Looking back at 2013

           The Christmas wrapping paper's in the recycle bin, the eggnog carton is empty and there's only crumbs in the cookie tin. No more "Frosty the Snowman" on the radio, there's a gazillion diet articles being published and we're lining up at fireworks stands to ring in the new year.

            But before we light up the Roman candles, let's take a look back at some of the high, and low, points of 2013.

            We added two new words to the dictionary. The first was Obamacare. No matter if you feel like we've taken a step toward Mother Russia by making everybody sign up or we're finally taking care of those who need medical care but can't afford it, Obamacare is now officially part of America's lexicon.

            Unfortunately, we added a horrible word, "twerking," thanks to a how-low-can-she-go reinvented Miley Cyrus. I cringe thinking that the only way for a young woman to be taken seriously is to flaunt her practically naked body and stick her tongue out.

            But then I remember two young women the same age as the Cyrus train wreck -- Malala Yousafzai, the Pakistani teen who was shot by terrorists but continues to speak out for equality for women, and Elizabeth Smart who shows grace, class and courage by encouraging women to stay strong no matter what happens to them. Those two outshine celebrity blips like Cyrus every day of the year.

            Then there's the pair of Southern favorites who made the headlines. Butter's best friend Paula Deen was lambasted for her racial comments, and down-home ZZ-Top clone Phil Robertson was vilified for his comments about homosexuality. I wish we spent as much time talking about how to make sure no one goes to bed hungry as we did about these two.

            We spent a lot of time in front of our flat-screen TVs this year, thanks to popular series like "Breaking Bad," "Downton Abbey," "Game of Thrones" and "Mad Men." As a writer, it's refreshing to see people flock to the small screen because of excellent story lines.

            Americans continue to line up at movie theaters that boast bigger-than-life 3-D action while watching Hobbits battle beasts with names we can't pronounce.

            Millions plunked down their movie watcher cards to see Robert Downey Jr. beat up bad guys in 'Iron Man 3." Romantics flocked to see the "Twilight" movies but rock-'em, sock-'em movies beat out love -- $409 million for our favorite Marvel super hero versus $69 million for the star-crossed vampires.

            No matter how much we tried to escape reality, anguish washed over us in 2013. On Patriot's Day, two vile bombers killed innocent people who were watching the Boston Marathon, and, a year later, we still have no answers as to how someone could walk into a quiet elementary school and kill innocent children.

            We continue to hold our breath as North Korea rattles its atomic missiles, we keep a wary eye on the Middle East and fear the Chinese. But all is right in the SEC world because Nick Saban decided to stay at the University of Alabama and not come to Texas.

            A new leader for the Catholic Church, Pope Francis, reminded us that the best blueprint for life is to not judge others for who they are but to embrace all people, from gays to sinners to believers to non-believers.

            None of us know what 2014 will bring but if we follow the example of Pope Francis, Malala and Elizabeth, I think we'll start off on the right foot.

            Happy New Year!

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

For Sam, With Love

            Growing up Catholic, there's a few givens – we'll feel guilty about most things in life, a crucifix is a staple in our home and we will always be surrounded by cousins.

            Guilt is the cornerstone of my life, the crucifix – with holy water – hangs in my dining room and I have 27 first cousins on my Dad's side and 25 first cousins on my Mom's side.

            Our family had a lot in common with our cousins in Lake Charles, La., mostly because we had a cousin our age. I hung out with Sylvia who was one year older than me. Mark was my brother Jimmy's age and so on right down the line.

            In the middle of that interlacing was my cousin Sam. His escapades were legendary. If the "Indiana Jones" movies were running back then, we'd have all bet the Baltimore Catechist that Sam was the closest thing to Indy we'd ever seen.

            He was up early and went to bed late. He was the one climbing every tree in the yard. Once, Sam rode his bike off the roof and he and the Schwinn got tangled up in the clothesline, narrowly escaping broken bones. He ran away from home at least once a week, and he did all that with a huge, I double-dog-dare-you smile on his face and a laugh that lit up the world.

            Sam believed in taking a chance, because, he said, no matter where you landed, the ride was so much fun.

 Striking Out

            When Sam was 17, my uncle said since Sam thought he knew everything, he should get out on his own. Sam took on all kinds of odd jobs to make ends meet. Eventually he started his own building company but then he began working with New York Life.

            Sam worked hard to catch up on all the financial lingo and never stopped believing in himself. Twenty eight years later, Sam is the 2013 New York Life Council President with more sales than any other agent in the country.

            According to an article written about Sam, he accomplished this goal by changing how he looked at life. He looked inside himself for answers and stopped blaming others.

            He altered his outlook, from life being a series of unfair hurdles to seeing life as manageable opportunities. Over the years, he built a wildly successful business.

            He and his wife, Denise, are the proud parents of two beautiful daughters, a handsome son and they're the hosts for the weekly Hebert Sunday dinner and the annual Hebert family reunion.

            When my father passed away, Sam was the first person at the funeral home and his shoulder was one I sobbed on. Later, it was a unanimous decision for us to give Sam my Dad's ring because Sam was one of my Dad's favorite nephews.

             Sam wears that ring every single day, and I love how he cherishes my dad's memory and models my Dad's passion for adventure.

            Through all the ups and downs in his life, Sam's blueprint for success is straight forward – envision a life that for you is ideal, hitch your intentions to that vision, plan not to fail and then go make it happen.

            As I watch a YouTube video of Sam's talk to NYL agents, I can still picture that gangly kid on his banana seat bicycle, an impish smile on his face, ready to take on the next challenge.

            I'm grateful every time I think about that wild child cousin who's now influencing others to follow their dreams. Even if it means hitching yourself to a bike and riding it off a roof to get there.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Trying to get into the spirit

            Ho, Ho, Ho. Merry Christmas.

            Or so the sentiment goes.

            Although I love this time of the year, I procrastinate about Christmas decorating more than any other holiday.

            For the Fourth of July, I bake that red, white and blue sprinkle cake two days early. Two weeks before Halloween arrives, I've stocked up on candy bars and lollipops.

            The Sunday before Thanksgiving, I've got the turkey defrosting in the fridge and all the ingredients for pecan pie, sweet potato casserole and cornbread dressing lined up on the counter.

            However, Christmas is one holiday where I put off decorating until the very last minute. It's not that I don't have reminders all around. Stores put up Christmas decorations right after Labor Day and the ad flyers appear in the newspaper starting in October.

            It's not that I'm a Scrooge. I'm tuning into FM 99.1 on Thanksgiving Day so I can start listening to Christmas songs, my favorite being Nat King Cole crooning about chestnuts roasting on an open fire.

            It's simply that I have a hard time getting excited about taking down 10 boxes from the attic, unpacking them, taking down and putting up decorations and then reversing the process two weeks later.

 

The Guilt

            There's plenty of reminders that I'm dragging my feet. I see families dressed up in holiday sweaters taking pictures for their Christmas cards and I cringe – one year, I sent my Christmas cards out in February.

            I look online at friends' posts on Facebook, and they're already two weeks into the "Elf on the Shelf" adventure. I'm still trying to figure out how to play that game.

            Most of my friends already have red and green Christmas towels in the guest bathrooms along with ceramic Santa soap dispensers. I've never seen the practicality of paying almost $10 for a towel I'm going to look at – horrors of horrors if anyone actually wiped their hands on that towel – for less than a month.

            Driving around town, I feel guilty as I see house after house with a lighted Christmas tree in the front window. To rub salt in the wound, most of my friends had their tree up the weekend after Thanksgiving.

            I rationalize my delay comes from going through so much work for such a short period of time.

            When I put drapes up, I expect them to look good for at least 10 years. I keep couches for at least 15 years and once I buy bedroom furniture, it's in that bedroom for good.  

            For Christmas, not only do I move furniture and knick-knacks around and spend all afternoon sweeping up pine needles and wrapping presents, the whole time I'm wondering why I'm doing then because it's all over in a day and then, two weeks later, I get to do all those chores in reverse.

            I've tried all the rationalizations – it's the spirit of the holidays so get over the amount of time it takes to put up the decorations. I've even tried boot camp thinking – stop the whining, get down the boxes and create a festive atmosphere for my family.

            I've tried guilt – what a Scrooge I am for not jumping on the Santa band wagon right after Thanksgiving so I can enjoy Christmas longer.

            Nothing works. Besides, my procrastination has paid off.

            One year, we got our Christmas tree for half off because I waited so long to get it.

            Sigh.

            I can see Santa putting coal in my stocking right now.

            And I deserve it.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Enjoying the classics on a cold Texas night

            When we first moved to Texas, we got some good advice about the weather. If we didn't like it, just wait a couple of days. It would change.

            That's certainly true of the weather this week. We started out with blue skies and summer temperatures. By the end of the week, we'll be back in the 30's with an 80 percent chance of rain.

            No wonder we're all sniffling and sneezing.

Shunning the Cold

            Because I'm a Southerner by choice, cold weather is a repellent for me, and I hibernate inside until the mercury rises above 70 degrees.

            I've found a lot of ways to keep myself occupied while waiting for the sun to return – cleaning out closets, rearranging furniture and, when the arctic blast lasts for more than a week, categorizing my T-shirts by color.

            But working around the house gets old, so if I know the mercury's on the way down, I head to a Fort Bend County library for a few classic movies or I search online for some of the best movies from my childhood.

            One of my all-time favorites is "Some Like It Hot" with Tony Curtis, Jack Lemmon and Marilyn Monroe. Although Monroe lights up the screen, it's Jack Lemmon who really steals the show.

            I've watched "It's A Wonderful Life" at least 50 times because I never tire of the story of how Clarence earns his wings and how George Bailey comes to understand he's really a blessed man.

            My mom gave me a love of the melodramas from the 1950s and 1960s. I can't count the number of times we sat through "Imitation of Life" with Lana Turner. We always cried when Annie dies and her daughter realizes how wonderful her mother had been throughout her life.

            "Madame X" is another Hebert Girl classic, and I tear up just thinking of the ending scene where Lana Turner's son comforts her on her death bed, not realizing she's his mother.

 The Master – Cary Grant

            Today's teens think actors like Orlando Bloom and Channing Tatum are the epitome of dashing and debonair. They don't have a clue that the grand master of cool sexy is Mr. Archibald Leach, otherwise known as Cary Grant.

            He's known for many roles, but my mom's favorite, and mine, is "An Affair to Remember." I identified with Meg Ryan and Rosie O'Donnell in "Sleepless in Seattle, which relies heavily on the Grant movie, because like them, I'd memorized huge passages of that film. And, yes, winter is cold for those with no warm memories...

            Movies that always make me feel better on those cold rainy days are the old MGM musicals. There's no way a person can stay miserable when Gene Kelly's dancing and singing in the rain. Nor can viewers keep from smiling when the Pontipee brothers are singing about "Sobbin' Women" in "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers."

            My favorite snippet on YouTube is the opening song from "Fiddler on the Roof" because my family has watched that movie together so many times, we sing along with every song and recite the dialog along with Tevye.  

            Watching movies together is a tradition that binds the Hebert Nation, just as it did my mom and me so many years ago when we'd snuggle together on the couch and watch old movies on rainy, cold Sunday afternoons.

            Most of the time, I want the rainy cold to go away. But when I'm huddled underneath a blanket, watching Cary Grant, Lana Turner and Jimmy Stewart, there's no place else I'd rather be.  

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Giving thanks for the little things

            In elementary school, Thanksgiving activities required us to dress up like a Pilgrim and write down everything we were thankful for.

            The list had to include all the big blessings – family, health, faith. I am extremely thankful for those for sure, but there are small blessings that make the days go by a lot smoother.

            To that end, here's my sideline list of what I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving:

            - Cupcakes. I can indulge my sweet tooth without blowing my entire diet.

            - Free long distance on my cell phone. I remember the days of watching the clock to make sure we didn't talk too long because of the expense of long distance. Not anymore.

            - Cable. At least 500 channels and, as Bruce Springsteen said, there's nothing on. Unless you  catch reruns of "The Andy Griffith Show."

            - Milk Chocolate. Some candy manufacturers still see the benefit in making pure unadulterated milk chocolate. Some killjoys are trying to convince us that bitter chocolate is better, but who are they kidding. Pass me a Hershey's Kiss any day of the week.

            - Children's laughter. A child laughing with unadulterated joy is the best remedy for anything that ails you. Try and keep a smile off your face when listening to a 6-year-old howl with delight as a puppy licks her face. Yeah, just try.

            - Leftovers on Thanksgiving. Nothing beats a plate filled with home-made turkey and dressing, except that second plate Thanksgiving night.

            - Ignorant people. Idiots remind us to be thankful for the smart people who cross our path.

            - The bathtub. It's a lot quicker to take a shower, but there's nothing like a leisurely soak in the tub after a long day.

            - Balloons. A bouquet of colorful balloons signals somebody has something to celebrate.

            - Cotton. Sure cotton shirts have to be ironed, they wrinkle and occasionally shrink. But nothing, as the commercial says, beats the touch and feel of 100 percent cotton.

            - Back-yard vegetable gardens. As a city girl, I haven't a clue how to start or maintain a garden. But when a neighbor shares his or her bounty with me, I am forever thankful I know what a genuine tomato, squash and cucumber tastes like.

            - Campfires. The Texas drought went on for so long, I'd almost forgotten how relaxing it is to sit next to a crackling fire late at night.

            - Books. I don't care if it's an electronic book, a book on CD or a paper book. Nothing is better at washing away cares and troubles than losing one's self in a book.

            - The library. The world is literally at your fingertips either by visiting a library or downloading books from your home computer. For free.

            - Automatic transmissions. Some people don't think it's really driving unless you're pushing on the clutch and downshifting. Been there. Done that. Give me the luxury of putting my car in "D" any day of the week.

            - Dogs and cats. I'm not an animal person. We didn't have pets growing up and I never sought out having a pet. But with a son who adores animals, there was no way we weren't getting him a dog. And despite my griping about dog spit, I don't know what I'd do without the comfort and company of ole Channell. She's a keeper.

            None of these items would earn me an "A" in Mrs. Krenzer's class, but they sure do make daily living a lot less hassle free. And for that, I am thankful.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.  

It's never too late for compassion

                The classroom door opened unexpectedly, and Sister Adrian, the principal at our Catholic elementary school, made an announcement.

                "Everyone on your knees and pray," she said. "The president has been killed."

                It was 50 years ago that John Fitzgerald Kennedy was gunned down by an assassin's bullet and, with that one heinous act, a vibrant young president was forever silenced.

                Five years later, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was shot and killed. Two months later, Bobby Kennedy was assassinated.

                The entire world was stunned. America's leaders, those with vision and perseverance, were being silenced even though their speeches and writings revealed men who believed in a peaceful way to end hatred and prejudice.

                They understood the country was experiencing turbulent times. When King was accepting his Nobel Peace Prize, he spoke of the violence in America and how destructive prejudice and hatred was to this country.

                "Violence is immoral because it thrives on hatred rather than love," he said.

                Young Bobby Kennedy echoed King. In 1961, Bobby wrote "All of us might wish at times that we lived in a more tranquil world, but we don't. And if our times are difficult and perplexing, so are they challenging and filled with opportunity."

                Even though these words were written over 50 years ago, I want to believe they weren't written in vain. We have the chance to continue these messages of peace, and doing so doesn't require legislative action or a full-out political onslaught to put them into action.

                Regular folks like you and me start simply. We do something nice for someone every day.

                I'm not coming up with some radical new invention or idea, and it hardly seems like doing something nice for someone could radically change the world. It might not, but it's a good place to start.

                The seeds have already been sewn. Starting every November, people on Facebook post a daily thanks every day up to Thanksgiving. Posts range from a healthy family to new boots to a good job.

                Let's take that movement a step further and put our words into action.

                Write a letter to that cousin, sister or brother who keeps the family together, the ones who quietly tend to the gravestones and make sure the grandparents are driven to events. They're seldom thanked for those small acts of kindness.

                There's the co-worker who always fills the coffee pot back up, organizes the flower fund and comes by to check on you after you've been out sick. They go out of their way to make the work place a little more like home. When's the last time we thanked them?

                The neighbor who picks up our newspapers when we're out of town, a friend who keeps calling when you've been out of touch for a while or the kids next door who put a smile on your face when they're outside playing.

                Pay for the people behind you in the drive through. Thank your spouse for the countless nice things they do that we take for granted after years of marriage.

                Send a card to a niece or nephew and include a couple of bucks. Resist the urge to tell someone off and, instead, say something nice to somebody who's having a tough day.

                Seize the opportunity to show kindness and make a point to thank those whose kindness makes the world a better place.

                We're not organizing peace rallies in the nation's capitol nor are we leading peaceful marches. We're simply trying to improve the world one kind act at a time.

                I think Bobby, Jack and Martin would like that.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

A girl can dream, can't she?

            While flipping through a magazine, I stopped to look at a spread showcasing the upcoming spring fashions. It seems the hoity-toity crowd is pushing the fashion envelope this year.   

            See-through blouses and four-inch stiletto heels appear in almost every show. Call me naive, but I don't think that look, or dresses that have to be Velcroed to someone's body, work well at the grocery store.

            Despite that huge reality gap, I love watching fashion shows and I wouldn't miss the Academy Awards. Not because of the statues they give out but because I love seeing what the stars are wearing.

            This secret fascination with fashion is odd because my fashion barometer hovers around matching my sweat pants to my socks. Looking back, I believe this secret love affair started in my Aunt Bev's closet.

            Aunt Bev let my cousin, Cindy, and me spend hours in her huge walk-in closet where we'd try on hats and  pretend to drink tea wearing elbow-length white gloves. We'd spend all afternoon in front of her vanity, putting on powder and make up.

            But all children grow up, and I stopped playing make believe. My teen-age years came on the heels of the hippies, and my generation distanced ourselves from love beads and tie-dye shirts by embracing sensibility.

            We went to sleep with our hair curled around small, empty frozen orange juice cans so our hair would be straight and unaffected. Our make-up routine consisted of Maybelline mascara and a spritz of simple honeysuckle cologne.

            As far as clothing, a pair of bell-bottoms and a red, white and blue T-shirt worked like a charm. Sure there were some girls who loved dressing up.

            I wasn't one of them.

            At least on the outside.

            Hiding behind those overalls and huarache sandals was the heart of someone who remembered how glamorous it was to dress up in a flowing evening gown, satin slippers and elbow-length white gloves.

            Instead of memorizing the periodic table like the driven women of my generation, I secretly memorized all the haute couture fashion designers from the golden days of Hollywood.

            My favorite was Adrian who designed spectacular evening gowns sporting yards of ivory chiffon and soft , flowing organza. Edith Head, Christian Dior and Coco Chanel designed gowns that made every woman look like an elegant princess.

            I've watched the clip of Ginger Rogers dancing with Fred Astaire to "Cheek to Cheek" at least a dozen times because of the ostrich feathered dress she wears. I'll sit through any Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly movie, not for their acting skills, but to see their beautiful dresses.

            I can still picture every gown and outfit Kelly wore in "Rear Window" and "To Catch A Thief;" and even though few women are as thin as Hepburn, her dresses in "Breakfast at Tiffany's" remain icons of elegant beauty.

            I often wish there were occasions where I could pull on satin slippers and dance away my troubles. However, that's simply not practical.

            In my life, sweats and shorts do just fine and it doesn't matter if I spill anything on them or wear them until they're faded 10 shades lighter than the original. I don't need stiletto heels to go to the grocery store or clean the bathrooms.

            But a girl can still dream.

            Of waltzing around an elegant ballroom wearing yards of billowing ivory chiffon.

            Or playing dress-up in her aunt's closet, pretending to be a princess on the way to the ball.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Watch out for gators in the airport

            I'm a worrier. I worry about my family, my job and my friends. I worry about health care, the economy and the price of gas. I even worry about our dog.

            It doesn't take much to send me off into spasms of worry. Take for instance the latest you-won't-believe-this story – deadly spiders were found on a supermarket banana.

            Here's the tale:  A couple from London was forced to have their home fumigated after deadly spiders sprouted from a white spot on a banana the wife had just purchased. She thought it was a brown spot on the banana she was eating when she saw tiny spiders crawling on the banana's skin.

            Let's re-read that sentence – she was actually eating the banana when she saw the spiders. That means that these deadly Brazilian spiders – a species the Guinness World Records geniuses designated as the world's most venomous spider – was mere inches away from this woman's mouth.

            I immediately went in the kitchen and examined the bananas on the counter. Thank goodness they're only getting mushy, not breeding millions of killer spiders.

            In another news story, an alligator was found under an escalator at Chicago's O'Hare International Airport. Not the sweltering Miami airport, which would be totally believable, but in the frigid, 30-degree Chicago airport.

            In addition to terrorists and the long-term effects of having your body x-rayed, photographed and searched, now we have to worry about reptiles by the rental car desk.

            It's not like we worriers have been asleep at the wheel. Over the years, we've had plenty to worry about –watermelon seeds sprouting in our stomachs and a guy with a hook attacking us if we were in a parked car, making out with our boyfriend.

            So these new strange-but-true stories have to get in line behind the tried-and-true worrisome stories like Bigfoot which refuse to go away. The search for Bigfoot was popular when I was a kid and now three people in Oklahoma were arrested when out looking for the legendary Sasquatch.

            What's really incredible is that people think a hairy ape-like creature can stay undetected in the woods in these days and times. With my ordinary cell phone, I can access Google Earth and see my aunt's car parked in her driveway up in New York State. No way hulking "Harry-and-the-Hendersons" creatures are living in the woods without somebody finding them and convincing them to go on the Letterman Show.

            Although it's a fact that gigantic Asian carp – an invasive, destructive species of ravenous fish – have been found in the Great Lakes watershed, we now have to worry that the Asian carp will single handedly, well at least single fin-dedly, wipe out all the plankton and native fish in every lake in America.

            And let's not forget the real worries about infestations of the disgusting cockroach and the spread of vicious fire ants. Folks, a nuclear bomb could detonate south of the Mason Dixon line, and the only things left would be a gigantic mountain of fire ants alongside a nest of cockroaches crawling around on a three-foot deep growth of kudzu.

            Even with those disgusting things to fret over, I can honestly say there are some things I will never, ever worry about.

            Finding a chubacabra in my back yard.

            Crossing paths with the Abominable Snowman

            And spotting the Loch Ness monster in the Brazos River.

            I will, however, keep an eye out for those gators in the airport.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

The best treat, not trick

            Today is Halloween, an extra special night in the Adams family. Not only is it an evening when adorable trick-or-treaters knock on the door, it's also our youngest son's birthday.

            When he was born, I worried about Chris sharing his birthday with a major holiday and not being able to enjoy a day where he would be the star. 

            Although we always had a separate party for him, it was always disappointing not to have people concentrate on just him for the day.   

            I tried to put more effort on his birthday than the holiday, so elaborate Halloween costumes moved to the back burner. It was a lot easier to skate along with easy costumes 26 years ago, back before Pinterest made Halloween complicated.

            When I was a kid, Halloween was a snap, especially our costume. I remember one year borrowing the bathroom plunger, covering the plunger end with a bandana and then tying the bandana in a knot. We put on one of dad's old jackets, smeared a little dirt on our faces and we were bums.

            Not only are today's youngsters clueless about the definition of a bum, if we tried to pull off a costume like that, we'd be accused of ridiculing the homeless.

            Our other go-to costumes as kids were the teacher – mom's glasses and a notebook – the farmer – some rolled-up jeans, suspenders and a straw hat – or, if your mom was really creative, the Boris Karloff monster. That required face make up, eye shadow and Dippity Do in your hair to make it stand up.

            Not today.

            It's full-fledged costume time from life-like silicone face masks to fully accessorizing the costume.

            Kids need a to-the-floor Batman cape, nifty tool belt with nunchucks, the full bat mask and padded body armor. I'm surprised nobody's packaged a plastic Halloween Batmobile to make the ensemble complete.

            When it comes to hauling home all those Three Musketeers bars and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, marketers want us to buy plastic buckets specifically designed for Halloween.

            No pillow cases – which worked perfectly fine back in 1963 – or a paper grocery sack which few of us have thanks to being hyper-vigilant recyclers. We might have a few markers, but I can't see the point in going all Michelangelo and the Sistine Chapel on a brown paper bag that's going to get bumped and dragged along sidewalks.

            Today's required accessories are the $4.99 glow-in-the-dark plastic bucket, a flashlight and glow-in-the-dark strips to tape to every inch of a child's costume, thereby negating the $49.99 you spent for them to look like Bruce Wayne.

            And then we get to the granddaddy of all big-jobs, the jack-o'-lantern. We've gone light years beyond a toothy smile and two circles for the eyes. The creative types are building three-foot high pumpkin-and-squash extravaganzas for a dazzling front-porch Hollywood production number.

            Which will rot in the Texas 80-degree autumn weather in about three hours.  

            One year, the boys and I copied a jack-o'-lantern look from a magazine and got it right. It's the one where the jack-o'-lantern appears to be throwing up all the seeds.

            Yes, that was fun until ants and spiders decided a vomiting pumpkin on our front porch would make a cozy new home.  

            Despite all the fun about Oct. 31, there was no choice about how to celebrate the perfect Halloween in the Adams household. All we needed was a chocolate cake, candles, ice cream and birthday presents wrapped in birthday wrapping paper.

            Happy 26th birthday, Christopher Henry James Adams.

            You're the best treat we've ever gotten.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.              

             

 

Salve for our souls

            Watching children is a fascinating study in how our perception of time changes. When we're young, there's no such thing as not enough time. We play until we're hungry or our parents tell us it's time to come in, take a bath and go to bed.

            There's no Google calendar going off every 15 minutes reminding us about a report that's due, a dental appointment or that it's time to send in the mortgage payment. As we move away from childhood into adulthood, we stay constantly aware of the responsibilities of time.

            Exploring the importance of time isn't anything original on my part. Quotes abound, from Ben Franklin's "Lost time is never found again" to Professor Michael LeBoeuf's "Waste your money and you're only out of money, but waste your time and you've lost a part of your life."

            I shall politely disagree with Professor LeBoeuf because his analysis of wasted time doesn't quite match mine. The first thing that comes to mind when I think about wasting time is sitting around doing nothing.

            It's practically impossible to do nothing any more. We're busy with work, school or family from dusk to dawn, repeat the rush the next day and bang our heads against the counter when we read articles about how to more efficiently manage time so we can fit in a Pilates class.

            Waste time? That doesn't even come into the equation.

            I can, though, recall a couple of hours I spent by a lake this past weekend. I didn't fold any clothes, dust any furniture nor did I take a productive, brisk walk around the shore.

            I simply sat, let my mind drift and, according to the professor, wasted time. But during that wasted time, I solved a couple of problems and found myself thinking about the past.

            One particular memory came floating back – an afternoon 20 years ago at some land out in the country my parents once owned.

            My father's been gone 13 years now, and I distinctly remember the day our whole family gathered at their place. My dad always had big plans for that land, and because he changed his mind so often, we usually tuned him out.

            That afternoon, though, my brother-in-law, John, had a camcorder and recorded my dad talking about all the things he wanted to do at the land.

            We kidded John about wasting time recording Dad's grandiose plans, wondering how he wasn't bored stiff. But John was the only one who understood he was preserving my father's hopes and dreams.

            I'd give anything to go back and waste that afternoon listening to my dad talk about what would make him happy. But I've lost that opportunity, believing I had better things to do.

            Sitting by that lake, I came to a conclusion. I'm going to throw out all the learned advice and try not to hurry through the mundane parts of life.

            In those every-day, sometimes boring moments are where we find clarity. A hummingbird darting through the flowers is a reminder that even the smallest of us will survive if we keep going.

            A child carefully choosing the right crayon for her masterpiece is a reminder to take our time when creating a work of art because creativity simply cannot be rushed.

            An elderly man, standing next to a grove of trees, wearing suspenders and a flannel shirt, isn't wasting time when he's talking about his dreams. And, just as importantly, we're not squandering anything if we stop what we're doing and simply listen.

            Because that's not wasted time.  

            Those moments are salve for our souls.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Gems are right there in the little books

            As a long-time reader, I've always appreciated the power of books and how they can alter the course of our lives. As a youngster, I read every Nancy Drew mystery on the library shelf and was inspired to keep my wits about me at all times.

            In high school, I stayed up all night finishing "The Godfather," and the Corleone family idioms are part of my vocabulary. "It's time to go to the mattresses" remains one of my favorite phrases.  

            I'm also a fan of novels that take the reader through generations, including Taylor Caldwell's generation-spanning "Captains and the Kings" and Alex Haley's riveting "Roots."

            Although these gargantuan novels are cautionary tales about what not to do, I've come to realize it doesn't take a book the size of an anvil to affect the way I look at life.

            Short, little books are a goldmine. I'm not talking about the greeting card books filled with clichés and flowery statements. I'm talking about slender books that dispense sensible advice and words for living.

            William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White's "The Elements of Style" is only 85 pages, but it's a must for anyone writing or editing. My copy has bookmarks and pages marked with Post-It-Notes and sits right by my computer.

            Two of my favorite little books are gems I'll pick up whenever I have a few minutes. One is a surprisingly short book from the master, Stephen King, that has nothing to do with vampires or gunslingers.

            This book is about how to approach writing. Pay attention to how real people behave and then tell the truth about what you observe, King states, and the scariest moment in writing is just before you start.

            Reading those words, I thought they applied not only to writing but also to life. All of us are scared when we start on something new, but the best way to get through that, as King states, is to simply and quietly get started.

            That thought brings me to the best short book I've ever read, "The Last Lecture" by the late Randy Pausch. More than 5 million copies are in print, and one read through will convince anyone Pausch's words are a solid-gold blueprint for life.

            Pausch was a professor at Carnegie Mellon whose classes were always full. It's an academic tradition at the university that a professor gave a last lecture before classes dismiss for the year.

            When Pausch was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, the school didn't want to ask the popular professor to give the last lecture.

            But Pausch volunteered, and the video on YouTube has been viewed over 16 million times. His follow-up book is a longer explanation of the video, and each chapter reflects a man who sees joy and opportunity around every corner.

            Pausch, in fact, claims that people can classify themselves into two categories from the Winnie the Pooh books – we're either happy and optimistic Tiggers or gloomy pessimistic Eeyores.

            Pausch doesn't write about dying in his book – he talks about how to live life. Live your life the right way, Pausch writes, and your dreams will come to you. Manage your time like money because all of us have a finite amount of both.

            I have a green crayon taped to my desk because Pausch says we shouldn't forget to indulge the creative child inside ourselves. Every time I look at that crayon, I think about Randy Pausch and his little book about life.

            And the Tigger inside me giggles for joy.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Fun at the county fair

            Growing up in Louisiana, where lands are divided into parishes, county fairs were only for Yankees. When we moved to Fort Bend County, people were excited about the county fair, and we weren't quite sure what to expect.

            Our first step into win-a-goldfish land was when our daredevil boys were tall enough to ride the big rides. Those clanking metal monsters are what I picture when I think of the fair, even though it's been at least 15 years since I held my breath while my boys rode the Tilt a Wheel.

            For some, it's the smells of cotton candy and fried turkey legs that define the county fair experience. Others can't wait for the rodeo attractions, the cattle and horses defining the fair for them.

            There are some who do nothing but complain – the fair's too dirty, too commercial and not what they remember.

            It's easy to single out those superficial aspects, but in the process, we forget the enchantment at the Fairgrounds.   

            Rising up in the sky from the comfort of a Ferris wheel gondola and seeing the county from high up in the sky is a treat like no other. If we're lucky enough to pause and sway at the top, we can literally see for miles.

            For those who whine about the high calorie and fat count of the funnel cakes, I can't argue. But I can point to the delicious first taste of a funnel cake, dusted with confectionary sugar as proof that there is a way to bottle satisfaction.  

            Some complain about the crowds. It's easy to overlook happy moms and dads pushing strollers when we're on the lookout for pickpockets or thieves. It's also easy to become cynical about the carnival workers, dismissing them as second-class citizens.

            We don't watch them take down all those carnival booths late at night after everyone's gone home nor do we know what it's like to live on the road 10 months out of the year. They're the worker bees in this greased metal hive, and they make sure rides are safe for our families.

            Over on a side stage, singers warm up to participate in the fair's talent contest. There are professional singers on the program, but most folks would rather see someone they know belt out "Crazy" by Patsy Cline.

            Away from the midway lights, one can find the exhibit halls. Inside are shelves filled with jars of jellies, pickles and relishes, their creators all hoping to win a coveted blue ribbon. Plants, quilts, paintings, photos and crafts of all kinds are on display, some with ribbons and others boasting coveted rosettes.

            Many people miss my favorite part of the fair – exhibits by the youngsters. For the past year, dedicated young people have been nursing and grooming a steer, pig, chicken, cow or lamb.

            They brushed the animal's coat until it glistened like velvet; and at the auction, they stand by while their animal is sold to the highest bidder. They do so with a stiff upper lip because they understand life on a farm and that the money goes to a scholarship fund to help them go to college.

            After 30 years, I've come to realize the county fair isn't just a once-a-year event. The preparation goes on year round, from youngsters raising chicks, bands preparing to march in the annual parade and hundreds of committed volunteers working behind the scenes.

            Because of them, we can watch our child win a blue ribbon and admire a silvery moon from the top of a Ferris wheel.

            I wouldn't have it any other way.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.