With the temperatures in the 90’s, it’s hard to remember how cold we were in February. There were icicles hanging from the trampoline and the fences, and most of Texans went days without electricity or news about why we were freezing in the dark.

It might seem strange to think about preparing for those cold days during the hottest months of the year, but now is the time to stock up on supplies for both an arctic blast and a hurricane.

The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Admiration, NOAA, has predicted an above-normal Atlantic hurricane season. Not the level we saw in 2020, but all of us know it only takes one to wreck your world.

Instead of fighting the crowds when a hurricane or freeze is on the way, why not do some preparedness shopping now.

Here’s a list compiled from what we encountered and feedback from you, faithful readers:

A generator. Order now while they’re in stock. They’re not cheap, but you’ll be glad you spent the money when the lights are out, especially if you’re depending on the state of Texas to restore power quickly.

Christmas lights. Not the LED lights but lights that use bulbs. These are what you’ll use to keep your bushes and plants warm in case of a freeze. Of course, they’re useless if the power doesn’t stay on.

Extension cords. In case we’re lucky enough to keep the power on, you’ll need extension cords to hook up those Christmas lights. Not the $1.99 extension cords you buy at the dollar store. You’ll need the heavy-duty bad boys to handle running the refrigerator from the generator.

Candles. Stop saying you don’t want them as a gift. Take every candle you can get and search the clearance aisles for those ugly ones no one wants. While you’re at it, buy a box of Diamond Head matches to light those candles.

Flashlights and batteries. In case candles make you nervous, pick up some flashlights but get the ones that run on AA batteries because they’re cheaper and easier to find than the 9-volt ones.

Pipe insulation. Forget buying wraps when a freeze is predicted, and don’t kid yourself you can use a pool noodle. Get the insulation now and store it. Insulation doesn’t have an expiration date.

Kitchen:  A manual can opener. Get a Baby Boomer to show you how to use it. Plastic water pitchers are cheap at a dollar store. You’ll use these to hold drinking water or, if you have to fill the tub with water, to get the water out of the tub. Buy bottled water, but keep an eye on the expiration date.

Blankets. The only blankets most of us have are the heirloom quilts our grandmothers made or light-weight fleeces we use for our usually mild winters. Layering on blankets is the best way to stay warm.

No refrigeration needed. Any food that requires only boiling is your best bet here. Ramen noodles don’t have any extra calories or sky-high levels of sodium when the power’s out. Other staples include protein shakes, cookies, individual bags of snacks, crackers and peanut butter.

Paper goods. Pick up a supply of paper plates and paper towels, including extra toilet paper. For some reason, whenever there’s a natural disaster, people stockpile toilet paper. Go ahead and get in front of the hoarders.

Battery-powered radio. If you’re a weather or news junkie like me, not knowing what’s happening in the world causes anxiety. Invest in an inexpensive radio that runs on AA batteries. “C” and “D” batteries are expensive and hard to find.

Make sure you’re taking care of your home and business instead of relying on the Public Utility Commission. It might be the only way you’ll keep the lights on this summer or stay warm this coming winter.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Every Easter, “The Ten Commandments” movie airs. The 1956 blockbuster movie was a must-see in my parents’ time because of the epic scenes, from the impressive parting of the Red Sea to the many plagues Moses sends to Egypt.

I remember everyone in the family raving about the movie except my Uncle Eli. A thrifty man, Eli refused to pay to see the movie when it would eventually be on television.

Years later, it was and Uncle Eli was vindicated.

As kids, we couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t go to the movies. Every Sunday afternoon, the cousins would head down to my grandfather’s five-and-dime store and fill up a small bag with penny candy – licorice laces, Tootsie rolls and Atomic Fireballs.

We’d walk to the nearby Palace Theater and watch whatever was playing. I can’t recall what we saw, but I remember watching the thick red curtains dramatically pull back before the movie starts.

I wished I could sit in one of the box seats that lined the inside second floor and that the actors on the giant white screen seemed bigger than life.

There’s nothing like seeing a movie on the big screen. I saw “Star Wars” in a movie theater and the fear I felt when Darth Vader first enters was real. I don’t think I would’ve been that scared had I first seen him on a TV screen in the safety of my living room.

During high school, I worked at the Robert E. Lee movie theater after school and on the weekends. I loved taking my break on the back row, watching a story unfold in brilliant Technicolor.

But loving the movies is more than where you watch one. It’s who’s with you.

My youngest brother, Jeff, and I watched “Raiders of the Lost Ark” without knowing anything about the movie before we sat down.

Jeff and I were blown away by the epic story, the soaring score and the amazing special effects. At one point, we looked at each other, huge smiles on our faces, and together said “this is a great movie!”

I saw the coming-of-age movie “Breaking Away” with my brother Joey. The movie came at just the right time as he was getting ready to go to college.

My husband and I went back to the movie theater last week after quarantining for almost a year and things have changed.

No more stiff chairs packed into every row. We sat in plush recliners with a food tray at our fingertips. We ordered popcorn from our seats with the push of a button. In addition to ordering a Coke or Pepsi, we could’ve ordered a craft beer, wine or a mixed drink.

No more rotisserie hot dogs or boxes of Jujube candies – now movie patrons can order chicken and waffles or a grilled chicken chef salad brought to their seat.

Today’s lobbies are smaller, more like a restaurant instead of a grand theater, and there’s often a full-service bar where patrons wait instead of standing in a long line behind a velvet rope.

But what hasn’t changed, and what I hope never changes, is the majesty and thrill of seeing a movie on the big screen.

I wish I could’ve seen “The Wizard of Oz” on a big movie screen. Dorothy’s ruby-red slippers are pretty on television, but I bet they were dazzling on a big screen.

Charlton Heston is forceful as Moses on my computer screen, but he had to be commanding on a gigantic 70-mm movie screen. That’s what my Uncle Eli didn’t have a chance to experience.

There’s nothing like sitting in a theater as the lights dim and the opening music invites you to enter a magical world as these words appear on a giant screen … “and now, our feature presentation.”

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

One of the best inventions of the past 20 years has been the GPS, Global Positioning Service. A GPS allows someone with internet access to find anything on a map – a city, a highway, a restaurant.

The service on my phone shows road construction, radar stations and heavy traffic. The only drawbacks are if I’m in a remote location and the GPS signal is lost and the inability to see the big roadmap picture.

Sometimes, I want to see all of the city instead of one route, but that complaint is miniscule compared to the good that I get out of modern technology.

My mom and I took a trip from Baton Rouge up to my sister’s house in Alexandria, located in central Louisiana. Interstate 10 has become a nightmare with stalled traffic, endless road construction and 18-wheelers that blast regular cars off the road. I try and avoid I-10 whenever possible.

For the trip to Alexandria, we took the old highway, 190, through some small towns over to Interstate 49 north to Alexandria. It’s a pleasant drive although the concrete on 190 is rough on tires and there’s not much to see past shut-down nightclubs and gas stations.

Mom and I had a terrific visit with my sister, her husband and three of her five grandchildren. Because I don’t like to drive at night, we decided to leave late in the afternoon. At the end of my sister’s driveway, I put our ending location in the GPS system, and off we went.

I saw the entrance for Interstate 49 coming up, but the GPS had me travel further on the highway we were on and meander down the state instead of going out of our way to the interstate. My mom pointed out the turn, but I explained what I thought the GPS had in mind.

After about 30 minutes, it was obvious we were on a different highway than what I’d thought we’d be on.

“You missed the turn,” my mom said. “Maybe we ought to go back.”

By this point, we were a good 40 miles away from the interstate, and I didn’t want to double back. The GPS had us headed in the right direction, so I decided to stick with technology.

“We’ll be fine,” I told her. “The GPS knows what its doing.”

Instead of a crowded interstate highway, we were on a smooth, two-lane country road. We drove past acres of sugar cane, their tall stalks swaying in the wind underneath a blue sky packed with puffy white clouds.

Instead of name-brand gas stations and convenience stores, we saw small towns with local hardware and mom-and-pop stores.

Weathered signs offered home-grown watermelons and vegetables, and trucks, their fenders speckled with mud, filled the parking lots.

Tidy homes greeted us along the way, the siding painted in different hues of white, yellow and beige. At almost every house, flowers dotted the neatly trimmed yards and most of the back yards had swing sets or trampolines.

I saw a few clothes lines in the yards, and some had clothes swaying in the wind. The crops changed from sugar cane to corn, and I marveled at the endless rows of tall stalks of corn reaching for the sky.

There were massive live oak trees, their elderly trunks thick and dark. They seemed to hug the homes underneath their sprawling branches. A gently rolling levee separated the simple houses from the river, and I thought about how close the people here were to nature.

Sure, we could’ve taken the interstate and gotten home about 10 minutes earlier. But we took the comfortable back roads through towns that had stood guard for dozens of years. The trip was relaxing, and the sights gave us a chance to talk about the old days and how her grandparents and parents made life work through the good times and the hard times. That was a conversation we might never have had not we traveled the comfortable, country roads of central Louisiana.

Perhaps the GPS knew what it was doing all along.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I’m addicted.

Not to drugs, alcohol or “The Queen’s Gambit.”

I’m addicted to sales.

Big sales.

Ten-percent-off sales are ordinary.

Ninety-percent-off sales are for bottom-of-the-barrel shirts and pants that remain unclaimed through back-to-school sales, winter sales, spring sales and summer sales. These are the true rejects of the fashion world, so getting something from that pile is way too easy.

What gets my brain doing cartwheels is a solid 75 percent off the sticker price.

We sales addicts don’t want to cheat anyone – we want a great deal we can brag about for decades.

A few years ago, I was in an antique mall in Baton Rouge, La. with my mom. I was looking for some vintage china cups and saucers to replace some I’d given away.

Mom and I were enjoying browsing the shelves, remembering when we’d used those items in our every-day life.

I spotted three black cup-and-saucer sets on a dusty shelf in the back of the store. The design on each was similar, and the black color was intriguing. Most china cups and saucers are white with flowers. These, I knew, were different.

The price was on the bottom of one of the saucers — $6. I looked at the other two – same price. Normally these kinds of cups and saucers go for $20, so I knew I’d found a great deal. I told Mom we’d hit gold, and it was time to go.

We gathered the sets and carefully took them to the front counter. The lady who owned the shop smiled as she rang up my bargains.

“The man who owns that booth generally knows his antiques,” she said. “But he doesn’t know how to price china cups. You got yourself one heck of a deal today.”

I felt like a college football player who just made an interception and ran the ball 50 yards for a touchdown.

My Aunt Bev taught me the value of a good sale. One year, my sisters and I went with her to an estate sale, and she told us to look around, make a note of anything we liked, and then get a bidding card.

I spotted a battered tin tray holding four lead crystal wine glasses and six yellow etched champagne glasses. I wrote down the lot number.

Next, a small wicker basket caught my eye. Inside were linen handkerchiefs, some with delicately embroidered edges.

There were also about 50 antique postcards. Some had personal notes and some were brand new. And, again as instructed, I made note of the lot number.

The auction flew by, and at the end, Aunt Bev wondered who’d gotten those glasses.

“I did,” I proudly told her.

“How much?” she asked.

“Five bucks,” I replied. Then I told her I got the wicker box for the same price, and she told me I’d done quite well.

We put the glasses on a bar shelf after checking they were worth over $50. The wicker basket ended up on a shelf in my closet, and I forgot about it for almost 30 years.

A couple of months ago, I got the box out and started looking at the postcards, wondering if they were valuable. I opened up eBay, and the first postcard I found was worth $2.60. The second was worth $10. The third was 50 cents. All total, there was almost $100 worth of antique postcards.

The same held true for the handkerchiefs. One antique hankie was worth almost $12, and there were about a dozen in the box. That’s not a lot of money, but the amount of money isn’t the point.

It’s the thrill of the hunt.

It’s the powerful adrenaline rush a die-hard shopper feels when he or she finds a genuine bargain others have walked past.

So call me an addict. I’ll wear the label proudly over the name-brand jacket I found for half price at a resale shop.

Did I hear someone say estate sale?

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.