The year is ending in just a few days, and not a moment too soon. Two-thousand-seventeen was a year of the unexpected, the unknown and who-the-heck-knows. Personally, it’s been a year of poignant regrets and letting opportunities slip past.

In the unexpected category, the worst was Hurricane Harvey. No one predicted a horrific flood that would devastate thousands of people and homes. Harvey was a brutal reminder that Mother Nature is not always a benevolent entity.

We started 2017 with a new president after a stunning and unexpected election upset in 2016. It’s still too early in the West Wing game to see if that unexpected means more jobs or bread lines or whether we’ll be at war when summer arrives.

As a voracious reader and writer, I’m glad newspapers are defying the odds and holding on to readers. People are finally accepting that something worth having is worth paying for.

This publication continues to be the source that connects us and does so by letting you know what’s going on in your community. Social media is incredibly inaccurate, so having a printed voice of reason is an invaluable lifeline.

We lost so many people in our midst this past year, from close relatives to community leaders. Too often, I saw their obituary long after the funeral, missing the opportunity to say “thank you.”

There’s one opportunity to say thank you I don’t want to miss, and that’s to our district attorney John Healey. John’s been in that office for most of his political career, and whether or not you agree with his politics, he’s been a steadfast public servant, one whom I appreciate.

My association with the Healey family is personal – John and his wife, Theo, were the first people we met when we moved to Fort Bend County 30 years ago.

They lived across the street, and Theo and John were the ones who told us where the closest grocery store was located, how to find the nearest Catholic church and were the ones we called whenever we needed something. They also treated our boys with love and kindness from the time they were in elementary school through college. John and Theo, thank you for your friendship and for being our port in the storm when we needed you.

To friends and co-workers I’ve neglected, thank you for not judging me too harshly when I put our relationships on the back burner. Know your friendship is what gets me through the day.

I’ve also neglected to tell my family how much I appreciate everything they’ve done for me and the entire “Hebert Nation.” Through good times and sad, our family’s always stayed united, and I know that’s a rarity these days. I’m not letting 2017 slip away without a big “you’re-the-best” shout-out to my crazy, loud but always dependable family.

At the top of the list is my incredible mom who listens to me whine almost every single day without judgment. She understands I need a sounding board, and she’s a wise, always-there ear for me. Thank you, Mom, for being you, my role model, my friend, my voice of reason and my touchstone.

To my husband who talks me off the ledge, takes care of so many details, both big and small, and always does so without asking or demanding thanks, I appreciate what you do for me, our boys and our grandchildren and pray you’ll continue to put up with me for another 33 years.

If you have people in your life you appreciate, those who’ve been there when the unexpected happened, don’t let the year end or begin without telling them thank you. I can think of no better way to ring in 2018 than with a thank-you to someone you love.

I hope 2018 presents you with more blessings than sorrows. Most of all, I hope this coming year allows you to grab every opportunity that comes your way and gives you the awareness that life, with all its unexpected hurdles, is absolutely wonderful.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

In less than a week, it’ll be Christmas Day. People all over the world have been preparing to celebrate the birth of Christ or planning for the biggest shopping season of the year. Christmas songs softly play over store loudspeakers and on the radio 24 hours a day.

One of the highlights for so many is attending a Christmas concert. Nothing beats hearing little voices singing “Jingle Bells” or “Frosty the Snowman.”

Professional choirs are stunningly beautiful, but hearing youngsters sing with a childlike belief truly makes the season bright.

Many of our school choirs give public concerts in December. Rhonda Klutts is the choir director at B.F. Terry High School, and we’ve been friends over 20 years. I first met her when the choir was singing at a funeral, and I was so impressed that these young people held themselves together to honor a slain classmate.

Every year during the Christmas holidays, Rhonda and her varsity choir visit area nursing homes, singing and visiting with the residents. They also visit elementary schools, and it’s not only their pleasure to spread Christmas cheer, it’s a treat for the young ones to see the “big kids” singing.

The teens enjoy eating lunch out during this Christmas tour, and one of their stops over the years has been the food court at First Colony Mall.

It’s centrally located, and the choir usually stages an impromptu concert before they leave the food court, always to cheers and applause from the diners.

They were preparing an acapella version of “Carol of the Bells” when the mall manager walked up and told them they were not allowed to sing without prior permission. She did allow them to sing one song since they were already in place, but that was it.

Rhonda said they left, embarrassed because her choir wasn’t sure why they weren’t allowed to sing again, especially since they’ve sung two or three songs in the food court before.

I spoke with the public relations representative for First Colony Mall, and the mall has a new policy that groups must get permission before singing. I understand that policy. So does Rhonda.

It was the way in which they were treated that’s caused the embarrassment.

In the mall’s defense, their reps simply stated policy to Rhonda and enforced it. In the choir’s defense, they wanted to sing for the crowd and spread Christmas cheer as they have for years.

I’d think that after the summer public relations fiascos, executives would understood the delicate balance between how not to treat customers.

Second guessing how to treat customers usually reveals a better path both parties could’ve followed. Had the mall general manager taken Rhonda to the side and told her they had a policy about impromptu singing without prior permission, the choir would’ve understood.

If the choir would’ve known they needed permission, they’d have asked in advance.

But when it’s Christmas and a choir wants to stand in one place and spread good cheer, something they’ve been doing for years, I don’t see what harm could’ve come from a two-minute song in the food court.

Knowing the rules ahead of time means nobody gets feelings hurt. But rolling with life is the difference between making memories and creating hurt feelings.

Allowing the choir to sing “Carol of the Bells” wouldn’t not only made the teens feel proud, the people in the food court would’ve appreciated seeing teenagers engaged in a wholesome endeavor, and the mall management would’ve come off as generous and understanding.

But neither result happened, and that’s a shame for everyone.

May your holidays be filled with opportunities to make new memories as you celebrate the holiest season of the year with your family and friends. Merry Christmas!

This column originally appeared in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

We received a Christmas card in the mail over the weekend from someone we’ve been friends with since our boys were in elementary school.

On the left-hand side of the card was a short, hand-written note about what she’d been up to recently.

I recognized my friend’s handwriting, and then I thought about the few times I actually write to someone else. I jot down quick notes – the grocery list, phone numbers and reminders to pull something out of the freezer – but most of my communication is done on my cell phone via a text message.

I fear we are losing the art of the hand-written note. We’re relying on technology that might not be around years from now, and we’re missing out on collecting some of the most precious pieces of memorabilia we can possess – hand-written letters.

There’s a gray metal box in my closet filled with hand-written letters. The ones from my dad are irreplaceable because he didn’t write that many to me.

My dad had a distinctive handwriting – the letters were larger than life, as he was, slightly slanted, and his bold signature rivaled that of John Hancock’s.

I also have letters from my grandfather. English was a second language to him, and I remember watching him write letters in Arabic to his family back in Lebanon, moving his fountain pen over the onion-skin paper from right to left.

I know his letters to me were a labor of love because he had to compose a letter to his granddaughter in English all the while writing backwards from what he’d been taught as a child.

My Grandmother Marguerite’s letters were always chatty about her life, and she asked about everyone in the family. She had a distinctive ending quote she included in every letter– “remember to have fun along the way.” I think of her every time I stop my routine and engage in something silly.

We’re fortunate my mom is still with us, and her handwriting’s always been a bit hard for me to read. Still, I have all the birthday cards she’s written to me, and there’s no way I’d ever toss those.

I’m glad she hasn’t resorted to texting because her cards and letters to me are worth their weight in gold. They’re a small piece of her she shared with me.

These days, writing a letter is becoming passé because we communicate electronically in an instant. We compose a quick text – even using the letter “k” instead of typing out “okay.” Commas and periods are seldom used, and let’s not even talk about spelling.

With handwriting, the personality of the writer comes shining through. I can underline the words three times for emphasis, circle important thoughts and use colored ink when I want to make the letters fancy.

My handwriting’s gotten sloppier over the years, and I blame writing down people’s comments and thoughts during newspaper interviews for the decline in my penmanship.

I’ve used a recorder in the past, but when I take the notes by hand, I can circle important things people say, put stars next to stand-out quotes, and the personality of the person I’m interviewing comes alive through hand-written notes.

Little by little, we’re losing that special part of ourselves by typing and texting instead of indulging in writing someone a long letter on special paper and including our signature at the end.

The next time you want to connect with someone, get out some paper, scavenge around in the junk drawer for an ink pen and put your thoughts down on paper.

You never know – that letter just might find a home in someone’s treasure box.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

On the way home today, I followed a van with a Virginia pine tree strapped firmly to the top. It’s almost the first of December, and Christmas is right around the corner.

Some people start decorating for Christmas as soon as the cornbread dressing is packed away in the fridge. These on-the-ball folks head to the closest Christmas tree lot and get their pick of the trees.

These are probably the same people who decorate every room in their house for the holidays. They replace the beige hand towels in the bathroom with green and red candy cane towels, switch out the plastic soap dispenser with a Frosty the Snowman one and wrap artificial garland around everything in the house.

I’m not one of those people.

We get our Christmas tree right before they go on sale for half price, not because I’m cheap but because I keep thinking the weekend after Thanksgiving is too early.

Then I spend the next three weeks trying to decide what to get everybody and then it’s five days before Christmas. By that time, the lot contains mostly four-foot tall trees Charlie Brown would walk past.

I like putting the lights on the tree, but I always forget to measure the distance between the plug and the outlet. I try and untangle the lights from the branches so I can rehang them with enough of the cord hanging out, but I usually just end up shoving the tree closer to the wall.

I’ve had a fully-decorated tree fall over in the middle of the night, and thought for sure someone had broken in and was trying to steal our presents. Luckily the boys were young then, and I managed to get the tree back up and the broken ornaments swept up before they woke up.

There was the year my husband was out of town, and I roped my 8-year-old into helping me put up the tree. He told me the whole time I wasn’t doing it right.

“There’s not enough of the trunk in the stand,” he said. “It’s going to fall over.”

“Nonsense,” I replied. “Your dad always cuts off too many of the limbs, so I’m going to do it right this year when he’s not here.”

A few hours later, I noticed the ornaments were hanging at an angle and, sure enough, the tree was leaning forward. I got my kid out of bed and told him to hold the tree while I sawed off the bottom limbs and could shove the trunk down deeper in the stand.

“I told you,” he muttered the whole time.

“Be quiet or Santa will hear you,” I told him, hoping Santa wasn’t blaming me.

Each year, I’m tempted to buy fancy ornaments, but I’d much rather have the sentimental mis-matched ornaments we’ve hung on the tree for years.

There’s the obligatory macaroni stars our sons made when they were in kindergarten. They’re a little yellowed and somewhat brittle, but they’re all going on the tree.

Some of my favorites are the hand-made wooden ornaments crafted from the bottom of the boys’ first Christmas tree. I painted their names on the wooden disc, and those rustic ornaments have hung on the tree every year since they were born.

I have the ornament I bought with my first paycheck when I was 18 years old. That little plastic angel is a reminder of how proud I was to be able to pay for something with my own money.

Over 50 years later, I’m still proud of that little angel, even though, like me, she’s frayed around the edges and her colors are faded. As long as I’m decorating the tree, she’ll be hung on the branch with care.

It doesn’t matter if one’s Christmas tree is blinged out in matching glass ornaments or adorned with construction-paper chains and pipe-cleaner candy canes.

It doesn’t matter whether you get your tree by the second of December or five days before Santa’s coming down the chimney.

As long as you make new memories every year, the spirit of Christmas will stay alive and well in your home and that’s all that counts.

This article was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.