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.