Springtime not only means warmer temperatures, but also the beginning of the wedding season. With over 25 cousins on my dad’s side of the family and over 25 first cousins on my mom’s side of the family, there’s usually a wedding or two every year.

As Catholics, weddings often include a bride in a white dress, the train flowing for miles behind her, a nervous groom in a rented gray tux waiting near the altar and a church filled with quiet guests.

So when my son asked if I’d like to attend his friend’s wedding in a Hindu temple, I was thrilled to not only go and wish Jay and Allison many years of happiness, but I was also curious as to how a different religion would celebrate marriage.

Chris was a groomsman in the wedding so the grandchildren rode to the temple with me. We met Chris in the parking lot, and he was wearing a long purple tunic, gold pants and a gold scarf.

He fit right in because the wedding guests were dressed in beautiful, bright colors. Turquoise, scarlet, emerald green, saffron and gold were the choices for the day by both men and women, and I loved seeing the bold, bright colors on the silk and taffeta saris and scarves.

Chris said the groom was supposed to ride into the temple on a Mustang, but they couldn’t find or get a real horse to the temple.

The elders said a Ford Mustang could substitute for the steed, so we all gathered behind the vehicle as it began the wedding procession.

As the music played and the drummers beat out a melody, guests waved their hands in the air and danced to the front doors of the temple as is tradition in a Hindu wedding.

Everyone was smiling and clapping, and I thought that was a terrific way for a couple to start their married life – joyous and without reservations.

Luckily we all received programs so that those of us who weren’t Hindu could understand what was happening. Inside the temple, two white chairs stood side by side in the middle of the stage while yards of white tulle provided a soft background.

What impressed me the most were the vows the bride and groom recited to each other, vows that go back hundreds of years. The couple prays to earn an honest livelihood, to love and respect their families and to seek enlightenment.

Together, they take seven steps into their married life, and the steps include nourishing each other, growing together in strength, preserving wealth, sharing joys and sorrows and caring for children. The last two steps were especially moving – to be lifelong friends and to respect one another’s spiritual values and, most importantly, each other.

The Hindu ceremony was rich in bright bold colors, the involvement of friends and family and the promises made to each other in a step-by-step joining of two young people in traditions steeped in old-world values, recited by many generations of young couples before them.

They thanked their family and friends for sharing the first day of their lives together as husband and wife. I realized that this Hindu wedding was more than a man and a woman coming together. They engaged in a ceremony that bound them to the past but made them promise to face the future together.

As we ate a traditional Hindu lunch, I was grateful my son had invited me to tag along to witness another religion’s way of celebrating marriage.

I realized that no matter the religious denomination, no matter if the wedding food is chaat or roast beef, no matter if guests dance behind a Mustang or to a Czech Grand March, when two people take each other as husband and wife in the company of family and friends, there is hope for the world.

This article was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

America lost one of her most cherished treasures with the passing of former First Lady Barbara Bush.

Earlier in the week, news feeds were filled with reports that Mrs. Bush declined further medical treatment to spend her final days in comfort care.

In other words, enough was enough.

Barbara Bush holds an especially dear place in the hearts and history books of Texas because she spent most of her life here.

She met George H.R. Bush at the age of 16, fell in love, and they married. Together they reared six children and Barbara campaigned with her husband along the roads of Texas while remaining the stereotypical political wife, at her husband’s side, wearing a smile and heels.

She exuded warmth and calm and appeared to be everyone’s mother and grandmother, roles she whole-heartedly embraced according to her children and grandchildren.

Her signature pearls became a fashion statement, but she admitted she started wearing them to hide the way her neck was aging.

Brutal honesty, we came to realize, was a trademark for Barbara.

I remember seeing a video of the first time Barbara met Hillary Clinton as the new incoming First Lady. George had lost a bitter run for the presidency to Bill Clinton, and it was time for Hillary to come in as the new lady of the White House.

Barbara graciously welcomed Hillary, pointed to the news people and cautioned the new First Lady to avoid them at all costs.

She gave her replacement some great advice and got a jab in to the press at the same time. She did all of that with a smile.

Most First Ladies take up a cause, and Barbara was no exception. She chose literacy, believing that being able to read, write and understand would help cure many of the problems society faced.

She was good to her word – she wrote many books, including a best seller about the Bush’s dog Millie, and tirelessly campaigned to help people learn how to read.

After visiting the Bush Presidential Library in College Station last year, I came away with a greater appreciation for both of the Bushes and thought that Barbara might very well be the last First Lady whose career was in the shadows of her husband’s.

But then I realized that Barbara stood in no one’s shadow.

She did what she thought was the best and right thing to do, and she publicly supported women who made difficult choices to do what they thought was right.

No matter how one feels about the Bush’s politics, there’s no denying that Barbara Bush was a dignified and beloved First Lady.

She shared her husband for decades with this country, and she watched her sons volunteer to serve their country.

I admired her as a First Lady, as a champion of a cause also dear to my heart and as someone who learned to play a politician’s game and, ultimately win at that game.

She will be buried in College Station next to her daughter, Robin, who passed away at the age of 3 from leukemia.

Barbara Bush endured happiness, tragedy and sorrow and came through knowing that family, faith and friends were the most important treasures in one’s life.

There’s one of her sayings I’ve always loved:

“At the end of your life, you will never regret not having passed one more test, winning one more verdict, or not closing one more deal. You will regret time not spent with a husband, a child, a friend or a parent.”

I have a feeling that the indomitable Barbara Bush passed away with few regrets.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Growing up in New York State, there were certain things I knew to be true. Sweaters were never put away because the summer night-time temperatures often dipped in the 50s.

The only “pool” we knew about was the city park pool where people threw pennies in during the summer and ice skated in the winter. Winter toys included sleds and toboggans, and our moms put flannel sheets on the beds come September.

We moved to Louisiana when I was in middle school; and over the years, I’ve come to understand some of the differences between Northerners and Southerners.

Let’s start with winters. Northerners know when the last leaf falls from the maple tree, it’s time to unpack the snow pants, gloves, mittens, woolen scarves, down jackets and thermal underwear.

They stock up on salt to spread over their sidewalks, make sure the car’s snow chains are ready and give the snow blower a tune up.

Southerners haul out their sweat pants but keep their shorts handy because we’re usually running the air conditioner on Christmas Day. We make sure there’s a new spark plug in the lawn mower because we just might be running that bad boy the day after Thanksgiving.

Cast-iron pots and pans aren’t items cowboys use. They are family heirlooms, passed down carefully from generation to generation. They never – gasp –see soap and water. Instead, they are wiped clean with a paper towel and placed back on the gas-top stove to air dry.

Every once in a while, we wipe the inside out with lard or Crisco and put the pan in the oven for a few hours to re-season the cast iron.

Don’t even think about letting that cookware rust.

Ever.

Our insects are fierce in the South. Northerners have sweet bumblebees and colorful yellow jackets but we have cockroaches that are as big as a mouse and seem to fly.

And let’s not forget fire ants. Growing up, I remember watching harmless black ants for hours in our back yard.

Here, we have fire ants that are indestructible. In a flood, they band together and create islands that float to a new destination where they double in number in less than an hour.

Southerners know they’re in Yankee territory when they see the word “crayfish.” Calling crawfish anything other than crawfish is a sure giveaway that you’re not from a southern state.

So is mispronouncing the word “pecan.” In the South, it’s “puh-kahn.” Anyone who pronounces it “pee-can” is describing something people might use in an outhouse.

Despite our differences, there are truisms Northerners and Southerners share. Front porches are not only treasured, but they’re an extension of our hearts and our homes.

No matter the size of that porch, it’s there where we watch our children play, visit with our loved ones and relax as the sun sets.

Football teams require devout loyalty and a willingness to go all out for the team. There’s no way a Southerner can laugh at a Green Bay Packers fan for wearing a foam cheese wedge on her head when we paint the shutters on our homes purple and gold to show our loyalty for the LSU Tigers.

We share a love of family, country and faith. How else to explain our belief that one day the Houston Texans will go to the Super Bowl and the Pittsburg Steelers will recreate the glory days from the 1970s?

Maybe if we join forces, we can figure out how to get rid of those fire ants once and for all because, watch out Northerners, those monsters are on their way to you.

Now if we can just convince you that the only acceptable kind of tea is sweet tea, then we’re home free.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.