When I was young, travel sounded exciting. I could picture myself looking up at the Eiffel Tower or relaxing on a tropical beach in Hawaii. Instead, I changed a lot of diapers and saw a lot of Little League baseball parks.

No regrets, though.

These days, I tend to be a homebody, so I live through my friends’ travels.

I see their photos on social media. They’re walking up mountains, sailing around the Mediterranean, and climbing the steps at an ancient ruin. A voice in my head says I can do the same, but maneuvering the airline industry is a big roadblock.

Recently I attended my niece’s wedding in Virginia. I considered driving, but an 18-hour solo car ride was out of the question. Trains take too long, so flying was my best option.

I looked online to find a flight. The choices were overwhelming. At least a dozen airlines flew where I was going. After a half hour of scrolling through all the departures and arrivals, I found a flight that seemed to be the best fit.

Then the marathon question-and-answer session began. First, I had to choose a departure time. That’s a tricky question in the Houston area.

There’s seldom time when the freeways aren’t jammed. After a half hour, I found a flight that didn’t mean I had to get up at 3 a.m. to catch it.

Then did I want to pay top dollar or travel on a budget. The economy flights were restrictive. You can’t cancel, you can’t upgrade, and you can’t breathe on the plane. Okay, I made that last restriction up, but you get the point.

Then I had to choose a seat.

Each seat had a different price. Want to sit close to the front? That’ll cost you at least $35. Sit in the back where you’re the last one to get off? That’ll only cost you time because you’re the last one to get off a plane with over 200 people jostling overhead baggage.

I chose the option of letting the airline assign me a seat for free, figuring I was traveling alone and didn’t care where I sat.

Then there was the baggage option. The restrictions between checking a bag and having a carry-on were confusing. After 20 minutes of trying to figure out what could and could not be taken on the plane and the exact dimensions of a suitcase to carry with me, I gave up and paid for a checked bag.

Then it was time to book the return flights. At that point, I threw up my hands and called the customer service line. I talked to a real person who reluctantly walked me through the reservations.

He got his revenge, however, when I looked at the connections closer to my departure date. I had less than an hour in Charlotte, N.C. to make a connection. My sister’s familiar with that busy airport, and she said there are no moving sidewalks to move travelers from one terminal to the next.

I played the “I’m a senior citizen” card and asked for a wheelchair to make that connection. Yes, I felt like everyone would be staring. Yes, I felt old, but I had less than 50 minutes to make a connection in a sprawling airport.

From a wanna-be world traveler with stars in her eyes to the nervous lady getting wheeled from Gate A45 to Gate B6 in the Charlotte airport – a distance of 1.2 miles, according to my helper – seeing new places should be a fun adventure.

The first step is finding a way around the hurdles.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

I always cry at weddings.

Doesn’t matter how well or how little I know the bride or the groom, I will be the one tearing up and choking down sobs.

It also doesn’t matter if the marriage is doomed from the start – I’ve been to a few of those – or if the bride and groom are grownups starting over. When they look into each other’s eyes and profess their undying love, the water works start.

There were plenty of tissues in my purse when my niece and goddaughter, Lauren, married her wonderful fiancé, Chase. Their wedding was right out of a story book. Lauren wore a beautiful white gown with a long train. Chase was absolutely beaming in a handsome suit and tie as he waited for his bride.

The venue for the wedding was a sweeping vineyard in Virginia. The ceremony took place in the late evening with a gorgeous backdrop of grape vines growing on gently rolling hills. The mountains framed the couple and their wedding party, and the light from the setting sun bathed all of us in a warm, soft light.

When her dad walked her down a gently sloping lawn to where her future husband was waiting, we were all sniffling a bit, even the die-hards who claim they never get mushy at a wedding. All except for the bride and groom. They had eyes and smiles only for each other.

Chase and Lauren were surrounded by family on both sides and friends who’d come from all over to help celebrate the newlyweds. When the couple turned and faced their family and friends as husband and wife, applause echoed in the valley.

As the wedding party took pictures, the rest of us visited. Strangers became friends over glasses of wine, and we were all one big happy group by the time we sat down to a gourmet dinner.

When it was time for the traditional speeches by family and friends, the audience both laughed and cried. After the cake was cut, the wedding formalities were completed.

Then it was time to let loose and party.

The music was loud and lively, and almost everybody was out on the dance floor.

I haven’t danced in many years, mostly because of my arthritic knees, but I got out on the dance floor and shimmied and twisted with the rest of the group.

Didn’t matter I didn’t recognize one song from the DJ’s playlist.

Didn’t matter I looked ridiculous.

I was having fun with my young nieces and nephews, my brothers and sisters and Lauren and Chase’s many friends.

We closed the place down in fine fashion, and we were still laughing on the bus ride back to the hotel. Some wedding guests continued the party after finding a local bar that stayed open for a few more hours.

As I watched them go off to continue to celebrate, all I could do was smile. From those who’d been friends for years to those who’d only met that evening, the connecting feeling was joy. We were all brought together by two people.

In these days and times of uncertainty, both here and around the world, a simple act of professing one’s affection in front of family and friends, promising to love, honor, and cherish, is incredibly optimistic.

And entirely realistic.

Some tears we shed are sad ones, and we’ve all been there. But when there’s an occasion to celebrate, take it.

Get out on the dance floor, even if you’re holding on to a walker or you’ve got some smooth moves. Celebrate every chance you get.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

I was talking to my sister on the phone early on the morning of Sept. 11, 2001. She said a plane had crashed into the side of a building in New York City. I imagined a small tourist plane had accidentally hit one of the skyscrapers.

We hung up and I went to the newspaper office. Then managing editor Bob Haenel was watching the news on a small television in his office. I’d never seen that television on in all the time I’d been at the paper, but, that morning, he was watching the news unfold.

It wasn’t a small charter plane that hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center. It was a jetliner, filled with people and jet fuel. Smoke and flames were pouring out of the building, and, all of a sudden, another airplane hit the South Tower.

We all gasped.

Bob turned to us and said, “We’re at war.”

With utter calm, he told us to call the hospitals, the sheriff’s office, the school districts and the fire stations. See if anyone from here was in New York City and try to talk to them. At that time, we had no idea if other buildings around the country were going to be targeted.

We scrambled to the phones, making calls and getting information. After we’d add to the main story for the newspaper, we’d head back to Bob’s office to see what was happening. All air-borne planes in the United States were ordered to immediately land at the closest airport.

All but one plane had landed – United Airlines Flight 93. The people on the plane let their loved ones, and in turn the country, know that terrorists had taken over the plane.

The people on that plane knew they were a flying bomb. Planes had not only hit the World Trade Centers but the Pentagon as well and they were headed to Washington D.C. The passengers had a plan – take over the cockpit and land the plane safely.

Whether or not they breached the cockpit or the plane was shot down by the American military, ultimately United Flight 93 crashed in a field, killing everyone aboard.

As we neared time to run the presses, we weren’t sure if the day’s horrors were over.

Nobody knew if there were more attacks planned.

Nobody knew if our children and families were safe.

Nobody knew what was going to happen next.

All we could see were images of two giant buildings in New York City burning and then collapsing. People running away, covered in dust and debris. First responders, police officers and fire fighters risking their lives to save others.

Almost 3,000 people died senselessly on that day in New York City. Men and women had gotten up like any other day – showered, brushed their teeth, grabbed a bagel on the way into the office and were working at their desks when the unimaginable happened.

On my way home that afternoon, the roadways were eerily silent. Nobody was honking their horns. Nobody ran red lights. We were silently polite to each other, united in our grief, grateful our loved ones were safe.

Now 24 years later, we tell ourselves this type of evil can’t happen again, but zealots are capable of incomprehensible evil.

On the flip side, people are also capable of unbelievable good.

Today we give thanks for our lives and our freedom. We pray for those innocent souls who lost their lives on a sunny, cool fall day.

We pray for the brave men and women who rescued so many that day without hesitation. Some lost their lives. Some live with the memories of that nightmare day.

The rest of us continue to pray and we remember the words of Todd Beamer, a passenger on the ill-fated United Flight 93. These two words should remind us to step up for what’s right, even when we’re afraid.

“Let’s roll.”

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Years ago, Fort Bend Herald photographer extraordinaire Russell Autrey and I had a conversation about food. Both of us love a good plate of Texas barbecue or enchiladas.

The conversation took a turn to cooking healthier meals. I have a theory – food that’s low in fat and low in calories tastes bad. Food that’s high in fat and high in calories tastes good.

To prove my point, I named all the food that’s high in calories and high in fat that tastes good. The list included ice cream, chocolate in any form except dark chocolate, doughnuts, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese.

I challenged Russell – name a food that’s high in calories and high in fat that tastes bad.

Couldn’t think of one.

Then I asked him to name all the foods that were low in calories and fat and tasted good.

Silence.

I formed this belief when I was a little girl. My mom boiled spinach and then sliced a hard-boiled egg on the top for a decoration. I refused to take one bite.

I went to bed hungry that night, but Mom sneaked a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to me before I went to sleep.

As an adult, I’ve learned to like brussels sprouts, peas, green beans and broccoli as long as there’s butter and salt covering those vegetables on my plate. Throw in some bacon, and we’re talking feast.

But surely, Russell challenged me, there has to be some tasty vegetables that are low in calories and taste good.

I thought about celery, but that has no taste whatsoever. Carrots at least have some taste and crunch, but would I choose a bowl of carrots over a bowl of chocolate decadence ice cream?

No way.

Russell finally piped up with a food he considered low in calories and high in taste.

His answer – beets.

I asked if he’d ever eaten a beet. Russell admitted he’d never eaten a beet, but they looked pretty.

Not pretty enough to eat, I replied.

I told my mom about this conversation, and she said she likes beet salad.

Of course she does.

Beet salad often has olive oil, avocados or maple syrup in the recipe.

Fruit is usually a healthy choice. It’s hard to beat the taste of sweet watermelon, plump blueberries and red strawberries in the middle of the summer. Those fruits are high in sugar, but we overlook that detail because fruit is healthy.

Unless, of course, you cover the fruit with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or a cup of whipped cream.

In trying to change my eating habits once again, I went back to the basics. Salads, I knew, are a healthy choice.

I went to a salad bar recently, and all the healthy choices were there. I chose wisely until I got to the end of the serving line. There were bread rolls, tomato soup – 300 calories a cup – and a variety of salad dressings.

I looked at all of them, and with the exception of straight vinegar, most dressings were 250 calories for a tablespoon.

I’m one of those who like a lot of dressing on my greens, so if I put two tablespoons of dressing on this healthy salad, I could’ve had a Big Mac for the same calorie count.

Big Mac:  High in fat. High in calories. High in flavor.

Salad with no dressing:  Are you kidding?

So go ahead, name a food that’s low in calories and fat and tastes good without the benefit of salad dressings, bacon drippings or butter.

As long as it’s not beets.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.