Oh yeah, I nailed it

            On a summer visit to Baton Rouge, my sister-in-law, Peggy, brought us a surprise dinner. She combined cooked rice with freshly chopped shrimp and crab meat, and the result was the most scrumptious rice mixture I've ever tasted.

            "Can I have the recipe?" I asked, hoping the meal would be easy to make. I don't have a lot of confidence in the kitchen as the high number of uneaten casseroles in our fridge will confirm.

            I keep trying to copy recipes, similar to the poor souls who attempt something they saw on Pinterest. Like them, my results are "nailed it" with disastrous results.

            There's my stab at making a King Ranch Casserole. After tasting it at a luncheon, I searched for a recipe that looked similar to what I'd greedily eaten. One called for tortilla chips and one for plain tortillas. I opted for the tortillas because chips go with dip.

            But something went wrong because the tortillas turned to mush, and the pan had to soak in the sink for three days before that burnt cheese would come off.

            There's also banana bread. I remember my Aunt Vickie bringing warm loaves to my mom's at least once a week. The bread was moist and sweet and chocked full of walnuts.

            I'm not sure what Aunt Vickie's secret is, but I haven't made a loaf of banana bread that wasn't raw in the middle or burnt on the outside.

            As they say in Pinterest land, nailed it.

            There is one meal I prepare quite well – spaghetti sauce. I got the recipe from a friend's grandmother over 40 years ago. She came to this country straight from Sicily, and she shared her recipe with me.

            I remember standing next to Maw Maw Fresina in her back kitchen, intently watching as she browned steak and tomato paste, then added a little sugar and salt. She stirred in water and a masterpiece was born.

            My sauce differs from hers because I could never get the right color or flavor. So I started adding oregano, sweet basil and parmesan cheese to the pot.

            I tried adding steak like Maw Maw, browning and babying that slab of meat, but I could never get the meat tender. So I moved on to meatballs.

            My sister said the secret to tender meatballs is to avoid handling the meat too much. So when I'm rolled the meat into balls, I pretended I was handling a raw egg.

            Didn't matter. My meatballs were hard enough for baseball practice.

            But I really liked that shrimp and crab casserole, so I thought I'd give it a try. I didn't have fresh crab or shrimp like Peggy had nor did I have Louisiana seafood paste.

            With hope in my heart, I went to the grocery store and bought shrimp – not on sale – crab meat – again, not on sale – and felt as if I just might be able to recreate that casserole.

            I thought I did everything Peggy told me to do, but the result was inedible. Scraping the remains into the garbage a few nights later, I realized the kitchen is not my domain.

            I might as well take that list of recipes I've been stockpiling and chunk them. After all, it's better to dump a stack of magazine and Southern Living recipes than another $25 worth of Louisiana seafood.

            Or raw banana bread.

            Or rock-hard meatballs.

            Then again, if I keep at it, one of those recipes just might work out and I can truthfully say "nailed it." 

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.  

 

Beach music closer to home

            Some people wait for months to take winter vacations where they can fly down mountains on a pair of skis.

            Others love getaways where they're hiking over mountains and through meadows. Still others love window shopping excursions where they wander in and out of expensive boutiques.

            For me, the best vacation is spent on the beach under an umbrella with a good book, listening to the waves crash on the shore, tension and stress melting away.

            My favorite beach is in Gulf Shores, Ala. Our family's been going to the same condo and the same spot on the beach for over 25 years.

            We started going to Gulf Shores when we lived in Louisiana and our boys were toddlers. We kept going because of the family-friendly attitude there.

            For our first few years, Gulf Shores stayed a quiet retreat with inexpensive restaurants and a nearby outlet mall for families on a budget. In the last decade, however, Gulf Shores' popularity has exploded.

            The county added a huge outlet mall, manicured golf courses and an endless sea of non-descript chain restaurants. They were looking for those big-city bucks the Florida destinations were raking in, so they jumped on the commercial bandwagon.

            As a result, Gulf Shores changed from a laid-back hideaway into a elbow-to-elbow city of high-rise, expensive condominiums. The growth also brought crowded roadways, expensive souvenir shops and wall-to-wall tourists in stores and restaurants.  

            Every year, I whine about the traffic jams and cheap keepsakes and say we'll find another place to vacation. Maybe this is the year we'll go to the mountains, I'll tell my husband, or better yet find a nice place in the Hill Country.

            My son kept telling me about Surfside and how much he thought I'd like it.  I'd heard the Texas beaches were crowded and the water dirty. He kept telling me I was wrong, but I was secretly holding on to what I knew was familiar. Change is difficult, especially a change that requires one to give up such a beautiful place.

            But one recent Sunday afternoon, he invited me to come to Surfside with his family. I decided to see what a Texas beach was all about, and I packed the car with my umbrella and chair and headed south.

            At first, I wasn't too excited. The hour-long drive took me past fields of smoking refineries and rusted oil tanks. When I pulled up to the beach access, though, I was pleasantly surprised. The sand wasn't quite as white as the sand in Alabama, but it was clean.

            The water wasn't that deep emerald green, but the same earthy smell of salt-water oceans was in the air. The beach wasn't too crowded, and the sounds of laughter and giggles from children down the beach could be heard faintly.

            It's difficult to change a 25-year tradition, but I realized it was foolish to keep driving all those miles to a beach when Surfside was close to home.

            With some reluctance and a few tears in my eyes, I signed the papers to sell our time share. It was time to turn to what's close to home.

            That's not only the beach in Surfside, but my family. As majestic as the waves are when they crash on those sugar-white beaches in Alabama, nothing's better than watching my grandchildren laughing and jumping in the waves on a beach here in Texas.

            So now I keep my beach chair and umbrella handy because I never know when I'll need to recharge my batteries. That surf, sand and sun therapy session is just down the road.  

  This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

It's not about the bulletin boards

            A friend posted a picture of her son at the mailbox in a rain storm, an expectant smile on his face. The reason this 8-year-old braved the weather was to retrieve a letter that contained the names of his classmates and, most importantly, his teacher for the upcoming school year.

            I remember driving to Pecan Grove Elementary on the day the class lists were posted. There was always a crowd of parents and children there, everyone scanning the list of students in each class.

            My boys wanted to see if they were in the same class as their friends. I wanted to see what teacher would be influencing and spending every day with my children.

 

A Positive Experience

            When it comes to creating a positive school experience, we often think of a classroom that's brightly decorated or has the latest and greatest technology tools. Those cosmetics don't really matter when it comes to creating a memorable and positive school experience.  

            What's most important is that teachers, students and parents bring a positive and open attitude into the classroom, starting in kindergarten.

            Elementary school teachers lay the foundation for how a child perceives school for the rest of their lives. The teachers who love what they do, love their students and teach them to love learning are a gift better than any elaborate bulletin board.

            Middle school and junior high educators have to work a little harder to encourage learning. Their charges are morphing from energetic little boys and girls into often-moody young girls and boys. Their hormones are raging and they want to rebel.

            These teachers must rein in those physical demons, smiling all the while. They have to connect with students and show them that learning is still fun, even if they're now designing a virtual farm instead of planting a bean in a Styrofoam cup.

            High school teachers, remember that you are the last chain in the link of public education. You are the one who must prepare young men and women for life. You're building on a foundation that is sometimes shaky, sometimes cracked.

 

A Joint Responsibility

            Your job, however, is to make sure your charges believe they can still achieve their dreams. Much like the elementary teachers, you must smile every day and make your classroom a vibrant center of nurturing, positive discipline and encouragement.

            Few of us can remember the academic details of our time in a classroom. What we do remember is if the teacher liked us, how he or she treated us and what he or she taught us about life. If that teacher had a zest and enthusiasm for their subject, chances are good we caught that fire.

            Teachers, we are entrusting you to teach our child, the baby we rocked for hours during colicky nights, the young child who bravely stepped onto a school bus on the first day of kindergarten and the teenager you see as an adult but whom we still see as our baby. You have our most precious asset in life.

            Parents, it's not just the teacher's task to make sure your child does well in school. You are the most important cheerleader your child will ever have. Constantly encourage your child to learn, and they will love learning all their lives.

            Education is a four-way stop between parents, teachers, students and the community. If we can support each other and remember we're all on the same journey to educate, illuminate, encourage and prepare young people for life, that's the absolute best we can do.

            This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Photo albums bring back memories

            My son asked if I'd look through his baby pictures and send him a funny one for a work contest. I had a particular picture of him in mind and told him I'd look and email it to him. Three hours later, I found the picture, but the looking was much more worthwhile than the find.

            These days, most of us take pictures with our cell phones. Our phones are easy – point, press a button and there's an image to send to dozens of people in a matter of minutes. While I love the convenience and ability to capture the moment using a cell phone as a camera, we're sacrificing having pictures we can linger over without electronics.

            This summer, my sister pulled out the old photo albums at my mom's house, and we talked about almost every picture we came across. My mom added details like her going-away outfit was baby blue, a fact we didn't know because the photo was black and white.

            She told us about life back in the Depression and how her family worked together during those trying times. With the aid of pictures, I could see my grandparents and my parents back when the world was an unknown journey stretching out in front of them.

            My dad on the deck of a U.S. Navy destroyer.

            My mom in a two-piece bathing suit at Virginia Beach.

            My grandparents at their 50th wedding anniversary.

            As we went through the albums, those pictures triggered memories of almost-forgotten barbecues, toddler Easter egg hunts and lazy Sunday afternoons playing board games.

            I thought about that afternoon with my sister and mom as I searched for my son's baby picture. I started with an album from our early married days, and moved on through our move to Texas and trips we've taken over the years.

            There was a picture of my father on the back of a three-wheeler, smiling and in good health, and I stared at that picture a long time, tracing his face in the photo.

            The photo of my grandfather – so young and dashing – reminded me of my brother, Jimmy, who inherited our grandfather's kindness and generosity. There's my grandmother in her young days, and I realize her smile lives on in my sister's grin.

            I lingered over pictures of my sons from birth all the way to manhood. There's a picture of my middle son asleep on my chest. Seeing that picture reminded me of how wonderful it feels to have a newborn snuggle up under my chin.

            Then I came across some pictures of myself as a young woman. When I think back on those times, I envision a frazzled, plump woman who missed out on opportunities. When I look at the photos, though, I see a pretty girl having fun with her kids, a young woman who was present at the important milestones in life.

            Those pictures are a visual reminder that we are who we are and we were who we were. Instead of being so judgmental, I'm glad I have pictures of all of us, including myself, throughout the years and hope I can one day sit down with my grandchildren and lead them through a family journey, just as my mom did with me.

            My son's picture in hand, I realized there's still plenty of room in the photo album. I think it's time to go back to having photos printed. Those will be here long after the battery dies in my cell phone or the technology no longer supports the newest and fanciest digital device.  

            But those photo albums. Those printed black-and-white pictures. Those images, and memories, last forever.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.