We all have that picture.

The one in the elementary or junior high yearbook. The picture where we cringe every time we see it.

Either we had a goofy look on our faces, we were having a bad hair day or our eyes were closed.

For me, the hide-my-head year was seventh grade.

I’d given myself uneven bangs on a forehead not created for bangs.

The bangs were supposed to hide my bushy eyebrow – yes, I had only one that went across my face – but the bangs made the look worse.

I also needed braces, so I held my mouth in a funny smile that looked like I was sitting on a cactus, trying to remain serious.

I came across that picture when going through photos I picked up from my Mom.

She was recuperating from a minor heart procedure, and my sister and I were sitting on her bed talking to her.

Mom opened a drawer and we noticed it was filled with small photo albums and loose pictures.

The hundreds of photos in that drawer were the result of everyone sending her pictures over the past 30 years and from her days of taking pictures with a small Kodak camera.

I took the photos home to scan and post the images on our Facebook family page for everyone to see.

As I went through the stacks, I found some gems.

Mom had pictures of her mother throughout the years. I saw my grandmother’s hands and remembered how silky soft they were.

Those hands were seldom still as she was either making chicken and rice, crocheting or finishing up an embroidery pattern on pillowcases.

There were also pictures of our Grandma Marguerite, always wearing high heels, jewelry and her hair perfectly styled.

There were pictures of Mom’s siblings, some of whom have passed away.

Pictures of our Aunt Bev made me tear up but then smile as seeing her again reminded me of the many conversations we had and how she taught me how to knit and find bargains.

Seeing our relatives’ smiling faces in my grandparents’ living room with the gold couches and gold-flocked wallpaper was like stepping back in time.

Once again, I could hear the laughter in that room, and then I noticed the bright red carpet that ran through all the downstairs rooms.

I’d forgotten the carpet back story until I saw the pictures. My grandmother asked my grandfather to go pick out some carpet for the house as she was busy.

Red was his favorite color, so that’s the color he picked out. I don’t think she ever forgave him.

I was reminded how gorgeous our Aunt Kathy was and how she lit up a room with her smile and kindness. Photos of my Cajun uncles brought up memories of crabbing and fishing.

The photos showed how we’d all changed, from young kids to grandparents. Our children’s growing up was documented as well, from darling toddlers to apathetic teens to parents themselves.

Family trips were recorded, like the time some of the siblings visited Las Vegas.

There was a late-night blackjack game where the dealer took pity on us and allowed us to win a few hands.

The memories might be hazy, but those tangible pictures allow us to remember and relive those wonderful moments on a sandy beach at some property my parents owned, at a backyard barbecue accompanied by a never-ending basketball game, at chaotic Christmas celebrations, birthdays and impromptu get-togethers.

The photos are now scanned and posted on our family Facebook page where relatives are loving taking a trip back through the past.

Even the cringe-worthy elementary school pictures.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.  

For most of my life, I’ve battled tossing and turning at bedtime, eyes wide open, unable to shut my brain off.

Recently, I started watching mindless YouTube videos to try and get to sleep.

One restless night, I found the gold-mine of insomnia-chasing videos:  cleaning channels. Over 400,000 people tune in to one of the most entertaining cleaners, Jessica Tull.

Jessica and other YouTubers have all kinds of tips for taking your home from a total wreck to a neat-freak’s paradise.

None of the professionals in the videos are distracted by finding the remote control under a couch cushion and settling down for a “Friends” marathon.

No interruptions courtesy of the dog turning over the water bowl.

No balancing the telephone under their ear while trying to scrape gum off the floor.

No frustration in discovering someone left a marker on the rug and there’s a two-inch ring of color around the now-dried-up marker.

After watching Jessica straighten up her kitchen, garage and entire house, I was inspired to be honest with myself.

Exactly what needed cleaning in my house?

Answer:  Everything.

The floors needed mopping, I haven’t dusted in months – oh be honest, years – closets are places I hide things and the only reason our refrigerator is clean is because we had to buy a new one.

No more procrastinating.

It was time to organize, clean and conquer.

I headed to the store, determined to make sure I was fully armed for the task ahead. One hundred and twenty dollars later, I was back home, confident and ready to clean.

Big jobs are always easier if I start with the smallest task. I started with the cabinet where I’ve stockpiled water glasses, coffee cups, Thermos mugs and superhero drinking cups.

I took everything out, threw away the glasses with cloudy bottoms, cracks or chips, wrapped the coffee cups we don’t use in newspaper and put them in a bag to donate.

As instructed by Jessica, I used one of my new cleaning products to wipe down the shelves before putting back only what’s usable.

Result:  Organization.

Energized, I got out the new floor vacuum I’d bought, a Dust-buster on steroids, and ventured into No Man’s Land – underneath the couch.

After months of not cleaning, those dust bunnies were the size of elephants, but my new vacuum sucked them right up, and I only had to empty out the canister three times before I finished.

Next was the cleaning supply cabinet. Sitting on the floor, I realized a few things.

One, I had no idea what some of those cleaners accomplished.

Second, because I was disorganized, there were four bottles of 409, two almost-empty containers of Lysol, an empty can of Comet and three cans of Pledge, one with a missing nozzle.

I was undeterred because, thanks to Jessica, I’d purchased the ultimate cleaning tool, one that empowered me with confidence to tackle anything:  the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.

Mr. Clean’s been the face of powerful cleaning since I was a kid, and the word “magic” promised salvation.

The big bald guy and I got to work.

Three minutes with the Magic Eraser, and the scum on the shower doors was gone.

Same with a few pesky rust stains in the bathtubs and the calcium build up around the faucets.

I went through three of the Magic Erasers before I called it a day.

There’s still a lot left to organize and clean and a lot of cleaning products I need to figure out what they’re good for.

At least I know when all else fails, magic works.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Every town with a newspaper had one – the society editor.

In bygone days, the society editor was a woman who reported upcoming teas, weddings, receptions, galas and social events.

She knew the correct way to list the attendants in a wedding, how to address a minister and the best gossip source in town.

The Herald-Coaster’s society editor was Betty Dawes Humphrey, and the grand dame, or grand heifer as she might call herself, passed away this week at the age of 88.

And she made the most of those 88 years.

She started her over 50-year career in the newspaper business balancing a manual typewriter on wooden crates as the printing presses were rolling.

It wasn’t long before her knack for writing in a conversational style and her friendships with hundreds of people made her the best choice for the Herald Coaster’s family editor.

Her office was located in the middle of the newsroom, and her desk was cluttered with things Betty loved – photos of her family, newspaper proof sheets and her legendary Rolodex with the phone numbers of almost every single person in Fort Bend County.

New reporters were taken under Betty’s wings, encouraged and taught the correct way to report the news. “Children,” she instructed us “are reared. Animals are raised.”

Fancy, three-syllable writing was for those unwilling to get details. Plain factual writing in a conversational tone was her style.

Betty made sure we gave her tips and information for her “Bits from Betty” column, written as if you were sitting in the beauty parlor with your best friends trading gossip and local news.

One of the events Betty loved was the Fort Bend County Fair. She usually announced the parade lineup from a grandstand in downtown Richmond, and she always added her own side note to groups as they passed by.

When intern Kim Kovar was taking pictures near the grandstand one year, Betty called her name out on the loudspeaker and complimented Kim on her reporting skills.

Kim wanted to dive underneath the closest folding chair but she knew better than to tell Betty “no.”

Betty took me with her to the Fair’s senior luncheon once or twice, and I was usually left handing out plates while she visited with every single table in the building.

Former Fort Bend Herald editor Bob Haenel worked with Betty for over 30 years and remembers her nosiness was what made her so successful.

It wasn’t unusual to go to lunch with Betty and she’d practically fall out of her chair to eavesdrop on the people talking next to her, he said.

But Bob, like most folks who knew Betty, loved her.

If you were single, she’d tried to get you married, he said. If you didn’t want to tell your age, Betty got that number out of you no matter how long the digging took.

She loved her children and was a bragging grandmother. She had her share of heartache with the loss of her son. Perhaps that’s why she was always so kind and patient to whoever came in with an obituary. They found an open heart and a patient ear in her office.

And it didn’t matter what color or nationality you were. Betty knew people from all walks of life, and I watched her talk with everyone, from janitors to mayors, with equal amounts of respect and friendliness.

There was no “I’m better than you are” in her world.

Your child’s birth, First Communion, Quinceanera, baptism, wedding, reception, accomplishment – all were important to her and she made sure your family was represented with the knowledge someone knew you mattered.

I’d bet there’s hundreds of well-worn scrapbooks with a “Bits from Betty” column glued inside because she knew the importance of having one’s name in the local paper.

I have at least a dozen of the holiday cookbooks the newspaper published, and she could write a column faster than anyone in the office.

She critiqued my stories in a frank, honest manner, and her advice was right on the money.

When I’m writing, I hear her voice, her wonderful laugh and her warning to not park in her spot.

Betty, I hope the angels know someone’s recording their every move and listening in to every conversation.

Make room for her at heaven’s table, Lord. Like all of us, you’ll be glad you did.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.