Just a Girl Lost 2

Just a girl lost~ Here I share bits & pieces of me, in poetry, prose, music & posts from writers who inspire me.


For my son and my 2 daughters~You inspire me endlessly. You are LOVE <3









©justagirllost2~ Monique 


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A Short History of the Acadians and Cajuns by Judy LaBorde


*A fascinating read about my beloved Cajun culture. I hope you enjoy reading & learning more about it as much as I enjoy sharing.  🙂

My mother and father still speak French.  I remember my dad telling me that he did get whipped in grammar school for not speaking English.  The irony is that now it is encouraged and taught in many schools.  I wish I had learned it.  My parents spoke it when visiting my grandparents, other relatives and when they didn’t want me to know what they were talking about.  (They STILL do that to this day, but I usually get the jist of it! ;p )

The Cajun culture is truly unique.  I definitely will be posting more on my blog.  I’m ashamed that I don’t know all there is to know about our history & culture.

There is no other like it in the world.  I’ve lived other places & I would choose no other place to raise my children.

I feel very blessed to have grown up here in South Louisiana surrounded by such generous, kind, lovely people and such a rich heritage.

©justagirllost2 ~ M. Mendez

(Mendez is my married name.  After I divorced I never changed it back to my maiden name, which is Barras)  


A Short History of the Acadians and Cajuns

Judy LaBorde

About 400 years ago, a trickle of men and women left their hometowns in France and sailed to Canada where they settled along the eastern coast. They befriended the Indians, devised an ingenious way to drain the salty marshlands, and in time made their tiny settlements into prosperous farms and trading posts. At their peak, they numbered no more than 15,000.

They came to the new world speaking a regional dialect, a patois, which then evolved into an even more distinct dialect known as Acadian, like the people. These little settlements were not terribly important to the King of France. His priority was the Province of Quebec. Neither were the settlements important to the British Crown which instead valued the colonies of New England, to the south of Acadia. And, to tell the truth, the peace-loving Acadians didn’t much care for the always-feuding French and British. All they wanted was to be left alone. So, for about 150 years, the Acadians became very adept at neutrality. They promised not to take sides or engage in warfare. And they kept their word.

All that came to a brutal end in 1754, when Major Charles Lawrence illegally demanded that the Acadians sign a loyalty oath to the English King and repudiate their Catholic religion. (Lawrence did not have the approval of the British government to do this.) When the Acadians refused, the men were forced from their families and arrested. Within days, all the farms, barns, churches, and shops that made up the Acadian colonies were burned to a crisp. So were their crops and livestock. A mass expulsion ensued.

Amid total chaos, families were separated and forced onto hastily assembled ships. What followed were years and years of aimless wandering. Some Acadians landed in England and were promptly arrested. Some went to France and were treated as outcasts. Others arrived helter skelter at ports in Maine, Connecticut, and other New England colonies. In the Carolina colonies, attempts were made to take children from their parents and force them to work on the plantations. Others were sent to Haiti, Newfoundland, Argentina and Uruguay. The Acadians were a people without a country, a people who must rely only on each other for survival.

In 1764, one of the ships arrived in Louisiana, which at that time was a colony ruled by Spain. The Spanish Governor, Galvez, did not know they were coming but could see an advantage to their presence as a counter influence to the British settlements nearby. Over the next 20 years about 3,000 Acadians found their way to Louisiana. They settled the mosquito-infested swamps, bayous, and prairies that nobody wanted. They did the back-breaking jobs that others would not do. With their strange sounding dialect, they were even rejected by other Frenchmen already in Louisiana. Poor and illiterate, with a language, culture and customs that set them apart, the Acadians had only each other. When it was time to marry, they married their own. Otherwise, who knows if they would have made it.

This pattern continued until the aftermath of the Civil War, which devastated the economy and social structure of the South. With poverty so widespread, what difference did it make that the Acadians were poor? If anything, they had already proven their capacity to survive a hostile world with close community and family ties. Gradually, Acadians began to marry non-Acadians. The new spouses often learned to speak French and were absorbed into the population that came to be known as “Cajun.” This explains why some of Louisiana’s best loved Cajun musicians have non-French names like McGee, Toups, Riley, and Abshire.

The next big change occurred because of World War II. Returning veterans had experienced a much larger world which whetted their appetites for a good education, better-paying jobs, and a nice home. This caused a gradual migration away from small, exclusively French-speaking communities into a more modern, mainstream world.

The result of these and other factors (such as the practice of punishing children who spoke French on school grounds) was the gradual, but not total, Americanization of the Acadians. The practice of marrying non-Acadians continued, and the term “Cajun” is used to describe the culture that evolved from the Acadians.

The irony about the Cajuns in America today is that despite efforts over the last 250 years to destroy their culture, they have indeed survived as a distinct group. While other ethnic groups dissolved into the proverbial melting pot, the Cajun way of life — spicy food, lively music, family traditions — is known and beloved the world over.




No More Naked Words of Me



No more naked words of me

I’ll share with unfit company

No more pearls to swine
wallowing in

malicious pits
of rhyme

Greedily feeding upon frenemies
In snide remarks

they crassly snort
from gaping cavities

Cackling round cauldrons
Stirring up slander
in smiles & sabotage

Envy & insecurity forms friendships
Coven’s of commonalities

whose Joyous glee
derives from wHine & inflicting cruelty

Hating the me

that they create
from moldy thoughts
& evil hearts

Their misery needs company
to justify impiety

Lying eyes see only lies

Venomous bites
contort distort

truth as alibis
to fit inside

teeny tiny

twisted minds


*reposting this piece because,

so often these temporary feelings of pain resurface,

unfortunate lows in the mostly highs that come

from exposing your thoughts & heart in permanent ink.

* I really like it! and it’s a bit Halloweeny…


*photo mine


Her Heart Fits His


He found something of someone

in every pieced back together heart

Each lovely,

each sweet in their own way

Each one like a snowflake melting in rain


Seasons and showers

poetry and hours

withering ~ wondering,

he wandered away



but then

She found her way

back to him


In her was and is

every woman


Her heart fits his

She body~mind~soul

His every dream fulfilled


Their bond forged

before time began

He and she a soul connection

beyond the kin of mortal men


Un explainable, un tameable

Un imagined, un forseen

impossible even for fools

to understand


In her all that others

die trying

try lying to give



In her he’s found what

he’s always missed

His perfect Muse

His granted wish


In him she shines

For him she lives


she waits for the

day their souls collide

when the Fate’s decide

it’s time for them


She waits to be truly

found by him




He Needs to be Mine



HE is

confident  cool  mysterious

infinite fascinations


HE is

dangerous  charming

So, so bad and deliciously


Unattainable it seems,

but he is  private, thoughtful

doesn’t take lightly

the one he chooses to adore


HE is

so beautiful

so rare, so loved

a masterpiece

a fallen angel

heart’s every desire

come to life

a man like no other


HE is

every music

every season

every touch

every reason


HE is 

subterranean depths

Love’s forbidden fruit


He is

holiness ~ purity

corruptions ~ seductions

darkness ~ decadence

sweetness  freedom  joy

passion  desire  pleasure

addictive delicious pain


HE is

meant to be

adored and treasured

He needs someone

who holds his magic




deserves a girl

that will truly see him

who will join him

in mutual

giving and receiving

of deepest desires and dreams



needs to be held safe

within the arms


heart of the One

who brings joy

to his world



needs a Love

he can trust completely

mind ~ body ~ soul



needs to be mine






I am always only Me

I’m not poetry

I’m more disjointed

thoughts of heart

I’m Chaos of soul

A very, very bad memory

which often destroys

and saves my sanity


I rarely gossip

I’m rarely interested enough

I don’t get close to many people

unless I choose to be

and then I am loyal to a fault

I can be cold as ice and shut

even my closest loved ones out

(never never never my children, they are my heart)

until I’m ready to let them

back in, either because I’ve

calmed down or refound my

humility and reason


I am painfully shy

I am less vain and shallow

than I used to be

I love attention

I hate attention

I am poised ~ I am ladylike

I am clumsy and beyond awkward

I adore speaking to an audience


I love being with people

I hate being with people


I am passionate about Truth

I get rabid mad over injustice,

hypocrisy and dangerous

idiots smug and comfortable

in their ignorance


I love animals, but

humans come first

I love the planet, but

humans come first


I forgive easily

I’d rather love than hate

I judge no one’s heart

I believe everyone has a chance

at being forever loved by God


I often hide my irreverent

raunchy weird  super dorky

dirty wicked nasty

sense of humor


My deepest desires

and sexuality

I show in small,

very small

glimpses of

prose and poetry


I have a very

goofy  gullible

believe anything

naive child-like

simple  uninhibited

side that few see

It’s embarrassing

being truly ‘dumb’ sometimes


I know I’m not a genius

or a brilliant intellectual,

but I’m able to understand

the abstract and see beyond

to the Truth of the matter,

though I have no clue how to

explain it coherently


I hold sacred

and am deeply reverent

of my Catholic faith

My adoration and love

I rarely share


my writings and experiences

of  my mystical side

It’s such a lonely feeling

when someone you love

can’t or won’t try to understand

and share those things


I can be the most selfish

narcissistic, whiny

bratty, foolish example of

every flaw making up

flawed humanity

I am a sinner, I know it

I do it anyway, yet

I’m trying so hard to

live, learn, and love

and be the person

I’m called to be


I’m a constant contradiction

of sensual and spiritual

I feel torn, yet not asunder

I’ve learned from my past

I’ve learned how to love myself

I’ve learned how to be alone


There has been no friend,

no lover, no significant other

no family member

who has seen every side of me


I am always, only me


perhaps one day

I’ll be brave enough

and loved enough

to allow someone

to truly ‘see’

all facets of me






*photo mine

*repost, updated and added to (as much as my tired mind will allow tonight)

*PS:  and this is probably the most narcissistic piece of ego driven crap I’ve ever written.  I hope you can forgive me & thank you for reading me.  🙂


It Hurts



It hurts

to be invisible

It’s death

to not exist


It hurts to be in shadows

unobserved, untouched,

unlived, unloved

It hurts more than

I care to admit


It hurts to see things

see truths,

see words, see clues

figure out whose who

who still matters

old and new


It hurts to be taunted

and tainted

by kindnesses paid to

poison pens


It hurts

to be alone

and afraid

Just me, just one

against the world

and those who hate

from without and within

my own home closes in

as wars rage against me,


I’ll never tell



It hurts

holding it all in


it must be done,


it just is what it is


It hurts to never cry


those tears

always, anyway

will simply

go unnoticed



dry away


every other day,


it hurts





*image~ painter’s arm
rebecca rebouche
treehouse, louisiana
november, 2012

In Vogue Italia.