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.

 

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.