One empty small Cheetos bag.

Just one.

An empty one at that.

Who would’ve guessed that one small empty Cheetos bag would attract a city of ants to wage war on our tent in the middle of night.

Last month, I took our 8-year-old grandson to Cub Scout Day Camp. We went home in the afternoon, cooled off in an air-conditioned house and slept in our own beds.

Taking my granddaughter to a four-day, overnight Scout Camp presented a whole new level of expertise, something I didn’t possess. My husband is an outstanding Scouter and camper, but he couldn’t make the trip. So he made sure we were prepared.

He gave us the necessities from cots, to sleeping pads, flashlights and practical advice. But, like most things, I learn the hard way, and I learned quite a bit about camping during those four days.

First, the tent. We were lucky because the camp provided roomy canvas tents on pallets. There were a few things I didn’t know about a tent.

Ventilation flaps open on the sides of the tent, not just on both ends. It’s also a good idea to open all those flaps when the Texas temperature is 85 degrees at night.

There’s no light in a tent. The little flashlight we had wasn’t the same as having an overhead light. We finally figured out my cell phone put out enough light for us to move around at night.

There’s another thing a tent doesn’t have – a ceiling fan. Luckily my husband sent us with a battery-powered fan and two rechargeable batteries. Good thing because I had to change the battery out about 3 a.m. all three nights.

A tent is no protection against insects. Those ants, attracted by that one empty Cheetos bag, found a million hiding places inside that tent, from the sheets to the pillows and our clothes.

We had to take everything out of the tent and shake them all out. Because it was hot and we were late for breakfast, we tossed the sheets, towels and blankets over two camp chairs outside the tent.

Rain might feel like a friend, but it’s not. Everything gets wet, especially the stuff we hung on those chairs.

Rain, when mixed with dirt, creates mud.

A muddy campsite is no fun.

Wet muddy shoes are no fun.

You walk at camp. Every day. Everywhere. And, on one afternoon, in wet, muddy shoes.

The sun comes up early and there’s no escaping the sun.

There’s no electronics.

No television.

No refrigerator.

No hair dryer.

Despite the lack of modern conveniences, our granddaughter absolutely loved camp. She loved the enthusiastic camp staff so much she wants to be one when she’s older.

She never complained, not about the heat, the ants or building a fire when the temperature was 100 degrees.

I whined about almost everything. You have to take practically your whole house with you when you go camping, why sleep outside when there’s air-conditioned hotels… the list is endless.

And for what? To wake up to the birds singing? A sunrise without buildings in the way and the smell of fresh dew on the grass?

To watch a young girl get a bull’s eye on the archery course or turn a canoe like an expert?

Was it worth the heat and miles of walking to watch my granddaughter lead the Morning Prayer in the dining hall, or catch a wide-mouth bass in the camp’s lake?

Was it worth it to watch my 10-year-old granddaughter steadily swim 100 yards to pass a swim test and come out of the pool with a huge smile on her face?

Absolutely positively yes.

 

    This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

 

I was happy our 8-year-old grandson was going to Cub Scout camp. I wasn’t too happy I was the designated adult to accompany him, especially when the temperatures were predicted to be 110 degrees on the last day.

But off we went for an adventure, water bottles, sunscreen, bug spray and lunches in hand. I didn’t realize I’d also be assigned a group of eight boys to keep track of that week.

I’ve always admired elementary school teachers. I knew there was no way I could tie shoes, dry tears or teach a child how to add. I’m too sarcastic, too math-challenged and a bit too impatient for little ones.

So when I saw I was in charge of eight kids, I was petrified. But I was with another adult each day. We successfully herded 14 second graders from station to station for five days, even though some days it seemed we were herding cats.

The camp letter advised that each child should bring a big bucket, the kind found at Home Depot or Lowe’s, to sit on and for them to store their belongings.

Most of the buckets were as big as the kids, but they bravely carried or dragged them along all day long. At least once a day, one of the boys left his bucket at the previous station, and he and a buddy had to go back and get it.

The activities were not only fun but they allowed us to see the personalities of the boys. It’s amazing how much you can learn about a kid in five days.

We had a wanderer, lost in thought most of the time. There was a complainer, one who smiled no matter what happened and one who cried on and off. There was a bully, and we showed him zero tolerance.

We had a sharp-shooter in the bunch who didn’t miss the middle of the target at the BB range. Another surprised us with his map-reading skills.

Lunch was always fun – they ate everything their parents packed, including the carrot sticks. The only thing left at the end of the lunch break was the crusts from the bread.

Little by little, we got to know each and every boy. The one who complained about others looking at him? We did some coaching, and by the end of the week, he was telling the others “Stop it. I don’t want you to do that.”

The small one who cried that first day? Turned out he had swimmer’s ear. We talked to his mom at the end of the day and she assured us he was getting drops every morning and night.

By the second day, he was feeling much better. For the rest of the camp, he was my best friend. He was also one of the smartest kids in the group, proving size doesn’t matter.

We found out the bully had an older brother who picked on him. There were lots of talks about treating others how you want to be treated and lots of time outs.

He improved a little bit each day. By the end of the week, the others accepted him, and he wasn’t such a bully.

On the last day, the kids were wild, and we let them play tag with each other, get sopping wet under the hoses and keep 10 balloons from hitting the ground, all the while climbing over and under tables.

Watching my grandson make friends and happily go from activity to activity are memories I’ll treasure. He fit right in with the boys, never complained, willingly participated and volunteered at every station.

Every day, I was hot, stinky and sweaty.

It was one of the happiest weeks of my life.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Sunday is Father’s Day, a time to honor those who serve as dads, fathers, grandfathers, godfathers, papas and more. Dictionaries are filled with the definition of father. But the title means so much more.

Books were once the protype for describing a good father. Think Atticus Finch in “To Kill a Mockingbird.” Atticus was calm, fair and loving to his two children.

Novels also showed us negative father Afigures. Consider Don and Michael Corleone in “The Godfather.” Criminals who lied in church, to their families and to the law.

Television also showed viewers what writers considered the best kind of father.

Many of us remember Andy Taylor from “The Andy Griffith Show” when we think about dads. Andy’s home-spun advice about raising children still rings true.

Ben Cartwright from “Bonanza” was tough but fair to his sons. John Amos in “Good Times” showed America a strong African American father who worked hard for his family.

So did Sherman Hemsley in “Good Times.” He was a self-made millionaire who was tough and loved his family.

Somewhere in the 1990s, television fathers went from wise patriarchs to buffoons. Tim Allen on “Tool Time” started out as a fun-loving dad who had most of the answers. At the end of the show’s run, Tim was a fool who never did anything right.

Same fate befell Ray Romano on “Everybody Loves Raymond.” He and his wife started out as overwhelmed parents of three children with overbearing in-laws.

Over the years, Debra turned into a shrew and Ray became the punchline to every joke. What a shame because both Allen and Romano resembled the everyday dad – one who made mistakes but who always loved his family.

“Ted Lasso,” a popular show that ended its third season, shows a variety of fathers.

Ted is a dad who misses his son so much he has panic attacks. He took a job coaching soccer in England because his wife wanted some space or a divorce. He called his son every day and ached when his son wasn’t with him.

One of the athletes, Jamie Tartt, has a despicable father. He’s an alcoholic who beats up Jamie. But this father checks himself into a facility to get sober, and we see that even the most wretched of fathers are capable of salvation.

Player Roy Kent stands in as a substitute father for his niece, Phoebe, and viewers see someone who stepped in to fill the role of dad for a family member. Roy adores Phoebe, and she adores him. Another form of realistic fatherhood.

There’s Sam Obisanya who has an incredibly loving relationship with both his mother and his father, but particularly with his father. Their scenes are filled with warmth and love, so wonderful for writers to finally acknowledge that good parenting knows no race or cultural boundaries.

Quite a few cable watchers were glued to “Succession.” I watched it but not with any pleasure. The father on this show, Logan Roy, is a despicable, cruel man to all his children. This show is considered top-notch television. I don’t know who’s running that poll but count me out.

Honestly, we really don’t need television or writers to show us good fathers. They’re all around us.

They’re in the grocery store with their children, at the playground and ball parks.

They’re dropping their children off in the school carpool line.

They’re taking time from work to attend school plays, gymnastics classes with their babies and allowing their children to paint their fingernails or build a rocket and then launch it.

Happy Father’s Day to all who willingly take on the role of dad, no matter if they’re a biological dad or a dad by choice. Don’t underestimate the power you have over those who call you dad.

How you treat and love your children will last generations.

Treat them with care.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

The headlines on news stations are grim.

There’s still a brutal war in Ukraine, foreign fighter jets are getting closer to America’s shores, and drones are ready to inflict harm and pestilence all over the world.

If that’s not bad enough, our schools are in desperate shape, teachers are burnt out, there’s not enough money to fix potholes in the roads and road construction on I-10 is predicted to get even worse than it already is.

These atrocities are reality, and I know I should pay attention, write emails to congressmen, and lose sleep over the future of the world. I’m not doing enough to recycle, conserve, exercise or read enough self-help books.

I feel guilty about not feeling guilty enough.

Instead of trying to improve the world and myself, I distract myself with comedy, specifically people who find humor all around.

Maybe that’s putting my head in the sand, but we all need a break from the doom and gloom. The first place I visit is YouTube. There’s no shortage of comics here. Some are vulgar for the sake of being vulgar, and that’s not particularly humorous to me.

Some are hit and miss, mostly because they belittle people, and they use profanity for shock value. There’s often little substance – just meanness.

There’s a comedy channel on Sirius radio, and I’ve tuned in a few times. I’m not a prude and I don’t mind profanity, but the routines I’ve heard on there are filled with rated “X” words, they’re not original and few of them are funny.

They could take a few tips from the late great Robin Williams.

The comic was an absolute genius. His routine on how the Scots came up with the game of golf will make you laugh out loud.

Choose the version of when he’s on a Scottish talk show and explains how difficult it is to understand accents in Scotland. Then he riffs into an explanation about how golf was invented. For anyone who’s confused about why golf is difficult, Williams makes it easy to understand.

I’ll watch any clip from “The Carol Burnett Show.” For over 12 years, many families tuned into the Carol Burnett show on Saturday nights. We loved the costumes, skits, Harvey Korman, Tim Conway and Vicki Lawrence. Best of all, though, was Carol.

Nothing’s funnier than the “Mama” segments. Fan favorites are the one where Tim Conway is talking about the elephant and when they play games like “Sorry” and “Charades.”

One of my favorite comics these days is Leann Morgan. She’s in her 50s with a thick Tennessee accent, and she talks lovingly, but in a joking way, about her family.

She admits to having issues with her thyroid, her love of pork sausage and her yummy grandson. She doesn’t use profanity and her routines are suitable for everyone in the family.

Morgan’s appearing at Sugar Land’s Smart Financial Center in November, and I already have my tickets.

I’ve written about the late Jeanne Robertson before. She’s a humorist with a Southern twang. Her routine about a young girl in a beauty contest who twirls a pretend baton is not only funny but is a fabulous life lesson.

The best comics or humorists tell real stories about real people and they’re not afraid to make themselves the butt of the joke.

Think about Burnett wearing the drapes when she performed a spoof of “Gone with the Wind.” Picture Lucille Ball trying to keep up on the chocolate assembly line or stomping grapes.

Take a break from the woes and troubles of the world and laugh with those who good-naturedly make fun of the bumps in the road.

Bad news will always be with us. A good laugh is often what we need to make sense of the world.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

The headlines on news stations are grim.

There’s still a brutal war in Ukraine, foreign fighter jets are getting closer to America’s shores, and drones are ready to inflict harm and pestilence all over the world.

If that’s not bad enough, our schools are in desperate shape, teachers are burnt out, there’s not enough money to fix potholes in the roads and road construction on I-10 is predicted to get even worse than it already is.

These atrocities are reality, and I know I should pay attention, write emails to congressmen, and lose sleep over the future of the world. I’m not doing enough to recycle, conserve, exercise or read enough self-help books.

I feel guilty about not feeling guilty enough.

Instead of trying to improve the world and myself, I distract myself with comedy, specifically people who find humor all around.

Maybe that’s putting my head in the sand, but we all need a break from the doom and gloom. The first place I visit is YouTube. There’s no shortage of comics here. Some are vulgar for the sake of being vulgar, and that’s not particularly humorous to me.

Some are hit and miss, mostly because they belittle people, and they use profanity for shock value. There’s often little substance – just meanness.

There’s a comedy channel on Sirius radio, and I’ve tuned in a few times. I’m not a prude and I don’t mind profanity, but the routines I’ve heard on there are filled with rated “X” words, they’re not original and few of them are funny.

They could take a few tips from the late great Robin Williams.

The comic was an absolute genius. His routine on how the Scots came up with the game of golf will make you laugh out loud.

Choose the version of when he’s on a Scottish talk show and explains how difficult it is to understand accents in Scotland. Then he riffs into an explanation about how golf was invented. For anyone who’s confused about why golf is difficult, Williams makes it easy to understand.

I’ll watch any clip from “The Carol Burnett Show.” For over 12 years, many families tuned into the Carol Burnett show on Saturday nights. We loved the costumes, skits, Harvey Korman, Tim Conway and Vicki Lawrence. Best of all, though, was Carol.

Nothing’s funnier than the “Mama” segments. Fan favorites are the one where Tim Conway is talking about the elephant and when they play games like “Sorry” and “Charades.”

One of my favorite comics these days is Leann Morgan. She’s in her 50s with a thick Tennessee accent, and she talks lovingly, but in a joking way, about her family.

She admits to having issues with her thyroid, her love of pork sausage and her yummy grandson. She doesn’t use profanity and her routines are suitable for everyone in the family.

Morgan’s appearing at Sugar Land’s Smart Financial Center in November, and I already have my tickets.

I’ve written about the late Jeanne Robertson before. She’s a humorist with a Southern twang. Her routine about a young girl in a beauty contest who twirls a pretend baton is not only funny but is a fabulous life lesson.

The best comics or humorists tell real stories about real people and they’re not afraid to make themselves the butt of the joke.

Think about Burnett wearing the drapes when she performed a spoof of “Gone with the Wind.” Picture Lucille Ball trying to keep up on the chocolate assembly line or stomping grapes.

Take a break from the woes and troubles of the world and laugh with those who good-naturedly make fun of the bumps in the road.

Bad news will always be with us. A good laugh is often what we need to make sense of the world.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Most people don’t like attending funerals. As a society, we know we should attend to pay our respects to the person who passed away and to show support for the grieving family.

Our grandmother, Marguerite, was specific about how she wanted her funeral plans carried out.

She wanted the visitation and funeral on the same day so people wouldn’t have to stay overnight.

She wanted a happy event, and we were instructed to make the eulogy fit that mode. For the closing song, she wanted “When the Saints Come Marching In,” and we obliged.

My cousin, Sylvia, and I gave the homily sporting Mardi Gras beads and sunglasses as Grandma was a native of New Orleans. She always signed letters to us “have fun along the way,” and we felt the service needed to fit her philosophy.

This past week, I attended the funeral of Theresa Elizabeth Schulte McGarry, the mother of our brother-in-law, Jimmy.

Mrs. McGarry had been in ill health for the past few years, and people say it’s a blessing when they pass.

That’s not so.

It’s one of the hardest goodbyes in the world, but especially for this incredible woman.

Siblings, cousins and in-laws sat around my sister’s living room and watched a slide show with pictures from Theresa’s life. They had so many stories to tell.

First of all, there was a happy marriage for 67 years to Rod McGarry. Theresa was the love of his life and he was hers.

Photos showed a couple that went from a typical 1950s small home to filling a house with cribs, toys and children. Siblings said their mom made most of her own clothes and theirs, even when there were seven of them.

Whenever they went on vacation, Jimmy said they knew to pack a bathing suit, casual clothes and their Sunday best. Theresa always knew where Sunday Mass would be celebrated, and the entire family went to Mass.

Her son, Mike, wrote her obituary which revealed a life of service and love. She’d considered becoming a nun, but changed her mind and became a teacher and then a mother. She was active in her church, and ran their home like a brigadier general.

Along with rearing seven children, Theresa was a Girl Scout leader and volunteer for over 25 years. She served as president of the Baton Rouge Girl Scout Council for two years. She got her commercial driver’s license, Mike said, so she could drive the troop around the country on a school bus.

She and Rod visited all 50 states in their RV, often taking a grandchild or two along. They also visited the same number of foreign countries.

Once their children had families of their own, Rod and Theresa rented condos at Gulf Shores, Ala. every summer. Everyone attended because they knew the importance of keeping in touch and making sure the next generation was as close as the uncles and aunts were.

After the service, their daughter Kay asked the grandchildren to raise their hands if Grandma and Grandpa had attended their graduation from high school or college.

All 21 grandchildren raised their hands. She asked if any of them had received funds from an educational grant the McGarrys set up. A sea of hands went up. They said they might not have gone to college without the encouragement of their parents and grandparents.

When some of the grandchildren came up to talk to Mr. McGarry, who lost his sight a few months ago, there was only love and interest. It was “I’m so glad you’re here. Tell me everything you’ve been up to. I can’t wait to hear all about you.”

Theresa’s priorities, Mike said, were never in question – faith, family, education and adventure. As I looked around the room at the McGarry children, spouses, cousins, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, I knew this family had sewn a legacy of love and friendship that was continuing into the next generation.

What an incredible life you lived, Mrs. McGarry. You will be remembered with laughter, cherished, loved, emulated and never forgotten by family, friends, the many girls you inspired and those lucky enough to have known this gentle yet strong woman of God.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

For 13 years, I was a public school teacher. It was my fifth career, actually.

First, I was a secretary for a major oil company. Then I was a stay-at-home mom. Then I became a writer and reporter for this newspaper.

My fourth career was as a teacher. Now I’m a retiree, trying to find my way through occasional boredom, wonderful hours babysitting grandchildren and doing some part-time work, both in the school system and writing this column.

But as the school year ends for most of our kids, I found myself going down memory lane. I remembered those last days, especially as I’ve been in a couple of schools recently.

The kids are ready to start their summer, and teachers are anxious for them to go so they, too, can begin relaxing and get away from demanding lesson plans, discipline and being on stage for almost eight hours a day.

As many staff developments that teachers attend, nobody prepares an educator for that last week. They know they’re supposed to pack up books, give back all papers, take down posters and lock up supplies.

We read so much about kids who don’t want to learn, overzealous parents, and dangerous situations at schools. The pay’s not great, the work is overwhelming, a teacher’s heart breaks every time there’s a shooter drill, and the morale among the staff can be lower than low.

While all that is true, there’s a few things a teacher often doesn’t realize until the year’s over.

When the last batch of kids leave the building, the faculty luncheon is over and everyone’s waiting for the “all-clear” call on the intercom that teachers can leave, educators realize one thing – it’s too quiet.

Halls and schools aren’t meant to be empty and quiet. They’re meant to be full of laughter, learning, and sneakered feet tapping their way down the hall, teachers reminding them to stay in the line.

During the year, bells ring, doors slam and lock and announcements over the loudspeaker interrupt instructional time on a regular basis. There’s the phone calls and emails from frustrated parents, emails from administrators wanting lesson plans, forms filled out and, quite frankly, mind-numbing data they want collected.

Educators didn’t get into this profession for that.

Teachers want to be the ones imparting information to their students. They’re supposed to teach them how to spell words and write essays. They’re supposed to teach them multiplication, division, addition and subtraction. And let’s not forget the names of the 50 states, their capitols and the life cycle of a butterfly.

That’s the requirements of the job, but teachers often overlook what students taught them.

They taught patience. Picture that student in the class who asked endless questions, despite having the instructions on the board and repeating them endlessly in class.

Not all of us absorb information the same way. Teachers need to thank that young person for teaching them that learning doesn’t arrive in a tidy, square box.

They reminded their teachers to laugh. Sometimes, the best attitude a teacher can possess is the ability to laugh.

Teachers need to remember the class where they made a mistake and then laughed it off. The thing is, kids laugh with you, not at you.

They teach that it’s okay to be human, okay to laugh instead of cry and to let them see teachers can have a great sense of humor.

They taught acceptance. That student a teacher thought was beyond redemption turned in a fabulous paper. The kid who almost dropped the camera a dozen times caught some of the best photos in the class. The child with the IEP paperwork turns out to be the most dedicated kid in the room.

All teachers make mistakes.

The kids overlooked them.

Teachers will lose their temper.

The kids showed forgiveness.

Students teach the intangibles. They tested the teacher every single day, and that, in turn, taught teachers that it’s okay to be frustrated with a job but still love what you’re doing. Nobody tells teachers how much they will love those children. They get into your heart and stay there forever.

Those halls will be filled in a few weeks. And that’s how every school building should be – noisy and brimming with possibilities. Without the kids, a school is just a building.

Have a great summer, educators, you’ve earned it.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

 

I’ve been doing a lot of escaping lately. Not by literally going through one of those escape rooms or on an airplane to some exotic location.

My escaping has been through mindless scrolling on the internet.

One of my favorite escapes is the reels and short video option on Facebook. These are mini stories, usually less than two minutes, and the content is probably decided from my past viewing history and some faceless artificial intelligence being in the blogosphere.

Most of the time, the videos on my reel are cute kids. I love watching Frankie and Stevie, two sisters, as they go through life. Frankie’s got a huge vocabulary and her sister’s right behind her.

There’s also quite a few medical videos. I clicked on Dr. Pimple Popper a couple of times, so now I’m offered gross medical procedures from Dr. Karan Raj. I’m sorry I clicked on him and some of the others because now I think there’s at least three undetected major medical issues going on simultaneously in my body.

Craft and home make-over videos show up all the time. The last time I undertook a craft project was when my kids were in elementary school, and that was years ago.

My craft supplies include Elmer’s glue, pom poms, scissors and pieces of felt. Modern home crafters have power saws, electric sanders and all kinds of goop to put on refinished furniture.

A female comic, Leanne Morgan, showed up one day, and I’ve been hooked on her videos. She’s from Tennessee and is over the age of 50. She talks about being low on hormones, the many diets she’s been on and her wild days in the 80s.

She’s coming to the Smart Financial Center in September, but paying $150 for a ticket is a little over my price range. Didn’t those robots see I choose a lot of videos on how to do things on the cheap?

I think I’ve seen every funny clip of “Modern Family” and “Young Sheldon” on that reel option. I cannot resist Gloria, Mitch and Cameron and the best of the best from their time on television. Clips from “The Office” are always entertaining as are classic skits from “The Carol Burnett Show.”

The artificial intelligence genie knows I’ll watch recipes that include dumping bags of Fritos, ground meat and cheese in a slow cooker. I’ll sit there and watch those videos for a half hour, hoping something, anything, will come up that’s healthy, quick and cheap. No luck so far.

There’s two new guys that showed up this week, and I keep clicking on their videos in hopes that they’ll become regulars. One wears a red tie and tries out some of the “hacks” on TikTok, like how to unlock your iPhone. Khaby Lame tries out some of the hacks people post and, without saying a word, sheds light on some of the ridiculous ideas people think are ingenious.

There’s always the down-home advice of influencer Ophelia Nichols, also known as “Mama Tot” who invites people to eat lunch with her while she dispenses words of wisdom. She’s always inspirational and fun.

I’ll watch every hair cut and hair style video that appears on my feed even though I’ve had the same basic hair style for years. I’d never shave my head or spend $500 to have somebody put yellow then purple then blue goop on my hair.

Rosie’s been making me look better than I deserve for three decades and it only takes her an hour to work her magic on my hair.

Housework and dishes can wait because I’ve got a few rabbit holes to disappear down. When I see you in a few hours, I’ll have the answer to whether or not chocolate-covered pickles taste good and the easiest way to cut up a lime.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Mother’s Day is this weekend, and our family is lucky our mom is still with us. She’s 90 years young and going strong.

Others aren’t as fortunate to have their moms here, and I know this holiday is difficult. It’s also painful for those who’ve lost a child because the mother’s heart always yearns for the one who’s not here.

Motherhood can be either through birthing a child, adoption, or embracing someone who needs a mom. Men can serve the motherhood role in a child’s life as can an aunt, uncle, grandparent, neighbor, friend or teacher.

No matter where a mom comes from, they usually have words of wisdom we hear all our lives. Most are practical – brush your teeth before you go to bed, eat your vegetables and always wear clean underwear.

These gems are practical, like teaching you how to make your bed, wash your clothes or drive a car. The real gold comes from the advice our moms have given us that serve us well every step of the way.

The women in my family have tossed out a few memorable pieces of advice over the years. My Grandmother Marguerite had dozens of sayings about life, some of which are not suitable for this family newspaper.

These are ones I remember, and I promise, they will serve you well:

“Never turn down an opportunity to go on a date, even if you don’t particularly care for the boy. Others will see you’re out and know you’re available.”

“Always remember to have fun along the way.”

Our cousin, Sylvia, is the eldest girl in the Hebert clan. She remembers quite a few Marguerite sayings:

“Act as if you belong wherever you are. If you don’t, someone will let you know, and it may or may not be true.”

“Always put your travel on credit cards. That way, if you die on your trip, you won’t have had to save up for a vacation.”

“Always date younger men. The ones your age are too old for you.”

“Listen to your body. It will tell you everything you need to know.”

Marguerite also told us to always buy nice, shoes. Forget sensible – high heels should be in every girl’s closet. Our Aunt Kathy told us to always keep a pair of gold shoes handy – they are a go-to when going out on the town.

My mom is well known for the advice she’s given over the years. My siblings remember these diamonds: “Getting old is not for sissies,” and our absolute favorite, “All my children are perfect.”

I’d like to think I’ve given my boys the usual momisms – “Your face is going to freeze like that” and “I’m going to count to three.”

I’d like to think those are words of wisdom because all children need to learn how to mask the times they think someone’s an idiot. They also needed to learn how to count.

Some of my phrases they quote come from driving. I have a short fuse in a vehicle and a low tolerance for people who behave stupidly behind the wheel of a car.

Whenever someone would zoom past us, I’d yell one of two phrases:  “Somebody better be bleeding in that car” or “speed on brother, hell aint’ half full.”

To this day, if they’re in the car with me and someone goes by us as a high speed, they turn to me and say “Don’t even think about saying it.”

I like to think I created something memorable for them. Not helpful memorable, but memorable all the same.

Take some of the advice from these savvy women. Listen to your body. Never turn down an opportunity to go out on the town, in your gold shoes, and, remember, have fun along the way.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

When we moved to Pecan Grove over 35 years ago, one of the restaurants everyone said should be on our “must-visit” list was The Swinging Door.

We followed that advice, and The Swinging Door is still one of our favorites.

After over 50 years in business, owner Steve Onstad announced he’s moving on to another chapter, and The Swinging Door will close as of July 1.

The rumors about the barbecue place’s closing were rampant on social media until Onstad made the announcement official.

For many people, especially those in Richmond, this establishment has been part of their lives. We visited so many times when our boys were young. Because of the concrete floors and relaxed atmosphere, spills and noise didn’t matter.

Many an end-of-the-year baseball party was celebrated there as were engagement parties, weddings, funeral receptions and family get-togethers. The staff and Onstad welcomed everyone.

Besides some of the most delicious slow-cooked brisket in east Texas, The Swinging Door offers something that’s quickly disappearing – they are family owned and operated.

Most stores and restaurants these days are corporate owned. You can go to a McDonald’s or Chili’s in any city and the taste and choices are the same. At The Swinging Door, the choices are based on what owner Steve Onstad wanted to serve:  beef brisket, pork ribs, chicken, sausage and turkey.  Side dishes are creamy potato salad, potatoes, beans, cole slaw, green beans, dirty rice or mac and cheese.

Some restaurants serve chips and salsa – here you’ll get warm bread you can dip in Onstad’s famous barbecue sauce. Desserts are simple yet delicious. If it’s fancy you want, go spend three times what you would at The Swinging Door and you’ll find that.

No menu choices with fancy names or created with spices few people can pronounce. Just meat, slow-cooked until it’s fork tender and can literally melt in your mouth. Some of us love the huge baked potatoes, and children enjoy a familiar PB&J sandwich.

It’s impossible to drive down FM-359 and not have your mouth water when you pass by the restaurant – that smell of meat over pecan wood is distinct and enchanting.

When our son was returning to Taiwan a few years ago, he’d promised some of his friends he’d bring them back genuine Texas brisket. We ordered a brisket from the restaurant, and we wrapped it carefully in foil, hoping it wouldn’t get confiscated by a jealous TSA agent.

He said everyone on the plane wondered about that wonderful smell. When they found out he was taking back a couple of pounds of Texas slow-cooked brisket, they all wanted just a little taste.

He politely refused. When he got to Taiwan, his Texas buddies felt like they were back home.

We met our son’s future in-laws at The Swinging Door, and we got to know each other over a barbecue sandwich and tall glass of iced tea. When out of towners come and want some genuine Texas food, we take them to The Swinging Door.

So many of our sons’ friends worked there, and we’d always beg for the recipe to the wonderful sauce they serve. Nope, they’d say. Restaurant secret.

Most people agree The Swinging Door is one of the best around. From reviews on TripAdvisor to Facebook, Onstad’s barbecue earns five out of five stars or the top recommendation they can bestow.

The Swinging Door is a restaurant owned by a family where you can take your family, at least for the coming few weeks. They’ve opened their doors to at least three generations of Texans looking for a taste of their state’s most honored meal, brisket and beans.

You’ll be missed, Steve Onstad.

Thank you for a half century of good eating and good company.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.