpredictable nature of my profession or my desire to establish some sort of order in the chaos that is life, but I'm usually happiest when I can count on some sort of routine.
I'm proud to say that I've recently established a new daily pattern that has had unexpected positive side effects.
About three months ago, I started taking Casey the dog on a walk every day after work. I realize this may not sound like anything worth mentioning, much less dedicating precious newspaper ink to, but I assure you it is.
Let's just say Casey is not a lap dog. She's 35 pounds of wiggling, tail-wagging, so-happy-to-see-you energy. And because she's confined to a relatively small house during the day, she has more than a little pent-up energy. Prior to the establishment of my new routine, when her walks were more sporadic, Casey had to come up with, shall we say, creative ways to release her doggie energy. Usually, this was in the form of methodically chewing her way through an entire drawer full of my husband's socks — which honestly was starting to get expensive, although not without being slightly amusing.
So I took pity on poor Casey and resolved to walk her every day.
It didn't take long for her to catch on to our new routine.
Now, when I arrive home from work in the evening, she greets me with a wagging tail and an expectant look. She follows me from room to room until she sees me pick up the leash, at which point she positions herself at the front door, muscles coiled to bolt out.
I hook her up to the leash and we're off, usually around the neighborhood, but sometimes at one of the city parks.
Although the effect of the daily walks on Casey was immediately noticeable, it took me a few weeks to realize the impact they were having on me.
As Casey sniffs her way through the neighborhood and arrives back at home tired but happy, I began to notice I'd walk through the door with a clearer head and higher spirits.
Taking a 30-minute walk after a long and usually stressful day at the office does more for my mood than I could have imagined.
Now, I've read all the national studies and reports that testify to the psychological as well as physical benefits of exercise, even something as simple as walking.
There have been times in my life when I hit the gym regularly, taking aerobics classes, spinning classes, lifting weights, etc. But never did that exercise impact me the way my dog-walking has.
It's got to have something to do with being outside.
You see, I spend most of my days under fluorescent lights in an office with no windows, staring at a computer screen. When I step outside for lunch, I'm usually temporarily blinded by the sunlight, even on a cloudy day.
Breathing fresh air, using my muscles and soaking in some natural light can work wonders, I've discovered.
Not to mention, seeing Casey revel in her daily walks is highly entertaining and satisfying.
She's clearly on a mission during our walks. She's got to sniff every tree and stare down every cat, squirrel or other creature smaller than herself, all the while trotting several strides ahead of me.
Casey's even acquired some neighborhood admirers thanks to our walks, with one pleasant gentleman even complimenting her on her goatee.
To other dog owners out there, even those with lap dogs, who may walk their furry friends every once in a while like I used to, why not try a new routine? Even if you don't have a dog, there's nothing stopping you from taking a walk.
There's no question our lives are becoming increasingly sedentary. After spending four years walking from class to class across Louisiana Tech's campus, then starting a "real" job after graduation where I spent nine hours a day at a desk in front of a computer screen, I remember the distinct feeling that my body was, how shall I put it … softening.
The key is to find the right type and schedule for exercise that suits you. It may take some trial and error. Heck, I'm paying for a gym membership every month that I'm not using. But that's OK, because now I've discovered that walking is what's right for me at this time.
Even better than the obvious and well-documented health benefits, it's the psychological benefits that have kept me committed to my walking routine. If all it takes to feel refreshed and centered is a little time walking outside, I'd be crazy not to.
Plus, Casey might revert to her old sock-eating antics and, after we recently invested in re-stocking the sock drawer, that just wouldn't be rational.

Sunday column: Opposites attract

To tell you the truth, I never really believed the whole "opposites attract" cliché until it happened to me.
After all, how could two people at opposite ends of the spectrum truly get along, much less fall in love? It's simply not logical, which makes it hard for me, with my Type A tendencies, to accept.
Yet here I am, married to a man who by all accounts is my opposite. A few examples should prove my point.

Messy vs. neat: The never-ending battle
I wouldn't go so far as to describe myself as a "neat freak," but I do tend to prefer that the areas where I spend time — my house, my cubicle at work — are at least picked up. Husband Nick, on the other hand, doesn't mind a bit if every visible surface is piled high with an impressive layer of clean and dirty clothes, papers, magazines, dog toys, food wrappers, etc.
I've even tested his limits of messiness: I'll restrain myself for days, without telling him what I'm doing, and refuse to pick up anything as the piles grow, waiting to see how long it takes before Nick makes even the slightest move to rearrange something. But no — he always outlasts me.

Type A vs. Type B: The personality clash
As a person who has been called an overachiever for years, you can understand how it may be difficult for me to witness my husband's lackadaisical approach toward life. While I'm "on" from the moment I wake up until the minute my head hits the pillow at night, he just glides through his day with nary a moment of visible stress. During times of anxiety, my reaction is to do something — anything — to try to make the situation better. His solution is to simply wait for it to go away or for someone else (read: me) to fix it. I plan out my days and make a list for just about everything; he can't be bothered with schedules. This arrangement causes me to stress out on his behalf, which probably isn't good for my blood pressure. Somehow, though, he usually manages to take care of his business.

Dogs vs. cats: The fur flies
Although I admit I've been on the path to conversion for the past year or so, I've always been a cat person. Nick, of course, is a dog person. So when he had the bright idea to get a dog last year, I begrudgingly agreed. But, I was completely unprepared for how that addition to our little family would affect my life. Don't get me wrong — I like Casey the dog, but boy is she high-maintenance. There's the feeding and the walking and constantly taking her outside. With cats, just dump some food in the bowl and change the litter once a week. Going out of town for the weekend? No problem, just double the food and the litter allowances and have a great trip. With dogs, things aren't nearly as simple.

Quiet vs. loud: The definition of "yelling"
I've written before about being a naturally loud person. It's something I can't help — I come from a big, Italian family. Most of the time, I don't even realize when I'm being loud or "yelling." To Nick, "yelling" is anything above that "inside voice" teachers used to force us to use back in first grade (I probably don't have to say that I was no good at that). No matter how many times I try to explain that just because I raise my voice, I'm not angry, Nick still hears it that way. Meanwhile, he's a naturally shy, quiet person who doesn't yell when he gets angry. Instead, he goes silent. To me, that's much worse than being yelled at. If he'd just shout at me, I'd know how to handle that.

Surprises vs. no surprises: The Christmas challenge
It may be juvenile, but I love surprises. Ever since I was young I'd hold out for my birthday and not open a single gift early — even if Mom said I could. Despite my preference for planning, happy surprises bring me great joy. Nick, however, hates surprises, no matter how good they are. He simply cannot wait until Christmas Day to open Christmas presents. Last year, he even ruined my surprise. The day he bought my Christmas gift (about a week before the big day) he called me and blabbed what he just got me before I could stop him. He can't seem to help himself, so I've taken to hiding his gifts until the day he's technically supposed to open them. That way, I can still manage to truly surprise him.

Chocolate vs. vanilla: The dessert compromise
Oh, and there's one more thing. I like chocolate ice cream; he likes vanilla. Our solution: Neapolitan, the best of both.

Well, look what happened

It seems as though the people at foryourmarriage.org (i.e., the U.S. Catholic Bishops' Conference) liked what I had to say here.
Want proof? Here's part of an e-mail they sent me (from the Secretariat of Laity, Marriage, Family Life and Youth):

We here at the Bishops' Conference were touched by your column on "What have you done for your marriage today?" Thanks so much for sharing it with us. Of course, this is exactly how we hope the billboards and TV and radio spots will work--that they'll get people to think about the question and maybe prod them to take a little action. I loved your practical examples and
your reflections on the advice you received.
We're re-doing the homepage of our website, and we'd like to feature your column for a few weeks. We'll put the first few lines on the homepage, then invite people to "Read
more."

Woohoo! And, they're even going to run a picture of handsome Nicholas and me. I'll be sure to post a link when it's online at their site.

Sunday column: Classified love

I think my love of classified ads was born in the Laundromat.
During the many, many years in the not-so-distant past when I did not have a washer and dryer of my own, a trip to the Laundromat was part of my weekly routine.
As a Louisiana Tech student, I spent many hours and even more quarters at Skip Russell's washateria on Homer Street. Even today when I pass by and see those washers chugging and dryers tumbling around the clock, I have to smile as I remember lugging my bookbag and my laundry basket in there to settle in for an hour or two.
My post-college years also saw me toting laundry in and out of various Laundromats. Big, small, safe, scary — you name it and I probably washed my clothes there. That's when I discovered the classified ads. Once I was finished with college and had no more studying to do, I was at a loss for Laundromat reading material. I tried bringing along a novel to read, but that didn't always work due to all of the various laundry-related distractions that abound in washaterias.
So, what with me being a newspaperwoman and all, I read the paper — cover to cover — as I waited for the washing machine to finish cycling and the dryer to stop spinning. Never before had I realized the information and sheer entertainment value of reading the classifieds, but now it's something I try not to miss.
When I moved to a city big enough to have an entire publication of nothing but classified ads, I was in heaven. And best of all, it was free.
The Quik Quarter provided hours of classified ad reading and ran the gamut from pets for sale to job want ads and personals. It's where I found the listing for the part-time job at the grocery store where I met my husband.
I also spotted the ad for the car I would eventually buy in the QQ, along with several different apartments I inhabited through the years (none of which had washer/dryer connections).
You can discover all kinds of interesting things in the classified section. For example, right here in Ruston not too long ago, someone had an ad for spider monkeys for sale.
See what you're missing by neglecting the classifieds?
I know I'm not the only devoted classified ad reader. Whether you're in it for the garage sale listings or the legal notices, reading them usually pays off — if you're patient.
I read the classifieds faithfully every day for months before finding the just-right house when I first moved back to Ruston. The wait was worth it.
Some of the most entertaining classified ads I've ever seen are the ones labeled "Missed Connection." These are usually in larger market papers and grouped with the personal ads, and they can be a hoot.
These ads go a little something like this: "Me: Blue scarf. You: Black cap. You opened the door for me at McDonalds on Arizona Avenue. Our eyes met and you smiled. Call 555-1234."
But of course, that's a very bland, basic example. Just imagine all the possibilities of two souls hungry to find that "missed connection." Who knows? Maybe some couples have a really cute story because of an ad like that. At least, I hope someone out there does.
Even though I recently (finally) got my very own washer and dryer and a house where I can hook them up, I'm still a classified ad junkie. But, I'll admit, I do get a little nostalgic from time to time when I pass by a Laundromat and catch a whiff of that distinctive smell — laundry detergent mixed with a slightly singed odor produced by those heavy duty dryers.
The time in my life when I'd spend a Saturday afternoon combing through the classifieds as I counted out quarters and waited for machines to shutter off is over. At the time, I never dreamed I'd look back on it with fond memories.
It does make me appreciate the convenience of being able to throw a load of laundry in the washer anytime I want, regardless of how many quarters I can scrounge up.
And while the circumstances may be different, reading the classifieds is still something I look forward to, because you just never know what you'll find in there.

Sunday column: Gumbo and Ninja Turtles

Here's Nick in 2006 at my house in downtown Lafayette (corner of Lamar and Jefferson streets) chopping sausage for gumbo. That was back before we were married and he was trying to impress me with his culinary skills. It worked.

Now here's some hardcore Ninja Turtles fans (at MGM Studios in 1993). I couldn't find a picture of the Halloween costumes, but you get the idea.

We got our first sample of gumbo weather this week.
Didn’t you notice the high was below 80 for one or two days? That’s gumbo weather, all right.
The best part about those precious few days late in the week wasn’t even the “low” temperatures; it was the low humidity. I stepped outside on Wednesday and Thursday and could take a full, deep breath of fresh air without that sticky, humid aftertaste.
Ah, fall in Louisiana.
While other states are drinking in the beauty of fall colors and running TV commercials about their foliage tours, we here in Louisiana are relishing a few mild days.
At least we have gumbo.
Now, there are some hardcore gumbo fans who will cook and eat that delectable stew year-round, not matter how hot it is outside. But most of us enjoy a steaming bowl of gumbo when that summer heat begins to give way to fall’s ever-so-slight chill.
The first day of fall, by the way, was two weeks ago. Don’t feel bad if you didn’t notice. The high that day (Sept. 22) was 88. Not quite jacket weather.
Every year, I have to remind myself that it stays hot at least until Halloween. I start getting all excited once the calendar turns to October and the stores start setting up their Christmas displays. Then as the hot days continue, I begin to lose hope of fall’s cool, sweet relief.
I just try to remember we have to get through Halloween, and then it will be consistently cooler. So, moms and dads, please don’t torture your children by getting them all dolled up in those oh-so-adorable yet suffocatingly hot fleece costumes intended for trick-or-treaters in Canada or some other northern locale.
I can attest to how quickly a bad costume can spoil a Halloween, no matter how good the haul at the end of the night. The year my brother and sisters and I dressed up as Ninja Turtles in felt costumes handmade and stuffed with Polyfil by my mom comes to mind. And this was in south Louisiana, too, which is always a little warmer and more humid.
But, we did make a great-looking group, despite the beads of sweat trickling down our faces. Good work, Mom.
Once the weather crosses that threshold and those first leaves begin to turn, my gumbo
craving sets in.
There are as many ways to make gumbo as there are cooks in Louisiana, and we all have our particular gumbo-eating habits.
For example, I have to eat my gumbo with a gumbo spoon (known to some people as a soup spoon). No teaspoon or even tablespoon is up for the job when I sit down to dig into a hot bowl of gumbo.
My husband, and many other south Louisiana natives, can’t eat gumbo without a side of potato salad — mustard potato salad, served up cold and plopped directly into the bowl of gumbo.
Don’t ask me the origin of this particular method. I don’t understand it; it’s just something I have to accept.
Then there’s the issue of the roux. I’m no roux snob, but there are those who are. Growing up, Mom always used prepared roux for her gumbo and I liked it just fine. Others, however, insist upon making the roux from scratch, which I also like just fine. My only complaint about homemade roux is its distinctive odor that inevitably lingers in the house for days after the gumbo is made.
Okra, or no okra? And if you go with okra, when to add it? The trick is to mix it in late enough so it doesn’t become slimy when it’s time to eat.
The age-old gumbo quandary is chicken and sausage vs. seafood. I’ll take a bowl of each, please. Both types of savory stews satisfy my hunger for something warm and filling.
There is an endless variety of gumbo accoutrements, the most popular of which include file seasoning, French bread, the aforementioned potato salad and, of course, the rice.
Gumbo is the rare time when I indulge in white rice. In my constant attempt to be healthy and eat right, I made the switch to brown rice years ago. But, it just doesn’t taste right with gumbo. As with most delicious food, if it tastes good it probably isn’t terribly good for you.
I guess it’s a good thing, then, that gumbo weather doesn’t last long in Louisiana. But when it’s here, I plan to savor every last one of those chilly days and warm bites of gumbo.

Sunday column: Marriage

What have you done for your marriage today?
I saw this question on a billboard the other day as I was driving down the road, and it got me thinking.
I've been married all of 14 months, so a lot about it is still new and exciting to me. For example, I still catch myself smiling when I refer to "my husband." And my new last name doesn't sound quite right yet, but those things are just a matter of time.
I've been fortunate in my life to have a model of commitment in my parents' marriage. Logging more than 30 years as a married couple, they've stuck together though thick and thin and always provided our family with stability.
But, let's get back to that question: What have I done for my marriage today?
Well, I set a couple of alarm clocks this morning so my husband would wake up in time for his morning class. I bought his favorite snacks when I went grocery shopping. I apologized when I bit his head off because I was cranky, not because he'd done anything wrong.
Those sound like little things, but I think the point is that we married people need to constantly remember that our marriages need caring and attention every day, no matter how small the gesture.
In only 14 months of marriage, I've seen how easy it is to let the stress of everyday life consume all of our energy and time, leaving little left to offer the one you love. This can happen in all kinds of relationships, but it's marriage where it matters the most.
We all know the disheartening statistic that half of marriages in the United States end in divorce. If we want to change that and bring back the commitment, honesty and loyalty that the institution of marriage used to stand for, then we've got to start investing some time and energy in our relationships.
It's really a simple thing, like giving your husband a big hug or pushing his buttons a little less often, but it takes thoughtfulness.
Before I got married, I loved asking married people for their advice about marriage. I collected a few gems that I try to remember now that I've joined their ranks.
There was the old standby, "Never go to bed angry," which I admit we've broken several times. I don't know if I necessarily agree with it, since sometimes when you go to bed angry, you wake up with a fresh perspective and have forgotten what point of the fight was to begin with. At least, I do.
"Nothing that happens at the office is more important that your marriage." Coming from a veteran news reporter and editor, I knew this one carried a lot of meaning and experience. And it doesn't just apply to journalists. We would all benefit from gaining some perspective sometimes and remembering what's really important in life.
"You have to forgive and forget. If there's something you can't forget, you put it in your heart and keep it there." This advice was given to me by a woman who'd been married to the same man for more than 56 years. It doesn't sound like an easy thing to do, but the advice is full of wisdom and truth. I imagine you learn a lot about your spouse and about yourself after 56 years of marriage. This woman and her husband understand what true commitment is all about, and I take her words of wisdom to heart.
Even this week I encountered some marriage advice that rang true: "Every day, try to be the best wife (or husband) that you can be." That doesn't mean gifting my husband with a plasma TV (although if I did that, I'm sure he wouldn't hesitate to bestow the Best Wife Ever title upon me). No, it just means remembering how much I love him and showing him how important he is to me every single day.
Now that I've got a little more than a year of marriage under my belt, maybe I can dole out some advice of my own. What I would say is to remember the little things, and value them. It's the simple traditions that will mean a lot no matter where you are or what your situation is.
So what did you do for your marriage today? If you cared for the baby while your spouse slept, cleaned up the kitchen, let your husband listen to his favorite music in the car or made your wife dinner, give yourself a pat on the back.
Then, let's all try to do it again tomorrow.

The "For Your Marriage" campaign, which also features some cute TV commercials, is actually a project of the Catholic church, which I think is awesome! Check it out right here.

Sunday column: Crazy pets

The first step is admitting that you have a problem, right?
I'm proud to say that I accomplished that first step this week, but it was on behalf of the two furry members of my family. I, like all of you I'm sure, have no problems of my own that I need to admit to, of course. Which is why I've taken it upon myself to speak up for Casey the dog and Caddy the cat.
These two are riddled with problems, and their problems always seem to become my problems before long.
The odd thing is, both the cat and the dog seem to have a similar problem, yet each expresses it in her own unique way.
I believe my pets have a touch of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Now let me stop here and be completely clear about something: I realize OCD is a serious and very real mental illness. In no way am I poking fun at those who suffer from it; I have simply made some observations over the past year or so that lead me to believe there very well may be OCD tendencies that exist in certain domesticated animals. Namely, my domesticated animals.
Let's start with Caddy. I found her at a cat shelter in 2003 and she's been with me ever since. We've made many, many moves and been through a lot together. She was even gracious enough to allow my husband into the fold once he entered the picture. If you've ever had a cat, then you know how significant that is. Not to say she doesn't turn on him from time to time … but, she does the best she can.
Caddy is a ray of sunshine in my life in every way except one. Her feline OCD seems to flare up at the most inopportune times — i.e., in the middle of the night.
She always curls up nicely with me when I go to bed, where I suppose she's just biding her time before she strikes. Her target: my glasses. At night, I take off my glasses and put them on the bedside table. Inevitably, before the night is over, Caddy has snuck over to the table and attacked them. Her favorite thing is to knock them somewhere in the room that's hard to get to, especially in my condition — bleary-eyed from sleep and practically blind without any contacts or glasses.
Why does Caddy insist upon battering my glasses night after night? Why, no matter where I put them — make that, hide them — is she able to locate my glasses and pounce? Why does she leave my husband's glasses untouched night after night?
These are the mysteries that, as a pet owner, it is my burden to endure.
At least Casey's OCD rears its ugly head in the light of day. She's a Border Collie mix that Nick and I adopted about a year ago whose facial expressions and unfailingly happy personality keep us highly entertained. A few months ago, we noticed that she seemed to always run a particular route around our house. She'll dash from the front door to the back door, then over to the corner by the entertainment center and back again. She runs full steam ahead to each checkpoint, gives it a sniff or two, then scrambles on to the next one.
If she were running this triangular route on anything but our vinyl floor, there would be a clear path worn from door to door to corner.
She does this over and over again, no matter how many toys we give her or how much we walk her. I don't believe it's a matter of her burning up unspent energy or being bored. I believe she has a compulsion to repeatedly check these areas of our house.
It's a fairly harmless thing, nothing like Caddy's destructive late-night behavior. The only annoyance or danger comes if you happen to cross her path at the wrong moment, which will result in both Casey and you skidding across the floor.
But she'll just bounce right back up and resume her checks.
Caddy and Casey, in spite of their various "quirks," help keep our household busy and amusing.
Casey is constantly trying to sneak some of Caddy's food, and Caddy has recently decided that she will drink only from Casey's water bowl.
Then there's the constant symphony of growling, hissing, barking and meowing that reverberates through the house when they get on each other's nerves.
Of course, we wouldn't have it any other way.
Plus, I finally found a way to recover my glasses a little quicker after Caddy's finished with them at night — I wake up my husband and make him find them.

Sunday column: Reading and re-reading

Being called a "bookworm" was never an insult to me.
As far back as I can remember, I've loved reading. This also explains my love of libraries. No matter where I am, when I walk into a library I feel at home.
My mom has always encouraged my love of books; in fact, I probably have her to thank for it. When my brother and sisters and I were growing up, Mom always read to us. Part of our nightly routine was for us to all pile on the couch — two kids on each side of Mom — and listen as she read to us. When we were really young, she'd read us short picture books. As we grew up, she moved on to young adult novels. The hands-down family favorite was Where the Red Fern Grows, by Wilson Rawls, but E.B. White's Charlotte's Web comes in at a close second.
As an elementary school girl, my prized possession was my boxed set of Little House on the Prairie books. I also had a deep affection for the Anne of Green Gables series. Mom still has that set of Little House books, which I fully intend to bestow upon a lucky reader of my family's next generation.
As much as Mom and I have in common when it comes to reading, though, there are points about which we disagree.
For example, Charles Frazier's Cold Mountain is on Mom's Top 10 Favorite Books list. I, on the other hand, made two separate attempts at reading that book and just couldn't get into it.
The other major difference between Mom and me is the practice of re-reading a book. I am a fan of the re-read; Mom is not. The only time you'll catch Mom re-reading a book is if she's completely forgotten what it was about.
I like to re-read books that I enjoyed the first time around. It is comforting to me to go back to those old stand-bys that I know will be a guaranteed good read. While Mom tends to think this is a waste of time, I always enjoy the second or third read as much, if not more than, the first one.
Here are a few books that have made their way onto my nightstand more than once or twice:

The Cider House Rules by John Irving
I was in high school when one of my friends and co-workers (we both worked part-time at the Ouachita Parish Public Library) turned me on to John Irving. His favorite was The World According to Garp, which I also like. But, The Cider House Rules is my No. 1 favorite Irving book. I just love Homer Wells, the main character. I refused to see the movie version of the book not only because I knew there was no way the movie could compare to the book, but also because I couldn't stand to see actor Tobey Maguire portray my hero Homer Wells — he just didn't match the Homer I'd created in my mind.

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
Back when I was deep in the throes of "adolescent angst" (Mom's term for those horrible years between ages 15 and 18), J.D. Salinger was my only consolation. I started with The Catcher in the Rye and voraciously devoured all of his other books. As time went on and I continued to re-read Salinger, I kept discovering more and more in his writing that I enjoyed and could relate to. His book Franny and Zooey was the topic of several papers I wrote for a senior-level English class at Louisiana Tech, as well.
Salinger's capture of the tumultuous existence of being a teenager is timeless enough to continue to be relevant even today.

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole
A friend from college gave me a copy of A Confederacy of Dunces with a glowing recommendation. Although I'd never heard of the book before, as soon as I started reading I couldn't put it down. I love the humor, the quirkiness and the Louisiana setting of John Kennedy Toole's first and only novel, which earned him a posthumous Pulitzer Prize. This is another point on which Mom and I disagree — she just doesn't get what's so brilliant about this book. Kind of the way I feel about Cold Mountain (I did love the movie, though).
As a side note: This is the only book I've ever seen my brother, the electrical engineer, read from cover to cover since probably junior high. That alone illustrates the power of this book.

What makes my job worth it

Sometimes the readers actually get what I'm trying to say, and it is by far the sweetest reward for the thankless daily grind all journalists endure:

Here's the gem from a reader that was waiting in my inbox today:
Your article on "Why I hated Friday nights" was priceless. I am a retired teacher and high school principal. I have seen this scenario play out over and over through the years. It is a hurtful experience and so little that you can do to help the person involved. Someone very close to me suffered through this experience, and the entire family suffered. I hope every teenager in this area, especially girls, read this article. This is the first time I have ever seen this type of information in print, but you certainly told the story in such a dignified manner and with heartfelt emotion and understanding. We often say,"This will pass and there is something better ahead for you." Unfortunately, teenagers don't see that at the time they are hurt and frustrated. I have been thrilled through the years to see young people who had some major disappointments move on even under trying circumstances. When they arrive at college and have new circumstances, new friends, and new challenges, they become like a rose that blooms to its fullest. Under new surroundings and circumstances, these same students on their own merits are recognized for their abilities and talents which are often overlooked in high school.

Thanks for addressing this situation and for the wonderful advice you gave teenagers.

Sunday column: Why I hated Friday nights

Here I am as a freshman (1996!), wearing my "Into the Woods" shirt with pride. There's Hollie next to me, checking lyrics to the song I was (evidently) singing along to. I believe we were at Marie's or Darleen's house. This was the brief pre-angst time of my high school experience.

Let's be honest — the culture of high school football isn't always what movies make it out to be.

As those Friday night lights flicker on at stadiums across America, it's only fair to acknowledge that not every high schooler will be on the field, cheering on the sidelines or even parked in the bleachers. And, it isn't always by choice, if you know what I mean.

I started out my high school experience with the naïve, fresh-faced optimism that defined my pre-high school years. Little did I know at that time how quickly I'd descend into "adolescent angst," as my mom so accurately described it.

As a freshman, I was anxious to join the Pep Squad. In order to try out for "real" spirit teams like the cheerleading squad or the dance line, all freshmen had to pay their dues on the Pep Squad for one year. We were a huge group of wanna-be cheerleaders and dancers who would faithfully don our polo shirts and blue shorts every Friday night and take our place in the stands to cheer on the team.

I stuck it out on the Pep Squad with my eyes on the prize of becoming a ShowStopper my sophomore year. The ShowStoppers were the dance line that dazzled spectators of all ages with their high kicks and coordinated switch leaps. Along with many of my friends, I was dying to be one.

Try-outs were held at the end of my freshman year. It was an intense week of practices spent learning the try-out dance capped by the final audition. It just so happened that the try-outs coincided with afternoon play practices I was committed to because of my role in the spring musical (it was a very small role, and my first and only stage debut).

The drama teacher was serious about this production, and she threatened to kick out of the cast anyone who missed even one practice. I tried explaining my situation to her – the conflict between the ShowStoppers try-out practices and play rehearsal – but she didn't budge.

"Emily, you're smart. You'll do fine," she assured me.

So as my friends practiced the try-out dance for hours after the organized practices, I was doing my thing on stage.

On ShowStoppers audition day, I was a ball of nerves. I pulled on my black leotard and stockings and wrapped the prescribed white ribbon around my waist in the girls locker room.

When it came time for my group to perform in front of the judges, I marched out with butterflies in my stomach and uneasy self-confidence. My drama teachers' reassurance ran through my mind on a loop, and I started to dance.

It was a disaster. Although I'd squeezed in as much dance practice as I could manage and worked on my splits every night, I choked at the try-out. I was mortified, but I convinced myself that I still had a shot at making the team.

Once all the groups had danced, we gathered on the gym bleachers to wait for the new ShowStoppers' names to be called.

The coach ran down the list, which included every single one of my friends who had tried out, without calling my name.

I was hit with a feeling I'd never experienced before – thrilled for my friends but desperately disappointed for myself. I cursed my drama teacher for making me miss ShowStoppers try-out practice. How could she do this to me?

I did my best to be happy for my friends, the new ShowStoppers. I even went to their first Friday night performance. I was doing just fine during the first half of the game, watching them running through their routine on the sidelines. But when halftime came and they strode out to the field, I simply couldn't watch. They probably still don't know that I closed my eyes through their entire dance because it was too painful. As they ran back to their spot on the bleachers, buzzing with excitement about their accomplishment, I stuck a smile on my face and congratulated them.

That happy-and-sad feeling stayed with me for a long time. Even once I got over the initial misery, I always felt a twinge of "I should be up there" when I saw the ShowStoppers perform.

Now, more than 10 years after my botched audition, I attend high school football games knowing there's much more happening in that stadium than just a football game. I can sense the heightened emotions, and I can sympathize.

I just want to tell those teenagers not to worry, that life goes on no matter what their role is on Friday night.

Sunday column: College memories

Hard at work in my office in the spring of 2002, when I was editor of The Tech Talk. That office is much nicer than my current cubicle. Now that I'm a professional journalist, I don't even have an office — go figure.

Caddy "helped" me with my research paper during my senior year in 2003. She's a very helpful pet. Remember this post?

Louisiana Tech's campus awoke from its summer slumber this week as faculty, staff and students returned for another fall quarter.
I admit to being a bit envious of the students who are getting back into the swing of classes. As a self-professed school nerd, I've always loved everything about going to school, starting with kindergarten and lasting all the way through college. From the school supplies to the syllabi, I was into every second of it.
This week, I quizzed the Tech student I know best (my husband) all about the new school year. What was campus like? How busy was the bookstore? What are your professors like? Where did you sit in the classroom? You get the idea. Not being a school nerd himself, he was bewildered by my intense need to know what his first days back were like.
"It was fine," was the only answer he could manage, with a shrug.
Frustrated by the complete lack of detail I was able to coax out of him, I applied myself to getting our home office ready for a new year. Desks had piled up with random junk, our "priority stacking" system had toppled and dust had gathered on every visible surface.
I started doing what I do best: organizing. It felt great. Although I know I'm not the one who will enjoy the fruits of my labor, I was inspired by that back-to-school spirit. By the time I was finished, school supplies were neatly arranged, desk surfaces were cleared and study-friendly and the dust was gone.
Even my husband was impressed with the end result. Mission accomplished.
As I try to relive my days on campus vicariously through current students, there are certain memories that stand out in my mind. Here's a top five list, in no particular order, of some of my favorite things about Tech.

1. The Quad at night
By day, the hub of campus is alive with people crossing back and forth, whizzing by on bikes and hollering at each other from opposite sides. It's a gold mine for people-watchers and procrastinators. But at night, it's a different scene entirely. The lights flicker on, and the splashing of the Lady of the Mist finally can be distinguished. It's as if the Quad breathes a sigh of relief as the traffic slows and the sun goes down.

2. The Bookstore
The hustle and bustle of the Bookstore during the first weeks of class can be overwhelming, I know. It can also be painful for students as they watch their bank account balances sucked away by the cost of textbooks and other necessities. But there's still something about discovering the texts for an upcoming class and scoping out the supplies. I imagine this fall's Bookstore offerings must be even more exciting thanks to all the new gear available with Tech's brand new logos. I need to get myself down there so I can pick out something new. I'd hate to be caught wearing an "outdated" Tech T-shirt.

3. The professors
I was lucky enough to make it through four years of college with only a handful of not-so-great professors. The vast majority of the professors I had at Tech were inspiring, smart and challenging. Their personalities were as diverse as the subjects they taught, and I'll even admit to one or two "crushes" on professors during my college career. But, I'll never tell who.

4. Prescott Memorial Library
Like many liberal arts students, I spent a lot of time at the library — the third floor, to be specific. I remember devoting entire Saturdays to researching sources for English papers in the periodicals archives. I developed a fondness for the microfilm machine, where I'd zip through past editions of newspapers and magazines scanning for something — anything — related to whatever topic I'd devoted myself to that quarter. Writing a good research paper is an art I was determined to conquer by the time I graduated. I'm proud to say I think I got pretty close.

5. Tech Talk Thursdays
For myself and my fellow student journalists, there was nothing sweeter than walking into a classroom and seeing rows of students sitting in desks reading The Tech Talk. The newspaper was a labor of love for us each week, and just that sight was enough to make it all worth it. I hope today's journalism students still see it when they show up for class on Thursdays.