(Many thanks to wonderful friends Bob and Denise for inviting me and driving up to Austin! I had a BLAST!)

When the call came from the stage to join the conga line, my friend immediately jumped up and headed to the front of the theater. Hanging back, I watched as she waved her hands over her head, a radiant smile on her face as she danced her way around the front of the theater.

Onstage was an internationally known band, Pink Martini, and until a week ago, I had no idea who they were. By the end of the night, I became a devoted fan.

The leaders of Pink Martini are Thomas Lauderdale and China Forbes who were college friends. Late at night, they’d collaborate, Lauderdale on the piano with Forbes singing torch songs.

The two were fluent in a variety of languages and musical styles, and they began writing songs. Once they started performing, they were immediately embraced by audiences, beginning in Portland and then growing to a loyal fan base around the world.

Their music ranges from Brazilian sambas to sassy French songs. Forbes easily maneuvers her rich, silky voice through 1920s torch songs as evenly as Japanese love songs, and the extremely talented musicians in Pink Martini move right along with her.

Forget pre-taped music and outrageously dressed performers. Pink Martini’s

musicians were all wearing coats and ties, and coordinating the entire affair was Lauderdale, his love of the music causing him to literally bounce off the piano bench with every note.

And that’s exactly what he did while playing to a full house in the beautiful studio where the show “Austin City Limits” is filmed.

Now in its 35th year, ACL is the longest-running music series in American television history. They began in 1974 with PBS, and singers from Willie Nelson to The Allman Brothers Band to George Strait have graced the stage over the years.

What sets Austin City Limits apart from other shows is the attitude of the audience. These are folks who come to hear great music without any smoke or mirrors, and they weren’t disappointed the night Pink Martini performed.

As a special treat, the great-grandchildren of Maria and Georg Von Trapp appeared on stage, and the musical genes run quite deep in that family. It was amazing to watch these young adults sing in front of 2,000 people, harmonizing like professionals.

More amazing was the way the members of Pink Martini welcomed a new generation to the stage. But even with the aura of being descendants of the von Trapps, the real stars of the night were the members of Pink Martini, especially lead singer China Forbes.

She can sing in 15 different languages, and she crooned love songs in Peruvian, French, Portuguese and Chinese.

Although I couldn’t understand a word she was singing, the meaning was unmistakable – allow this music to seep into your soul. Lose yourself in the notes and slowly fade into a place where the outside world is thousands of miles away.

At the end of the performance, Forbes asked everybody to make a conga line, and half the patrons were immediately out of their seats and dancing around the theater.

I watched my friend, her hands up over her head, sashaying up and down the aisles, and then I noticed she was leading the way.

Her smile was as bright as the lights in the catwalk, and I realized something while watching her. Music has the ability to transform our world and make us believe that even if a boy named Eugene forgets to call, happiness remains right around the corner.

It’s within your grasp. All you have to do is get out of the chair and dance.
 
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Sitting in the back of the room, I watched in amazement as 30 energetic toddlers jumped up and down, clapped their hands and twirled around. It was Toddler Time, and the room was hopping.

This lively gathering was thanks to the Fort Bend County Libraries. At all of their branches, they offer a variety of programs for youngsters, from Toddler Time for ages 1-3, Story Time for ages 3-6, after-school programs for children in grades 1-5 and programs for pre-teens and teens.

When my boys were young, we participated in a variety of library programs, but I didn’t visit the toddler programs until my granddaughter came along. Last summer, we visited the George Memorial Library for Story Time, and my granddaughter had a blast.

We met in the large meeting room, and a friendly librarian read and acted out half a dozen books for the children, put on an interactive puppet show and sang songs.

At the end, she gave all the children an arts and craft project to complete, and instantly everybody was on the floor coloring, gluing and showing off their masterpieces.

The children readily shared their supplies, listened as moms softly read stories aloud and skipped and danced around the room, singing the songs the librarian had taught them.

As a bonus, I met other moms, as well as a few grandparents, looking for something fun yet educational during the hot summer months.

So it was a pleasant surprise when my granddaughter and I stepped into the Bob Lutts Library in Fulshear during Spring Break, arriving just as Toddler Time was starting.

The conference room was filled with laughter and youngsters crawling around, jumping up and down and some clinging to mom for dear life.

But when the librarian began to sing, all eyes were glued on her and then everybody who knew the song joined in. At the end, there was spontaneous applause and then quiet as the librarian read a book aloud.

Just when the toddlers’ attention was beginning to wane, she brought out a circus-like tent as wide as the room.

Everybody grabbed a section of the outer edge, and we began waving the tent up and down. Most of the children, my granddaughter included, crawled underneath the tent and squealed with delight as we slowly fanned that colorful material up and down over the children, all of us singing and laughing.

We’re told the children of today need television, expensive gadgets, computers, tutors and hand-held games in order to stay ahead of the ever-widening learning curve.

But in less than an hour, when allowed to interact with each other in a hands-on, lively environment, a room full of toddlers, as well as the adults with them, learned together.

Many thanks to the Fort Bend County Libraries for staffing and introducing these programs to our young learners. Because of their willingness to sing silly songs and lead discussion groups with our adolescents and teens, we remind our future leaders that the library is not only fun, it’s a safe and engaging place to connect, either through face-to-face discussions or in the pages of a book.

And because the Fort Bend County Libraries provide programs for adults wishing to learn how to crochet, knit, file their taxes or care for a loved one struggling with Alzheimer’s, we’re reminded that learning never stops.

So visit the library today. And take a youngster along. You’ll be amazed how rewarding life can be while watching a child make an invisible itsy-bitsy spider crawl up an imaginary water spout.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

For the past two days, I’ve been avoiding a giant silver remote control courtesy of our new cable television provider. I’ve complained about remote controls in the past, but this one takes the cake.

First of all, there’s 54 buttons on this one remote control, some accessing functions I didn’t even know existed for a television. I’ll bet this device is more complicated than controls on the Apollo 13 mission.

We’ve come a long way from the original remote control – the kids. My dad would plop down on the couch and tell one of us to turn on the television. We had to stand there, wait for the set to warm up and then turn the knob until we found a show he wanted to watch.

Easy enough with only three channels. But then we had to adjust the antenna on top of the TV to get the best reception.

If the picture was still snowy, we dreaded the next command – get the foil. My dad believed aluminum foil was the second best conductor for television waves.

The best conductor was an 8-year-old bored child who could’ve cared less about “Gunsmoke” but was required to stand there until my dad got tired of the fidgeting and complaining.

Then mechanical remote controls came along. The first ones had four buttons – on and off, volume, channel up and channel down. One had to practically sit right in front of the television and aim the remote straight at the screen in order for the gadget to work.

That’s when the second best conductor came into play – while my dad stayed on the couch, we got to stand in front of the television and change the channel. And then adjust the antenna and get the foil.

Over the years, remote controls have evolved. Viewers can change the channel from another room, program the television to record the entire “Gunsmoke” series, watch shows they’ve missed in the past two weeks and order and download the latest movies.

In order to carry out this magic, we need more gadgets. We have a rather simple TV setup, but ours requires four – yes four – remote controls.

There’s a small oval unit that only runs the DVD player. Then there’s another remote for a BluRay player which I never use because I can’t remember which one of the four remotes goes with that particular device. Then there’s two long, black ones with commands I still can’t figure out.

But I was determined to master the remote control bureaucracy, so I sat down on the couch, all five remote controls next to me, and started with the new boy on the block – the imposing silver one.

I pressed the “all on” button and a row of lights flashed across the top. Pretty, but no “Gunsmoke.” I pressed another big button that looked promising. Nada. So one by one, I started pressing big buttons on the other remotes and, voila, the TV came on.

Two hours later, I somehow managed to not only change channels but I figured out how to turn the volume up and down – all five remotes will do this, by the way – and record “Gunsmoke.”

I know there are universal remote controls that combine all the devices, but I’m afraid I’d either need a magnifying glass to figure out the purpose of each button or the device would have to be the size of my pillow.

Until then, I’m on the lookout for an 8-year-old kid who knows where I keep the aluminum foil.
 
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

You’ll get over it.

Words people say after something tragic, bad or sorrowful happens in life. The phrase is intended to comfort, but it has the opposite effect.

How, specifically, does one get over the death of a spouse? A child? A parent?

How does one get over the feelings of unbelievable sadness and sorrow that permeate every aspect of a person’s life when tragedy happens?

Recently, one of my son’s good friends unexpectedly passed away. It’s the first time he’s had to deal with the death of a close friend; and as the words of comfort came out of my mouth, I knew they could do nothing to ease his pain.

The same week, my mom’s older brother passed away. Mom said he’d lived a good life, but that didn’t lessen her pain. When she called to tell me he’d died, I found myself starting to say the same words I’d said to my son, but stopped.

Instead, we talked about Uncle Ray, swapping stories, realizing he would always be alive in our memories. But no matter how much time passes, that sorrow remains an underlying part of life.

A dear friend told me once that sorrow never goes away. Those feelings change and people learn to meld sorrow into their daily life.

When people see her smiling face, watch her chatting in the grocery store or working at her desk, they think she’s finally gotten over the loss of her son.

But that’s only from people who’ve never had someone they love leave this life.

Memories of spending time with them are right underneath the surface and can be triggered at unexpected moments, especially through songs. Music is supposed to be one of the most comforting sounds around, but it’s also a major memory trigger for me.

Whenever I hear Cajun music, I think about my dad. While he was still alive, my dad would always shout out a “ay-eee” at the right moments in a Zydeco song, much to my embarrassment and his delight.

My mom and I were listening to songs on the Internet one evening, and her and my dad’s song came up in the playlist. She was a little misty-eyed, remembering that was their song, and I was sorry she was sad but glad I knew a little more about her as a young woman.

Photographs are wonderful mementos, but they can also trigger a torrent of tears. While going through a box of photos recently, I came across a picture of my grandparents.

They were standing behind the counter in the five-and-dime store they owned, and their faces could’ve been that of any shopkeeper in America – my grandfather wearing a worn cardigan sweater, and my grandmother with her glasses hanging on a silver chain.

The photo reminded me of trips to their store, helping dust the merchandise, to which my grandfather rewarded me with a small bag, telling me to fill it with candy for being such a big helper.

My grandmother’s face reminded me of the last time I saw her, ill and frail in a hospital bed, unwilling to face life any longer, the years of grieving for her son who died at a young age something she refused to accept.

She grieved all of her life for him, never learning to blend his memories in with her daily life. And that’s the difference in getting over the devastation and weaving sorrows into the joys that come our way.

Together, those ups and downs become the patchwork quilt of our life.

For we never get over a loss.

We simply learn to keep going.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.