Challenge:  “Write a story where we’re told one thing but shown another.”

One hour to write and polish the story using either a photo, a word, a situation or a story where we’re told one thing but shown another.

 

Bill was the kind of guy who always held doors open for old ladies. Maybe it was because Bill had been trained to hold the door open for his elders. Or maybe it was because his mother beat him with the broomstick after he raced into his aunt’s house without holding the door open for his grandmother. That was a lesson he’d never forgotten.

Bill also picked up litter in the park. After clocking out at the grocery store for lunch, Bill liked to walk around alone. Mrs. Oliver, the retired schoolteacher who sat on the park bench and fed the squirrels, told everyone how nice Bill was.

“He even picks up the sticky litter, like the popsicle papers the children throw down on the ground,” Mrs. Oliver told Det. Nancy Riddle.

The 31-year-old detective had been promoted a few months ago, and she’d been assigned to find out who was terrorizing women in the nearby grocery store parking lot. Riddle, who was naturally curious, decided to check out the areas around the parking lot. Today, it was the park. Mrs. Oliver’s voice turned huffy.

“Children these days are left to run wild by parents who are so buried in their cell phones they aren’t paying attention to the little hellions they’re rearing.”

Waving her hand at the detective to come closer, Mrs. Oliver whispered something to Riddle.

“Of course, we all know Bill’s kind of slow,” she said, her voice dropping an octave from when she was praising the middle-aged man known as Bill.

“It’s because of the accident, you know,” she said, wrapping her sweater around her bony shoulders, pity in her eyes.

“Accident” the detective penciled in her notebook, circling the word three times.

Yes, Bill was that kind of guy Det. Riddle discovered over the past couple of days. Bill carried groceries to cars for customers who were elderly. He didn’t say much to them, which was fine for many of those wore hearing aids or who simply wanted to get home to watch “Wheel of Fortune.”

Young mothers would say Bill was the kind of guy who’d let their toddlers ride on the back of the grocery cart, his long arms on either side of the child. He didn’t walk quickly to the minivans, their rear windows covered with “I love soccer” stickers, because of his limp.

“My kids just love Bill,” one mother told the detective as she was buckling her toddler into the car seat. And, just like Mrs. Oliver, the mother motioned for the detective to come closer.

“You know, I heard he had an accident when he was a teenager,” she whispered. “Car accident. Bill was the driver, and his mother was killed instantly. That’s where he got that limp, you know. The accident. Poor Bill.”

Everybody seemed to both love and feel sorry for this middle-aged man with the slight paunch, a narrow space between his two front teeth and shoulders that were a little rounded instead of muscular like many men his age. No siblings, no wife, no parents – just a once-elegant home that was slowly falling into disrepair.

Because Bill was a nice guy, a group of teens from the local Methodist Church asked Bill if they could come over and help him clean out the clutter that filled the porch and, they figured, probably the inside of the house.

Bill had immediately turned down the offer. He even refused the offer the 10^th time it was made. People could’ve thought Bill was being rude, but he told the teens he couldn’t bear to part with anything that had been his mother’s. For over 30 years, no one had been in the house, but because Bill was a heck of a nice guy, they let him live his life without interfering.

Bill never had loud parties. Neighbors said he was quiet except for the nights when Bill ran power tools in the cellar. Days later, someone would find a small wooden table on their front porch, and they figured the gift had come from Bill.

Yes, everybody thought Bill was a heck of a nice guy.

Why then, Det. Nancy Riddle wondered for the hundredth time since she’d started this case, was she convinced Bill was anything but nice.

Perhaps it was the late-night reports from women coming home after closing time at the local bar. Reports of a strange man hovering in the parking lot away from the glare of the bright lights. The women’s reports stated they often sprinted to their vehicles as the man approached them in the dark.

“But he couldn’t catch me because of the limp,” they all told the desk sergeant, their voices still uneven and frightened. “Even with that limp, he was faster than I thought he’d be.”

Riddle’s thoughts returned to the present, and she said good-byes to Mrs. Oliver. Then she followed a safe distance behind the ambling man, watching how he picked up bits of trash and put them in the bins along the way.

Riddle thought she was wasting her time, and then she saw it. The snake. It was a long, thin brown snake, the kind her father loved having in the garden.

“These rat snakes will eat all the mice and rats in the yard if you let them be,” he’d told her over and over.

The detective watched Bill stop in front of the snake, and she stopped as well. She saw him look around, and she ducked behind a tree where Bill couldn’t see her but she could see him. Riddle thought perhaps Bill was fascinated by the reptile. Until he raised his right foot and stomped on the snake. His foot came down again and again and again until the snake was nothing more than a smear on the sidewalk.

And then Bill, the nice man, the man who opened doors for old ladies, the man who picked up litter in the park, resumed his shuffling trek toward the parking lot.

Riddle was stunned. A nice guy doesn’t obliterate a snake. A guy who’s afraid of a snake might walk a little faster to avoid the reptile. But Bill made it a point to stop and stomp that creature to death.

The detective turned and hurried back to her unmarked police car. Inside, she turned the key and, as the car idled, she called a friend in the records department and asked Bridget to look up information on an accident involving a Bill McLeod.

“I’m not sure when, but it would’ve been a motor vehicle accident at least 30 years ago,” Riddle said. Bridget said she’d get right on it. Ten minutes later, Riddle’s cell phone lit up and she answered immediately.

“Got what you need,” Bridget said. “William Richard McLeod, aged 19, involved in a one-vehicle car accident. He was the driver of a Vega station wagon, and the car went off the road, hit a tree and his passenger was killed. He was banged up and taken to the hospital.”

Riddle heard a few more clicks of the keyboard.

“Says here the driver was driving too fast for the road conditions, but he wasn’t charged with vehicular homicide,” Bridget said. There was quiet for another couple of minutes.

“Seems like Bill’s a nice guy everybody felt sorry for,” she said, her voice as if she was reading a story. “He stayed in the hospital after sustaining a head injury and his right leg was crushed in the accident. Guess nobody had the heart to charge him with his mom being killed and all. Back then, this place was still a small town and the police could make those kinds of decisions.”

Riddle thanked Bridget, but before disconnecting the call, asked another question.

“Does it say the cause of death for the mother? I mean, did she die at the scene or later?” she asked.

“Let me see,” Bridget said. Another few minutes passed.

“She died at the scene,” she said slowly. “Traumatic head injury. Appears the mom’s head was pretty banged up when the police arrived.”

Another quiet minute passed as Bridget kept reading the report.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “Says here one detective questioned the extent and viciousness of the injury from just a car crash, but like I said, nobody wanted to prosecute a young guy whose father was gone and now his mother. You know small towns 40 years ago.”

Yes, Riddle did understand. She knew what towns thought of nice guys like Bill. Nice guys who open doors for old ladies. Nice guys who terrorize young women in parking lots. Nice guys who run table saws at midnight.

Riddle decided to swing by the McLeod house. Everybody knew the house. Avoided it on Halloween, knew there’s never be a “Yard of the Month” sign in the yard. There were never Christmas lights in the windows or a tree visible in the front window. But, the accident, you know. There were reasons.

Detective Nancy Riddle decided she’d find out those reasons.

Nice guys, she knew, weren’t always so nice.

 

Denise Adams – January 15, 2026

A few months ago, I was unmotivated. Looking in the mirror, I only saw a frustrated woman who hadn’t stuck to any of her 2025 plans.

When researching goals for the coming year, I came across a list of decluttering tips for the coming year. That seemed a good place to start.

Some of the chores made sense. Throw out all the expired seasonings and foods in the pantry. One look at my pantry told me I was in for a lot of work, and I’d need a lot of trash bags.

Another was to get rid of clutter. I’ve read that tip a thousand times, and I finally admitted I’m not a minimalist.

I like having numerous photos of my family all around me and shelves filled with my favorite books. They’re not clutter to me – they’re opportunities to revisit familiar characters.

I kept scrolling on the internet, and I saw a site that listed 100 daily affirmations. Some I thought belonged in a mountain-top ashram – “I respect the cycle of the seasons” but others made good sense.

Some didn’t really offer anything I could sink my teeth into. Here’s a few of those:

I am open to the messages the universe has to offer.

I am well rested and excited for the day.

I can control how I respond to things that are frustrating, and, last but not least:

I seek out mystery in the ordinary.

Those messages from the universe? Here’s one:  “Go shopping today and buy a bag of chocolate because you’re depressed.” Maybe that was my imagination talking to me.

I am seldom well rested because insomnia is my constant companion.

I might think I can control myself, but when some idiot pulls out in front of me in traffic, I still scream “you moron” into the emptiness of my vehicle.

That mystery stain on the coffee table? No clue where it came from and I don’t want to know. With eight grandchildren, the mystery can stay a mystery.

Still, there had to be some affirmations I could hold as my own to make my life better.

I went back through the list and chose ones I felt would improve my soul.

Then I typed out the list, double spaced it in large print and hit print. I cut out each one, folded it, and put the affirmations in a pretty bowl.

Each morning, I take one out and read it, hopefully setting a positive mood for myself each day.

I’m sharing some of the sentiments, and a response to hopefully make you smile, in case you want to create your own inspiration jar.

1. I leave room in my life for spontaneity. Except on Mondays.
2. I look forward to tomorrow. Except when it’s trash day.
3. I strive for joy, not perfection. Since I’ll never be perfect, this one’s easy to achieve.
4. Today I celebrate that I am younger than I’m ever going to be. And I’m still no spring chicken.
5. When I forgive myself, I free myself. Most of the time. Guilt is a hard habit to break.
6. A clear blue sky is a signal all is right in the world. Every time.
7. There’s always time to watch an episode of “The Andy Griffith Show.” Barney Fife never fails to get a laugh.
8. Housework can wait. Relationships with people can’t. Leave the dust and make the phone call.
9. In limited circumstances, having something chocolate is not only okay, it’s essential.
10. Be happy. Life is short.

There you have it. A top 10 list of recommendations to get you started on creating a happy 2026 if the lofty goals you set for yourself are already cratering.

First thing on my affirmation list is to check the pantry. There’s got to be something chocolate in there that’s not expired.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

 

 

My grandchildren and I were riding in the car, and we saw a sign for exit 607. There were giggles in the back seat until I asked what was funny.

“Six seven,” they replied, and the laughing started all over again.

According to social media, the phrase “six-seven” is extremely popular among the pre-teen crowd. But an end-of-the-year Associated Press article thinks this trend has run out of steam.

There are words and phrases dating back to the 1960s that are still in use today because, like “six-seven,” they’re fun. More importantly, they mean something to a select crowd grownups aren’t allowed to join.

Creating new words and phrases isn’t new.  Over 65 years ago, hippies came up with the word “groovy.” I loved that word as a pre-teen because it was so much more colorful than saying something was “good.”

There’s a lot of other phrases from the Love Generation that remain popular today.

Whenever things don’t go my way, I often mutter “bummer” under my breath. I’ve been known to use “the man” when describing nasty people in power.

But I’ve run into quite a few “Karens” – to grab a slang word from the past couple of years – who can give “the man” a run for his three-piece suit.

“Take a chill pill” has come out of my mouth more than once since I was in high school. But old trends are replaced with what’s new and edgy.

Because CB radios were popular in the ‘80s, there are a lot of phrases truck drivers used that became part of our vocabulary.

“Ten-4 good buddy” was one we tossed around whenever we wanted to say good-bye. I had a keychain fob with “keep on truckin’” on it until my young son asked what in the world that meant. My explanations sounded lame even to me, so I tossed the antique.

Despite modern technology, cell phones, and social media, each generation creates words and phrases that fit their age group perfectly. Some last a lifetime, some a year and others fizzle out. There are words and phrases I believe I’ll always use.

My favorites are the two words to describe something truly amazing – “awesome” and “righteous.”

I think “awesome” is overused, but it’s still a great word to describe the best sunset you’ve ever seen. It’s also my go-to word on Facebook to reply to a friend’s achievement.

From the safety and anonymity of my car, I’ve called someone an “airhead” numerous times when they make a stupid move on the road.

I often interchange “airhead” with “bonehead” because they both mean the same thing. Besides, with little children around, the words I’d really like to use aren’t appropriate.

Whenever I use the phrase “far out,” I think I should be wearing a bandana, hoop earrings and huarache sandals.

I love that the 80s generation came up with using “hunk” to describe muscle-bound men. They also came up with “foxy” to describe beautiful women, but I’ll take that one. Foxes are smart, quick, gorgeous and sly. They do what they want with a smile on their face.

Which brings us back to “six-seven.” According to young people and the internet, the phrase means nothing. It can be used to describe anything where a laugh is sought.

For this young generation, “six-seven” will be one of those teen-age memories they’ll slap their foreheads about when they’re older. We know how they’ll feel because we thought bell-bottom jeans and polyester leisure suits were “legit” and would last forever.

We were wrong, but we admit the error of our ways.

Can ‘ya dig it?

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

         

It’s officially 2026.

What happened to last year?

This coming year is going to be better.

Those are the top cliches in my vocabulary arsenal I use every single New Year’s Eve.

Looking back, there’s so many promises I make to myself and so many promises I break.

I’ve made long lists that concentrate on personal health. Usually I make that list while munching on Cheetos but getting healthier will start right after that bag is empty.

I’ve had years when exercise is my big promise. On Jan. 1, I put on my socks, lace up my tennis shoes, and I’m standing at the door with my keys.

If it’s too cold, I shut the door and go back inside. If it’s too hot, I tell myself to wait a few days – it’ll cool off. As you can probably guess, it’s always either too cold or too hot.

The pros advise throwing away clothes that haven’t been worn in a year. Those of us who struggle with our weight know we have three sets of clothes in our closets.

There’s the “one-day” clothes, the ones we will lose weight and get back into. They represent hope.

Then there’s the clothes we can wear right now. They represent reality.

Then there’s the last section of elastic-waist pants and T-shirts that come down to our mid thighs.

They represent regret.

Then there’s the years I promise myself to declutter. That list is so long, it’s overwhelming. Instead, I made a short list of reasonable projects last  year.

I cleaned out the junk drawer but only threw away dry-rotted rubber bands and string. The rest stayed. One never knows when a dozen twist ties and an oddball bolt will come in handy.

Cleaning things is always on my resolution list. I washed and dusted the blinds in the kitchen and living room this year. As I did so, I realized the last time I’d undertaken that task was during Covid.

No wonder the dust was so thick.

So instead of making resolutions of what to do, I’m making a list of things I’m not going to do even though professionals would recoil in horror.

Clean the top of the refrigerator. I’m 5’2”. If I can’t see it, the dust isn’t there.

Organize the kitchen utensil drawer. Rummaging round in there for my favorite spatula is part of the cooking process.

Throw away old towels. I like that thinner towels don’t clog up up the lint trap in the dryer.

Moisturize our couch. I don’t even moisturize my face, so why would I bother with a couch that’s 15 years old.

Make my home look like something in a magazine spread. There’s no personality in a house with no family photos or knick-knacks on the shelves.

I still have fake greenery on the top of the kitchen cabinets and on the living room shelves because I like having plants in the house that do not require any maintenance.

I also have hand-crocheted doilies on shelves. They were made by my grandmother, and they’re at least 60 years old. No way they’re sitting in a drawer or getting thrown away.

Clean off the front of our refrigerator. I smile every time I look at the fridge and see drawings and notes from our grandchildren there.

One poem is from our eldest granddaughter when she was in the first grade, and she’s graduating from high school this year. When they’re so faded I can’t read them, they’ll come off.

Maybe.

Here’s hoping your 2026 resolution list is short, fun and promises to make your life easier and happier.

After all, isn’t being happy the best resolution of all?

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

Merry Christmas! If you have young children, there’s probably a sea of crumpled wrapping paper and ribbon covering the living room floor.

The kids are playing with the boxes as much as they are the toys, and you’re probably going to stay in your pajamas all day.

Parents are wondering how in the world they’re going to find room for new trains, toy cars and dolls. Then there’s the aggravation of watching them play with their favorite old toys instead of the new ones.

Those with teens have a different kind of silence on Christmas morning. Teens are immersed in cell-phone worlds, listening to music on headphones or tapping away on their laptops.

Those of us who are retired enjoy the peace and quiet, but there’s a feeling of nostalgia for the days when we had little ones in the house.

On this Christmas Day in Pecan Grove, there are families experiencing a blessed holiday who never thought they’d have a happy one this year.

That’s because of the wonderfully generous Pecan Grove Christmas Elves.

Many of us are familiar with Pecan Grove for their Christmas light displays. The subdivision is famous around the Houston area for having incredible light and yard displays.

Thousands of people drive through the neighborhood in December to marvel at the lights and creative ways people decorate their yards.

But what people don’t know is that behind the tinsel and twinkling lights are people who fundamentally understand that Christmas might include making life a little easier for their neighbors.

Behind the scenes, with little fanfare, some of the people in Pecan Grove have made sure those in need have a happy holiday. The Facebook caption is “The Wish,” and this effort has been going on for the past few years.

The group posts a letter from either a person in need in Pecan Grove or a friend who knows that neighbor would never ask for help.

The struggles they face are overwhelming. Lost jobs, health issues, inability to keep up with house maintenance due to illness and more.

But Santa’s elves in Pecan Grove come to the rescue.

For one family, the elves came and cut the grass, shaped up the trees and lawn and got companies to donate to help create a beautiful place in the back yard so the mom could have a beautiful place to recuperate while undergoing chemotherapy.

The elves provided hayrides, gift certificates to local grocery stores and more than the person ever asked for or thought possible.

It’s easy these days where there’s overwhelming bad news, rising prices, and a general depression about the state of the world. That pessimism can overshadow the good that’s happening here in our community.

Many thanks to the people in Pecan Grove for going above and beyond in yard decorating and putting up with traffic snarls and crowded streets to bring strangers holiday joy. The look on children’s faces as they look at the displays is worth a million dollars.

But to know these neighbors also reach out and help those in need is all the reminder I need that the world is going to be just fine.

Their generosity reminds me of one of my favorite quotes from the late Fred Rogers.

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”

Mr. Rogers’ mother was right.

The helpers are right here in our community, neighbors helping neighbors, people helping strangers and angels making sure those in need are comforted.

Thank you, Pecan Grove, for reminding us that giving to those in need is what really keeps the world a holy and loving place.

Merry Christmas to you and yours!

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I remember teaching my teenage sons how to drive. My right foot stomped the floorboard constantly as I yelled “brake, brake.” There were probably fingernail holes in the dashboard as they considered stretches of open road as an invitation to practice their Daytona 500 skills.

Now our eldest grandson is practicing his driving skills. Alex and I spend a lot of time in the car together, so I’ve become one of his primary instructors.

Poor kid.

We started out in a mostly deserted school parking lot with Alex getting comfortable with the brakes and handling the steering wheel and gas pedal.

One of the toughest driving lessons is learning how wide the car is. That helps a driver stay in his or her lane without hitting a mailbox or a trash can. From first-hand knowledge of hitting both things when I learned how to drive, I knew that was an important skill.

Then there’s driving when there’s oncoming traffic. Years ago, cars were a lot smaller, but the lanes stayed the same width. Alex has to learn how to stay in his lane when an oversized F-250 truck is barreling down the other side of the road.

These are all mechanical lessons. The hardest lesson is defensive driving, namely avoiding stupid drivers.

Every time we’ve gone out, we’ve witnessed bonehead moves. I never realized how many stupid maneuvers people make until I started paying attention for Alex’s sake.

On one of our first excursions, we saw a truck come to a complete halt in the middle of a busy intersection, back up, and then turn left.

We’ve seen more than one driver run a red light, barrel through a stop sign without slowing down and cross four lanes of traffic on the freeway to exit.

In just a few outings, we’d seen enough bonehead moves to last a lifetime. But we needed to move on, and that next lesson was freeway driving.

We had a trip planned to visit Texas State University in San Marcos, and the best way to get there is Interstate 10.

In reality, few of us are equipped for the free-for-all known as I-10, but I hoped this stretch of highway away from any major cities would be a little calmer.

He handled the interstate with skill and calm. He did the same driving in the rain and driving when daylight turns dark.

With those maneuvers down pat, we moved to the next item on the learning-to-drive list – handling roundabouts. They’re supposed to be safer, but Texas drivers don’t have a clue how to drive on them.

Nobody knows who has the right-of-way, and the philosophy is whoever drives the fastest gets to merge whenever they want.

Not the lesson I want to teach, but we’ll handle that one in January.

Then there’s parallel parking. The only reason we’re going to tackle this maneuver is because it’s on the driving test. My advice to Alex was to keep driving until he found a parking lot.

One of our last lessons will be driving on I-10 to downtown Houston. Our son-in-law had our granddaughter drive there at night so she could learn interstate driving, night-time driving and how to get around city streets.

I told Alex we’d get up early on a Sunday morning and go when there’s not as much traffic. I’m not as brave as our son-in-law.

Helping Alex practice driving has been a fun shared experience, and I’m thrilled I play a small part in his learning. Wish us luck as we continue to tackle the next two hardest lessons when behind the wheel of a vehicle – parallel parking and handling bone-head drivers.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

There’s a reason there’s a box of tissues in every pew at funerals. We shed tears as we remember our loved ones. But I wonder if for some people, being remembered with tears isn’t the choice they’d make.

One of the elders in our family, Aunt Mary Bett, recently passed away at the age of 95. She was a teacher, registrar, avid reader and cook. Mostly, she loved being a “Siti,” the Lebanese word for grandmother.

I wasn’t looking forward to the tears, but that’s not how Aunt Mary lived her life, and it wasn’t how her family honored her.

Instead, they chose to celebrate her life. Aunt Mary’s granddaughters created colorful posters with pictures featuring the different fun occasions the family shared.

As I went from poster to poster, one fact stood out – Aunt Mary was not only there, but she was an active participant in the festivities. Relatives spoke about Aunt Mary with laughter, and the photos surrounding us of her reflected her sunny disposition.

After the wake, we went to Aunt Mary’s house for food and visiting. Having the opportunity to reconnect with cousins was incredible. The cousins sat around the table – Aunt Mary’s favorite spot – and swapped family stories and lots of laughs.

We had shared memories of summers in Olean, N.Y., the homes and buildings we remembered roaming when we were kids. I came to appreciate even more their parents and our shared grandparents and great-grandparents.

Reminiscing about how our family made it through the early difficult years reminded me how fortunate I am to come from such strong people. That tough gene is obvious in my cousins who are incredible men and women.

It might sound weird to say I was glad I went to a funeral, but family bonds were strengthened that evening. I think Aunt Mary would be happy knowing we were sitting around her table sharing family lore.

On the way home, I thought about the hundreds of times my family has sat around a dinner table, talking for hours, playing games, eating and then going back for seconds. We went from kids around the table to teenagers to young adults to having grandchildren sit on our laps.

In all those occasions, there’s one constant – our mom. In the beginning she cooked all the food we ate. Later, she guided us as we slowly took over kitchen duties. Not only did she make sure we were all fed, Mom made sure she came to family functions.

Mom attended the graduation festivities for almost every grandchild, even the ones who lived in a different state. I took for granted she was going to come. I never considered the time she put in to make sure she was there for family.

Whenever she physically can, our 93-year-old Mom comes to family events for her great-grandchildren, and the little ones love to come and talk to her.

That showing up runs in our family. Our beloved Aunt Bev, who passed away much too young, came to almost every wedding and celebration we had.

It didn’t matter that she and our Uncle Jim had to book flights from Buffalo, N.Y. to Louisiana to celebrate with us.

It didn’t matter if it was summer in the South. Those two Northerners came and smiled through the humidity and heat.

Sorrow is a tough emotion, but it’s eased when shared by those who share your past.

Joy is a powerful emotion and enhanced when shared by those who love you.

If you’re lucky to be part of a large, healthy extended family – aunts, uncles, cousins upon cousins – try and attend family celebrations and, yes, even the sorrowful ones.

I like to think Aunt Mary was sitting with us that night, laughing at the stories we remembered. We’re connected when we sit around the kitchen table and share not only bread but memories.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Poor Thanksgiving.

Overlooked.

Demoted.

Underappreciated.

As I drive around town and shop in the stores, I’m surrounded by Christmas decorations. There’s red and green garland, ornaments and elves on the shelves in every store.

Know what I see on the clearance aisle? Thanksgiving decorations.

Thanksgiving used to be one of the bigger holidays of the year. Commercials advertised a piping hot turkey resting on a big platter. Moms were filling bowls with mashed potatoes and gravy. An orange tablecloth covered the table, and marshmallow ambrosia was on the table for everyone to have seconds.

Growing up, our mom made sure we had all the traditional Thanksgiving dishes – turkey, bread dressing, salad, mashed potatoes, rice, gravy and rolls. Her favorite dessert was pumpkin pie, and it’s the only time of the year she made it.

We’d watch a football game in the afternoon, fall asleep on the couch, and then go back for seconds a few hours later. Thanksgiving was a day when we gave thanks, ate ourselves into oblivion and vowed we wouldn’t eat turkey again for six weeks.

All that has ended.

I’m not sure if it’s a rebound from covid or the sad state of the economy, but people are Christmas crazy. I was in an arts and crafts store, and people were lined up at the cash register, their carts filled with Christmas decorations.

One shopper was pushing a cart with a stuffed gingerbread man that hung off the sides because it was so big. People were buying artificial Christmas trees so fast, the loudspeaker crackled with “John, report to the front for a tree take out” every two minutes.

Stores no longer wait until the day after Thanksgiving to start promoting Christmas and holiday shopping. They started this frenzy right after the back-to-school supplies were pulled from the shelves.

That’s not an exaggeration.

But I feel for Thanksgiving.

The day was once a big deal, a time moms spent weeks getting ready for. There was the shopping for a big frozen turkey, knowing how many days it would take to thaw out the bird in time to pop it in the oven at 6 a.m. so families could sit down at noon.

There was chopping – onions and celery – and making sure there was nutmeg and cinnamon in the pantry for the pies.

Even though I’m not a good cook, I enjoy cooking on Thanksgiving. I buy a big turkey as soon as I see them because the bigger birds are the first to go.

After the turkey has been procured, it’s time to shop for everything else. My grocery store list for Thanksgiving has at least 20 items on it.

There’s the 10-pound bag of potatoes because I like to make mashed potatoes from scratch. Then there’s the dried cornbread dressing mix. My son prefers baked cornbread which I might actually attempt this year.

The Wednesday before, I bake an apple pie, cherry pie and a pecan pie. Sometimes I’ll bake brownies, but that’s only if I have time. I usually forget to buy a can of cranberry sauce, so that’s a run-to-the-store Wednesday night.

We use the good china and we give thanks before we sit down to eat. We are blessed and fortunate to have so many incredibly good things and people to be grateful for. It’s the one day centering around remembering the gifts we’ve been given.

That’s why my Thanksgiving decorations won’t come down until the turkey’s stored in the fridge and all the pie is gone.

I want the last Thursday of November to know – I respect you.

It’s a fabulous and, in my heart, much appreciated holiday – Thanksgiving.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

This week, our eldest granddaughter turned 18 years of age, that magical threshold when a child crosses over into adulthood.

Kylie’s been adulting for a while – she’s in NHS and theatre, has a part-time job, drives herself to and from school and makes wise decisions.

As she’s already been accepted into the college of her dreams, there’s not a lot of time to make sure we’ve prepared her for life away from home.

Before you head off to college, my dear, sweet, wonderful granddaughter, in no particular order, here’s a few last-minute bits of advice.

Register to vote. It’s an incredible way to have a say in how your government conducts business, especially on the local level.

You’ll meet people with good intentions and those with not-so-good intentions. Knowing the difference will serve you well.

Be open to meeting new people. Find out about their customs, culture, likes and dislikes. Understand not all will be people you want to keep in your life.

Get rid of people detrimental to your personal growth and character. Don’t feel bad about crossing them off your list. Human parasites will drain you of positive energy.

Forgive when it’s right to forgive. Some people don’t deserve forgiveness. Accept that and move on.

Don’t get a credit card unless you can pay the balance in full each month. Compound interest is the most powerful force in the universe, and it can sink you. If you can’t pay cash, don’t get it.

Pay attention to the details, from choosing classes to buying a car to renting your first apartment. Read the fine print.

When considering a potential partner in life, examine how they live their life. Small bad habits turn into big bad habits. Conversely, good habits turn into fabulous habits.

Notice how they treat their family. Are they still on good terms? Does the family laugh or treat holidays and people in a respectful manner? Do they have lots of friends or co-workers or do they find fault with everyone around them. If so, run, don’t walk, away.

Don’t stay in a job or profession you don’t love. Life is too short to be miserable. In fact, the gift of life is too short to be anything less than enthusiastic about everything.

Come visit us when you can but remember we’ll understand when you don’t come. You’ve got a big life to live, my sweet granddaughter and that means you’re out there exploring the world. That makes me much happier than an afternoon where we sit and watch “Wicked” for the 10^th time.

Be kind to your sister. In this world, our sisters are our soulmates, even though you want to wring her neck. One day soon, she will turn into your best friend for life. I speak from experience.

Trust your relatives, especially the strong women you have in your lineage. They’ve forged a path for you. Follow but make your own way.

Enjoy college. In fact, enjoy every step of the way as you move through life.

See the world. See this big, beautiful planet with your own eyes. Ski down a mountain covered with quiet snow. Sit on a warm beach and enjoy the sunset. Snorkel in crystal clear waters, lunch at a mom-and-pop diner and walk the streets of a big, bustling city.

Find something to do in your leisure time that brings you joy. If that’s puzzles, do that. If it’s writing music or lyrics, sit down at a desk and get busy.

No matter where you are or what you do, create incredible memories.

Happy 18^th birthday to our dear, sweet, smart, talented, loving and beautiful granddaughter. Blow out the candles on your cake and make your dreams come true.

That’s our birthday, and lifelong, wish for you.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

After decades of continuous service, my Magnalite pots and pans are showing their age.

Most Louisiana cooks over the age of 40 swear by two types of pots and pans – Magnalite and cast-iron. Magnalite doesn’t require any special care, but the cast-iron ones need a little spoiling.

I don’t have a lot of the black cast-iron pots, but the ones I have are the workhorses of the kitchen.

Rounding out the collection is inexpensive cookware. They don’t last as long and they have a few other drawbacks.

Food sticks to the surface of the pans after a while, and the pots warp. Trying to balance an uneven pot full of hot water on the stove is not easy.

Perhaps, I told myself when throwing away two cheap pans, I might as well buy a good set that will last instead of replacing the cheap ones every couple of years.

That longevity, I discovered, costs.

A 10-piece high-quality stainless-steel set of pots, pans and lids runs right at $800.

That’s more than I paid for my couch.

As I don’t like to cook, paying that much for pots and pans seems a waste of money. I decided to make sure the cheap pans last a long time. This feat can be accomplished by cooking in the air fryer and the microwave.

It’s not just pots and pans that are expensive. Gone are the days of the inexpensive Pyrex mixing bowls that nest inside each other. New bowls start at $9 each.

Kitchen gadgets can be expensive. A wireless Bluetooth meat thermometer can run as high as $270. A fork stuck in the middle of a chicken thigh works just as well.

A good set of cutting knives will also break the bank. One six-piece set I saw was over $700. I’ve had the same set of knives for over 50 years. They need sharpening, but they get the job done.

I own a few other geriatric kitchen items. A set of orange Tupperware measuring cups are my go-to whenever I’m baking, and I know they date back to the 1980s.

Same for the baking sheets I’ve had for decades. Sure they’re a little beat up, but they work perfectly fine when baking cookies or a frozen pizza.

We’ve used the same forks and knives for years. They don’t match, but they’re capable of getting food from the plate to our mouths without a hitch.

My glass Pyrex baking pans are a little etched, but the baked chicken comes out dry.

My fault, not the pan’s.

Maybe if I had that $700 meat thermometer, I wouldn’t overcook the chicken.

Our coffee mugs are all different colors and designs, but each one represents a memory of where we’ve been or a special occasion.

Some things aren’t expensive to replace. Potholders are usually less than $10 for a set of three, but I use the ones my grandmother crocheted over 50 years ago.

The potholders are lightly stained, and I’ve had to sew up a few rips over the years, but there’s no way I’d leave them in a drawer, forgotten and left to rot from not being used. They were made with love by my grandmother, and they’re priceless to me.

After researching new pots and pans, I made a decision. The pots and pans I have now suit our needs, so I’ll see if I can get a few more decades out of them.

Just because something’s a little dinged up doesn’t mean it’s outlived its usefulness.

I could be talking about myself, but for right now, we’ll stick with the Louisiana queen of the kitchen – Magnalite – and her princess – cast iron.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.