Columns

Fifteen years ago my boys and I were standing in a terminal at Dallas Fort Worth Airport waiting on an airplane. The passengers were strangers to us, but they were also heroes. We made the trek to the airport to participate in the program Welcome Home A Hero. For those who don’t recognize this program, it allows people to stand in a row at a commercial airport as military personnel exit from their flight. If I asked my boys what they remember from that trip to the airport, they would probably shake their heads. But that day is a memory I have revisited more times than I can possibly count. But let’s start at the beginning.

The boys dressed in their Cub Scout uniforms and dutifully carried their poster boards to the car and we headed to the airport. None of us were certain what to expect but I described the sacrifice these heroes had made to be away from their families and serve our country. I am sure the boys at 8 and 5 could not imagine leaving their family.

I visited my new doctor in Shreveport and made an interesting discovery: not only does he do Family Practice but he also is a Geriatric Specialist. So I was the youngest person in the waiting room, which certainly made me happy.

I love senior citizens! They have so many interesting stories and can really put things into perspective. That day I met a wonderful couple: Henry and Jeanette. Jeanette informed me upon introduction that the doctor says she no longer has to give the receptionist the year she was born as part of her birthdate when she checks in. I find that a definite plus to growing old.

Jeanette entered the doctor’s area for her appointment-she had gone into great detail as to why she was there, but frankly I just don’t remember any of it. I do remember it was for the results of a lab test, but beyond that I couldn’t recall.

“Would you be interested in signing up for this committee?”

“There’s a get-together at so-and-so’s house tonight. Want to come?”

These are scenarios that make me want to bolt for the hills.

“Oh Allison,” people have said to me, “I’ve heard you talk in front of groups and you seem so comfortable around people! Surely you’re not an introvert.”

“Well,” I explain, “I can do extroverted things for a short time, but it’s really draining.”

In fact, according to a personality test that my son gave me, I’m an “INFJ-A.”

“What in the world is that?” I asked him, “Sounds like a serious diagnosis!”

Well, apparently, INFJ-A stands for “Introversion-Intuition-Feeling-Judgment-Advocate” and is the rarest of 16 official personality types. Only 1 to 3 percent of the U.S. population has it.

Caddo has always cast an integral influence on DeSoto Parish from 1843 starting when the northern half of DeSoto was taken from Caddo. Many important families of DeSoto have migrated and become important citizens of Shreveport. But nothing is more important to the economy than the movement of oil drilling southward after the first oil and gas wells were drilled in 1870 on Cross Bayou intended to be a water well for an ice factory. The first oil well known to have been drilled was by Edwin Drake in 1859 near Titusville, Pennsylvania.

Murmurations

In this month’s National Geographic there is a good article by Diana Marques on the defensive flight formations that Blackbirds and Starlings make when a predator attacks. These are called “Murmurations” for the murmuring sound that their thousands of wings make as the flock changes directions. I’ve witnessed this same phenomenon when I lived over on Louisiana St. several years ago. Next door was a huge old Pin Oak Tree and across the street was a big patch of cane at the Calhoun Center. Every year in early Spring a huge flock of Blackbirds would migrate through DeSoto Parish and gather in that tree before roosting in the canes each night for about a week. It was highly entertaining because it took them about an hour or two to settle down before crashing for the night. One evening I saw the culprit causing all the unrest – a Cooper’s Hawk cruising around the neighborhood!

We had spent two nights and one day in our new home and I must say I was enjoying being in the country. Kind of like a vacation (except for the ridiculous amount of boxes still to be unpacked.) But I’m not too cool with the skunk I saw in the backyard. And the coyotes howling at sunset seemed charming on the surface, but it all reminded me of those Grade B scary movies from my childhood.

The family moves to the country to recapture whatever it is they think they’ve lost-their time, their togetherness, and their sanity. Then little things start happening that makes them question what they’ve done. Like going to the grocery store and not finding any Kool Aid. Being able to buy hominy but not couscous. Meeting people that think it’s perfectly natural to drive twenty miles to see a movie in a theatre.

As far as I’m concerned, the only dog breed is the miniature schnauzer.

My husband says our two schnauzers — a boy, Kaiser, and a girl, Bailey — are “needy” for me.

I tell him, “They’re not needy! They’re just … loving.”

My husband Marshall tells me that when I go into a room and close the door, Kaiser and Bailey stand as still as a statue with their noses against the door until I return.

Marshall will send me pictures on my phone with the caption: “Needy.”

When I sit down on the couch with my cup of coffee early in the mornings, Kaiser and Bailey sit as close to me as white on rice.

If I get up to go into the kitchen for more coffee, they follow.

Marshall tells me that when I leave the house, Kaiser paces the floor. He finally gets tired and retires to his perch on the back of the couch, but every little noise causes him to stare at the door.

EDITOR’S NOTE: We welcome our new columnist, Jann Franklin, who moved to the Grand Cane area with her husband about two years ago. Join me in getting to know our new DeSoto Parish residents, Jann and John, in her upbeat weekly column. Enjoy her perspective from living in the bright lights of the city to making friends with the lightning bugs of the country.

Two years as a Louisianan and I feel extremely blessed to be living in this wonderful community. We have fantastic friends and neighbors and feel right at home. I have to admit though that when we made the decision to move, I wasn’t very excited at all.

Everybody has a Passion

My “Passions”, … or more correctly, hobbies, are collecting old coins and building scale models. I particularly love the coins of the early Twenties like the Buffalo Nickels and Liberty Standing Quarters. They were so intricate and lovely that you can hardly find any without some type of wear on the higher surfaces. The Buffalo’s horn or Ms. Liberty’s shield are two good examples of the top surfaces of each design that wear quickly. And my modeling hobby that I’ve been doing for sixty-plus years now gives me lots of satisfaction in detailing and completing the intricate builds. I’m currently working on Ford Motor’s GT2000 LeMans racer in 1/16 scale. It’s incredibly detailed but large enough for my 71 year-old fingers and sight to handle.

Luke Siegel was nine years old when he was seriously injured in a golf cart accident in his hometown of Lubbock, Texas.

It was July 2015, just twenty days after his dad, former Texas Tech men’s tennis coach Tim Siegel, resigned to spend more time with his wife and four children.

Luke suffered from an anoxic brain injury. And despite the doctors’ grim prognosis for Luke’s future, he did show some slow improvement. His fight inspired many people all over the country, even Drew Brees. This was incredibly special to Tim because of his and Luke’s love for the New Orleans Saints.