I listened to a radio show on the way home, and the host was talking about spending the day with someone famous. People called in with Jesus being one of the top names.

Also mentioned were people from history, like Abraham Lincoln, sports personalities or influential politicians. All are top choices, but there are events in life I’d love to experience again.

The first time I saw the Grand Tetons in the early morning light.

Watching a golden sunset over the boulders of the Pacific Coast.

Floating in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico without a care in the world.

As pleasant as those events sound, spending time with people is what’s most intriguing. There are people in my family who are no longer here that I’d love to get to know better.

One of the top people on that list would be my grandfather, Henry Eade. He was a wonderful storyteller, and I’d love to hear more stories about his days growing up in Lebanon. His father left his family and came to America for a better life.

I’d treasure learning how my grandfather and his mother made enough to feed a family and keep a roof over their heads.

I’d love to hear him talk about how he got started in business and about all the opportunities he took and the ones he missed. Henry Eade was a spiritual man, and I’d love to hear his quiet explanations about destiny and following one’s dreams.

I’d love to spend the day with my dad. I used to think if I ever talked to him again, I’d ask him pointed questions about his struggles, and ultimate success, over alcohol abuse.

But that’s not how I’d waste my time with him.

I’d want to spend the day talking about the little things in his life.

I probably heard his daredevil stories at least a dozen times, but what I wouldn’t give to hear the story of his looking for buried treasure one more time. What I wouldn’t give to hear his voice, a voice that grows dimmer in my memory with each passing day.

My dad was a master joke teller, and I’d love to hear some of his top jokes. Then I’d ask him for advice about how to be a better grandparent. For all the faults he had as a parent, he was an incredible grandfather.

I’d love to learn how he endeared himself to each one of his grandchildren, leaving them with sweet memories.

But more than spending the day with someone who’s passed away, if I had the choice and the power, there’s a special request I’d make.

I wish I could go back and experience a day with my sons when they were young, before they were grown men with families of their own.

For one day, I’d love to be a mommy again.

I’d like to spend a day with each one of my sons beginning with when they were born. I’d spend time rocking and holding them. I wouldn’t worry about folding clothes or cleaning the house.

I’d cuddle and snuggle them until they’d fall asleep in my arms, lose myself in that sweet baby smell and hold their tiny little hands.

Then I’d spend time with them as toddlers. We’d play with toys, have tickle fests and eat ice cream cones and splash in water puddles.

We’d take slow walks, stopping to look at everything along the way – spiders, ants, the cracks in the sidewalk, flowers and dew on the grass. As the day progressed and they grew, I’d spend time talking to them about what they liked, who their friends were, what they thought about life in general.

I’d spend more time listening, hugging, smiling and savoring every minute of being with my children and the people who made me who I am.

Having the opportunity to go back and experience those days isn’t a wish that could come true. But I’ve been given a second chance.

I might not be able to hold my own babies again, but I can love, snuggle and enjoy every minute I can with our grandchildren who are extraordinary humans.

Being with them is a dream that can come true.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

 

Last year, Taylor Swift performed live to a crowd of 96,000 people in Australia. It’s amazing how anyone could conquer stage fright to sing in front of a huge audience.

Now imagine teenagers singing, dancing and performing in front of a theater packed with relatives, peers and teachers. That’s exactly what many of our thespians did over the past month through their live musicals.

Our granddaughter has been in theater since junior high, and she loves immersing herself in a production, whether it’s a dual role of nice and mean teacher in “Miss Nelson is Missing,” the hysterical Clairee Belcher in “Steel Magnolias” or funny Sister Mary Patrick in “Sister Act.”

I’ve watched Kylie grow in confidence as she auditioned for, and earned, starring roles on the stage. It’s amazing seeing her friends perform in costumes, wigs and make-up. We’re used to seeing them in T-shirts and jeans, but they are transformed once they step on that stage.

Unlike professional performers, these teens attend classes all day, writing essays, learning algebra and completing study packets, and then go to the theater.

They build sets, including painting and decorating. They assemble the costumes, many of them learning to sew on buttons and stitch rips. They comb and style wigs and make sure the make-up trays are filled and clean.

They learn lines and practice dances and songs. In after-school rehearsals, they learn where to stand, how to work the lights and how to play off another character.

The bonds they develop in theater run deep. Not only because they spend so much time together, but because they depend on each other to make the characters, play or musical come seamlessly to life.

Fine arts relationships start early. Our youngest granddaughter is in the sixth grade, and her junior high staged their first-ever musical concert this week. Families sat in folding chairs to watch these nervous pre-teens perform.

One duo seemed to struggle a bit. I glanced at the back where Katherine and the other performers were waiting. They were standing up, acting out the hand motions and mouthing the words to their friends on the stage. I could feel their encouragement, and I knew the singers on the stage could as well.

Two girls sang “Defying Gravity.” One of the girls was in a wheelchair, and she sang the main part of not letting anything hold her down. Seeing her growing confidence and how she moved her chair along with the music, her partner encouraging her as well as all the other singers in the back, brought the audience to tears.

Fine Arts brings out the best in people, especially our young people.

The performance is all about entertaining the audience and making sure they come along with the actors on a fantasy journey.

Many thanks to the directors who work tirelessly before, during and after school for ensuring these young actors and singers see their hours of rehearsal come alive on the stage.

The next time you see an advertisement for a high school musical or concert, do yourself a favor and go. Lose yourself in the magic of the stage and forget about the troubles of the real world.

You’ll laugh, you’ll cry and, most of all, you’ll be amazed at how these young people will melt your heart.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Birthday parties are fun occasions. For the little ones, they blow out the candles on the cake, play games and gobble cake and ice cream.

Adults either ignore the number of candles on the cake or go full tilt with drinks and food.

When someone turns 95 years of age, that’s cause for celebrating in a big way. That’s exactly what my cousins did for their mom, Mary Eade Bett. They invited me to her party, and relatives came from far and wide.

Many came from our hometown, Olean, New York. As we sat around the table at an elegant meal, the cousins spent most of the time reminiscing.

Many of us hadn’t seen each other in decades, but we found we had quite a few shared memories about our relatives in Olean.

The story of how our ancestors came to America was retold. Each one of us added a little bit more knowledge to the story, which is probably not exactly the truth, but suited us just fine.

One particular trip remains memorable, but my cousins didn’t know the whole story.

They knew my grandfather, Henry, had gone back to Lebanon to marry the girl he’d always admired. His uncle, Louie, accompanied him to marry another girl in their hometown.

What my cousins didn’t know is that an American girl who wanted to marry my grandfather found out he was sailing back with a new bride.

Infuriated, she told the authorities my grandfather was married to her, so Henry was arrested on the ship for being a bigamist. There were gasps and laughter and then the stories started to roll. Some family tales were still shrouded in mystery, others brought quite a few laughs.

We spent a good bit of the evening trying to decide how many childhood stories were true and which ones were embellished.

What came through loud and clear was how much we loved our heritage and our relatives, especially our aunts.

Aunt Vickie taught us organizational skills and how to bake banana bread. Aunt Souad always had a gentle smile and plenty of food.

Aunt Bev cherished traditions and taught us how to knit and collect antiques. Aunt Mary paved the way for the women in the family to go to college. My mom showed us it was possible to have a career and a family.

These women made time to be an important part of our lives, and all these years later, we remember their caring with fondness and love.

Getting together with family for special occasions is getting less common these days. Facebook has taken the place of phone calls and Sunday afternoon visits on the front porch. There’s still plenty of family gossip, but the mystery’s gone since we can verify everything with a quick internet search.

I often long for the days when we weren’t sure what was fact and what was fiction. We’ll never know for sure if Aunt Flip was married to a mobster, what our great-great grandmother did to earn money in the war, or what our aunt did when she worked for the CIA back in the 1950s.

In all honesty, it doesn’t really matter.

What I know to be true is how fortunate we are to have some of our relatives still with us, telling more stories and reminding us to cherish our roots.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Snowflakes are gently falling.

The grass and lawn furniture are covered in white.

From the comfort of my living room window, the scene reminds me of every sentimental Christmas movie I’ve ever seen.

But there’s a downside to the quiet covering. That fluffy white blanket covering our Southern lawns means it’s beyond cold outside. Phrases like “arctic air” and “bitter cold” are being used to describe Winter Storm Enzo.

I dread opening the door.

Having this much snow in these parts is unusual, and it’s great to see people having so much fun in this once-in-a-generation storm.

People are embracing the cold, building snowmen and having snowball fights.

They’re making snow angels and using kiddie swimming pools to sled down the sides of the ditch.

It’s a lot of fun, but what does that get them?

Wet clothes, cold faces and fingers so cold they feel like they’re going to break off.

I’ll take summer heat over winter cold any day of the week.

For starters, I’m washing twice as many clothes when it’s winter. One days’ worth of cold-weather clothes and accessories is enough for a super load.

Contrast that with summer.

I can wait a week to wash clothes because lightweight summer clothes don’t take up much room in the washer. No need for wool socks, long pants or jackets in the summer months.

There’s also the cost of clothes.

The winter jacket alone will set you back $80 and that’s if you can find a heavy one here. You also need gloves, a hat, boots and a heavy scarf. Summer shorts, a T-shirt and flip flops are a lot cheaper.

Also, Southerners are accustomed to the heat.

In the summer, we can cool off with snow cones or chew on ice in an air-conditioned spot.

But the cold? We’re ill-prepared. We panic. We stress about temperatures in the teens. We clear all the shelves in the grocery stores.

Does that mean we’re wimps? Not at all. Bring on a heat wave or a hurricane and we’ll show you Southern grit.

We can prepare for a tropical hurricane, a monsoon and a prolonged drought in a moment’s notice.

We own beach umbrellas, lawn chairs and sun visors, not snowplows, tire chains or snow shovels.

We don’t own heavy parkas lined with fake fur.

We don’t own snow boots, gloves or heavy hats.

Southerners own well-used beach bags filled with sunscreen, mosquito repellent and Adolph’s Meat Tenderizer for jellyfish bites.

Living in the North does require knowledge we don’t have. Deep South residents haven’t a clue how to defrost icy windshields, shovel snow from sidewalks or how to spot black ice.

But a cold-weather person doesn’t know shade is more important than location in a parking lot, cracking the windows a half inch is mandatory if your vehicle is in the sun and to never grab a metal car handle if the vehicle’s been exposed to the afternoon summer sun.

We’re built for the heat, and we’ll demonstrate a hundred different ways we’ve learned to live with scorching temperatures.

We’ll drag out our fans, both the big box ones and the cheap personal fans that spray air and water on your face and sit comfortably outside at a baseball game.

We’ll remind you that high humidity keeps your skin looking younger longer unlike dry cold air that dries your skin out and ages you prematurely.

I will admit there’s one major positive and one hopeful possibility about frigid cold weather.

The definite positive – no snakes.

The possibility – perhaps this layer of snow can do what we’ve been unable to do for the past 50 years – kill fire ants.

If that happens, then Winter Storm Enzo would’ve been worth it.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

When my boys were young and people asked if I worked outside the house, I told them I had a job that fit my personality like a glove.

“I get paid to be nosy,” was my go-to answer.

When the boys were older, I went back to college and was lucky to keep my job at this newspaper. The answer I gave about my career remained the same – I got paid to be nosy.

But then I entered the education field, and people wondered why I’d give up such a fun job for one that carried a long list of negatives. I’d be babysitting other people’s kids all day long, the pay was lousy, the students had no manners, and the parents were a walking nightmare.

I found the opposite to be true. I was fortunate in that I spent time with mostly inquisitive young people all day long, the pay was three times what I made being nosy, and the parents simply wanted the best for their children.

Not only do full-time teachers find this out, so do those who volunteer in the schools. A faithful reader, Larry Richardson, wrote and asked if I’d write about substitute teachers.

Larry stated they are a necessary group for the school year, and he’s absolutely correct. I’m a consultant with some of the high schools in the area, and the list of subs needed each day is mind boggling.

These wonderful people come in and take over a class at a moment’s notice – literally. They might not know anything about math or chemistry or how to teach reading, but they willingly go into the lion’s den and keep students safe, happy, and in many cases, a bit more educated than when they walked in the door that morning.

Larry’s said he’s been a substitute teacher for 19 years, and I’m guessing the substitute teacher lifestyle fits into his own. Subs can turn down jobs, take a day here or a day there or even sign on as long-term subs and stay on one campus an entire semester.

The criteria are different for each district, but most require subs to have a high school diploma or a GED. Most will ask for subs to have completed at least 60 semester hours of college coursework at an accredited college or university.

What the job description doesn’t ask for is an endless amount of patience, a hide as thick as a rhinoceros and the ability to outsmart the antics of kids in the class whose sole mission for the day is making the sub’s life miserable.

So why would a rational human being go to a school where they’ve never visited before, be given vague lesson plans and take over a classroom of 30 upset students?

Because they understand children can feel abandoned when their regular teacher doesn’t show up.

They understand they’re a place holder for the day, but children need a stable adult in the classroom.

They understand if they put in the time, there might be a special moment that day.

A moment when a child’s eyes light up with understanding, and you’re the one there to see it.

When that connection is made, magic happens between that instructor and the student.

It doesn’t take long for that sub’s reputation to spread throughout the campus, and these part-time people become campus family.

I guarantee Larry is one of those subs who is valued by both the students and the adults in the building. His love for what he does was evident in every word in his email.

If you’re looking for a meaningful way to spend your day, consider signing up to be a substitute teacher.

You might discover, like Larry Richardson did, that spending your day helping young people learn benefits you more than them.

  This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I was replacing an empty toilet paper roll the other morning, and I found myself saving the cardboard roll.

I looked at the tube later in the day and thought “save for what?”

“You never know,” I replied, and put the empty tube in the cabinet, along with the other 10 in there, for safekeeping.

Old habits die hard when you’re a parent, and saving odds and ends for school and Scout projects is one of those difficult habits to change.

You never know when you’re going to need the very thing you tossed.

The next day, I replaced my toothbrush. Instead of throwing away the old one, I put it in the bathroom drawer along with a dozen other used toothbrushes.

I stopped and wondered why I was saving all these old toothbrushes.

“To clean the grout,” I told myself.

“Who are you kidding?” a voice in my head sneered back.

Cleaning the grout in the shower with an old toothbrush is one of those cleaning chores I’ve watched a dozen times on YouTube. I’ve yet to try any of them because cleaning an entire shower with one small toothbrush seems like a never-ending job.

But I’ll keep those old toothbrushes because you never know…

As long as I was re-examining cleaning supplies, I thought about the old towels in the laundry room. My system is to use bath towels until the edges start to fray. Then I move them to the garage, or I cut them up and use the squares as cleaning rags.

There’s a stack of cut-up towels two feet high in the laundry room. There’s no way I’ll ever use that many cleaning cloths, but I’ll keep cutting up the old towels because you never know.

When I got to the kitchen, I went through the utensil drawer. I read about the hazards of using take-out black utensils, so I threw the fast-food ones away a few weeks ago. There’s still at least five spatulas in that drawer.

I asked myself if I really needed all those spatulas.

One has a sharper edge and is great for flipping pancakes. Another is long and skinny, and it’s just right for turning over a piece of chicken. There’s a short one I’ve had for years. I seldom use it, but… you never know.

Then I opened the cabinet where we keep the drinking glasses and coffee mugs. I read an article that one does not need more glasses than people in the house. Throw away all those old drinking glasses, the articles stated.

But some of those glasses have been with me since I was in my 20’s. There’s three that came from my grandfather’s five-and-dime store. Every time I use one of those glasses, I’m reminded of The Eade Standard Store, the shelves piled high with everything a household needs.

The mugs are like old friends. Each one has a special meaning. There’s the mugs my daughter-in-law’s parents brought us from Mexico. There’s another one with the name “James” on the side. That mug belonged to my dad, and now my grandson James uses it when he comes over.

One of my favorites is my Barney Fife mug. Whenever the grandchildren want hot chocolate, I get to explain how my brother-in-law picked the mug up for me because he knows my family loves “The Andy Griffith Show.”

So, until I run out of space, I’m going to keep saving scraps of towels, empty toilet paper holders and coffee mugs.

The grandchildren might need empty toilet paper cardboard rolls for a last-minute school project.

If they do, I’m ready.

Because you never know.

 

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I looked back over the past few years of New Years columns, and they’re a hodgepodge.

I used to write a recap about the previous year. But then the internet came along, and those kinds of wrap-up stories filled the web.

Some national columns zeroed in on specific topics, like sports highlights, entertainment or pop culture, and were head and shoulders above my writing.

I gave that tradition up and concentrated on columns involving the human condition.

I’ve written about making small resolutions, like cleaning out the pantry and dusting the miniblinds. One year, I thought I’d visit other states. The furthest I got was Louisiana.

Then there were the years I wrote regrets for not calling people more, not letting go of past hurts or being a selfish friend or relative.

Those still sting.

Writing about specific holidays is fun for the first couple of years. After that, the goal is to find a new way to write about holidays that fall on the day my column runs. Eventually, the writer runs out of innovative holiday column ideas.

I’ve arrived at that year in January 2025.

I have no words of wisdom, no list of resolutions and no advice worth passing on.

Instead, I’ll stay on familiar territory. Perhaps the goals I promise myself in January might actually come to pass by the time December rolls around if I keep them realistic.

One year, a resolution was to clean out the medicine cabinet. I was surprised to discover how many medications were expired. I learned the hard way that expired meds aren’t worth keeping.

I cleaned out my sock drawer back in 2016. But it’s a wreck again as is the kitchen junk drawer and my office. I’m convinced I work more efficiently in clutter.

At least that’s the rationalization I tell myself.

A couple of years ago, I promised to stroll the streets of downtown Rosenberg, and that’s a resolution I accomplished.

Visiting that area on a pretty day is something I’m going to do again. Hometown shopping with the people who live and work in our area is not only fun but also helps neighbors. Most of all, downtown Rosenberg shopping is a lot more fun than walking around a sterile mall.

I enjoy browsing through the antique shops as those are a walk down memory lane. One of my favorite places to visit is the Art Center. It’s a colorful reminder of how wonderfully creative people can be.

In 2017, I wrote about going back in time to my teenage days. I’m still looking for go-go boots, and the soundtrack to “Saturday Night Fever” remains a favorite.

Some resolutions stay on the list year after year.

I’ll keep adding “make apologies” to the list again. I know myself – I will continue to blunder through life, so apologies are part of my daily life.

Another thread over the years is self-improvement. I’ve promised to stop nagging, to listen more and talk less and to pay attention. Losing weight is always on the list.

I’ve failed miserably in all of those categories.

So, I’ve amended the resolution to one that’s actually doable – give myself a break.

Accepting who I am and what I can and can’t accomplish might be the best resolutions I can make for 2025.

All those lofty promises have accomplished is make me feel guilty for what I didn’t finish and not give myself enough credit for what I did check off the list.

Reading through my past New Years columns, there’s one wish that appears year after year.

It’s to remain hopeful.

And, in 2025, that’s a resolution I can honestly keep.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

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.