Shreveport Times Article on Louisiana's Status of Most Obese State

http://www.shreveporttimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2009901100313

California Dreamin'

My new friends in Merced, CA- Tabatha and Misty!
More pics down here:)



I had an absolute BLAST with the women of Merced, California at Morning Glory Gardens one day retreat! Saundra, Mary, KAthy, the dancing girls; Misty & Tabatha along with Lisa Daggs-Charette and her cutie-petutie daughter; Hannah Montana....uh, I mean Faith. Here are some high points! Enjoy!

Resolutions

Reaping the punishment of my Christmas Cookie metabolism experiment; you know the one where you see if eating 40 cookies over the course of 2 days really does make your pants any tighter, I laid to rest the pillaged Greenburg Turkey carcass in a terrier-proof zip lock bag. Christmas, indeed, was over for another year. With the calendar flip form December to January, the patina of potential covers the lens of my perception and with bolstered vision, I resolve.

Just what is so captivating about the optimistic thought of being better than we have ever been? Like the would-be aviators of old , I truly believe I am one bicycle attached to a huge set of bat wings away from victory. Perhaps it is self-delusion; like a toddler who promises wholeheartedly to never again brush the dog's teeth only to sneak off and fish the toothbrush out of the trash. Within me dwells a bifurcated nature which truly believes that I am a vehicle designed for greatness....if only I could find the keys.

Is it humanly possible to keep a New Years Resolution? The American Dietetic Association suggests that one set attainable goals which, once reached,should be celebrated. At first, your family may think it strange when you bellow out,"Can I get a whoop-whoop?" while victoriously spiking the empty banana peel into the garbage, but will appreciate this baby-step celebration when they are on the receiving end of such enthusiasm.

Another strategy to resolution success involves accountability. Audaciously tell others your plans, using pride as the fulcrum to forcibly thrust you from habitual lethargy. My favorite examples are those who utilize the Christmas letter for such bold initiatives. Lines like, "This year, we're finally going to get to that storage shed to unearth Mama's casserole dish collection," in the family manifesto are clearly a sprung sack of marbles. No turning back. No turning back.

A third route to avoiding resolution failure is to simply not make any. That's the spirit. Enough of the, "award goes tot he guy in the ring," blah, blah, blah business. No, let's hear it for the prudent fella who passed on getting into the ring because he knows he will never prevail no matter how fervently he commits. He gets to keep two level nostrils for his recompense. The mantra here; You cannot fail if you do not try.

As for me, I still believe. Hope is alive. I catch a glimpse of the woman I am in my mind's eye on my best day in my skinny jeans in a clean house, feeling fabulous. I am prayed-up, patient, witty and wise. My resolutions have all become second nature. I am content beyond compare with a healthy family and dogs who Swiffer their own fur off my stairs. And even though I know my vision will not be my 2008 reality, a girl can still spike her peel and shoot for the stars!

No Family Trip Goes Unpunished

Chimp Haven is a state-of-the-art Northern Louisisana retirement habitat for chimpanzees who have served the medical research community to improve human health. It is one of the largest groups of adult chimpanzees in the country. All of the male chimps are given vascectomies. This spring it was thrust into the national spotlight when an older female, Teresa, emerged from the woods holding a newborn; Baby Tracy.

I had to see for myself. How in a chimp retirement habitat against all "fixed,"odds, Teresa, a chimp in her 40's, emerges from the woods a mother with a precious little baby.
Father Conan was tight-lipped about his role in it all, but as we recently discovered in the case of Anna Nicole Smith, the D.N.A. don't lie. That Conan...who knew the old chimp was such a playa?
With Chimp Haven a mere 20 minutes form Shreveport, we counted down the days until the next monthly visitor day. Undaunted by cooler temps, something propelled us to take the chance to catch a glimpse at the unlikely mother and beautiful Baby Tracy. I could readily envision the memory in the making for my children... a page in the scrapbook at the very least. With the ream of banana stickers I needed to use, I anticipated a wonderful family outing...and so close to town!
With snacks secured in my toilet-seat-sized purse and John driving, I surrendered my Volvo's co-pilot position to my son, Jack. With my daughter stationed in the back, my thought was simply to divide and conquer. Despite the best laid seat arrangements, the whining began before all four seat belts clicked. Maggie Lee was struck down with car sickness as Jack begged for instructions on his Game Boy Game.
As we ventured Southward, John asked if I had picked up the directions....you now, the one he was studying as he map quested the address on the computer.
"No." In a flurry of self-wifeousness..."Didn't you have them last?"
(And we wonder why our children ever get combative with each other?)
"I know, I just wondered if you stuck them in your purse." John explained.
A.) Like there was any ROOM left after the Gatorade, Cheese-Its and bloated pretzel-puffs...and
B.) I remain married to occasionally have someone else locate point B on a map and drive me and my offspring there while I turn OFF my brain and relax.
We wandered down unmarked roads, over the river and through the woods, but no chimpanzees we saw. We were lost in Keithville. It was so bad that John asked for directions. Even the Chimp Haven taped message giving the directions on the was a good 5 minutes long. This place was hard for us to find!
If we just would've continued going past the garage sale which I imagine is a monthly event anyway for the folks on 525, we would've been golden. Maggie Lee was seeing yellow triangles at this point and Jack was pleading for home. But with John at the helm, there was no surrender in sight.
In an unprecedented husbandic maneuver, John rolled down his window at a stop sign to ask a gentleman for directions to Chimp Haven. The house behind this man had dismembered plastic rocking horses swinging from chains in the trees and various strains of yard art. Maggie Lee blurted out,"If this is Chimp Haven, it's a RIP OFF!"
The Ernest Hemingway look-alike didn't live here, he explained, but his brother did. Offering nothing but good luck, which we sorely needed, he waved us on.
Completely humbling himself, my husband pulled over at a restaurant / gas station / live crawfish outlet and approached a man for clues to our puzzle.
"O.K. "John calmly stated as he entered the car,"We go past the garage sale and take a left at the 4-way stop. That guy didn't want to give me directions. I thought he didn't speak English because he looked at me & wouldn't answer for the longest time."
"No," I assured him, "he was just taken aback by your asking."
Confident in our new-found knowledge, there was no denying us now. A few minutes later, we spotted the sign for Chimp Haven and soon were inside the outer gates.
Ever feel like Moses?
We exited the car and were cut in half by the wind. Suddenly my admonition for everyone to grab a jacket seemed insufficient; we needed parkas and mittens. For April, it was extremely cold.
Shivering, we followed the stream of visitors and were passed by a group of hay riders being shuttled to the actual park entrance which did not bode well for us. A few hundred yards later, we were there.
Good humor struck us as we strode along; it was a beautiful habitat, it would be great to see that famous chimp we've read so much about in the paper, they did have a make-shift gift shop. Perhaps this was a good idea after all?
The trees broke and before us was a beautiful little river and woods and grass and...and...now where are the chimps?
Suddenly, the "Born-Free" background music echoing in my head screeched to silence. Did these Chimpanzees not KNOW how hard it was for us to get there? All the way from Shreveport? Did they not realize that I stuffed Tums down my daughter like I was feeding quarters into the Harrah's Casino slots just to make it there? That Clyde the orangutan from,"Every Which Way But Loose," is my husband's all-time favorite actor? Apparently not.
Oh, wait, there was one Chimpanzee. All 40 of us huddled desperately around the one pair of binoculars directly in front of him, waiting for our turn to see him shove his stick down the ant mound for food.
I asked an employee if she had seen Baby Tracy. She chuckled at my naivete. "Oh, no! She took the baby inside hours ago!"
"They're clearly more evolved than we are because we still have our kids out here in the cold." John remarked.
Cold and disappointed, we turned toward the parking lot. More than likely, seeing King Kong wrestle the Loch Ness Monster in a "Don't Mess With Texas," T-Shirt wouldn't have justified that journey to my kids. We did land a spot on the hayride and even though we didn't see Teresa or Baby Tracy, The Chimp Haven Staff and Volunteers were as wonderful as they could have been. The surroundings were amazing and if it had been just a few degrees warmer or a little less windy, it truly would have been a great family adventure.
As we left, John spotted a sign. "Oh look, honey, the next visitor's day is Mother's Day!
Now that we know the way, we can just come back." Perhaps I won't spend Mother's Day that way but we definitely will return to take it all in.
And as unpredictable as life may be with its wrong turns and whipping wind, some journeys are simply better watched on the Discovery Channel.

Maggie Lee as Junie B. Jones

Maggie Lee Henson
FBC School Idol Talent Show
Thursday, April 12, 2007

I want to hear YOU tell it

Ever anxious to reclaim lost time, we moms have mastered the art of transit-cell phone usage. With headsets, speed dial and Starbucks flowing, we're ready. You see us on the road with our 2.3 kids in the back of our S.U.V.'S; each child in a different seat, plugged into video games or watching a DVD while we're on our cell.

Blessed with the God-given ability to multi task which enables us to cook dinner, email, check homework and hot glue a pant hem simultaneously...we are good. It only stands to reason, then, that we would optimize time in traffic, Target or Taco Bell taking care of the details of frenetic lives.

We have a lot to do and even more to remember. Growing up, my mom had 4 numbers in her telephone number and no zip code to remember. Work for my parents' generation had parameters and seldom encroached on my family's time. With technology has come access to our work at any moment, from any remote location. Blurred are the lines between home and work life as we are virtually always available

It seems that time has become my generations' most precious commodity as we seek to strike the balance between achievement and enjoyment. Success and savoring the moment. Freedom from work and freedom that the fruit of our labor provides.

I fear that the art of listening is going the way of the hand-written thank you on Crane's stationary. A wonderful gift to receive, yet one ever-increasingly difficult to muster the energy to give.

I remember being given that gift on a bike ride with my dad. We rode to Maplewood Square; me on my lime-green, 70's Sears bike, him on some black 10-speed with Robin Hood logo, I can see in my mind's eye. Somehow, we got on the subject of fairy tales. He mentioned the Three Little Pigs and because he was an incredible story-teller, I begged for his version once more.

"No, Jinny, this time I want to hear YOU tell it."

It was perhaps my first audience and as I glanced back at him periodically, I was amazed by the deep sense of pleasure which shone in his eyes. I probably mixed up the hay and stick pigs, skipped a vital detail or two and had the wolf going to Baskin Robbins for ice cream in-between, but I told the story and he listened, truly listened to me.

He was so amused by me, my voice. My cadence. Everything about him reflected a deep acceptance even though my steering was stilted and my blond hair a mess. I could feel his love for me in the way he listened. I remember that ride and wonder if my children will have similar stories to tell about my lavish, unscheduled attention or if the haste has robbed my children of what they need the most.

More than three decades have passed since our bike ride. Even though many years have passed, what remains is the the feeling that I have something worth saying. It certainly has not sprung up in me by accident. It grew from the seed of attention planted, nurtured and carefully tended.

Today as I consider the loss of those interested ears five years ago, I am inspired and challenged to give the gift of undivided attention to my own story-tellers. Mainly, I regret that he cannot hear the tales his love has inspired in me and ultimately in them.