LES CHERAMIE

LES CHERAMIE

----- Yes, I am the now owner of the two rockers in the picture Lilly blogged. They have been repaired and redone many times but both still are in pretty good shape for their age. I don’t find much comfort as far as sitting in them but I really like them because I just like things that are old and antique. Cheryl loves them very much also. We have them both on our back porch we built together. I think this is a good time to talk about our loving Cheramie Grandparents. Ronnie, you will have to help and back me up on some of this being you have 3 years memory time on me. And my memory is shot; I figure, oh, some where about 10 years less then yours. My memory has gotten so bad I have to look at my driver’s license to check my address to find my way home. (And I quite drinking,,, go figure!!)

----- Grandpa was a soft spoken, kind, gentle, placid, patient, wise man who had an uncanny ability to tune out Grandma’s voice at any given time as he wished for a number of reasons. I love him to death. Although I didn't know it at the time but today I consider him one of my bestest soul mate. He was great with me and to me. He learned me a lot. He would take me to Pardiock, (serious SC, The Camp on the way to Grand Island where we sometimes hung out.) Here he learned me to fish, trap, cast net for shrimp and mullet and how to just get along with nature. Boy, that man could throw a cast net. He could fully open a 16 foot cast net with ease. I caught a lot of fish through out the years with him by my side. We also used to take some of our family summer vacations there. But the special times to me was when he and I or maybe he, Daddy and I would go alone. These were very, very special times for the three of us. I once had a collection of orange, front teeth from Nutria that we had trapped which I used to love to save.

----- Hay, Ronnie, here’s one for your memory speaking of Pardiock. Do you remember the time we were there on vacation or for the week end or something like that and took the camps pirogue out on the little lake, (actually I think it was more of a wide canal rather then a lake) right in front of the camp and began sinking because it was leaking so bad. And I do believe we were warned not to take it and we took it anyway. We were so worried because we knew by now we were going to get caught. So we began bailing the boat and we bailed and bailed and bailed and end up having to “abandon pirogue” anyway and swim to the bank. After reaching dry land we watched as the pirogue sink before we went inside to tell our “survival story.” It was YOUR fault. I didn’t want to take the pirogue you made me. I was the good kid; you were the evil one who talked me into everything. Boy Momma and Daddy were pretty P _ S _ _ D OFF. But again it was Grandpa’s show of patience that saved our A _ _ _ S that day. Grandpa recovered that pirogue, fixed it and continued to use it for as long as I can remember.

----- I remember always wanting to go to “The Hotel” to visit Grandpa. When I would ask Mommy and Daddy both would always tell me “No, I don’t want you going over there bothering your Grandpa.” But I quickly learned if I said I wanted to go see Grandma then that was alright. Duhhhh, what do you think I would ask for then ??? You got it, “Can I go see Grandma ?” They would respond the same every time. Duhhhh, like they didn’t know the difference. I’d go over there for baya catfish fishing learn me lessons. Once a year the Town of Golden Meadow would have a children’s fishing rodeo. Of course, in Golden Meadow, the only fish caught in the baya was catfish. He learned me how to cast, where to cast and how to use “available bait.” “Available Bait” now that is a whole story in itself and we will have to come back to that later.

----- But for now, before I forget, HAAAAY, Ronnie, here is another story for you to try and remember. Daddy used to love to tell this story which I call “The Duck Story.” Daddy used to tell this story, which was half true and half made up funny story, all the time like he enjoyed doing concerning his children. I know he had at least one funny story for each of us. This is one of his funny stories about me. Here we go. -- For one of these rodeos I was fishing next to our neighbor Bobby Chouest. He was getting ready to cast his line out and hollowed “duck.” Instead of ducking down, supposedly according to Daddy’s story, I looked up and said “where.” And Bobby’s hook hit me and embedded itself in my skull. I was taken to Dr. Guavwa, (another serious sc, but ya’ll know who I mean, there was only one Dr. in Golden Meadow at that time and everyone went to him. With the GREAT nurse whom I can’t remember her name for nothing in the world right now. RONNIE, what was her name, I know you know.) had the hook removed and was warned about a possible concussion. (Of course, I didn’t know what that meant back then but it sounded serious and that's what I wanted so everyone would fell sorry for me. And they did.) Bobby had some very heavy lead pieces on the end of his line so he could cast out further, which hit me behind my ear. That caused more damage then the hook. But what I really remember is the attention I was getting from everyone in the neighborhood while I laid on the couch. Everyone come by to see how I was doing and being so concerned and worried about me. (especially Donna) What I really liked was all the attention I was getting, which was LESS attention you were getting from anyone. Naa, Na, Na, Naa, Na.(LOL)

----- Back to “Available bait.” Grandpa learned me how to use bread as bait. He learned me how to take bread and roll it and press and roll it and press it over and over again until it was very hard. Then he learned me how to put it on my hook and roll and press it once more so it wouldn’t come off when it got wet. He would take me to the baya across the street from “The Hotel” on the side of the “Barber Shop." (Which is the barber shop Lilly bloged in that picture of the high water from the hurricane.) This is where we had planned in advance where I would be fishing for the rodeo. We fished there a lot but caught very little. I was so worried about fishing there and not being able to catch anything for the rodeo. But Grandpa reassured me that it would all be alright. I couldn’t understand it at the time.

----- I’m guessing, about a month or so before the rodeo, he would take me every day to the spot we had chosen on the side of the baya where I would be fishing. ( Next to the barber shop.) He had me tie bread on the end of a string (no hook used) and feed the fish. We would use the string so the current or the tide wouldn’t carry the bread away. Duhhhh, what is this called ?? “Baiting” the fish. Come the day of the rodeo, everyone else was using fish pieces, shrimp and other types of expensive baits, what was I, the poor boy who couldn’t afford bait using,?? BREAD.!!! When everyone else was using their expensive bates and casting far out, I was using bread and fishing right next to the bank. All the other kids thought I used bread because Grandpa was poor. And they thought I fished close to the bank because I was too week or didn’t know how to cast out further. Now we all know the real story. I never got a ribbon for the biggest fish but I got quite a few for the most fish caught. The man was a Genius. I will love him always. I can’t wait to run into him after my death along with our other family fisherman like: Daddy, Larry, Joe, Pat, Doc and who ever else are there waiting for all of us.

----- Here’s one for you Mikie. I don’t think you are old enough to remember Pardiock. (again, serious sc) I will refer to as the camp from now own because I can’t spell it. (Is camp spelled right ??? Close at least huh ??) ----- OK, Back to the story Mikie. Although you are too young to remember the camp perhaps you heard stories handed down through your family over the years. Why you ask ?? Because I believe this camp was actually owned by one of the Plaisance families. I think it was either your Grandfather, Great Grandfather or possibly your Great, Great Grandfather who owned this camp who would have been about the same age as Grandpa. Grandpa was the care taker of the camp. He would also take people out fishing and hunting on request for your Grandfather which I believe was for business purposes. To guide, cook, etc, for their guest. Know what I mean ?? Remember this is how and what I remember about it but I was pretty young myself back then. Yes, Mikie, I was young once, a long time ago maybe, but once. In the end I believe the camp was destroyed by a hurricane. Don’t know which one but it was one of the earlier ones I’m almost sure. However, before the hurricane got it there was a problem of some kind between Grandpa and the owner and none of us including Grandpa ever went back to that camp again. I’m not sure what the problem was but I think there was an argument of some kind, possibly about the sale of the property and camp to someone else. Perhaps to the tune of Grandpa felt he should have been given the chance to purchase it first because he took care of it for so many years and it was not offered to him at all. I’m not really sure about all this. It just sounds familiar. But it’s possible I dreamt the whole thing. Not that it matters anymore or never even did perhaps. Ask around your family and see what you come up with. Ronnie, maybe you can shed some light on this one also. The rest of you are way too young, Larry is no longer with us and Simone refuses to participate with our blogging it seems like. So it’s up to you OLDER SISTA, to help keep me straight on such matters. Let me know what you come up with Mikie.

----- NOW, Grandma, that was a different story. From what I remember anyway. She also was kind and gentle in her own way. But she definitely was not soft spoken, placid OR patient, if you know what I mean !! However she was very loving and caring, with me anyway, most of the time, OK Ronnie, some of the time, OK, OK, Ronnie, now and then ALRIGHT ???? Poor Grandpa. She was always riding him for one thing or another. Remember what I said earlier about his uncanny ability to tune out her voice ?? Nowwww, we know why. (LOL) Any time I think of her I can’t help think about how much she used to fuss. Grandpa no longer argued with her. It did no good. He would turn away from her, say what he had to say so she could here him and go about his business. Which is what he was going to do before the argument anyway so why bother. But she was like that with just about everyone. She was something for sure. But I loved her no matter what.

----- You know what I remember most about our relationship which I now think was kind of strange but true ?? Well, this requires another story. I didn’t think it was a big deal back then. Maybe because I was young and thought that this is the way it is or should be,,, BUT, here we go. Grandma spoke no English. I mean none. Ohhh, maybe a word here or there but her English as for as I’m concerned was zilch. And I spoke no French what-so-ever. And when I say none, I mean none, not a word. Yet we always understood each other when we spoke. Even when there was no one around to hear us or to interpret for us. Grandma would speak French and I would speak English. And not just one or two word phrases but actually whole total conversations. And very seldom had a misunderstanding. No big deal to me back then but today I find it truly amazing. I can’t do this with other people. Not in this time zone anyway. I can still hear my name being called very distinctly by three distinctly sounding voices by three different people in my childhood. I can’t tell who was the loudest of the three but I can still hear the urgency and shrill in all three of their voices. One, of course, was Momma, another was Jeanette and the third was Grandma. Some times when I knew Grandma wanted me to do something that I didn’t really want to do I would go to the back yard, jump her fence and cross the empty field so I could get home quickly. I would be back in our front yard and I could still hear her screaming my name like she thought I was still there. Mommy would ask me why Grandma was calling me and I would respond by saying, “ I don’t know Mom, I told her I was leaving and coming home. She’s old she probably forgot I left.” (Oh God, forgive me for that there, I really didn’t mean to do those type of things. It’s my sister that makes me do those kind of things, God. Yes, God the one named Veronica. Yes that’s the one.)

----- I wrote a song called “La Pestoch a Tont Na Na.” (sc it means “The Peanut of Aunt Na Na.”) Can’t explain the song right now. I’ll just say this. I know there already exist a French song by this name but the words are different in my song. I’m not trying to copy. Anyway the important thing is that in front of the song is a story about how me and Grandma used to talk to each other. I’ll have to pass that by ya’ll one of these days. But the story and the song is a post that needs to be blogged by itself. Maybe some other time.

----- Well, these are just a couple of stories about Grandma and Grandpa Cheramie that came to mind when I saw the pictures Lilly posted on her blog. Hope ya’ll enjoyed them.

-- L-U-A,
--- Later,
----- Peter