Today is the fifth of July, the day after a major holiday. I have to feel a little sorry for the day-after holiday. There’s no fireworks, no mattress sales. Families aren’t rushing around sampling ice-cold watermelon, slicing up apple pie or throwing burgers on the grill.

It’s just an ordinary day-after. That’s what happens after major holidays. There’s a huge disappointment after all the celebrating, and that letdown starts right after we sing “Auld Lang Syne.”

Jan. 2 might be the most dreaded day after. The first of the year is when we make resolutions to lose weight, eat healthier and follow a new self-improvement program.

The second of January is the day we have to start making good on those promises. Not the best way to start the new year, but there are some advantages for the lowly day-after holiday.

Some of us, especially chocoholics, love Feb. 15. All the Valentine’s Day candy is 75 percent off, and chocolate stays fresh for months. It doesn’t matter to me if those M&Ms have red hearts stamped on them – they taste great every day of the year.

For Cajuns, Mardi Gras is a huge holiday. “Fat Tuesday” shepherds in parades, king cake and wild fun accompanied by gallons of adult beverages. Ash Wednesday rolls in the day-after Mardi Gras, starting fasting, going without meat on Fridays and giving up something you love for 40 days, including that chocolate you got for 75 percent off.

Easter rolls around, and the day after is a repeat of Valentine’s Day. Plus there’s the dilemma of what one is supposed to do with the two dozen hard-boiled eggs. They’re taking up space in your refrigerator along with a pound of ham nobody touched on Easter Sunday.

Then there’s Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. For retailers, the days leading up to these two holidays is heaven. People spend all kinds of money on sentimental coffee mugs, funny T-shirts and flowers.

The day after these dates, we’re trying to make room in the cabinet for those mugs, figuring out how we can wear that “bald, tired and broke” T-shirt in public and watching wilting flowers drop petals all over the kitchen counter.

Halloween is a holiday parents love and hate. Finding the costume your child just has to have is one of the biggest headaches for trick or treating. We’ve lived the meltdown when there’s no more Paw Patrol or Wolverine costumes in the store.

All that ends on Nov. 1, but no one celebrates the fact that we’re finished shelling out money for candy we’re willingly giving away. No, this sad day dawns with a sugar hangover and parents wincing every time they step on another jelly bean in the carpet.

But all is not lost for the sad day-after holiday.

Dec. 26 can be a fabulous day-after celebration. Not only are the regular top 40 tunes back on the radio but, yes, you guessed it, all the Christmas decorations are 75 percent off.

It’s a great time to replace the Christmas ornaments the kids broke and the lights you stepped on while decorating the tree.

After Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, those who’ve lost a parent are relieved they can keep from biting their tongue every time someone whines about having to spend the day with their parents.

The day after Thanksgiving means leftover cornbread dressing, hot turkey sandwiches and the start of the Christmas season.

Unless you’re a retailer – Christmas sales start today.

So let’s celebrate the lowly day-after holidays. May they finally get the respect they deserve.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

While visiting my mom, we came across a light green digital camera in a desk drawer. Seeing the camera brought a smile to my face because I remember seeing that camera at family get togethers.

I complimented her for always having the camera handy, but secretly I thought she was probably one of the worst photographers in the family.

Family picture duties usually fell to my sister, Diane, an outstanding photographer. I’d also take my fair share because photographer extraordinaire Russell Autrey taught me to have my camera with me at all times.

Kodak Moments happen when we least expect them. But I’d get busy with the kids or other chores, and forget to take pictures.

In the background was Mom with that little green camera, snapping away. I’d always worry about the quality of the images based on some of my Mom’s early photos. The black-and-white photos in the albums usually showed a group of people – taken from far away — either off to the right or off to the left.

One of my favorite memories is when the girls in our family went to see interior decorator Christopher Lowell. We couldn’t wait to have our picture taken with him, and Mom remained seated because she didn’t want to wait in a long line.

When it was our turn, we realized the only one with a camera was Mom. There she was, all 4-foot 9-inches, crouched behind the autograph table with that little green camera.

“Don’t take our knees!” yelled Diane. “Focus on our faces!”

But that was the only picture we had from that day and it was because Mom had her camera ready.

I’d forgotten about the camera until she brought it out from the drawer. She’d never uploaded the images on the camera card, so we sat down and unloaded 270 pictures from the card.

We found a treasure.

Mom dated a wonderful man named Bert Bauerlin for many years until he passed away. Bert treated my mom like a queen. He always sent her flowers, and we were able to see pictures of most of the arrangements, thanks to Mom.

There were pictures from my niece’s graphic design show, and I marveled at the creative displays Kayla created. I’d heard about the reception, but Mom had captured the whole event with that little green camera.

Mom grew up in New York State and misses seeing the leaves change color in the fall. One year, she and Bert took a trip to the Blue Ridge Parkway, and she took lots of pictures of the mountains.

Sure some of the images had the car side window in the shot, but there was no missing the gorgeous scarlets, oranges and yellows dotting the countryside.

On that trip, they visited my niece, and seeing pictures of Hope’s children was a true delight. Today, Landon and Camryn are ready for middle school, and the pictures Mom took had us reminiscing about their escapades as little ones.

There was a baby picture of her great-granddaughter, Sophie. We got a little misty-eyed looking at little Sophie because her mom was exposed to a virus while pregnant.

Only because Courtney knew what to look for and was vigilant about taking every precaution to make sure her baby was healthy was the reason we have that beautiful girl with us today.

Seeing the picture of Sophie as an infant reminded me how precious our family is, and Mom’s pictures were the reason I was reminded.

Mom will continue to document our lives. Some of the images will be out of focus because that’s her style, but she captures the moments.

Keep snappin’ Mom and keep recording our lives.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Father’s Day is Sunday, a time to honor the people in our lives who fulfill fatherhood responsibilities.

These days, the line between mom duties and dad duties has practically disappeared, but parenthood, no matter if you’re male or female, has a long list of responsibilities.

Here’s my list of what it takes to be a father in a Snap Chat, Netflix world:

First, be a good listener. It’s difficult to listen when we’re bombarded with constant noise, either from Pandora or a blaring television. When your child wants to talk, listen to the words they’re saying and the ones they’re not saying. Don’t interrupt –listen with an open heart and mind.

Second, be a disciplinarian. That doesn’t mean spanking or sending a child to bed without supper. That means making tough decisions and sometimes being unpopular. Parenting is hard, the hardest job in the world. Pull up those big-boy pants and take care of business.

Third, be a good citizen. Make sure your children see you vote. Keep your home and yard neat. Don’t throw loud parties until 2 a.m. Drive the speed limit and wear your seat belt. Respect law enforcement and teachers.

Fourth:  Be there. When your children are sick, when they’re well, when they win a game and lose a game. Pick them up on time, especially if you’re divorced. Call just to hear their voice and be available 24 hours a day. Not when it’s convenient. All the time.

Fifth:  Pay up. If they need braces, piano or dance lessons, car insurance or math tutoring, write the check. Check their school lunch account every month and don’t let them be embarrassed because you forgot to put money in their account. Pay your child support on time. If you’re the one receiving child support, spend that money on the children.

Sixth:  Pay attention. Children don’t come right out and tell us they’re lonely or being bullied. The only way to know what’s really going on is to pay attention – has their appetite dropped? Are they sleeping too much or too little? What clothes are they wearing and who are they hanging out with? A child chooses their friends. If that crowd isn’t what you think is best, it’s your job to find out why your child’s self-esteem is that low.

Seventh:  Have a sense of humor. YouTube is filled with videos of dads having fun with their children, so take a clue from these fun-loving parents. Dress up, tell them corny jokes, dance in the kitchen. Wear crazy aprons when barbecuing and have water-balloon fights in the back yard. Let loose and have some fun before they leave the nest.

Eighth:  Show up. If you said you’d be there, be there. Don’t miss a dance recital, awards ceremony or birthday party. Don’t miss an opportunity to pick your child up from school because that’s when they’re ready to talk. If you don’t show up, you miss those golden chances.

Ninth:  Provide for your family. That doesn’t mean you need a six-figure income, but it does mean that you provide them with food on the table, a roof over their heads and making sure they have what they need. You also provide them with the security that you won’t abuse them, you’ll protect them from harm and you’ll love them no matter what.

Tenth:  Teach them what the word “honor” means. It means you do what’s right instead of what’s easy. It means you never speak harshly about someone they love. Honor means taking time to help others, even when you’re bone tired yourself.

So to all our dads out there – grandparents, mothers, men, brothers, uncles, neighbors, step-parents, foster parents, cousins – Happy Father’s Day. Now get out your goofy ”Kiss-the-Cook” apron and enjoy that back-yard barbecue with the ones most precious in the world – your family.

 

       This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

My husband hadn’t seen his hometown since he’d walked across the stage at Eastern High School in Middletown, Ken. in 1968, but the invitation to attend his 50-year high school reunion aroused his curiosity.

Looking through his old high school yearbook brought back memories of high-school pranks, dances, football games and track meets.

A few months later, we found ourselves on an airplane headed to Louisville, curious as to who’d come to the reunion and how their lives had unfolded.

We had an afternoon to explore the Middletown and Louisville areas before the activities began, so we drove through neighborhoods and streets he remembered as a boy.

So much had changed – there were sprawling subdivisions where there were once acres of woods and familiar landmarks were gone, replaced with shopping centers.

He was thrilled to find the same barbershop in the old downtown section. The traditional barbershop sign had seen better days, but the inside had been preserved just as it was back in the 1950s, down to a bottle of witch hazel by the sink and a vinyl green barber’s chair near the window.

We went to the high school and lucked up when a gracious assistant principal volunteered to take us around. Each corridor brought back memories – the gym where my husband had taken so many pictures because he’d been on the yearbook staff, finding the walk through from the neighborhood to the school parking lot and the sadness at seeing the school track in poor condition.

Soon it was time for the first activity of the reunion weekend – a scavenger hunt. Betty Southard Stokes was the yearbook editor at Eastern High School and once again was coordinating the reunion.

People arrived and greeted each other with a “Hey, weren’t you…” and then smiles and hugs. We divided up into teams with instructions to take pictures at city landmarks.

As we drove around, Emily and David, who’d stayed in the area, filled my husband in about where friends had gone, who’d passed away, their current and past jobs and, of course, reminiscing about life at Eastern High.

That night, almost 50 people came to reunion dinner, and classmates were remembered with fond anecdotes. As people shared stories of high-school escapades, they also updated folks about the status of those who weren’t there.

There was the suicide of one of their most talented artists, and the room collectively grieved when thinking about their talented friend. The man sitting next to us was ribbed about falling asleep in math class.

Later, his wife told us that he had a severely handicapped sister, and he had to take care of the sister when mom was at work. Often, those duties went on into the night, so naturally he was tired during the day. We discovered many people had obstacles no one knew about at the time.

Some classmates had fulfilled their dreams, others were still working on them. Some had remained relatively unchanged – the funny one, the engineering guru, the gifted writer – and others had followed a totally different path after they’d left high school.

On that one night in Louisville, a room was filled with people who stepped back in time, laughed about the time a group of boys cut down a neighbor’s prized dogwood tree to use as a decoration for the senior prom and still debated who was responsible for stealing the neighboring city’s landmark anchor.

For most of us, high school is the place where our personalities begin to blossom into who we’ll become as adults. Reunions are a time to reconnect with those who helped us maneuver through those tough, turbulent years.

Classmates are the ones who remember when we agonized about our first love, the decision about who to take to the senior prom and the feeling of accomplishment when we walked across the stage at graduation.

Knowing there’s people out there who experienced what we did is reassuring. We didn’t imagine the past. We lived it and so did they.

You go, Eagles, Class of 1968. You did the world proud.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

I’m on a committee to help plan a retirement party for a dear colleague, and we met today to finalize plans. It didn’t take long for me to realize I was in way over my head when it comes to party planning.

These wonderful women discussed chargers, table drapes and runners. My thoughts were cell phones use chargers, drapes hang from curtain rods and runners are what people do in the early mornings to stay in shape.

Not so with party planning.

Growing up, my mom took care of festivities. Over the years, she collected all the needed equipment for great parties – cake platters with lids, silver serving trays and specific party dishes – one for deviled eggs, a divided tray for olives and vegetables and others that remain a mystery.

When it came time to plan parties for my sons, I didn’t have to think deeply. A couple of packs of hot dogs, a store-bought cake and a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream were all the necessary ingredients. Throw in water balloons and I could’ve called them galas.

I helped out as a room mother for classroom parties, but I was the mom who raised her hand when the question was “Do we have any volunteers to clean up?”

I left the high-level party planning details to the sophisticated mothers who possessed all the secrets to throwing a terrific party.

Today, I marveled at the finesse these moms had for planning this retirement party. One mom brought a bag filled with a sample table runner and a tablecloth. She knew the silver and black would look stunning together, and she was right.

When she pulled a round mirror out of that bag, I knew to keep my mouth shut. I figured out from the pictures another mom had that the mirrors went on the table to reflect the candlelight.

Flowers were next on the list, and these moms knew the best deals for ordering bulk flowers.

They knew what bakeries could duplicate a photo for the top of the cake and that there’s a variety of frostings for cakes in every size and shape.

They also knew how to make a balloon arch.

“Impressed” doesn’t come close.

The clincher was when the mom coordinating the event brought out a color-coded chart for the tables and chairs, complete with directions as to how the traffic would flow.

I have no clue how she created that diagram on a computer and the correct way to arrange the tables so people would still have room to mingle and sit down.

“Why would people want to sit down if it’s a reception?” I asked.

These very nice women did not look as if an idiot had spoken. Under different circumstances, I would’ve rolled my eyes at someone who asked that dumb question.

“Some people like to sit down with their cake and visit so the tables and chairs are for them,” one said.

At the parties I’ve hosted, the kids stood up the whole time because boys have a hard time sitting while someone else is unwrapping a Nerf water blaster.

I came away from the meeting a smarter person.

Runners go down the middle of the table and add pizzazz to the tablecloth.

Chargers are not what women with a new Visa card are called – chargers are oversized plates that dress up ordinary plates.

And table drapes hang down the front of the tables to hide extra supplies.

When the day comes that I have to throw a grown-up party, I hope my mom will lend me her three-tiered tray.

It’s perfect to serve ketchup, mustard and relish for those hot dogs.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

The first time I met Rhonda Klutts was at a funeral.

Rhonda was the choral director at B.F. Terry High School, and the varsity choir was singing at the service of a former Terry Ranger who’d been killed in action during the Iraq war.

I remember being quite impressed by the poise of these teenagers and the compassionate teacher leading them through an incredibly difficult tragedy.

Over the past 15 years, I’ve discovered that helping students understand life is just one of the many traits that make Rhonda such an incredible teacher.

On the first day of school, Rhonda purposely trips over something and tells the teens “I’m a klutz. Get it?!” They immediately know this smiling teacher has a great sense of humor and isn’t afraid to laugh at herself.

But that won’t happen in the fall.

After 21 years at Terry High School, Rhonda has decided to retire. She’s always had the dream of owning her own piano studio, and that dream is finally coming true this fall.

The teaching world, however, is losing an incredible educator. She’s the teacher everyone hopes to have, the teacher every mother prays her child will have and the teacher educators hope to be like.

She willingly welcomes and teaches every child who comes through the door, from those who have perfect pitch to those who arrive in wheelchairs. Even though they have limitations, Rhonda works with every child and coaxes notes and lyrics from them.

Her students feel at home in her choir room and, most importantly, they want to give “Mama Klutts” their very best.

That commitment is reflected in the dozens of awards and trophies her choirs have earned over the past two decades.

That love is reflected in the faces of the elderly when Rhonda takes her choirs to area nursing homes to sing Christmas carols.

That love of music is etched on the face of every youngster who encounters Rhonda when her varsity choir sings in the halls at Terry or performs at elementary schools.

She’ll spend hours with a student struggling with life and she’ll make sure a teen gets back on the right road if they’ve strayed. She often cries herself to sleep because she’s worried about a student making poor choices.

That servant’s heart is evident outside the school room. Rhonda has a deep belief in God and has played the piano at Calvary Baptist Church every Wednesday and Sunday for years.

She adores her family, her husband, Joe, her son and daughter in law, Jeremy and Tara, and especially the light in her eyes, her grandson Everett.

She never hides her love of life and of her chosen profession. Never was that more evident than at her last concert this week. The auditorium was packed, including many former students who came to watch their beloved teacher one more time.

They weren’t disappointed.

Every student in Rhonda’s choirs sang their heart out. For the last song, her teaching assistant, Marlayna Shaw, arranged for her former students from the past two decades to join the varsity choir for the last songs.

Rhonda stood in the middle of the auditorium, tears streaming down her face, as she conducted over 250 current and former students in their final concert with her.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

Most of us hope to leave the world a better place than how it was when we arrived. We pray our families will be proud of us and hope we’ve left them examples of the best way to live their lives.

There is no doubt that Rhonda Klutts is leaving a legacy of creating outstanding choirs with students who’ve never had voice or music lessons in their lives.

But more important than the trophies on the shelves is Rhonda instilled the belief in her students that they matter.

Teachers like Rhonda don’t come along very often. They’re a rare and precious gift because they plant seeds that grow for generations.

Terry High School was incredibly blessed to have this wonderful person behind the piano for so many years, and I’m fortunate to call her my friend.

Enjoy your retirement, Rhonda, but know – you will be missed and, as you so loved your students, you, too, will always be loved.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

We’re wrapping up Teacher Appreciation Week and on Sunday we’ll celebrate Mother’s Day. In a way, those two events are one in the same because our moms are our first teachers.

According to Hallmark, mothers teach us to be kind and gentle, how to share and how to make the world a better place. Teachers do the same thing with one major difference – they can flunk us if we don’t do what we’re supposed to do.

All of us have fond memories of our favorite teachers, and I’m no exception. But there’s a little twist this year – I’m also grateful to the slacker teachers I had.

Don’t get me wrong – I absolutely adore the great teachers I had like my high school English teachers Ms. Pruyn and Ms. Phillips and my chemistry and physics teacher Mr. Bizet who gave me B’s even though I didn’t deserve them.

In reality, the slacker teachers made me appreciate the really good ones.

There aren’t enough flowers, cards, gifts or expressions of gratitude for those educators who can teach a child that letters on a page translate into words that convey ideas to illuminate minds.

Or that a math teacher can take a reluctant child, get them to solve an algebraic equation and have them leave the class feeling successful.

And that’s what great moms do.

They make us feel like a million bucks when we feel like chump change. My mom makes me feel like a millionaire, and I’m thankful beyond words she’s still around mentoring and mothering.

Dee Hebert taught me to make a meal out of seemingly nothing in the pantry. She taught me Sunday dinners with family was sacred and to use the good tablecloth when serving that dinner. Your family, she taught me, deserves the best.

She taught me a mom can work outside the home and still be a fabulous mother. She showed me it’s really possible to have every one of your children secretly believe they’re the favorite because you treat each one as an individual with their own special talents and gifts.

As I think about all the wonderful things my mom has taught me, I think back to what I taught my sons. I did teach them how to bake a Chef-Boyardee pizza and how to work the can opener and microwave.

That counts as home cooking, doesn’t it?

I am almost ashamed to admit I introduced them to swearing. Yes, I used profanity in front of them but there’s almost no way to drive in rush-hour traffic or to come away from the grocery store after getting behind the neighborhood coupon queen and not drop a few choice words.

I’m hoping my sons will cut their slacker mom a bit of a break this year and remember I was really doing the best I could.

Even if that meant trying to pawn off Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup as home-made.

Even when I put on the Cartoon Network so I could grab 15 minutes of shut-eye after a sleepless night because you threw up at our bedroom door at 3 a.m.

You were showing us that it takes gumption to be a parent and a teacher. Luckily, moms and dads learn to roll with the flow. This includes natural parents, step-parents, mothers stepping up as dads, fathers stepping up as moms and relatives and friends taking on the parental duties.

And here’s a little secret:  these two jobs are the absolute best and most fulfilling callings in the world, even though the hours are long, the pay doesn’t come close to covering what you do and the thanks are few and far between.

So Happy Teacher Appreciation Week and Happy Mother’s Day to all those teachers and moms out there. You deserve all the thanks, hugs, kisses, flowers, bathroom slippers, perfume, chocolates, ceramic figurines and hand-drawn cards, complete with jelly smears, your little darlings can bestow on you.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Our youngest son was thrilled when one of his best friends asked him to be in his wedding. Chris asked me to accompany him to help with the children while he stood for his friend.

The wedding was a Hindu marriage, and I’d never been to a ceremony in a temple before. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but Chris said his groomsman’s attire was stunning – a long purple shimmering tunic, a gold scarf and gold pants.

His two daughters had pretty dresses for the wedding, but his two sons did not. So dad and sons went clothes shopping. The three of them returned and rushed in to change so they could model their wedding clothes for us.

At first, I was shocked.

The youngest one was wearing a bright red suit with a matching vest, an orange shirt and a matching striped tie. The older boy was wearing a shimmering blue jacket and vest, a black shirt and a red bow tie.

They were going to a wedding – wouldn’t blue blazers look a lot more, well, appropriate?

That thought immediately vanished when I saw their smiles. Their buttons were practically popping off those brighter-than-the-sun jackets.

“They picked out what they wanted,” Chris said, adjusting their ties, a look of pride, love and happiness on his face. “Don’t they look fantastic!”

Seeing the satisfaction on their faces sealed the deal – the boys did look fantastic and, more than that, confident in the knowledge that they picked out what they wanted and wore their clothes proudly.

I sheepishly admitted that at the ages of 3 and 6, my grandsons understood more about independence and not following the crowd than their grandmother.

 

A Beige Life

A couple of years ago, I looked through my closet and realized most of my shirts were either white or beige. I reasoned that the basic colors went with any skirt or slacks I had in the closet.

I knew life was too short to be that bland, but I just couldn’t bring myself to buy bright bold colors. I didn’t want to stand out, and I rationalized that spending money on an item I might only wear occasionally was frivolous.

Until I saw this one blouse in the clothing store.

I wasn’t looking for clothes, but this shirt caught my eye. It was a seamless blend of swirling aqua blue and emerald green. I stood in front of that shirt a good minute, marveling at how the colors were so vibrant yet so calming.

Then I looked at the price tag and reluctantly walked away.

And every day afterwards, I regretted not buying something that, in my eyes, was beautiful. I thought about that shirt every time I pulled a beige shirt out of the drawer.

Months later, I saw another shirt with those same vibrant colors, and I bought it without looking at the price tag. It’s one of my favorite shirts, and I wear it at least once every other week because those colors make me happy.

But that’s only one shirt in my mostly beige wardrobe.

I need to follow the lead of my grandsons and take more chances.

I need to choose not only what makes me happy but makes me laugh out loud.

I need to stand out, even when I think others might laugh or in a way that’s outside of my small comfort zone.

Because it really doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks.

If those suits makes my grandsons feel good about themselves and announce that here’s two guys who refuse to follow the crowd and, instead, follow what they love, then all the better.

I’d do well to follow their example more often.

Here’s to strutting around in scarlet red suits, to wearing long purple tunics with gold scarves, to dancing with abandon with children and to never again buying a beige shirt.

Because life’s too short to blend into the background.

Life’s all about grabbing the brass ring.

And taking that chance is all the better if when I reach out, I’m wearing something that make me feel as confident as my son and grandsons.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

Springtime not only means warmer temperatures, but also the beginning of the wedding season. With over 25 cousins on my dad’s side of the family and over 25 first cousins on my mom’s side of the family, there’s usually a wedding or two every year.

As Catholics, weddings often include a bride in a white dress, the train flowing for miles behind her, a nervous groom in a rented gray tux waiting near the altar and a church filled with quiet guests.

So when my son asked if I’d like to attend his friend’s wedding in a Hindu temple, I was thrilled to not only go and wish Jay and Allison many years of happiness, but I was also curious as to how a different religion would celebrate marriage.

Chris was a groomsman in the wedding so the grandchildren rode to the temple with me. We met Chris in the parking lot, and he was wearing a long purple tunic, gold pants and a gold scarf.

He fit right in because the wedding guests were dressed in beautiful, bright colors. Turquoise, scarlet, emerald green, saffron and gold were the choices for the day by both men and women, and I loved seeing the bold, bright colors on the silk and taffeta saris and scarves.

Chris said the groom was supposed to ride into the temple on a Mustang, but they couldn’t find or get a real horse to the temple.

The elders said a Ford Mustang could substitute for the steed, so we all gathered behind the vehicle as it began the wedding procession.

As the music played and the drummers beat out a melody, guests waved their hands in the air and danced to the front doors of the temple as is tradition in a Hindu wedding.

Everyone was smiling and clapping, and I thought that was a terrific way for a couple to start their married life – joyous and without reservations.

Luckily we all received programs so that those of us who weren’t Hindu could understand what was happening. Inside the temple, two white chairs stood side by side in the middle of the stage while yards of white tulle provided a soft background.

What impressed me the most were the vows the bride and groom recited to each other, vows that go back hundreds of years. The couple prays to earn an honest livelihood, to love and respect their families and to seek enlightenment.

Together, they take seven steps into their married life, and the steps include nourishing each other, growing together in strength, preserving wealth, sharing joys and sorrows and caring for children. The last two steps were especially moving – to be lifelong friends and to respect one another’s spiritual values and, most importantly, each other.

The Hindu ceremony was rich in bright bold colors, the involvement of friends and family and the promises made to each other in a step-by-step joining of two young people in traditions steeped in old-world values, recited by many generations of young couples before them.

They thanked their family and friends for sharing the first day of their lives together as husband and wife. I realized that this Hindu wedding was more than a man and a woman coming together. They engaged in a ceremony that bound them to the past but made them promise to face the future together.

As we ate a traditional Hindu lunch, I was grateful my son had invited me to tag along to witness another religion’s way of celebrating marriage.

I realized that no matter the religious denomination, no matter if the wedding food is chaat or roast beef, no matter if guests dance behind a Mustang or to a Czech Grand March, when two people take each other as husband and wife in the company of family and friends, there is hope for the world.

This article was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

America lost one of her most cherished treasures with the passing of former First Lady Barbara Bush.

Earlier in the week, news feeds were filled with reports that Mrs. Bush declined further medical treatment to spend her final days in comfort care.

In other words, enough was enough.

Barbara Bush holds an especially dear place in the hearts and history books of Texas because she spent most of her life here.

She met George H.R. Bush at the age of 16, fell in love, and they married. Together they reared six children and Barbara campaigned with her husband along the roads of Texas while remaining the stereotypical political wife, at her husband’s side, wearing a smile and heels.

She exuded warmth and calm and appeared to be everyone’s mother and grandmother, roles she whole-heartedly embraced according to her children and grandchildren.

Her signature pearls became a fashion statement, but she admitted she started wearing them to hide the way her neck was aging.

Brutal honesty, we came to realize, was a trademark for Barbara.

I remember seeing a video of the first time Barbara met Hillary Clinton as the new incoming First Lady. George had lost a bitter run for the presidency to Bill Clinton, and it was time for Hillary to come in as the new lady of the White House.

Barbara graciously welcomed Hillary, pointed to the news people and cautioned the new First Lady to avoid them at all costs.

She gave her replacement some great advice and got a jab in to the press at the same time. She did all of that with a smile.

Most First Ladies take up a cause, and Barbara was no exception. She chose literacy, believing that being able to read, write and understand would help cure many of the problems society faced.

She was good to her word – she wrote many books, including a best seller about the Bush’s dog Millie, and tirelessly campaigned to help people learn how to read.

After visiting the Bush Presidential Library in College Station last year, I came away with a greater appreciation for both of the Bushes and thought that Barbara might very well be the last First Lady whose career was in the shadows of her husband’s.

But then I realized that Barbara stood in no one’s shadow.

She did what she thought was the best and right thing to do, and she publicly supported women who made difficult choices to do what they thought was right.

No matter how one feels about the Bush’s politics, there’s no denying that Barbara Bush was a dignified and beloved First Lady.

She shared her husband for decades with this country, and she watched her sons volunteer to serve their country.

I admired her as a First Lady, as a champion of a cause also dear to my heart and as someone who learned to play a politician’s game and, ultimately win at that game.

She will be buried in College Station next to her daughter, Robin, who passed away at the age of 3 from leukemia.

Barbara Bush endured happiness, tragedy and sorrow and came through knowing that family, faith and friends were the most important treasures in one’s life.

There’s one of her sayings I’ve always loved:

“At the end of your life, you will never regret not having passed one more test, winning one more verdict, or not closing one more deal. You will regret time not spent with a husband, a child, a friend or a parent.”

I have a feeling that the indomitable Barbara Bush passed away with few regrets.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.