When my boys were young, finding a place to get their hair cut wasn’t easy. I didn’t want to take them to a fancy salon, and there was no way I was going to cut their hair.

I still shudder remembering my dad sitting my brothers down on a stool, hair clippers buzzing, while he pretended to be a top-notch stylist.

He had one hand on their heads while the other dragged the clippers up and over their heads. He’d stop to take a sip of beer and totally ignored their wails.

Uneven doesn’t come close to describing those haircuts.

So styling my sons’ hair was never an option. Someone told me about the Richmond Barber Shop in the downtown area, so, when the boys were old enough, we stopped in.

The place was like stepping back in time. There were a couple of real barber chairs in the center of the room and a row of well-worn waiting chairs against the wall. The linoleum was faded and cracked, but there was a homey vibe that made us feel comfortable and welcome.

We took a seat and a man with a slight hump in his back greeted us. He was the owner and said it might be a little bit, but we were welcome to wait.

The boys were content – they were fascinated with all the pictures and seemed to enjoy listening to the men talk. The boys left there with quality haircuts, courtesy of the owner, Mr. A.D. Eversole.

Sadly, “Mr. A.D.” passed away after over 60 years of being in business in the same location, the past 20 with his grandson continuing the legacy.

The men who came for a quick cut hailed from all walks of life – former Houston Oilers coach Bum Phillips stuck his head in one day and told A.D. he’d be back.

Judges, politicians, businessmen, working guys – all came to the barber shop to hear the local gossip and get an old-fashioned haircut. Once I took my son to the bathroom in the back, and I had to chuckle.

There, set up in the corner, was a perpetual poker game, complete with mannequins and cards on the table.

When A.D. was a young teen, he contracted polio, and his life changed forever. When I wrote a feature about a polio survivors support group, I asked A.D. for his story, and he graciously shared that with me.

He was getting off the school bus, and remembers falling down. He was out for the next couple of days with a high fever.

When he woke up, he was partially paralyzed on one side. As a polio survivor, the symptoms of polio come back later in life, and there’s no way to compensate for the nerve damage polio caused.

A.D. cut back on his hours, but never lost that gentle smile. He was forthright in his business, steady in his demeanor and loyal as a friend. He was an outstanding listener and always remembered what his customers wanted. For my son, it was a buzz, and that chair was the only place my kid sat still.

Years later, I asked him why and he said Mr. A.D. told him he would cut his ear off if he didn’t sit still. He believed the barber, but he also loved him because A.D. liked him, and our son knew it.

A.D., I can’t thank you enough for enriching our family’s life. You will always be remembered with fondness whenever I see a red and blue barber’s pole or a beautiful hand-made bird house.

Those of us who visited the best clip joint in town were fortunate to have known you.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

The power hour of cleaning. Whenever I can’t sleep, I watch videos of people dedicating an hour a day to clean their house.

They start in the kitchen, taking everything off the counter tops, wiping down every surface, and they move on to the living room where they take the couch cushions off, vacuum every inch of the room – including curtains – and do the same in every room.

They call that their “power hour.”

I’m exhausted watching them.

I decided to do the same, so I set the timer on my phone for 60 minutes.

The first 10 minutes is spent convincing myself I’m going to really clean the house for sixty minutes straight.

Piece of cake, I tell myself. Then I start thinking about cake and have to mentally slap myself to get back to the job at hand.

The first thing I tackle is making the bed. Straighten the sheets, plump the bed pillows, throw the comforter on and toss two decorative pillows on top of that.

Dusting would be wasting power-hour time, so I move on to the laundry, checking to see how many more minutes there are in the hour – 50 is the answer

Since it’s just the two of us, it’s easy to sort the clothes – jeans, cottons and T-shirts are the first load and towels are the next load.

Going through the pockets, I find the grocery list I was looking for a few days ago, so I head into the kitchen to put those items on the list again.

While I’m in the kitchen, I decide to fix something to drink because cleaning is tiring.

That’s when I notice I forgot to turn the coffee pot off. Good thing I was in here, I think, and then decide to load the dishwasher since there’s just the breakfast bowls.

“You could do some power cleaning in your kitchen,” a voice in my head says.

Those people in the videos take everything off the counters and clean, but geez, there’s a lot of stuff on the counters. That would take at least half of my remaining time.

So I put that off and decide to vacuum. That’s not a weekly chore for me – it should be, I know – but the dog hair is starting to colonize in the corners.

Out comes the vacuum cleaner, but I notice the canister is full.

I take the canister apart, dump out the contents – geez, that’s a lot – and then spend a frustrating 10 minutes trying to put the vacuum cleaner back together again. Then I’m back in business.

I consider taking the couch cushions off but quickly talk myself out of that extra chore, because I’d have to change to the hose and that would eat up valuable power-hour time.

With the vacuuming done and the washing machine humming along, I start to convince myself I need a break, but promises were made this morning.

I look in my office. Straightening my desk out would take at least three power hours, so I decide to move on.

Looking at the layers of Legos on the dining room table, I tell myself the grandkids will have more fun digging through the piles than if I take time to sort them.

Thoughtful, that’s how I see myself.

Then it’s on to the grandkids’ bedrooms. I pick up the toys from the middle of the floor and wipe the toothpaste from the sink and the counters. I see a picture our grandson drew, and I decide to hang it up because I have an extra frame in my office.

Then I have to find a nail and the hammer, and that takes me back to the laundry room junk drawer. There’s the box cutter I was looking for last week and the bottle opener we needed yesterday.

I wander through the junk drawer for a little longer, trying to remember why I put some of the things in there.

And then the timer goes off.

My power hour is over but the furniture’s still dusty, I haven’t touched the mop bucket, the refrigerator is filled with leftovers and the bathrooms are calling my name.

But tomorrow’s another day, another chance to conquer the power hour.

Victory awaits.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Thirty years ago, I met Russell Autrey, and that friendship has brought me laughter, insight and opportunity.

My husband was transferred to the Houston area, and we settled in Pecan Grove. Our eldest was in third grade, and someone told me Nick’s picture was on the front page of the local newspaper, The Herald-Coaster.

I found the address of the office and headed to Rosenberg to purchase a few copies. Sure enough, there was a beautiful picture of Nick on the front, in color, as he attended an outdoor program.

The photographer’s name was Russell Autrey. I’d run into him from time to time, and Russell was friendly and remembered my name.

When our youngest started school, I joined this newspaper, and that’s where this 30-year friendship with one of the best photographers in the state of Texas began.

Early in the mornings, Russell would Photoshop pictures, sipping on coffee, while I sorted mail next to him. While he worked, he shared stories about the places he’d been and the people he’d met. He’d also share tips on how to take better photos.

He’d drain his coffee cup and head out the door. In an hour, he’d come back with a beautiful picture for that day’s newspaper.

Sometimes it was of happy children at school. Other times, he’d capture people as they were getting ready for work or going about the business of life. But he got a picture every single day without fail.

Every once in a while, we’d come up with an off-beat idea and, together, compile an interesting feature, complete with Russell’s fabulous photos.

Then I traded a newspaper career for a teaching one, and Russell and his wife, Kathy, moved to the Bolivar Peninsula. I kept up with Russell through his gorgeous photographs on Facebook, his pen-and-ink drawings and his creative children’s books.

Last year, he called and said he wanted to publish a book to benefit the historic lighthouse on the peninsula. The lighthouse is in dire need of repair, and the families that own it established a foundation to restore the magnificent structure.

Russell had five years’ worth of photos to fill the book, but he needed stories. He asked me to team up with him again. We decided to interview people who grew up on the peninsula or who had fond memories of the lighthouse.

Our biggest hurdle was the pandemic. People weren’t going out in public, and that included me. I’d retired, and the plans I had for volunteering and traveling had evaporated. I’d become a hermit and because of the isolation, I’d lost a bit of self-confidence.

Russell wouldn’t take “no” for an answer and insisted we write the book together. I called the people Russell told me to call, and they were so talkative and friendly, I found myself looking forward to interviewing more people.

Months after starting, Russell’s idea became a reality. The lighthouse’s non-profit foundation hosted a book signing on the grounds of the lighthouse recently to celebrate the book’s publication.

As we signed books, Russell visited with every single person. His genuine friendliness put everyone at ease, and he had a story and warm welcome for all.

He saw the importance in that lighthouse, her history and her hidden beauty. That’s the secret of why Russell is so loved by so many – he not only sees the beauty in an ordinary scene, he sees the “special” in an ordinary day, an ordinary bird and especially in ordinary people like me.

Thank you, buddy, for getting me out of my pajama pants and back on the highway of life.

So, when do we start book 2?

This column was originally published in  The Fort Bend Herald. 

First thing in the morning, I’m scanning headlines, checking for news from Ukraine as well as Taiwan where my eldest son lives. As a long-time newspaper reader and writer, I know headlines can often be deceiving, especially on the internet.

A headline has to capture the skimmer’s interest in seconds. There’s a few buzzwords online writers use, and all of them remind me of a carnival barker, standing outside the big top, urging people to “step right in, step right in!”

There’s a science behind writing effective headlines, and every word is analyzed to see whether it causes anxiety, anger, surprise, shock or makes you believe your life isn’t complete unless you read their article.

Some of the most common ones I see are “shoppers adore this” and “hottest deals.”  Those aren’t anything new in the advertising vocabulary book, but I have to wonder about shoppers adoring a foot callus remover.

Writers also use the phrase “cult-favorites” when they want your attention. If that’s true, then I guess I’m in the cults for people who love inexpensive mascara, sensible shoes and two-ply toilet paper.

Then there’s the headlines for when you need a bit of a pick-me-up. Look for the three R’s of online advertising:  “revamp,” “renew” and “rejuvenate.”

You won’t believe how many things in your home, car and body you can rejuvenate. I’ve seen online articles about revamping your pantry, renewing the grout in your shower and rejuvenating your double chin – all for under $49.95.

The fashion industry really wants to hook you with their headlines. Movie stars don’t just wear an evening gown to a gala event. They’re “glammed up” and people are doing “double takes.”

When an entertainer spends literally eight hours getting ready for the red carpet, I’d put that in a glamming-up category. The last time I spent eight hours getting ready for something I ended up with an 8-pound baby.

One of the latest phrases is “blew up on Tik-Tok.” I’ve watched a few Tik Tok videos, and if lip-synching songs and mouthing the words to stand-up comedy is blowing up Tik-Tok, I’ll stick to watching Barney Fife videos on YouTube.

Then there’s the “got-cha” articles. I find myself wondering why I need to put a bread clip in my wallet before traveling. I wonder the same thing about why someone would put a red plastic cup under the toilet lid or why they put their suitcases in the bathtub when they check into a hotel.

Then there’s the sentimental headlines. These usually start out with “sadly…” and if you read the article, the story is depressing but has nothing to do with the picture or headline.

Usually they’ll use a picture from a popular television show with a headline of here’s what’s getting cancelled this year. I found out the deception when a picture from one of my favorite shows was featured with that headline. Buried in the story was that popular shows, like my favorite, weren’t getting cancelled. But who’s going to click on an article with a picture from the worst television show.

Then there’s the ad for some gadget or tool that will “change your life.” Unless this gadget will put the kitchen chairs on the table, sweep and mop the floor and put everything back, it’s not going to change my life.

My wallet, maybe, but not my life.

From now on, whenever I scan the headlines, I’ll try and use my brain instead of my emotions.

And I’ll do my best to ignore that flashy carnival barker on my laptop telling me to “step right in, step right in.”

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.