In case you’ve been living in a cave, the holiday season is in full swing, especially as there’s less than a week until Christmas Day.

As usual, I procrastinated about getting a Christmas tree, and the result is what one would expect when shopping at a cleared-out tree lot.

Another less-than-perfect tree.

We went to the lot and there were quite a few Christmas trees left. Most looked like they’d been spray painted back in August, but we know the real trees don’t last very long.

There was a new variety of Christmas trees, but the needles were so long and full, our ornaments wouldn’t stand a chance.

We chose one and, honestly, I haven’t a clue if it’s a Scotch pine, White pine or Douglas fir tree. All I know is the price and height were what we wanted so we secured the tree in the back of the truck.

The next day, I came home, and my husband had the tree in the stand. From the front, it looked great. The tree was round and full, not too big or too small. When I sat down at the kitchen table, however, the true picture of the tree came into focus.

The trunk was crooked from the top to about a foot from the bottom. We didn’t notice that weirdness at the tree lot, mostly because I focused on the bottom of the tree.

If it’s too skinny, the tree stand can’t tighten up that much. If the trunk’s too thick, it won’t fit in the stand. How do I know this? Because we’ve bought both a too-skinny tree and a too-fat tree.

Towels and a saw saved the day.

About the same time I was groaning about the crooked tree, a memory popped up on Facebook. It was a photo of our tree last year.

Guess what.

That tree was just as crooked as this one.

Maybe that’s the way we shop. We’re drawn to the less-than-perfect trees.

One year, we had a tree that was so dead, just walking past it caused the needles to fall off. The grandkids had fun on Christmas Eve blowing on the tree and watching the needles fall like snowflakes.

Then there was the tree that almost fell over. I insisted on putting it up when my husband wasn’t home. He always trims the tree so the branches don’t get in the way of the stand and so we can fit gifts underneath the boughs.

Even though the tree is sturdy, I whine because half the tree is gone when he’s finished. I decided one year to put the tree up when he was at work.

I only put a few inches of the trunk in the stand because those lower branches were in the way.

Later that night, I was patting myself on the back for getting the tree up and keeping all the branches.

That’s when I noticed the ornaments were leaning. The tree was going to fall over during the middle of the night. I roused one of my sons out of bed and had him hold the tree upright while I sawed off the bottom branches and secured the tree in the stand.

The “I-told-you-so’s” lasted for the next five Christmases.

One year, I ran out of time and only put on half the lights and just a few of the ornaments. The angel topper didn’t even make the cut.

There was the year I had one strand of white lights and three strands of multi-colored lights. During the day, the effect wasn’t noticeable. But at night, a fourth of the tree sported blinking colored lights while the other fourth was solid white lights.

Once again, we have a less-than-perfect tree this year. But I’m not after perfect. Perfect isn’t any fun. Without these mishaps and odd Christmas trees, we wouldn’t have any memorable stories to laugh about.

I’d rather have those memories than a perfect Christmas tree.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

On Thanksgiving Day, I put a little too much liquid in the pan with the turkey. The juices spilled over but I forgot to wipe up the mess.

We’re mostly air fryer and microwave chefs these days, so cleaning up the burnt-on gunk faded from my to-do list.

A few nights ago, I turned on the oven and the house immediately filled with smoke. That’s when I remembered the mess in the oven. There was no avoiding the chore – the oven needed to be cleaned. This is a once-a-year job for me.

Okay, let’s be honest.

Maybe once in a blue moon job.

Luckily, I had a can of oven cleaner, probably from last Thanksgiving. I followed the instructions, but that burnt-on mess wasn’t budging.

A few hours later, I sprayed the cleaner again, but the residue still wouldn’t come off.

I moved to the next level – baking soda, water and vinegar. Half a gallon of vinegar and a box of baking soda later, the gunk stayed there.

I did some reading and found Barkeeper’s Friend powder might work. After another hour of scrubbing, most of the gunk was gone.

Standing in front of the oven with three dirty towels and a destroyed sponge on the floor, I asked myself why I’d spent all day and two nights trying to clean something no one will ever see.

It’s not like I invite people over and, after they come in, ask if they’d like to see the clean oven.

Same with the toilet bowls. We have hard water, and a hard-water ring constantly forms inside the toilet bowl.

I read an article and found a pumice stone can remove hard-water rings. The article was spot on, and a pumice stone is now part of the toilet bowl cleaning routine.

But that wasn’t the end of my bathroom cleaning obsession. The day I watched a bathroom cleaning video and saw you could pull up the tabs on the toilet seat and clean underneath them was as if I’d discovered the lost route to the Holy Grail.

I also spend an inordinate amount of time polishing the kitchen stove top. After meals, I spray the ceramic top with Windex and polish until there’s no stains.

I’ve spent hours trying to keep the cast-iron grates clean, spraying them with oven cleaner and scraping burnt-on food away with a putty knife.

It’s a form of insanity.

Never have I had guests over and invited them to inspect the cast-iron grates on the stovetop. Nor have I pointed out the sparkling porcelain in the toilet. I will admit to pointing out the clean interior of my vehicle because it’s a rarity.

Before anyone gets the idea I’m a clean freak, let me point out that I haven’t cleaned the dust from the fan blades in over a year. Nor have I swept or vacuumed behind the bedroom doors in probably five years.

I’ve had the same can of Pledge for at least three years – it’s still almost full – and I haven’t cleaned the glass on the picture frames since we moved in 15 years ago.

But that oven, stove top and toilet bowl? Let me tell you – clean as a whistle.

It shouldn’t matter if anyone other than me cares or knows about the cleanliness of my house or car. The cleaning isn’t for anyone else – it’s a personal achievement.

But perhaps there’s a bigger reward further down the road. When I get to the judgment gates in the great beyond, I’m hoping St. Peter will say “Wow, Denise, your toilets were gleaming. Come on in.”

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

 

As the Christmas holiday season is here, it’s time for the annual “It’s a Wonderful Life” column, courtesy of Bob Haenel and Denise Adams.

Years ago, Bob first wrote a column with trivia questions from the movie, and it was a huge hit. Although Bob’s retired from the newspaper business, we’re keeping the IAWL trivia column going.

The movie stars Jimmy Stewart as George Bailey, a man who never seems to get what he wants. When he thinks things would be better if he’d never been born, his guardian angel steps in and shows him what life would be like if he’d never been here.

Some movies stand the test of time while others don’t fare as well. IAWL has a few cringy stereotypes from the time, women stayed at home, housekeepers were Black women and none of the women wear pants or trousers.

But the lessons taught in this movie are what make it a true classic. The characters get to your heart, starting with George Bailey, the star of IAWL.

One of George Bailey’s best traits is his ability to see the potential in people. In Violet, he doesn’t see the town floozie – he sees a good person and he supports her in her quest to better herself.

Mr. Martini was an immigrant to this county, but George saw he could be a profitable businessman. He also saw that Ernie Bishop, the cab driver, would be successful member of society if he had a decent roof over his head. George believed that of all people.

When it opened, the movie was unsuccessful at the box office, and it slowly faded from memory. For 30 years, IAWL languished on the movie studio’s shelf until its copyright expired.

Cable television mogul Ted Turner discovered the now-free movie and played it non-stop on his new television station where it became a Christmas classic. Today, IAWL is considered one of the greatest films of all time.

So without further ado, here’s our annual IAWL column – good luck! Answers are at the bottom. No fair Googling the answers – see how many you can get right from memory.

1. The movie is about a man named George Bailey. What’s George’s father’s name and his younger brother’s name?
2. All outstanding movies have a bad guy. Who’s the bad guy in IAWL? Extra points if you know the initials of his middle name.
3. Who told Mr. Potter he was a “warped, frustrated old man?”
4. Who told George Bailey “I’ll love you till the day I die.”
5. George lost his hearing in one ear. What happened and in which ear was George deaf?
6. What song did Mary and George sing together after they fell in the high school swimming pool?
7. What’s the name of George’s first employer? Hint – he also bought George a suitcase to travel the world.
8. What is Uncle Billy’s phone number?
9. George has a favorite bar in the movie. The name of the “joint” changes. What are the two names?
10. George has some good friends in this movie. What’s the name of his friend who says “hee-haw?”
11. Later in the movie, one of George’s friends sends a telegram and promises George something. What is it?
12. Uncle Billy has two pet animals in the movie. What are they?
13. What did young Violet buy in the drugstore?
14. What’s the name of the house George and Mary buy? Bonus point if you know the address.
15. What is the name of the bank examiner? Bonus point if you know what city he wanted to visit for Christmas.

Enjoy your holidays and may the spirit of George Bailey live in your hearts year round!

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

 

 

 

Answers:

 

1. Peter Bailey is the father, Harry Bailey is George’s younger brother
2. Henry F. Potter.
3. George Bailey
4. Mary Hatch, later known as Mary Bailey
5. He saved his brother Harry from drowning. George was deaf in his left ear.
6. “Buffalo Gals.”
7. Emil Gower
8. Bedford 247
9. First it’s Martini’s. In George’s fantasy, it’s Nick’s Bar.
10. Sam Wainwright
11. Sam Wainwright promises to lend George up to $20,000
12. Crow and squirrel
13. Shoelaces, a flavor of licorice
14. The Old Granville house, 320 Sycamore Street
15. Carter. He wants to go to Elmira.

 

This Thanksgiving Day, I’m humbly grateful.

My mom is still around to dispense laughs and wisdom, and our family’s healthy and happy. We all get along, and when there are differences, we steer conversations around until we find neutral ground.

As is my usual practice in this space, it’s the little things I enjoy and am thankful for. So here goes. I’m thankful for:

Back-up cameras in my car. I’ve never been good at backing up my car. When I was learning to drive, I wanted to practice handling the car while in reverse. The result? I backed into the house and pushed the wall in a few inches.

My brother still teases me.

“It’s not like it wasn’t, oh, let’s see, as big as a house,” Jimmy will say. I’ll throw something at him, and he waits for another opportunity.

Elastic. I remember the days of trying to button pants that were too small. All day, I’d feel like someone was cutting me in half. When they finally put elastic in dress slacks, it was a great day.

I think all pants should have elastic waists, and elastic should be required in all children’s clothes. In fact, elastic would work in almost every garment on the market.

Back scratchers. When I was young, a back scratcher was one of us, standing behind my mom or dad, scratching their backs for what seemed like hours.

My sister, Diane, was the one usually summoned because she has long fingernails and scratches like a pro. The rest of us would wimp out after about 5 minutes.

Now I have a set of bamboo back scratchers and they’re fabulous. At all times, there’s one by my desk, one in my car and one in the living room.

Restaurant drive-through lanes. I remember having to get out of the car, rain, snow, heat, and run inside a restaurant to pick up our burgers and fries. Our parents considered us the door dashers when we were young.

Now, if there’s not a drive through at an eatery, I keep driving until I find one that does not require me to get out of my car.

The service can be slow and sometimes you can’t understand the person on the other end of the speaker. But I’ll take drive-through over finding a parking space, dashing through the parking lot and standing in line every day of the week.

Air fryers. No more warming day-old pizza up in the oven, further drying it out. Now we can reheat pizza, grill hot dogs and bake chicken nuggets in minutes.

There are some things I have mixed feelings about. These are great inventions, but in some instances, they’re annoying and take more time than they’re worth.

Text messaging. Yes, texting is quick and convenient. In some situations, a quick text is the best way to get your message across. But I always mistype a word in the first line and have to go back, letter by letter, and fix it.

Text messaging is also frustrating. Once the text is sent, it’s gone. You can delete the message, but the person on the other end knows you deleted it and will always wonder what you said that needed to be erased from consciousness.

Two-step encryption. This is the extra layer of security where you type in your password. Before you can access your email or a television channel, a code is sent to your phone. You have to type it in and then you can get to your email or a website.

My phone is seldom next to me when I’m at the computer, so I have to go find it before I can log in. It’s bad enough I can’t remember passwords. Now I have to go through a two-step process just to check my email.

I understand the need for security, but it’s an aggravating extra step, especially when I’m in a hurry.

But today’s not a day to quibble about the little annoyances. It’s a day of giving thanks, reflecting on our blessings and enjoying time with the people we choose to surround ourselves with.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

 

 

For years, my sisters and sister-in-law enjoyed a holiday tradition. On the day after Thanksgiving, we’d get up at 6 a.m. and hit the malls in search of the best bargains.

We were women on a mission. Lists in hand, we’d visit every store to make sure we got the best deals and cross off as many items as possible.

We’d have lunch at a restaurant in the mall because, let’s face it, you won’t find another parking spot if you leave.

Our wonderful brothers took care of all the kids at our parents’ house. They had a non-stop basketball game going on in the driveway along with burgers on the barbecue pit.

My two sisters and I would stay up talking until 2 a.m. I still remember my sister-in-law, Debra, standing over me at 5:30 a.m. She was snapping her fingers in front of my face saying “Get up! Those bargains won’t wait!”

One year, we were in Service Merchandise, a store similar to Target. We’d gotten there about 7 a.m., intent on snagging early-bird bargains. As we were walking in, our brother was walking out, bags in hand.

Jimmy said he heard us talking and decided to cash in on the Black Friday deals. He was already finished and good naturedly accused us of being slackers for getting there so late.

Our nieces always asked to come with us, but we told them they were too young. One year, we believed they were old enough to be initiated into the after-Thanksgiving Day shopping spree.

The rules were simple. No whining. No complaining. Shop fast and shop smart. The best deals had to be more than 25 percent off the retail price. The girls hung with us but about mid-morning, they had a revelation.

This wasn’t fun.

They said they would rather sleep late and hang out with their uncles and dads instead of traipsing through the mall looking for bargains.

Plus, we made them carry all the bags, so I can understand why they weren’t 100 percent on board with our tradition.

This is one of the many memories the women in our family have shared.  Now I’m creating new ones with the girls in my immediate family.

My daughters-in-law and I had a great time at a painting session a few months ago. We decided to do something creative again, so we booked a pottery making class.

Our eldest granddaughter was at a weekend Thespian Festival, and that left our other granddaughter, Kat, home. Originally it was just going to be the moms, but I called Kat’s mother and asked her to bring Kat along.

It was time for the initiation.

Having young Kat in the group was a treat for all of us. She learned her female relatives were a lot of fun, wise – my word, not hers – and imaginative. We learned how creative she can be and also how funny and smart she is.

The end results were fun and, in our eyes, beautiful. Some of the pieces were a little lopsided, some not as tall or as wide as we’d hoped but they were unique in their own way.

There were wine goblets, bowls and, the piece de resistance, a pitcher Ingrid made, complete with a handle and flowers on the side.

The baton is being passed. My sister told me the best thing I can spend money and time on in life is experiences.

She’s right.

Heads up painting studio. A group consisting of fun female family members are headed your way, laughter, talent and love in tow.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

Twenty years ago, my father passed away shortly after midnight. Early the next morning, there was a knock on my mom’s door.

Women from the church were there with dinner and dessert. They either stayed up half the night or got up at 4 in the morning to make sure we’d have something to eat.

Days later when I came home, I was unloading the car when my friend Nancy came walking up the driveway. She had dinner, a salad and a dessert for us because she knew we were bone tired, both physically and mentally.

All these years later, I’m still amazed and humbled by the act of kindness these wonderful friends gave to our family and to me.

Delivering food to a grieving family might not seem like a big gesture.

But that act of kindness reaffirms that when we think the world is against us, there are still people who care.

A friend’s father passed away unexpectedly recently.  She and her husband were out of town when they got the news, and they planned to come home, repack and then drive the two days to her parents’ house.

When they arrived home, there were a couple of boxes on their front porch. Friends had packed travel snacks, drinks and treats for them.

Her friends went the extra mile to make sure that sad road trip was a little bit easier.

All the time they were in Tennessee, her friends sent meals and flowers. Her family was covered with thoughtfulness as they worked their way through the grieving process.

Many years ago, my mom wanted to paint our living room. She worked full time and had seven kids, but she wanted to spruce up the house. Saturday morning, three friends unexpectedly showed up at our front door holding paintbrushes.

They came to help. My mom was overwhelmed by the kindnesses these neighbors showed her.

I saw the smile on my mom’s face, and those women did more than paint. In one morning, they helped an overwhelmed mother feel not so alone.

My mom’s long-time friend Mona comes to visit her every Monday. Mona can drive, so she takes my mom out to lunch and then shopping. Mona makes sure Mom has somebody to talk to and help with her errands.

To Mona, she’s enjoying being with her friend. But for us, those visits are a lifeline for our mother. We’re eternally grateful to Mona for doing what seems like a small gesture to her but, in reality, is huge to us.

When my aunt’s house flooded, friends and family arrived wearing boots and gloves and quickly salvaged as many items as possible. Best of all, every time someone walked past my aunt, they handed her a beer.

So many times throughout the day, people bestow small kindnesses and they have no idea how much that gesture means.

Someone holds the door open for us, perhaps not realizing we had an awful day at work. They let us go in front of them in the grocery store, somehow sensing we’re bone tired.

A hug, a smile, a pat on the back – they don’t cost a dime, but they are gold to someone. We usually don’t know how badly the other person needed that human connection.

We think we need to do something big to make a difference, but it’s the small things in life that have the greatest impact.

Calling a friend, taking a milkshake to someone stuck at home, and stopping by to visit a mom with young children so she has an adult to talk to.

Small things are really the big things in life.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.   

I was a bit naïve in my teenage years, especially where music was concerned. I loved singing along with the radio, not thinking deeply about the meaning of the lyrics.

Songs like “You’ve Got a Friend” were easy to understand. To this day, I don’t get what “American Pie” is all about. As I’ve gotten older, though, I somewhat understand some of the hidden meanings of songs, especially from the 60s and 70s.

“Puff the Magic Dragon” comes to mind. I thought that song was about a sweet little dragon that lived by the sea in a town with a delightful name, Honalee.

I had no clue it was about puffing drugs.

The writers claim there’s no double meaning to this song, but hey, come on, even I’m not that dumb any more.

Same goes for “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane. I thought it was about “Alice in Wonderland,” one of my favorite books. I didn’t understand all the symbolism in the book, but it was a fun tale to read.

The song is about opening one’s mind through taking psychedelic drugs. “One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small” wasn’t referring to vitamins.

Some song meanings, of course, were obvious, even to me. Even though Neil Young can’t sing his way out of a paper bag, his “The Needle and the Damage Done” was quite obvious.

Back in the day, I did figure out that Jimi Hendrix’s “Purple Haze” wasn’t about shades of violet and magenta.

It’s common knowledge The Beatles were into drugs. However, as a young teenager, I had no idea there was a double meaning to any of their songs.

I heard “Get Back” on the radio yesterday and it finally dawned on me that California grass was marijuana. I always thought Paul was singing about real estate.

I thought a “Day Tripper” was someone who took a trip for a day, like to the beach or shopping.

“Blackbird” is one of my favorite Paul McCartney songs. Some say the song is written about a bird McCartney heard singing in India. McCartney has stated the song is about the civil rights movement in the United States.

Hearing the song now, I realize the significance of the lyrics, especially for young women and people of color who continue to fight for equal rights.

“And Then Along Comes Mary” by the Association is another song where I totally missed the meaning.

I bought that 45-rpm record imagining a girl named Mary coming along, with a boy hoping she’d be his girlfriend.

That would be wrong.

“Mary” is the slang term for marijuana, according to keno.org, and that’s what the song is all about.

I never understood the meaning of the lyrics to “Horse with No Name” by America. It came on the radio the other day, and I was just as mystified as I was 40 years ago when it was first released.

I did a bit of reading about the subtle meaning of the song. Many reviewers say the song is about heroin use. Horse is a slang term for that drug.

I had no clue.

As the lyrics state, I pictured some guy riding through the desert on a horse watching the rivers dry up. If anything, I thought the words referenced pollution.

Creedence Clearwater Revival had some great songs in the 1970s.  “Fortunate Song” still resonates and has a gritty message. The song “Looking Out My Back Door” has some wacky lyrics I thought were silly.

Some think the phrase “take a ride on a magic spoon” references cocaine use. CCR’s  John Fogerty said otherwise, but I’m starting to catch on to the double meaning from songs from that era.

Same goes for “Magic Carpet Ride.” I thought the writers were telling listeners to let loose and let Aladdin’s lamp take them to a fantasy world.

No lamp like in the story. The lamp references drugs.

Fooled again.

Instead of trying to figure out the hidden meanings in songs from my high school days, I think I’ll simply rock and roll with the beat and sing the lyrics without wondering what I’m missing.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

 

Oct. 31 is Halloween, a time when children put on their costumes and visit friendly houses looking for candy treats.

Growing up, I loved Halloween because chocolate was at the top of my favorites list. Add free and it’s a home run.

As we get older, we seem to have fewer treats and more tricks. But there are a few bonuses left for those of us too old to dress up as Superman and go door to door.

One of the best treats when you’re older is the senior discount. These are available at restaurants, movie theaters and stores. I always ask if there’s a senior discount and, most of the time, there’s some little perk.

We also have a wealth of knowledge gained from a lifetime of making mistakes. I know when the weather turns cold, the tire pressure signal on my car might go off.

The first time that happened, I spent three hours at the tire store so they could check my tires. When it happened last week, I ignored it and, sure enough, it went away when the weather warmed up.

I know our country will survive political elections. There were a few years when I’d look at the roster of leaders and think I should move to Iceland.

But we survived, not without a few bumps and bruises, but we made it.

One of the best perks of being older is seeing your children grow up into smart, self-assured adults. What’s even better is when you hear your words coming out of their mouths.

Not all children grow up into capable adults. We usually have the wisdom to accept that they’ll either come around or they won’t. The decision as to how they live their life is totally up to them. We can let go.

A big treat for me is not worrying about what anybody else says about how I dress, what I say or what I do. If I want to go to the grocery store in ratty shorts, no makeup and my 10-year-old sandals, I go.

If I want to poke along at a leisurely pace, I take my time. There’s no clock to punch, no boss to make happy and no quitting time. My time is my time.

There aren’t any more 2 a.m. feedings. There are, however, those middle-of-the-night bathroom visits. There’s also insomnia, but we have the luxury of taking a nap the next day.

There are some tricks that go along with the treats. I can’t read or drive without my prescriptive lenses – bifocals, for those of us who aren’t vain about calling it like it is.

It’s hard to bend over or squat, but that’s why we have the picker-upper tool. The knees aren’t what they used to be, but we now have the time to recuperate from knee replacements.

Because we don’t have kids raiding the fridge and pantry, we can put things where we can reach them instead of putting the good treats on top of the refrigerator.

For some of us, having grandchildren is the best treat of all. We can be ourselves with them because the burden of rearing capable, responsible people lies with their parents. We’re here for fun, snuggles and spoiling.

We remember the days when we’d come home from trick or treating with a bucket filled with candy and know we could eat every single piece without a care in the world.

These days, we settle for a bag of no-salt peanuts, a low-fat cup of ice cream and gluten-free chips, all of which we bought with a senior discount.

Happy trick or treating!

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

There’s lots of garbage on social media, but I found a couple of gems. Two sets of British guys on social media embarked on a road trip across America, and their take on the foods and sights around the country are funny and interesting.

First, there’s Josh and Ollie. “Jolly,” as they’ve labeled themselves, filled social media with feedback about American foods, grocery stores and their favorite, Buccee’s.

These two spend quite a bit of time eating and critiquing food and fast-food joints. They found Texas amazing. They were in Houston during the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, and they fell in love.

Their mouths hung open during the calf scramble, and they were in awe of the youngsters who were mutton bustin’. They couldn’t believe corn dogs came in the foot-long size, and the turkey legs completely wowed them.

The other Brits who regularly post on social media are Josh and Jase. These two decided to take to the roads in America, and they’ve been to almost every state.

They believe American bacon should be considered a national treasure. Biscuits and gravy are heavenly, and Southern sweet tea is nectar from the gods.

All four spent quite a bit of time eating brisket at joints all over Texas, and now I’ve got a list of must-see diners to visit.

One of Josh and Jase’s must-sees was the original Café du Monde in New Orleans’ French Quarter.

Like everyone else who visits, they left Café du Monde overly satisfied, the front of their shirts covered with powdered sugar. They learned how to peel crawfish and topped their visit off with bowls of spicy seafood gumbo.

They discovered the unintended consequence of too much fast and high-calorie foods. Josh and Jase each gained almost 20 pounds while they were eating their way across the United States.

But diets went out the window because as they traveled the miles, they found treasures along the road.

They were respectful at The Alamo, and they were “gobstopped” by San Antonio’s Riverwalk at night. Josh and Ollie marveled at the size of the Texas Rangers stadium and couldn’t believe the great food served at a baseball game.

But more than their easy-going banter and willingness to try questionable foods, they made me see America through different eyes.

They saw the beauty in our people and our geography. Josh and Jase had tears in their eyes while watching the sun set over the Grand Canyon.

They found Palo Duro Canyon to be one of the most wonderful places they’d ever visited. An evening baseball game was an adventure as was tubing down the San Marcos River.

They marveled at the vastness and variety of the different states. They were awed by the majesty of our mountains and vibrant green pastures that go on for miles in America.

It wasn’t just the big places that they visited. They made a point to stop in small towns across America to eat where locals dine.

Mom-and-pop stores and restaurants run by our neighbors and friends are treasures we often take for granted. A back-yard barbecue with home-made ice cream and burgers from the grill are what make up so many American memories.

Simple, everyday experiences, and the people they met along their travels, are the real treasures these Brits discovered.

Watching these young men experience the beautiful sights and meet the incredible people we have in America made me want to get in my car and discover what’s right outside my front door.

All it takes is a willingness to explore both the known and the unknown, and that’s possible no matter where you are in the world.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

(We had an hour to conceive an idea, write it and polish it. The image I chose was a girl carrying a bag, walking across a wooden bridge.) 

 

Cynda listened to her boots as she walked along the wooden planks. Click, click, click. The bridge and the park were empty, understandable as it was close to sunset.

She shivered because the temperature was dropping. It could be hard to tell the time of day as the park boulders were covered with vines that stayed green year-round. But the chill in the air and her heavy coat and boots reminded her it was fall in the northeast.

She grunted as she lifted the heavy bag in her left hand. Cynda needed to get this package delivered and end her ties to Jerome. She shivered again, but not from the cold this time. It was fear deep in her soul, and it all tied to Jerome.

Cynda met the con man when she was a naïve newcomer to Ithaca, New York. She’d come with hopes and dreams of setting up an art studio in the old section of town that was being injected with creativity from artists, writers and musicians from all over the world.

Jerome was sitting under a table outside of a coffee shop on a side street. Jerome looked up as she came closer. Cynda noticed his piercing blue eyes, aquiline nose and rigid posture. He was sitting straight up and staring at her like she had two heads.

Cynda glanced over her shoulder, thinking something was behind her. But she was alone. She wasn’t sure why this man would be staring at her, and the words her mother told her before she left their small town was to watch out for strangers. Well, here was a stranger all right, and she hated to admit it but maybe her mother was right.

Instead, the man smiled as she came closer.

“Hi, you new to Ithaca?” he asked. Cynda noticed he’d leaned back in the chair, but those eyes didn’t waver from her face.

“Yeah, but I fit in really fast,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. She was hoping she’d get past this man and on her way, but she noticed he was getting up.

“Oh no,” she thought. “This is all I need. Some stranger following me and then robbing me.”

Those were the words from her father. He was convinced every person in a new city was either a rapist, murderer or thief. Instinctively, Cynda pulled her purse closer to her side.

“My name is Jerome,” he said, a smile now on his face. “I’ve been here for about six years, and I absolutely adore this city. Would you join me for coffee?”

He sensed Cynda’s hesitation and laughed.

“This is a public street in a very public city,” he said, opening his arms and shrugging his shoulders. “Why don’t you go in, get a cup of coffee and come sit out here to chat. I promise, I don’t bite.”

Cynda hesitated. She had to admit – she was lonely. She didn’t know anyone except her landlady, and Mrs. Hallett was her mother’s friend, not hers. Cynda knew the old biddy was reporting her every move to Cynda’s mother every night.

“The girl eats alone, sleeps alone and washes her clothes alone at the laundromat,” was probably what old Hallett was telling her mother.

So Cynda considered the offer. She could see people starting to come down the street and, if she had to be honest, she was thirsty and lonely. One cup of coffee couldn’t be that bad. That was six months ago and so much had changed. If only she hadn’t stopped. If only she hadn’t met Jerome, her life would be so different.

Cynda shifted the bag in her left hand. It was heavy when she picked it up an hour ago and it was getting heavier every minute. She tried not to imagine what was in the bag. Jerome had asked her to pick something up for him and meet him at the Fall Creek Suspension Bridge. Six months ago when sitting in that coffee shop, Cynda would’ve never wondered why she had to meet this man in a park. But after everything that had happened in those 24 weeks, all she could think about was getting this package delivered and getting out of New York and back home to Texas.

Back to her parents.

Back to safety.

Back to where she didn’t sleep with a butcher knife under her bed, the nightmares waking her up.

She and Jerome seemed to hit it off immediately. They met a few more times at the coffee shop and he even asked her to stop by his shop in the what was known as the New Age district. People sold holistic medicines there as well as home-grown vegetables and fruit. It wasn’t unusual to find local honey, soaps and even goats and pigs on occasion. Jerome’s store was a butcher shop where he specialized in kosher meats.

Cynda was fascinated by all the rules he had to follow. One day, he’d invited her to watch him butcher a lamb, and she was both mesmerized and horrified as he systematically cut up the animal.

She shivered again, not from the cold this time but from the memory.

The bag in her left hand felt heavy, too heavy, but she was half way across the suspension bridge. Soon, she thought, soon, I’ll be done.

Cynda had gotten into trouble six weeks into her stay. She’d accidentally hit a bicycle rider one night when she’d had a few too many drinks. She’d only meant to drive to the 24-hour grocery store to pick up some aspirin when she hit the biker. She panicked.

“Jerome,” she screamed in her cell phone. She was sitting in her car, the motor idling, while the biker lay motionless in the street.

“I hit somebody with my car,” she sobbed into the phone. Her words seemed garbled, but Jerome understood her.

“Where are you?” he asked. She told him and he told her he’d be right there.

Jerome had shown up in minutes. Nobody had come by, and Cynda was terrified a police officer or someone would come around the corner. The man was still lying there, and Jerome opened his car door to go over to him.

“No,” screamed Cynda. “What if he’s dead? I can’t know.”

Jerome ignored her. He went to the man and, miraculously, the man sat up. Jerome talked to him although Cynda couldn’t hear what they were saying. Jerome helped the man get his bearings and back on the bike. After a few minutes, the man rode away and Jerome came back to the car. He got into the passenger seat and closed the door.

“He’ll be okay,” he said. “He doesn’t remember what happened.”

Cynda started crying, her cries turning into sobs so hard, she couldn’t catch her breath.

“I thought he was dead,” she kept saying. Jerome sat there silently.

Then he reached over and slapped her, hard, across her face.

“The only ones who know about this are you and me,” he said chilly. “I did you this favor. One day, you’re going to owe me.”

At that moment, Cynda knew she’d made a deal with the devil. For a while, she thought Jerome had forgotten about her, but then she’d gotten a phone call a few hours ago.

Jerome gave her an address and told her to go there and pick up a bag for him.

“Bring it to the tunnel at Chalk Ridge Falls Park,” he said. Cynda knew the site as she and Jerome had been there before.

“Don’t talk to anybody on the way,” he said. “Get the bag and get here. After you deliver this to me, we’ll be even. Is that clear?”

She said it was. And now here she was click, click, clicking across that wooden bridge, a heavy bag in her left hand. She entered the tunnel and stopped.

“Jerome?” she called out. “Are you here?”

No answer.

She took a few more steps inside.

“Jerome?” she called again.

A flashlight suddenly turned on and illuminated her face. She couldn’t see who was holding the light, but it could only be Jerome.

Or Satan, she thought.

“It’s me,” she said. “I have the bag.”

The flashlight went from her face to the bag and back. A man spoke, and Cynda knew it was Jerome.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said. “Bring me the bag.”

Cynda came forward until she was a foot in front of the flashlight. She put the bag down on the floor of the wooden bridge.

“Here,” she said. “The man gave me the bag, just like you said. I didn’t look inside it. I just brought it here. This makes us even, right?”

Jerome walked over to her and knelt down in front of the bag. He carefully unzipped the top and opened the flaps. Cynda couldn’t help herself – she had to look. She had to see what in that bag was so important.

All she could see was the top of a man’s head and hair covered with blood. She’d been carrying someone’s head around in that bag for the past hour. She thought she was going to throw up.

Jerome smiled and stood up.

“Good job little girl,” he said. “We’re even, but if you ever tell anyone what happened here, I’ll find you. I’ll not only report your little accident but I’ll make sure your name is ruined. You’ll go to jail for hit and run and that’s a long prison term.”

Cynda was terrified, but she couldn’t help herself.

‘Nobody saw that accident but you and me,” she whispered. “There were no witnesses.”

Jerome smiled.

“Do you think I didn’t ask that guy his name and get his address? I’m a man who racks up favors, and I knew I’d need one from somebody. You fit the bill, Cynda,” he said and stood up. He continued talking.

“But, yes, we’re even. You hurt somebody with your car. In return you helped me collect on an overdue bill,” he said. “You rat me out. I rat you out. That means we both have to keep our mouths shut.”

Cynda started backing out of the dark tunnel, never taking her eyes off Jerome.

“As of right now, I don’t know you,” she said slowly. “You don’t know me and I don’t know what was in that bag I delivered to you. Debts have been paid.”

Jerome picked up the bag and turned to go.

“Yep,” he said. “Debts have been paid.”

Cynda turned and ran across the wooden planks, almost slipping on the moss-covered wood. She ran until she got to her car, her side aching from running so hard and fast.

In the back seat were all her belongings. She started up the VW bug and headed south. Home to where the phrase “an eye for an eye” was one her family had practically invented.

If Jerome came looking for her, there wouldn’t be some random head in a bag. Cynda knew exactly whose head would be in that bag.

For the first time in six months, she smiled.