We attended a family gathering this past weekend where everybody always brings a side dish or a dessert to share. I’m no different, but my dish usually gets pushed to the back behind the condiments and napkins.

It’s not like I’m bringing sauerkraut and onions, but my relatives are such fabulous cooks and bakers, my paltry offerings just can’t measure up.

I dream of offering the dish everyone raves about, like my Aunt Claudia’s chocolate sheet cake. When we see that cake, covered with shiny chocolate icing, everybody lines up to make sure they get a square.

The line is just as long for my sister Diane’s scrumptious banana pudding. She shared her recipe with everyone, but nobody comes close to making the dessert the exact way she does. It’s so popular, there’s not even a drop left in the bottom of the bowl.

It’s the same with  my sister-in-law’s desserts. Janet can take chocolate chips, flour, sugar and butter and create cookies Mrs. Fields would envy. Over the years, her desserts have always had center stage and rightly so.

My favorite Janet dessert is her “Striped Delight.” She combines Cool Whip, cream cheese, chocolate pudding and graham crackers together for a dessert I wanted to put into my purse and sneak out the back door with.

She also makes dynamite lemon squares – moist on the top and the crust is flaky and never soggy.
I’ve tried to recreate their desserts so I wouldn’t have to wait for them at Christmas or Easter. My sheet cake looked like Aunt Claudia’s but mine tasted like there was sand in the frosting.

Tried to make the lemon squares, but my crust was like cardboard and I spilled the confectionary sugar all over the floor and counter. That’s when I decided to just wait for Janet’s.

I used the same kind of bowl my sister used for her banana pudding, but all the bananas turned to mush and the vanilla wafers disintegrated. There was plenty left in the bottom of my bowl at the end of the meal. And the next day and the next.

But I saw a recipe for Butterfinger Cake and it looked delicious and easy. Start off by baking a yellow cake in a 13×9-inch pan. Let the cake cool for about 10 minutes and then poke holes in the top. Pour a can of sweetened condensed milk over the cake, making sure to fill the holes.
Next pour a jar of caramel ice cream topping on top of the cake, saturating the cake with fat and calories. Spread Cool Whip on top of that and then sprinkle the top with crushed Butterfinger candy bars.

What’s not to like?

Apparently  nothing because my cake was the hit of the afternoon.

I stood by my cake with a smile on my face as my cousins came back for seconds and thirds. I proudly declared that dessert to be mine as I watched a young child run his finger along the edges to get every last bit of that cake.

I came home and bragged to my husband that finally something I baked was praised by all.

“Was Janet there?” my husband asked.

Janet caught a stomach virus the night before the party and couldn’t come.

Ego balloon busted.

But the competitor in me says the next time there’s a family gathering and I know Janet and Diane’s desserts will be there, my Butterfinger Cake will take its place at the starting line.
Let the best fat and calorie count win.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

  I was leaving College Station at one of the heaviest traffic times of the day – straight up noon – and Texas Avenue was bumper to bumper as far as I could see.

I tried to think about the Aggie landmarks I’d seen over the weekend to get my mind off my growling stomach.
There was the newly renovated Kyle Field featuring a huge bronze statue salute to the 12^th Man tradition. The Memorial Student Center’s request to not walk on the grass honored those who’d lost their lives in battle and it was impossible to walk more than a few yards without seeing something Aggie maroon.
My brain was totally immersed in “howdys” and “gig-ems” but my stomach was yelling “forget looking at Rudder Tower – look for the Taco Bell tower.”
It seemed every fast-food joint was clogged with long lines of frustrated drivers, so I kept going, thinking I’d find something less crowded on my way home. I saw all the familiars, but I wanted something more than a soy patty with a pre-measured squirt of mustard and ketchup on a stale bun.
By the time I got to Navasota, my stomach was ready to mutiny, so I pulled off. I saw the fast food golden arches, but I decided to check out the downtown area.
Whenever we travel, we often bypass the chains and look for an in-town eatery, and so I decided to give Navasota a try.
I wasn’t disappointed.
Just minutes past the busy highway were stately homes surrounded by sweeping green lawns and shaded by giant trees.
Pretty soon I was in the downtown area on Washington Avenue, and I saw a sign on the left-hand side in front of The Filling Station advertising the “Hell Burger” and “The Dead Texan.” That looked interesting, so I pulled in, my stomach thanking me.
A happy teenager welcomed me and handed me a menu. While she finished checking out a customer, I looked around at the diner that had once been a gas station. There was a homey feel inside, a welcome relief from restaurants that all look the same.
A few microphone stands and a set of drums stood out of the way by one wall, and the scuffed concrete floors said there’d been quite a few Texas two-steps danced in here.
I looked at the people in the restaurant and noticed lots of cowboy hats and cammo hats. Two young boys wearing baseball hats and cleats, their feet not quite touching the floor, talked sports with their dad in one corner while a businessman read a newspaper – not his phone – over a basket of chicken tenders.
When it was my turn to order, I asked the waitress for a recommendation. She said I’d be happy with their 100-percent beef burger because they went to the butcher and market every day. I took her up on her offer and got my burger and fries to go since I had a long drive in front of me.
To say she was right about that burger is an understatement. After a weekend of same-old, same-old cafeteria food, that hot, well-seasoned hamburger hit the spot.
I know the difference between soy burgers and real burgers, and this one was genuine. The fries were crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, and the veggies on the burger were cold and crisp.
Something tells me I’ll be back to this quiet gem just south of Aggie Land. I just hope The Filling Station’s got a slice of from-scratch apple pie reserved for a weary traveler.
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Intrigued, I read a column from a writer who decided to stop hitting the “like” button on Facebook.
Elan Morgan said she didn’t want to help Facebook’s advertisers track her online life. She wanted to know what would happen if she stopped liking posts and instead added comments. In that way, she could reconnect with people through words.

There’s a lot of merit in what she wrote, but frankly, this world needs a lot more likes, and I don’t care if Facebook knows what I like.

This is what they’ll find – I love desserts. If somebody posts a recipe for a chocolate cake with chocolate filling and chocolate icing, I’m liking that bad boy from here to Tuesday.

Likewise with any dessert that includes crushed candy bars on top. I liked a recipe for one calling for a can of sweetened condensed milk, a whole jar of caramel topping and Butterfinger candy bars and my hips are still not speaking to me. I’m seeing a lot more recipes for desserts on my Facebook feed, and all I can say is “bring it on.”

I also “like” pictures people post of their family, and if your son or daughter loses a tooth, catches a huge fish or wins a trophy, I’ll immediately “like” that post because I know you’re a proud parent.
If you post a picture of your grandbaby, I’ll “like” that picture a dozen times over. That’s because I know what it’s like to be over-the-moon crazy about your grandchildren. I’ll take it further and comment that her smile is gorgeous, his rosy cheeks are adorable and she looks just like her mama.
And if Facebook wants to track that I love babies, then track away, social media giant.

If you post a YouTube video of the stupidest answers from “Family Feud,” I will immediately “like” that post. In a world of apocalypse endings, crooked politicians and global warming — oh, I’m sorry, climate change — a laugh from the question “name something that comes after the word pork” and the contestant’s answer is “cupine,” is exactly what I need. Track away.

I won’t “like” your obscene or vulgar links on Facebook, and I’ll admit to being a fuddy-duddy when I see photos of young girls in “hoochie-mama” clothes.
A word of advice girls – don’t debase yourself by posting half naked selfies to the world. Have more dignity and pride and remember that true beauty comes from the inside. Not your bosom.

I also won’t “like” stupid human trick videos because somebody’s always getting hurt, and I don’t find that humorous. I’ll watch your smart dog tricks videos all evening long but politely skip over any video of a cat.

I’ll “like” your vacation pictures but I wish there was a “green-with-envy” button. I laugh over the Maxine posers and the snarky e-cards with comments like “I just wanted to lose weight by staying in bed, watching TV and eating Girl Scout cookies. Is that really too much to ask?”  

For those with sad posts, such as the passing of a relative or the loss of a pet, “liking” the post is surface sympathetic. If I can, I’ll pull an old-fashioned move and give you a phone call because nothing beats human contact.  

While I think Morgan has valid points, I’ll not be stingy with my “likes.” If that means Facebook knows I like dogs, ice cream and clips from “The Office,” I’ll keep hitting that button and add to the positivity in this world.

Even if, sigh, you post a video of your cat.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

  With a milestone birthday looming at the end of the summer, I decided to follow the experts’ advice – eat healthier, get more sleep and exercise.

A good first step in eating healthier is avoiding the chips and salsa when we go to a restaurant. I tried asking our servers not to bring the chips to the table, but I thought my boys were going to string me up like a piñata.

I try to get more sleep, but between the dog and my allergies, I’m up at 3 a.m. and then fighting a losing battle to get more shut eye.

And that brings us to exercise. I know the health benefits of exercise, and I know I’ll feel so much better if I get moving, but I find all kinds of reasons to choose the couch over the cross trainers.

First, it’s too hot outside. When it’s 85 degrees before 7 in the morning and the humidity hovers at 99.9 percent, it’s tough for me to put on cheerleading pom poms and hit the pavement. At night, the gnats and mosquitoes are so vicious, not even Deep Woods Off does the job.
Not willing to pay $69.95 for an exercise video through Amazon, I jumped on YouTube – telling myself that was not exercise – thinking all I had to lose was a couple of chins.

I was amazed at the number of free exercise videos offered. I first clicked on an aerobics fanatic  in skin-tight cheetah leotards sweating, jumping and barking orders at the camera. I was terrified just watching her.

So I searched for “exercises for older women.” I found a strange lady with an exercise studio next to her hypnosis room. She pointed out the rolls of fat on her abdomen, gave sex advice and would break into an Irish jig from time to time.

Then there was the aerobics instructor with a ball cap on sideways showing the audience how to punch and jab to get in shape. After he viciously  lunged at the camera for the third time, I decided he was a bit too intense for me.

There was a video for those who simply want to walk. This instructor pretty much stayed in one place, stepping in place like a wooden soldier. The work out wasn’t too intense as judged by her dog that slept next to her the entire video.

I found one with two women who promised an easy-to-understand workout for beginners. I decided to jump in with these two, and I did all the arm waves, the jumps and winged my way through the dance steps.  

I thought I was doing quite well until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The sight of my arms flailing and fat jiggling while trying to maintain straight posture wasn’t pretty and I was grateful nobody had a camera capturing my work-out moves.

Then I remembered years ago when I used to watch “Gilead – Bodies in Motion” exercise videos on television. I’d come home from work, fix my son a snack, and then I’d do the exercises that gorgeous hunk was showing his audience.

Thirty years later, Gil is still around, still gorgeous, and still for free but now he’s also on the Internet. I put on a pair of shorts, cranked up the computer speakers and started following along. After 10 minutes, I was out of breath and my legs were cramping.

My last stop is seeing if anybody’s come up with an exercise video to the hokey pokey. I believe I can master that one.

“You put your right foot in…”

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

  This Saturday is the Fourth of July, a day when we celebrate the freedoms we enjoy in America. Sometimes the real reason for the Fourth gets buried underneath watermelon rinds and hot dog buns, but the majority of Americans appreciate the high price so many men and women paid for liberty.

The list of those freedoms is long, but there are a few that jump to the top of the list. First, the right to disagree. Over the past few weeks, we’ve engaged in heated arguments about sensitive political topics.
No matter what side of the issue you’re on, the fact that you can freely voice that opinion is one of the building blocks of our country. And even though there are those who want to silence the voices that disagree with them, that’s not the way the hand is played in the United States.
I once worked for a man who’d immigrated to America from Hungary under mysterious circumstances. One day, I casually asked how he came to this country and he stated talking.
In his country, people could talk about politics in public places but they didn’t. If you were overheard disagreeing with the politicians in power, the police would come knocking at your door, and you’d be hauled off for questioning.

Wanting better, in the middle of the night, he went to an unfenced spot on the border and waited for the guard to pass. When the guard was far enough away, this guy took off running.

He said he could hear the guard yelling at him to stop, but he kept going with just the clothes on his back and the little money he’d saved. A week later, someone was shot crossing the border at that exact spot.

The right to speak your mind without worrying the police will come pounding at your door at three in the morning is something I’m extremely thankful for in this country. Sure we get hate emails or nasty looks when we do speak our mind, but with freedom comes the risk you’ll offend someone. 
I’m thankful we can travel all over this country’s 3 million square miles without anyone stopping us at the state line, demanding a passport or official papers.
Not only can we follow the wide-open roads, we can follow our dreams, from anchoring a set of bull horns to the front grill of our old caddy to starting our own business and watching our ideas become reality.
Take a look at NASA –engineers believed we could land on the moon, and they accomplished that feat. Because we dreamed we could explore the universe, we know what the surface of Mars looks like and our satellites continue to find new planets and stars.
More than anything, Americans are willing to take a chance. Here in Fort Bend County, we brought in community and technical colleges as well as a major university, hoping enough people would want to further their education.
Thousands have filled those classrooms, believing an education is their best shot at achieving the American dream.
That dream is different for all of us. Martin Luther King Jr. talked about his vision for America. So did Bobby Kennedy, Oscar De La Hoya, Steve Jobs, Oprah Winfrey and the family that runs the store on the corner. Thousands of people have followed their gut and made their dream a reality.
Americans put into action what we imagine in our heads because we have the freedom to pursue our dreams.
So when those fireworks go off this Fourth of July, I’ll be giving thanks for the freedoms we enjoy and to the brave people who paid the price for those freedoms.
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.