Between hunkering down for Hurricane Laura and isolating from the coronavirus, watching movies my main escape path.

Throw in two nasty national party conventions, brutality in the streets and worries about schools reopening, and shutting out reality is a priority, not a luxury.

Since they haven’t made a lot of movies in the last six months, revisiting the oldies is something I’ve come to enjoy. I think every family has a list of favorites, and the “Hebert Nation” is no different.

So here’s a partial list of my family’s top movies, and if you haven’t seen them, why not give them a chance.

First is a musical from 1971 – “Fiddler on the Roof,” and the Heberts know all the words to all the songs.

The movie is about a Jewish family in 1905 in Russia. Father Tevye is a poor milkman with only daughters and he dreams of one day being a rich man.

Our dad identified with Tevye as he always dreamed of being rich and had three daughters who married who they wanted, not who the father had chosen.

The movie’s theme of prejudice against the Jewish people in the village still rings true as we watch minorities continue to fight for equality and justice. But mostly the songs are fabulous and will make you laugh and cry.

Another favorite is “Princess Bride.” I had to admit a few weeks ago that I’d never seen this 1971 movie. My sisters set up a three-way movie night so I wouldn’t remain ignorant, and I thoroughly enjoyed the flick.

The film’s about a beautiful young woman who has to wait for her one true love to find her. The movie has one-liners that fit into life’s daily conversations:  “Inconceivable” and “My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!” Yes, that second line will actually fit seamlessly into a conversation.

The comedy’s is a little dated, but not knowing about “The Princess Bride” definitely puts you at a disadvantage when someone says “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

Although musicals aren’t for everybody, they are a fun escape. If you can’t spend a couple of hours with Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds as they tap and sing their way through the raindrops, then you really need to get out in the next rainstorm – which is probably today – and twirl around a bit.

Another favorite is “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.” Not as well-known as some of the other MGM musicals of the 1950s, “Seven Brides” is a perennial favorite of the Hebert girls, and at the top of my sons’ most-hated musicals list.

If you’re not tapping your feet during the barn-raising dance sequence, you need to go twirl in the rain and dance a little jig.

Sometimes snuggling up on the couch when it’s rainy outside is a good time to watch a drama, especially if there’s a good cry involved at the end.

Two of my mom’s favorite tear-jerkers were “Stella Dallas” with Barbara Stanwyk and “Imitation of Life” with Lana Turner. Stella Dallas was a street-wise gal who knew she’d never fit into the high-society lifestyle of her husband.

She doesn’t want to embarrass her daughter at her wedding, which Stella told her she wouldn’t attend, but her step-mother understands there’s no way Stella would miss her daughter’s wedding.

She orders the drapes to remain open to the street so Stella can watch Laurel get married. Just try and keep a dry eye during that scene.

“Imitation of Life” shows how women were battling prejudice against the races back in 1959 and how that hatred divided families. And, as in “Fiddler on the Roof,” these prejudices are not any closer to being solved.

So sit back, snuggle up under a blanket, and revisit the classics from the old days. As Tevye tells the audience, what’s always important is “Tradition!” Honor your family’s tradition by tuning in to a favorite flick.

Pass the popcorn please.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

 

I’m a weather junkie.

A Weather-Channel, radar-following, hurricane-tracker addict. The weather men and women on television are as familiar to me as my neighbors. I check the weather every morning and especially before heading out.

I particularly dislike driving in bad weather. When the rain starts pelting my car, I’ll usually find a safe place and pull over until the storm passes.

Sometimes, though, it’s hard to get away from the storm.

My mom and I were traveling along Highway 190 in Louisiana. It’s the old east-west route through the state, one I’ve traveled many times as Interstate 10 has become an orange-cone parking lot.

As we got closer to the Atchafalaya Basin, I noticed the tall trees on the side of the road were swaying, gently at first and then more violently.

The shorter trees were visibly shaking, and branches were pumping up and down like puppets on a string.

Dust-devils were kicking up and spinning on side roads, and I could feel the wind pushing my vehicle. That feeling made me sit up straighter in my seat and start silently praying Hail Marys.

My mom asked why I was being so quiet.

“Don’t you see how those trees are practically bent over,” I asked her.

“It all looks fine to me,” she said looking out the window. “Everything will be fine. God’s in control.”

I pulled over into a gas station’s parking lot to check the weather radar.

There was an ominous line of dark red and yellow a few miles north of us, and it extended all the way to Baton Rouge. Soon, the storm would catch up to us or us to it.

Ahead was a tall bridge, and I did not want to be at the top of that structure when a strong gust came through.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” my mom said. “You’re usually the one in charge, the one who’s unafraid. I’ve never known you to be a chicken.”

She was right.

I was scared.

Scared of going over the bridge. Scared of being tossed around like a rag doll. Scared of having my mom injured.

Mixed in with the fear was the shame of being a coward.

The only thing to do was to keep going and hope we could get home before rain and lightning joined the wind.

I got back on the highway, marveling at my mother’s calm demeanor, her faith in me and the Lord.

We made it over the bridge, the wind not as bad as I’d feared, but I held my breath the entire time.

“Look ahead,” my mom said. “There’s clear skies up ahead. God is showing us the way. Just head toward that light. You can do it.”

Those words had the desired effect. I had a mission now, a goal to achieve, so I kept driving.

My hands were still gripping the steering wheel, my stomach was churning, and I kept going, not because I was brave, but because there was no other choice.

Perhaps when the storms come, it’s okay to admit we’re chicken. It’s okay to feel like a failure and okay to feel like we can’t take another step forward.

But when you do, when you move forward, even though every fiber of your being wants to crawl back to safety, you’re on the way to becoming a little bit braver.

My mom taught me a good lesson. Sometimes you just have to look for the clear patch ahead, ignore the chaos all around and just keep going whether it’s clear sailing or stormy skies.

Just keep going.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

The first segment I heard on the radio this morning was a follow-up on the Beirut explosion. The damage caused to this beautiful city on the sea was intense, and the number of dead and injured was staggering.

That story was followed by a news report on the looting in Chicago, and listening to the gunshots and sirens made me even sadder for the world.

Then there was a story about Covid-19 and schools reopening and how sick teachers would be, the daily danger level, how kids needed to be back at school, that parents needed to be back at work and thousands of jobs were being lost and… I turned off the news.

Columnists have the flexibility of giving readers their interpretation of what’s happening in the world.

Was the bombing in Lebanon a case of careless storage or the work of a terrorist? I could spin that column either way and scare the fire out of everyone no matter what road I took.

I could write about the reckless looting in Chicago’s high-end shopping district and throw blame to both sides.

When it comes to reopening the schools, there’s enough arguments, pop facts and opinions to keep the internet spinning for months.

Many columnists, this one included, give out advice. If only people would learn to get along, we write, the world would be a better place.

Nothing anyone has ever written, not the Emancipation Proclamation or speeches from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., has changed intolerant minds.

So what to write about. What could possibly keep your interest and not make you unwrap another chocolate bar or bite your fingernails any shorter.

Happy things comes to mind.

But, columnist, aren’t you being a Pollyanna? Aren’t you turning a blind eye to what’s going on in the world and isn’t it your job to write about current events.

Maybe.

But when the current events are as depressing as spilling a bottle of Big Red on your new white shirt, then it’s time to think about something cheerful.

So let’s go down that lane.

Puppies. With their little wagging tails and big eyes, puppies are absolutely darling. So, for that matter, are kittens. They like to go to sleep on your chest and make the sweetest sounds.

Until they relieve themselves on you. Or chew up your shoes or the legs on a kitchen chair. Or destroy your slippers.

Not so cute now, are they.

Sunsets are happy. The oranges, reds and yellows blend to close out that days’ woes in warm shades.

Unless you’re in Texas where the temperature is still in the upper 90’s as the sun sets, the oppressive humidity reminds you of a sauna bath and the mosquitoes are feasting on your upper arms.

Music usually makes us happy unless, of course, we listen to a song that reminds us of the guy who dumped us or takes us back to our high school days when we’re listening to a golden oldies station. Then we remember, sigh, we’re a golden oldie.

As if we needed any reminders.

So the question remains – what to write about.

The only thing I can come up with is hope.

I hope people continue to clean up the world and their hearts. I hope there’s a vaccine for this coronavirus, and I hope the world can return to a sense of normalcy coupled with an appreciation for the things we’ve taken for granted.

I hope we can learn to get along and I hope my great-grandchildren are able to live in a world without war, diseases, famine or prejudice.

This columnist refuses to give into despair for she knows there’s always two sides to every situation and every story.

We can continue to play with puppies and kittens if we remember that cuteness often comes with a few scratches.

And a sunset can either signal the end of the day or that a new dawn’s right around the corner. Life is, after all, a series of choices, and we can choose to find the happiness in life or drown in the despair.

I trust you choose wisely.

A columnist can, after all, hope.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald

In an effort to start getting rid of the extra Covid pounds – oh let’s be honest, the fall, winter and spring pounds – I laced up my sneakers and went out for a walk.

Barely a block in, my legs and knees started aching, and I limped back home.

“Old age,” I told myself.

“Years of not taking care of yourself,” the snide little voice in my head shouted back.

Both voices were correct, so I promised to walk more to get into better shape.

Each morning, I’d come limping back. I noticed, though, that my legs and knees didn’t hurt when I walked around barefoot.

My tennis shoes could be the culprit although I hated to blame something I’ve come to treasure – shoes.

For years, I thought buying shoes was practical. Find your size, try them on and buy the shoes if they fit.

I totally missed the boat.

Shoes aren’t just for protection. They’re optimistic, fun and shoes mark special times in our lives, from our first lace-up shoes to our favorite bedazzled flip flops.

They come in all shapes and sizes. There’s flats, high heels, sneakers, sandals and pumps.

You can try all of them on for free. In the shoe store, I used to slip on high heels and imagine myself on the red carpet at the Oscars.

Slip on sneakers and you can pretend you’ll be running a marathon. Reality sinks back in once you realize those high heels are almost $100 and a decent pair of running shoes is twice that price.

Most of us can remember our favorite pair of shoes as a kid. In “The Sandlot,” PF Flyers saved the day. I remember having a pair as a kid and believing I could run faster and jump higher because of those shoes.

I watched Cinderella try on that magic slipper and snag a prince and crying when Dorothy closed her eyes, clicked those ruby red heels together and said “there’s no place like home.”

Tap shoes are some of the best shoes a little girl can have. I spent many happy hours tap dancing around the house, down the driveway and on the sidewalk in front of our house. Best of all, tap shoes make noise and annoy parents and siblings.

But I grew up and, somewhere along the way, came to believe shoes needed to be practical, comfortable and quiet.

A few years ago, I stopped in the shoe store after a long, tough day and ran into a friend. She had the same tired look on her face I did and she told me shoe shopping is therapeutic.

As I looked at all the shoes, I remembered how much fun I had with my sisters and sisters-in-law shoe shopping. An hour later, I found myself a lot happier when I left, fancy shoes in a box. These days, I seldom pass up an opportunity to browse around a shoe store, even though the fanciest place I go is the grocery store.

I thought about my love affair with shoes while out on that painful walk. I started wondering when I’d bought the sneakers I was wearing. I know I had them in the last house we lived in, and that was eight years ago.

Maybe my limping wasn’t because of old age. Maybe the problem was my walking shoes.

That afternoon, I bought a good pair of sneakers – on sale – and tried them out. Not only did I make it down the block the next morning, I made it all the way around the block that evening without any pain.

Those new sneakers might not be made out of glass and they’re not ruby red, but they sure worked their magic on me.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Customer service is invaluable for businesses to stay alive. Surviving often comes down to outstanding customer service.

I had an unpleasant experience in a weeks’ time with a local business and a national chain. The chain rectified the situation with good customer service. The local one lost this customer who’d been going to their business since they opened.

Let’s start with the big box.

After weeks of research, I finally found a laptop to suit my new needs. I went to an electronics box store to try out the keyboards.

Since I used their store to test drive the laptop, I felt the only fair transaction was to spend my money with the store providing the service.

When the laptop arrived, the power cord wasn’t in the box. I called their customer service line.

After listening to their pre-recorded music and pressing “one” numerous times, I eventually got through to a real person, wishing they’d follow the procedure at this newspaper and have a real person answer and route calls.

Then the power went out and I lost the connection. A few minutes later, I called again, pressed all those buttons and a real person came on the line.

After pretending to listen to what I needed, he said he’d connect me with someone who could help me. Instead, he disconnected me.

I screamed at the phone and called back, pressing all the buttons again and listening to all the same pre-recorded messages and cursing the person who invented electronic routing.

A new representative said the problem wasn’t theirs. It was the manufacturer’s problem. I explained I didn’t order the laptop from the manufacturer – I ordered it from them.

At that point, he said I had two options – get a $25 gift card – the power cord is $30 in the store — or return the laptop.

“I want a third option,” I said. “I want you to FedEx the power cord to my house like you did the laptop.”

“That’s not an option,” was the reply.

“Then I want to speak to a supervisor,” I said.

“They’ll tell you the same thing,” was the reply. And he refused to connect me to a supervisor.

At that point, I was done. My husband said he’d take the laptop in the next day and either get a power cord or return the laptop.

In person, the store associates were polite, apologetic and ordered another laptop. It arrived two days later, power cord included.

Online customer service = F. In-person customer service = A.

My second frustration came from a local car wash. For Christmas, my son gave me a gift certificate for four deluxe car-wash packages. I went a couple of times to get my car serviced, but each time, the manager told me he didn’t have the staff on site and to come back.

I went last week and a new manager said he’d bought the business and wouldn’t honor the gift certificates.

I protested.

He agreed to one service, and I told him I didn’t think that was fair to get only one wash when four had been purchased.

My son earned the money for that gift by welding in 100-degree weather, often hanging from a scaffold 10 stories up. That money didn’t come easy to him and I wasn’t about to let his gift go, especially as there wasn’t an expiration date on the certificate.

I tried to bargain for at least two – the new owner wouldn’t budge. He made me give him the gift certificate – I took a picture of it – and I got one cleaning package.

I posted the situation on social media, and someone posted that their neighbor owned a new car wash in Fulshear on FM 1463. He wanted to give me four packages for free to make up for my bad experience.

From that post, at least five people said they’d now frequent the new car wash.

I was quite surprised, but realized this business owner lives in our community and owns a local business. I won’t make this new owner take on an extra burden, but he’ll get my business from now on.

There’s a simple solution to cleaning up the former business’s horrible track record and making a good name for yourself.

Do the right thing and the bucks will roll your way. Fry people, and bad karma rolls your way as well.

In these tough economic days, customer service is the one area that doesn’t cost a dime yet can mean thousands of dollars in good will and repeat business.

I know where I’m spending my money. Be careful where you spend yours.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.