Monday, December 30, 2013

Well, how do you judge?

You can't judge a book by its cover.

That is such an over-used cliche that we often miss the wisdom in it -- telling us to look deeper, give it a chance, question, explore.

Living in our high-gloss, slicked-out, stars and stripes world, we are constantly stereotyping. And probably missing the joy because we are judging by the cover.

I was tempted to do it myself when I saw this boulangerie on the pock-marked Mont Vernon Avenue in St. Martin.





That's a bakery, believe it or not.

Now I love a hole in the wall restaurant. But that establishment. It just looked a little ... well ... scary.

Here's what we found inside.




That's A croissant fresh out of the oven (nothing like the grocery store variety).  A sticky, raisin and cream-filled bun and -- my favorite -- a brioche. The lady behind the counter kept trying to educate me in the correct pronunciation. "Breee-oshe." Wiki defines brioche: a pastry of French origin whose high egg and butter content give it a rich and tender crumb.

Oh yeah. Made me forget all about the outside of the boulangerie.

My Dad once shared a lesson he learned at the old Roseberry Piano House in downtown Hattiesburg. Daddy was a young piano salesman. I bet he was slick and tie-wearing and friendly. An older fellow came in wearing overalls. He wanted a new piano for his daughter. My dad the city slicker began showing him used spinets and talking up the Roseberry "rent to own" plan.

But the sales pitch was all wrong. The customer wanted a gleaming new (and expensive) grand piano. After making his choice, Mr. Overalls reached into his bib pocket and pulled out the cash to pay in full.

Proving once again: You can't judge a customer by his overalls.

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1 Samuel 16:7  For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”











Saturday, December 28, 2013

Dashing through the sand ....

It's so sunny I can't open my eyes out here!

Such an out-of-the-body experience for the week between Christmas and the New Year. Normallly a time for unfolding all your new clothes and putting up the holiday plates and undecorating the dehydrated Christmas tree.

Instead, I am in the middle of three books, listening to the winds through the palms. And the French housekeeper slushing "suois" and "ouis" on her cellphone next door.

Yesterday we walked Friar's Beach, hiked to Happy Bay and glanced at the show -- and oh what a show -- on the nude strip (no pun intended) of Orient Bay.

Over the beach and through the waves.

It's really not better, just different.

And "different" is what I asked for, since I couldn't do "the same" in a place that wasn't yet home.

It will be home.

The Hub City. Downtown. The Oaks. Sixth Avenue and all the variety of people passing through it.  I'm sure it will be home.

As soon as I get screen doors. And a few more parties, gatherings, planning meetings, crying sessions, drop-ins and impromptu friend nights. Oh yeah. And overnight company. It needs to house a law clerk, a displaced family and at least a couple of overseas guests before it's really home. Any volunteers?

Here's to a 2013 that didn't turn out like I thought it would and a 2014 with the promise of more than I could ask or imagine.