A few years ago, my son and I attended a James Taylor concert, one of our favorite artists. At the end, when Taylor sang “Sweet Baby James” as a soft lullaby, I cried like a baby as did most of the people my age in the audience.

Partly, Taylor moved me with the lyrics that took me back to long-ago, almost-forgotten days, but mostly it was the melancholy way he phrased the song that stirred my soul.

Those types of singers and artists don’t come along very often. Let’s face it, few of us feel moved to tears when hearing “Superbad” or “Sexy and I Know It.”

Over the years, artists have recorded and rerecorded a handful of standards, and each has his or her own version of what they believe sounds good.

I can’t count the number of renditions of “The Star Spangled Banner” I’ve listened to – some atrocious, some barely recognizable as the national anthem and some pretty good – or the number of ways I’ve heard the Beatles’ “Blackbird” mangled.

So when a friend suggested I listen to Eva Cassidy in connection with “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” I clicked on the link with a bit of trepidation.

After all, Judy Garland owns this song, and no one comes close to singing the “Wizard of Oz’s” signature song like Garland.

Until I heard Eva Cassidy.

The clip was filmed at The Blues Alley in 1996. Cassidy accompanies herself on the guitar, and her strumming is as masterful as her singing. Incredibly, the performance is live, and she soars through every note flawlessly.

But more than her masterful technical ability, Cassidy makes the listener feel the ache of wanting to be in a happier place, a place where troubles melt like lemon drops.

We believe what she’s singing because her voice is genuine. No digital remastering in the studio. No electronic auto-tuning so we won’t notice when she’s off key.

Hooked, I found other videos of her singing, and each one is beautifully stunning. An hour later, I was back listening to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” again, but this time, sadder.

For Cassidy passed away in 1996 at the age of 33 from bone cancer. She was on her way to signing a record contract when she started having hip pain. By the time doctors discovered the reason for the pain, it was too late, and this beautiful songbird was taken far too soon.

During her brief singing career, she recorded enough songs for a few albums, and her selections reveal an artist who refused to be categorized.

She liked singing them all, she said, and she could make us mourn for “Danny Boy” and believe that, one day, we’ll get across the mountains in our lives with “Bridge Over Troubled Water” and “The Water is Wide.”

Millions of people know her music which is incredible as Cassidy died before finding fame. People comment on her YouTube videos every day, happy they’ve found this incredible singer, sad she’s no longer with us.

Through the beauty of the Internet, we’re able to hear her clear, pure voice, the emotions she felt from every musical genre coming across as clearly as if we were sitting in that smoky club on a Friday night.

Eva Cassidy was a down-to-earth musical magician who can still remind us that music is more than notes on a page – it’s the secret passage to our souls.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

The 4-year-old boy on the balance beam was not happy. From my vantage point in the visitor’s watching area, I could see him standing on a balance beam that was only about six inches above the floor mat. His head was in his hands and one thing was obvious – he wasn’t budging.

Standing next to him was the instructor, gently patting him on the back and urging him to keep going.

He refused.

For the next few minutes, other youngsters pranced around him, tumbling and spinning, but this little boy stayed right where he was.

Strangely enough, he wasn’t getting off the beam. He was simply rooted to the spot and refused to do anything but stand there and cry.

I thought a parent might go down and rescue him, but no adult came to his aid. Then I thought the instructor would pick him up and take him to his parents. But she didn’t.

And then I realized an important fact.

If this little boy was allowed to quit right in the middle of attempting to walk across a balance beam six inches off the ground, the next time something difficult came his way, chances were good he’d duck away from that challenge as well.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark-haired boy of about 5, and he was having a grand time. He’d jump up after somersaults, a huge smile on his face, and run back to the end of the line, anxious to repeat the tumbling moves.

His excitement was contagious to the other children around him, and soon they were all doing their forward rolls with ease and coming up smiling.

Except the little boy on the balance beam who was still standing right where he was.

Occasionally he’d start to slide a foot to one side, but then he’d panic, stop, and pull his foot back again. The instructor would lean down and whisper something to him, he’d shake his head no, and then she’d straighten up and patiently go back to patting him on the back.

Unexpectedly, the little boy looked up at the instructor, no longer crying, and nodded to her – he was ready to try.

She leaned down and pointed at a spot a few inches from his left foot. He hesitated, but then, he slowly slid his foot to the spot. Immediately the instructor raised her hands in triumph. And then something amazing happened – he smiled.

She pointed a few inches past his foot again, and, this time, he moved both his left and his right foot. It took him a while, but he eventually made his way to the end of the balance beam. When he stepped off, he was holding his head up, the tears were gone and a satisfied look was on his face.

There will always be people in this world who move through life with gusto. And there are others who are often afraid to move from an uncomfortable spot.

They can either stay stuck in fear or they can wait until they feel comfortable enough to move forward.

And even though that youngster only moved a few feet, the obstacle he conquered was probably the toughest one in the room because the biggest fear he faced was inside his head.

That little boy taught me an invaluable lesson – even when you’re scared, if you wait until you’re ready, you can face your fears and slowly but surely move forward in life.

Inch by inch.

Step by step.

Until, no matter the distance, you complete your journey.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

I decided to take advantage of a rainy evening and clean out my shoes. Piled on the floor of my closet were rows of shoes, but there comes a time in every shoeaholic’s life when it’s time to make sense of the pile.

I come from a long line of shoe lovers. As a young girl, I remember playing dress up in my Aunt Bev’s closet with my cousin, both of us clomping around in our aunt’s high heels.

My Grandma Marguerite was a fiend for shoes. Three weeks before she passed away, my aunt told me they went shoe shopping, and Grandma bought some $75 shoes.

My aunt told her the shoes were too expensive, but my grandmother just shrugged, a twinkle in her eye. Later that week, they went to the doctor’s office. A young, handsome physician walked through the door, looked down at my grandmother’s feet and said “Nice shoes.”

Grandma looked at my aunt and said “Worth every penny.”

My mother always had fashionable shoes in her closet, and for a long time, all three of her daughters wore her same size. Many a morning, we made a mad dash to Mom’s room, rummaged around in her shoe closet and snatched whatever we could find.

Now I had my own shoe stash, but, eventually, space runs out. Thus began the culling of the shoes.

Grabbing two plastic bags, I began going through the stack. I picked up some faded blue suede shoes – yes, just like Elvis described – and a smile crossed my face. Those were the shoes I bought when I was 18, a broke college freshman.

I bought those shoes with some unexpected money my grandfather sent me, and they are a constant reminder that others might need some help at unexpected times. So those went back on the shelf.

Then there were four pairs of white dressy sandals. None of them were ever comfortable to wear, and I always ended up taking them off an hour after I put them on. Any girl worth her salt can put up with uncomfortable shoes for at least two hours.

I put them back.

Then there were a pair of gold shoes. For someone practical like me, having a pair of gold shoes is odd, but I have them because of my Aunt Kathy. She told me every woman should own a pair of gold shoes because they dress up an outfit and go with everything.

I put those back.

And then I came across my sandals. In Texas, having shoes that can survive 90-degree weather is a must, especially for somebody like me who loves to slip shoes on and off.

I put them all back.

Then I came to the dressy shoes. I reluctantly put a pair of three-inch black heeled shoes in the give-away bag, but a few minutes later, I got them out.

Who knows – I could go to a fancy event and I’d need those tall shoes. In fact, I probably needed all the shoes in my closet, so I folded up the empty give-away bag and closed the closet door.

My granddaughter just might like to play dress up one of these days, and I’d feel terrible if there weren’t high heels for her to clomp around in.

Sighing, I realized we shoeaholics are never cured. We simply live for the day we’ll find a pair of comfortable shoes on sale that happen to have some style.

And if they’re gold, then that’s truly a treasure.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

While browsing through the bookstore, I spotted a book, “Animals Make us Human,” but the author’s name is what caused me to pick it up – Temple Grandin.

Dr. Grandin is an animal scientist who revolutionized the cattle processing industry as well as other methods of handling livestock. More importantly, she’s a vocal advocate for people with autism.

She knows what she’s talking about – Grandin is autistic and has become a voice of reason and hope for people like her and for parents with autistic children.

Her road wasn’t easy. As a young child, Grandin didn’t speak and had trouble interacting socially. Doctors told her mother she needed to be institutionalized, but her mother refused to believe her 4-year-old daughter couldn’t learn.

She was right. Grandin proved incredibly intelligent and became fascinated with cows while visiting her aunt’s ranch.

The teenage Grandin eventually devised a chute system that calmed cattle on their way to the slaughterhouse. This system continues to save the meat industry millions of dollars.

Grandin is successful because she approaches life scientifically and logically. Her books and magazine articles provide incredible insight into the world of autistic children.

Her writings and talks educate the world about the different ways people with autism, Asperger’s or attention deficit disorder function every single day.

As I watched the HBO movie about Grandin, I thought about some of the kids I knew back in high school — the “juvenile delinquents” whom the system pigeonholed as troublemakers. There were those who had trouble paying attention in school. They were labeled daydreamers and put into a societal cubicle they could never escape.

But those troublemakers and daydreamers had quite a bit to offer the rest of us, but we overlooked and misunderstood what they were capable of providing because we labeled them, much as Grandin was labeled as a youngster.

I’m as guilty as the next person in judging someone based on a first impression, but through Grandin, I’ve come to understand that the child throwing a tantrum in a grocery store might not be a spoiled brat. That child could have deeper emotional problems, and the parents are doing the best they can.

The adult who has trouble making eye contact or is uncomfortable in a party situation might have undiagnosed social disorders. They’re not someone to avoid but very often they’re someone who needs to be approached in a different way because they see the world through an unusual lens.

Some, like Grandin, are scientists who see the world in bold numbers and sequences. Others, the writers and poets, view the world as phrases and words. Dancers see the world as form and grace, and they ensure we never forget there’s beauty in simple movements.

But when we refuse to accept where people are in their development, refuse to look beyond different behavior or a quirk that doesn’t quite meet our definition of “normal,” then we miss out on so much these individuals can teach us.

Not everyone can dance or paint or build humane cattle chutes, but we all have something unique to offer the world, even if it’s a smile to someone struggling or a comforting word to a parent wondering why their child won’t give them a hug at night.

Temple Grandin is a reminder to see the world through others’ eyes and to remember we’re all doing the best we can.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.