Thanks to all who submitted and have a great Easter!
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
SSA Fiddler on the Roof
The Benedictine Players of
St. Scholastica Academy
present
“Fiddler on the Roof”
Thursday, April 11,
7:30pm
Friday, April 12, 7:30
pm
Saturday, April 13,
7:30 pm
Sunday, April 14, 2:00
pm
St. Joseph’s Abbey,
Benet Hall
For Ticket
Information Contact:
985-892-2540, ext. 104
Or
esimmons@ssacad.com
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
St. Tammany Annual Eggstravaganza and Egg Hunt
John Davis Memorial Park in Lacombe is the setting for the Annual St.
Tammany Parish Eggstravaganza and Egg Hunt on Saturday, March 30, from
11 a.m. - 1:30 p.m. Missy Spinosa, from the band Witness, will provide
family-friendly entertainment including, sing-alongs, line dances and
bunny hops. As always, the Easter Bunny will be on hand to join in the
festivities and everyone is encouraged to enter the contests for Best
Bonnet and Basket. Free food (hot dogs and hamburgers), drinks,
entertainment, live bunnies, chicks, and ducks, and the unveiling of new
playground equipment will round out the day. So, don your bonnet, grab
your basket, and bring the children for a festive day of food, fun and
frolic.
Friday, March 22, 2013
EASTER PICS!
Spike is in the mix and he might win some great Loot next week. Send in your Bunny Ears pics ASAP. Find us on FB and post them there, or email to charles@lake947.com.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Aww, I'm doing it!
Greetings Charles,
Every morning my six-year old daughter, Marielle, HAS to listen to the 7:40am Lake Loot question. It is a part of our morning routine when I bring her to school. We don't call in to guess the answers because I won't use a cell phone while driving to stay safe. However, she loves to still make her own guesses and listen for the correct answers. If there is any way you could give her a little "hello" on air in the morning during your next 7:40am LL question, she would be thrilled! Thanks for a great morning show...we enjoy it!
(Just in case...her name is pronounced "Ma-Ree-L".)
Sincerely,
Leigh
Every morning my six-year old daughter, Marielle, HAS to listen to the 7:40am Lake Loot question. It is a part of our morning routine when I bring her to school. We don't call in to guess the answers because I won't use a cell phone while driving to stay safe. However, she loves to still make her own guesses and listen for the correct answers. If there is any way you could give her a little "hello" on air in the morning during your next 7:40am LL question, she would be thrilled! Thanks for a great morning show...we enjoy it!
(Just in case...her name is pronounced "Ma-Ree-L".)
Sincerely,
Leigh
Traffic on NS
US 190 FROM I-12 TO LA 22 LANE
CLOSURE
US 190 FROM I-12 TO LA 22 LANE
CLOSURE
St. Tammany Parish
There will be alternating lane closures on US 190
Eastbound for motorists headed south towards the
Causeway, from I-12 (mile point 247.41) to LA 22 (mile
point 250.36), beginning Monday, March 25, 2013 through
Thursday, March 28, 2013, from 9:00 AM until 3:00
PM. Maintenance crews will be performing roadway
repair, weather permitting.
Permit/Detour Section
One lane will remain open at all times, however,
motorists may wish to take an alternate route to avoid
traffic delays. An alternate route for Eastbound
motorists headed south towards the Causeway would be to
take I-12 Eastbound at the I-12/US 190 interchange to LA
59, take LA 59 Southbound to US 190, take US 190
Westbound to the US 190/LA 22/Causeway Blvd.
interchange.
Train of Hope
St. Tammany businesswomen recognized for Train of Hope for Sandy relief
Lt. Governor Jay Dardenne has presented two Northshore businesswomen the
Louisiana Volunteer Service Award in recognition of their efforts to provide
relief supplies to victims of Hurricane Sandy. Donna O'Daniels, President
and CEO of St. Tammany Tourist and Convention Commission, and Kim Bergeron,
former City of Slidell Director of Cultural & Public Affairs Director, were
the driving forces behind the Train of Hope for Sandy Relief, partnering
with Amtrak to deliver critical relief supplies to New York and New Jersey
following the storm.
The pair conceived of the idea shortly before midnight on November 1.
Exactly one week later, after rallying massive support through the use of
social media, O'Daniels, Bergeron and a team of volunteers were loading an
Amtrak train with over $250,000 in critical supplies. A second run with an
additional $200,000 in supplies and gifts for the children of the
storm-collected from all 50 states as a show of national support-followed
just four weeks later. O'Daniels and Bergeron accompanied both supply runs
to ensure that all donations reached pre-determined destinations where
relief was most needed.
Bunny Rabbit Ears
Here are two examples of how you can get involved with our Bunny Rabbit Ears contest and win a
Lake Loot Easter Basket.
That is the literal Bunny Rabbit pic above.
This is more of an impromptu version, but still qualifies. Get your Bunny Rabbit pics in ASAP. Email to charles@lake947.com or put it on our wall on Facebook. Winners announced next week.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Nostalgic for T-Ball
One of my little fellows pitched out a game last night... there was a slight size differential between my child and the man at the plate. (He still struck him out.) It made me think about a time when my little guys were really little...
Tee-ball
Daddy Gets Philosophical
The national anthem sounds as if it’s being played through a
garbage can. The little speakers mounted on telephone poles cackle and hiss
above us as the eyes of the entire baseball complex turn to the small US flag
above the concession booth.
On five different baseball fields players remove hats and
stand at attention with their hands on their hearts. Perhaps they do this out
of patriotism, perhaps because of the heavy stares of their parents from the
stands, imploring the children of different ages to bestow this simple honor on
their country.
No such honor is being given on our field. Our players are
throwing balls at each other, discarding parts of their uniforms and chasing
butterflies around the outfield.
The anthem ends with a less than enthusiastic “Play ball.”
So begins another “coach pitch” little league baseball game.
As I take my place among the camera-laden parents and
grandparents along the first base line, I can’t help but inspect my
counterparts for any signs of the mass hysteria that grips baseball parents
around the country. Even here, at the cradle of competitive baseball, I know
some of the normal, mild mannered citizens among us will experience some crazy
transformation and foam at the mouth at the sight of each miscalled strike or
scream for the umpire’s head at each questionable tag at second base.
Things are not quite so serious here on the tee-ball fields.
Who cares about million dollar contracts?
This is the fleeting age when a hesitant four year old can
be bribed onto the field with the promise of a free corndog at game’s end.
There are no winners or losers in these games. Everyone gets
to bat and no one strikes out, although you can see an occasional flash of
despair or embarrassment when the tee is brought out for some players, and you
know this is because someone older, a brother, a parent, has alluded that the
tee is associated with some kind of failure.
Do I see anyone among us to be concerned about? Is it easy
to see the ones who will fall prey to the intensity of competition and scream
their thoughts for all to hear? No. I see parents urging their children on. I
see mothers laughing when their children sit down at the pitcher’s mound and
start playing in the sand.
But I do have a bead on one guy. This father politely asked
the coach to pitch the ball lower to his son, then told us by way of
explanation that the coach needed to get the ball down in his son’s wheelhouse.
I don’t know if the pitch ever got down to that wheelhouse, but the kid
dribbled a ball toward first, then promptly took off running for third. As long
as the coaches cooperate we shouldn’t have trouble with that parent this
season.
Something as simple as a trip to or from the car by way of
the other bleachers is enough to remind anyone that change is only a birthday
or two away.
“Daddy, is that momma’s little boy in trouble?” my son asks
as we witness a particularly harsh exchange from a mother who did not agree
with a call. How do I explain that her anger was directed not at her son but
the person of authority on the field? How do you say that perhaps she’s only
trying to project success on her children where she herself only met failure, or
perhaps mediocrity at best?
I don’t. I can’t. And even as I have these thoughts I see
that my daughter doesn’t have her bat back far enough. And I see that my son has
his glove on the wrong hand.
I don’t say anything to them, but that doesn’t mean I don’t
want to. That doesn’t mean I don’t want them to meet a measure of success I failed
to attain. Of course I want them to be that child who could hit a ball out to
the fence or throw a strike when the game is on the line. And it doesn’t mean I
will be no less committed when I deem that someone has denied my children that
opportunity through their own incompetence or ability to see what actually
happens on the field.
Will the veins stand out on my neck as I hurl these thoughts
toward the field? Will another young child on the way to tee ball cower near
his father’s legs as they walk past me?
I don’t know. I’ve still got another year of “coach pitch”
tee ball. So until then: Batter up, our nation’s favorite passtime is waiting.
Hold on a minute, the man on deck is chasing butterflies.
Tortured Writer Street Cred
Tortured Writer Street Cred
Are you one of those
tortured writers?
I’m not, although for a
while I was tortured about not being tortured.
I’m not making light of
it. Some writers have had their lives turned upside down by events beyond their
control, and this shapes what they write and how they write it. Other writers
willingly torture themselves through a bottle or other destructive
behavior. And some writers torture others, by making them read what
they put on paper.
For the rest of us
non-tortured writers, well, we’re all pushing daisies.
It’s not like we’re dead
or anything.
What I mean is, we’re
selling daisies, and if we’re not careful, it’s painfully obvious in our
writing. Maybe our water-boarding is a bit too relaxed. Or our brothel scenes skew
a little toward the missionary side. Or perhaps our protagonist is shooting the
bad guys with a gun that is so “yesterday” among those familiar with
fashionable firearms. It happens more often than not. That’s because, for a lot
of us, the dark, scary forest of our soul is little more than a flower garden.
Hell, most of us can’t even grow roses. Daisies, that’s what we have, and
that’s what we write.
So, I’ve been aware of
my lack of tortured writer street cred and have been looking for opportunities
to add to my misery resume. Since I am and always will be a family man, I knew
the wife and kids would play a key role in this. I figured it would
happen in the form of a weeklong Disney World vacation, but about a month ago,
late one night, there was a pounding on my back door. It was the police,
yelling for me to “Open up!” Four armed men, hands hovering over their guns,
all steely faced and tough. On a Friday night in
my household, this was bizarre.
I practically threw open
the door. “What’s the problem, officers?”
One of the policemen
said, “Somebody reported that you’ve been out in the yard beating on your
wife.”
Uh-oh.
This was not what I had
in mind.
It took me a second,
then a squeaky voice told them I would never, ever, lay an angry hand on
Bethany. For some reason, the policemen did not believe me. Then, I let loose
with a verbal diarrhea of reasons they were way off the mark. We weren’t even
fighting. My wife was in her favorite pajamas. Drinking wine. On Facebook.
The police asked to
speak to her.
As my wife walked
through the kitchen I suddenly wondered if she saw me in a different light? Did
I look dangerous now? Did I look like someone who could do such a
thing? And did she happen to notice that I had wet my pants?
Bethany finally
convinced the policemen I’d never physically harmed her. The police departed
and we were left shaking behind a locked door. I didn’t know whether
to faint or throw up.
At that moment, I
decided I didn’t need a tortured past, or spooky skeletons in my personal
closet, or even a few bugs in my head in order to be a good writer. That just
wasn’t me. Sure, I’ve got a mischievous smile at times, but that’s it. I’m
simply a daisy kind of guy.
So writing a memoir was out of the question.
But what about a
mystery? After all, we had a good one. Who had called the police? How had they
ended up at my house? Would the urine stains come out of my pants? Did the
authorities believe I was innocent, or was I still a person of interest?
A few days later I
marched into the police station and requested a copy of the police
report. Then I brought together my entire household for a recreation
of the evening’s events. In addition to the suspect and the victim, we had
Wayne, our oldest son, who had just become a teenager, my daughter Beth, who
was eleven, and the nine year old twins, Jacks and Wilkins.
I read them the police
report. It was one paragraph long. It stated that the suspect, me, had
“tussled” with the victim, my wife, in the front yard, and that she had
screamed for help, after which the suspect, me, fled south on a bicycle.
The kids began to
squirm.
“Here’s what I remember
from the evening,” I began. “After a dinner party down the street, the victim
and the suspect walked hand in hand behind the four of you as you biked home.
When we reached the house, I told the four of you to bring in the empty garbage
cans from the street and I went inside to watch the game. After a few moments
inside, I realized I’d left my cell phone at the dinner party, came outside,
and took a bike to go get my---.”
“You stole my bike,”
Jacks said.
“I would never steal a
bike where my knees hit the handle bars.” I tapped an index finger on my chin,
channeling my inner Sherlock. “Maybe going back for my phone explains my
‘fleeing to the south’, although it was more like wobbling, but how did four
children retrieving the empty garbage cans result in a SWAT team at our house?”
“OK! OK! Wayne did it!”
Wilkins blurted. “They all did!”
“Did what?”
“They locked me out! In
the dark!”
“He was taking too
long,” Wayne said.
Beth started laughing.
“And he was running with the biggest garbage can ‘cause he was scared and he
kept tripping over it.”
I turned back to
Wilkins. “Let me guess. When you fell over the garbage can, you screamed like a
girl?”
“He screamed like he was
dying,” Beth said.
“It was dark out there!
And I don’t scream like no dang girl.”
“So somebody thought the
garbage can was your mother?”
I regretted the question
as soon as I asked it. No one moved. No one breathed. No one said a word.
I changed the subject,
pointing at them. “Do you realize you almost got your father arrested?”
They nodded their heads
somberly, then Jacks said, “Yeah, but if you had gotten arrested, wouldn’t that
have been cool?”
I used to think so. Not
anymore.
Longing for a tortured life
just to prop up my writing is behind me now. I don’t want to walk in my
characters’ shoes; I’ll stick with my own, thank you very much. Other people of
the pen would do well to heed my advice. For all you Reacher-wannabe writer
types, do not call it research when you take on the happy hour crowd at the
Rock Bottom Saloon; all you’re going to do is learn how to type with a broken
jaw.
My recent brush with the
law aside, I am embracing who I am: a good husband, a good father, and a writer
willing to work on his craft. I can try to create a cowardly man capable of
striking his wife. Or a woman who would rob a bank. Or a guy who would shoot a
stranger for no reason.
Of course, I would be
imagining those things from the good side of the garden. Where kids hide when
it is bath time. Where dogs steal socks. Where I try to steal two seconds alone
with my wife. Where the laundry piles up. The dishes need to get
done. And a chicken nugget is almost healthy fare.
I’m not going to
apologize for it. I’m a writer, and my life is good. I will write what I know,
and then fake it when I don’t. And the simple fact of the matter is, I hope I’m
always pushing daisies.
New Sports Guru
Proud to announce that longtime local sports guru Mike Pervel will be joining
the Lake staff effective April 1st.
We are excited to have this guy on board and you can expect great things from Mike over the summer.
Grand Opening
From left to right, Anne Cannon, owner of Mia Sorella, with her sisters Mary Day, and Vincentian Modica. during the Grand Opening of Mia Sorella boutique at 1353 Corporate Square in Slidell.
Make sure you go see them!
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Fire near NS High School
Firefighters
Respond to a Shed Fire at Northshore High School
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Block Parties
Covington kicks off 2013 Block Parties
The City of Covington will kick off its Columbia Street Block Party 2013 Season on Friday, March 22, from 6:30 – 9:30 p.m., along Columbia and Boston streets in downtown Covington. The celebration will continue every last Friday of each month through October. NOTE: The March Block Party will take place one week earlier than usual due to Good Friday.
“The City of Covington looks
forward to hosting its best Block Parties yet,
as the beautification of Boston Street and the repaving of our downtown streets
have greatly improved the backdrop for these events. There are also several new
businesses on Columbia Street for attendees to enjoy, including Winos and Tacos
and Columbia Street Rock N Blues Café, which both feature live music
regularly,” says Sarah Chambless, City of Covington Cultural Arts and Events.
The City will continue to close Boston Street between
Florida and N. New Hampshire streets in addition to the traditional six blocks
of Columbia Street. The City of Covington welcomes classic cars to line the
street for visitors to peruse and enjoy. For inquires about participating in
the monthly car shows, classic car owners can call 985-892-1873 or email schambless@covla.com.
The City of Covington would like to thank Champagne Beverage
for their generous sponsorship of this event.
For additional information, contact:Sarah Chambless
schambless@covla.com
(985) 892-1873
Cleanest City, Covington
The Covington Garden Club, in partnership with the City of
Covington and Keep Covington Beautiful, has entered Covington in the 55th
annual Louisiana Garden Club Federation’s Cleanest City Contest. The
judging of the contest will be held on Tuesday, March 26. The City requests
that business owners and residents help prepare for the contest by cleaning up
outside their properties.
Keep Covington Beautiful is requesting volunteers for a
community cleanup to be held on March 16, from 9 a.m. to 11 a.m. Participants
are asked to meet at the Covington Trailhead, 419 N. New Hampshire Street.
Gloves, grabbers and bags will be provided.
The Cleanest City Contest is specifically designed to help
cities clean up and help communities work together toward the common goal of
having their city look as clean as it possibly can. This contest is
divided into 10 categories according to population. There will be an
overall winner in each category.
For more information about the Cleanest City Contest or
the community cleanup event, contact Priscilla Floca at phfloca@bellsouth.net.
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