I spent a year in that town, one Sunday. ~George Burns~

I got a phone call yesterday from Leslee. She asked,"Are you okay? I haven't heard from you and I was wondering if everything is all right."
Bless her heart. I am so fortunate to have a friend such as her. Last week school began. I am teaching three classes instead of one, as I had thought. There is much busy-ness associated with teaching. If you teach three hours, then multiply that by at least two and those are the hours you'll spend with that.
As you've been reading, I'm beginning a cottage industry which is taking a good bit of time to get it right. In fact, I will be taking a class at the junior college here next Wednesday evening on how to start a small business. There I will be assigned a counselor to guide me through the process. I'm not sure of the debut date of Lisa Loo's--I'll let you know. My family has been placing orders (EXCITED!!!!)so I'm filling and delivering those. My poor cousin is waiting in Houston for some product but, I'm waiting on a supplier to finish her order.
We are buying property and are getting close to closing. I have been busy with that.
My skin is getting itchy. Note to Leslee: I'm taking oregano oil--1 am and pm. It helps with itching. Is that okay?

For sure last week = 1 year.

Love to all........

My 2nd great-grandfather

If you have men that only know if there is a good road, I don't want them. I want men who will come if there is no good road at all.
David Livingstone

Pierre Constant Mathey was born March 4, 1819 at 4:oo p.m. to Jean Baptiste Mathey and his wife Marie Magdeleine Quenet. Jean Baptiste was a Swiss border guard in the town of Dampierre, France along the Doubs River. This was only about twenty years after the French Revolution and only four year after the final exile of Napolean. France was still in recovery of the previous turmoil. I have a certified copy of Pierre's birth certificate, dated October 10, 1824.

I also have an original certificate dated March 18, 1846. At this time, he lived in Paris. All men were required to serve in the army. However, in lieu of service, he could participate in a lottery. If chosen, he would be allowed to emigrate to the United States. Pierre had a lottery number ninety-eight, which permitted him to depart.

According to his original passport, dated March 20, 1946, he was about five feet, five inches tall with dark brown hair and blue-grey eyes. He had a high forhead and an ordinary nose, round chin with and oval face and he was olive-complected. He was bound for New Orleans.

From the time of his arrival in New Orleans until his arrival in Abbeville, Louisiana, nothing is known. I do have questions, though. Did he have siblings? If so, how many and did they stay in France or did they come to America? If so, where did they go? The only information available to me are the land grants that he purchased, of which I am in possession.

One of the land grants, signed by James Buchannan, originally granted to Alexander Hollinger, as payment for his military service in the War of 1812. Circumstances for acquisition of this property on the Vermilion River in Abbeville are unknown. It is here that the property was cleared, his home was built and the land was farmed. I am in possession of this document as well.

So, the word of the day "rusticate" (to go into or to reside in the country) was the impetus for this journal entry.

1 year ago today....

I can't wait to see you, Daddy. We'll be together forevermore.
Me

Today, my aunt sent this poem to me. Long ago, I adopted this attitude about life and I pray to never forget it.

THE RACE

"QUIT! GIVE UP! YOU'RE BEATEN!" They shout out and plead,

There's just too much against you now, this time you can't succeed

And as I start to hang my head in front of failure's face.

My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.

And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene.

For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.

A children's race, young boys, young men; now I remember well.

Excitement, sure, but also fear; it wasn't hard to tell.

They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win that race

Or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.

And fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son.

And each boy hoped to show his dad that he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they went, young hearts and hopes of fire.

To win, to be the hero there, was each young boy's desire.

And one boy in particular, his dad was in the crowd,

Was running near the lead and thought, "My Dad will be so proud."

But as he speeded down the field across a shallow dip,

The little boy who thought to win, lost his step and slipped.

Trying hard to catch himself, his hands flew out to brace.

And mid the laughter of the crowd, he fell flat on his face.

So down he fell and with him hope. He couldn't win it now.

Embarrassed, sad he only wished to disappear somehow.

But as he fell, his dad stood up and showed his anxious face.

Which to the boy so clearly said, "Get up and win that race!"

He quickly rose, no damage done - behind a bit, that's all,

And ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.

So anxious to restore himself to catch up and to win,

His mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.

He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace.

I'm hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn't try to race.

But, in a laughing crowd he searched and found his father's face

That steady look that said again, "Get up and win the race."

So, he jumped up to try again. Ten yards behind the last.

If I'm to gain those yards, he thought, I've got to run real fast.

Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight or ten,

But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.

Defeat! He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye.

There's no sense running anymore - three strikes I'm out - why try?

The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away.

So far behind, so error prone, closer all the way.

I've lost, so what's the use, he thought, I'll live with my disgrace.

But then he thought about his dad, who soon he'd have to face.

"Get up," an echo sounded low. "Get up and take your place.

You were not meant for failure here, get up and win the race."

With borrowed will, "Get up," it said, "Your haven't lost at all

For winning is not more than this: to rise each time you fall."

So up he rose to win once more. And with a new commit,

He resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn't quit.

So far behind the others now, the most he'd ever been.

Still he gave it all he had and ran as though to win.

Three times he'd fallen stumbling, three times he'd rose again.

Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.

They cheered the winning runner as he crossed first place.

Head high and proud and happy; no falling, no disgrace.

But when the fallen youngster crossed the line, last place,

The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race.

And even though he came in last, with head bowed low, unproud;

You would have thought he won the race, to listen to the crowd.

And to his Dad he sadly said, "I didn't do so well."

"To me you won," his father said, "You rose each time you fell."

And when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face,

The memory of that little boy - helps me in my race.

For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all,

And all you have to do to win - is rise each time you fall.

"QUITE! GIVE UP! YOU'RE BEATEN!" they still shout in my face

But another voice within me says, "GET UP AND WIN THE RACE!"

The only relief from the heat is rain....

I looked up my family tree and found out I was the sap.
Rodney Dangerfield
I got an updated program of Family Tree Maker. Recently, I found all of the research I had done many years ago at the library (without computers). I started entering the information into the program. I'm having such a good time. My daddy's mother was always interested in geneology. She was handed the bible that her grandfather brought over from Ireland in the great diaspora that was the Irish potato famine. She was the most wonderful woman. I loved her with all my heart. I have such fond memories of her and, I think that she is the person who is responsible for all that is good in me. After 38 years, I still miss her. We had such fun together. She was the most literate person I know and, she was smart as a whip. She is the only person in the world that I know that could finish the Sunday crossword puzzle. She loved her family and was immensely curious. She did have a temper but only when provoked. She was decended from the Irish (Ire-angry, land) hmmmm. The land of the angry. Just thought of that..maybee that's why it is said that people from there have Irish tempers...
Gotta go, running late........

My previous waning inspiration...

I want to be the kind of woman that when my feet hit the floor, the Devil says, "Oh, crap!"
Anonymus

Well, I've been busy with my husband and his pressing post surgical needs. Don't get me wrong; I feel that it is a blessing to take care of him because, he has brought immeasurable joy into my life throughout the years. Yes, there have been curses, but they tend to make the blessings that much sweeter.

The work, recently, has been cursed with this weather that reminds me of Hades. It is so blasted hot, well, it just makes me mad. When I read the above quote I thought, "Yeah, that's how I feel!" So much so, that the words began to spring forth with such a force it's hard to figure out what to write about first.

My husband is in physical theray for his shoulder so, I thought that I would join the adjacent health center, because I have to bring him--he is not yet ready to drive. I could stand being a little more healthy. Right now I am using the recumbent cross trainer for twenty minutes a day. Tomorrow, I will have a fitness evaluation and will be assigned a trainer to give me more strength and hopefully more stamina. Also I was informed that I could work on any areas of my body about which I have concerns., (i.e., the ever increasing length of my "wings", my sagging abdomen, those muscles between my thighs that hum a tune when I walk, etc.) I really am excited about the anticipated benefits of my physical condition. Excersize is so adventageous for us on so many levels, not only does it increase physical strength and endurance but, in boosts our immune system, strengthens our bones, and gives us a general increased sense of well-being...

Unexpected company...later...

We're havin' a heat wave...

If you saw a heat wave, would you wave back?
Steven Wright

It's hot; I mean really hot. We are breaking records here. For while it was really cool, for longer than usual. Well, I think the weather is making up for lost time. The forecast for tomorrow is 102. The air conditioning went on about 10:00 a.m. and didn't turn off 'til 9:30 p.m. I know it's hard to believe but, we go to the gym to cool off.

Tomorrow, hunny is getting his staples removed from his surgery 3 weeks ago. It will surely be a help because he will now be able to shower. He is doing better but, for him, not fast enough.

I can't think any more--I'm too hot.

Convalescence....

Marriage has no guarantees. If that's what you're looking for, go live with a car battery.
Erma Bombeck

He is recovering much better than I had ever expected. He does his physical therapy religiously, he is taking nothing for pain (unbelieveable). The fact of the matter is that he WANTS to get better ASAP. I do find that he is a little too glib in his actions becuse, if he is a little too careless he could do irreparable damage to his shouder. There is a delicate balance that must be achieved to create the optium results. I must realize that my control is extremely limited and that I am only a loving caretaker.

It's HOT outside. The A/C in the hurricane hut is not functioning so Mandy and sweetie-pie are shopping for a new one. Predictions for storms in the Gulf say that there will be few storms (let's hope). When I was younger, I liked storms because we got out of school (youth is self-centred). As I get older, storms make me more aware of how little control we actually have. The only thing that makes us feel better is to prepare. I've been called an alarmist before but, I think under dire conditions, those very people will be knocking on our door.