News reports are constantly ringing the doom-and-gloom bell.

There’s good reasons.

Inflation is on the rise, people are still without electricity after the hurricane, and the mosquitoes have multiplied faster than lightning.

As depressing as these realities are, there’s some recent news that hit a little closer.

I don’t want to believe Houston writer and columnist Ken Hoffman died.

When we first moved to Houston 30 years ago, we subscribed to the Houston Post. At that time, Hoffman was a breath of fresh air.

The columnist wrote about everyday problems and annoyances, always taking a humorous spin. He wrote about the best kind of fast food to eat in the car, food reviews about affordable places people visited and finding the tastiest carnival food.

Hoffman regularly profiled a dog needing to be adopted, and the pups he profiled had a 100 percent adoption rate.

He published a book, “You Want Fries With That?” and, as usual, poked good-natured fun at the trials and tribulations of maneuvering through life.

His take on the human condition was spot on, and I don’t want to believe he’s no longer with us.

I don’t want to believe exercise guru Richard Simmons has passed away. I remember when the sequin-draped Simmons burst on the exercise scene back in the 80s.

He was funny, relatable and his routines were easy to follow. On his television show, he wasn’t afraid to cover touchy subjects about weight and body image.

He readily shared his painful journey of being an overweight teenager and the tough struggle to establish himself as a serious celebrity. I loved watching his exercise videos, Sweatin’ to the Oldies, and laughing at his self-deprecating humor.

He had become a recluse and was in poor health, and his passing leaves a void in the world.

I don’t want to believe Dr. Ruth Westheimer is gone.

The respected author, sex therapist and talk show host was a pioneer forty years ago when only men dominated the air waves and the therapist’s office.

She answered questions about sex honestly and didn’t back away from sensitive subjects.

Dr. Ruth was a tiny Jewish grandmother, an immigrant to this country who worked as a maid to help pay for her education. She was the last person you’d think could give out advice about intimacy, but she did so in a way that made people feel comfortable talking about sex.

I don’t want to believe someone tried to assassinate a former U.S. president, a current presidential candidate.

It doesn’t matter whether you’re a Democrat, Republican, Libertarian, or someone who abstains from politics.

Shooting at someone while they’re surrounded by innocent people, simply because you disagree with what they’re saying, is unacceptable.

Shooting at children while they’re in a classroom is intolerable.

Shooting at people while they’re praying in church is evil.

Shooting innocent people, no matter where they are, when they are or who they are, is an abomination.

Period.

I can’t believe we even have to make that declaration.

But we do.

I want to believe we are better than the lowest common denominator of society.

I want to believe writers like Ken Hoffman will be remembered for the smiles and laughter he brought to the world.

I want to believe Richard Simmons and Dr. Ruth Westheimer will be remembered for helping people feel better.

Despite the pessimism, sad news and anger in the world, I don’t want to accept this is the best we can offer the world.

We’re capable of being better.

We need to make that change now.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

It’s dark outside. The wind is howling, almost in agony, and the rain is pelting against the windows.

I can hear the big trees around our house pushing and groaning, the wind punishing them as much as it is the house.

Hurricane Beryl is here, and I’m scared.

For days, we’ve been watching a tropical storm develop in the Gulf of Mexico. Early predictions had the storm heading into Mexico.

Then the storm inched its way north, and Corpus Christi was the entry point.

The fates intervened with an open door straight into the Houston area.

Like everyone, we got busy.

We tied the outdoor furniture to a big tree in the back of the yard and moved lighter things into the garage.

We made sure we had gas in the cars, bottled water, drinks, snacks and chips.

Lots of chips.

After that awful February freeze, we bit the bullet and bought a generator, a decision I haven’t regretted one minute.

Sunday night, we went to sleep, knowing when we woke up, the world would be different.

And it was.

About 3 a.m., the winds and rains started. At first, like a tapping at the door.

By the time 5 a.m. came around, the tapping had turned to pounding. We could hear the wind as it screeched and big branches groaning.

Not being able to see what was happening was terrifying. Horror writers have known what happens in the dark is always scarier than what happens in the daylight.

As dawn broke through, it was worse than I thought. I could see the towering pecan trees around our house swaying and bending.

To watch these old trees trying to withstand 40-mile-an-hour winds was both reassuring and scary.

I’m especially watching the sycamore tree our grandson planted a few years ago. It’s taller than our house, and now it looks like it’s made out of a rubber band.

If trees are like people, it’s better to bend than not bend and break. Let’s hope the trees know that.

At the beginning of the storm, we had internet access, and the radar was nothing but orange, red and dark yellow all around the Houston area.

We tuned in to the Houston news stations, and they were reporting outages, unbelievable as the homes without power went from the thousands to the millions.

What’s crazy is there are people driving in the storm. Either these people are incredibly stupid or there’s an emergency. That’s the only reason why someone would be driving in the middle of a hurricane.

Without warning, the wind comes roaring  through the yard, and everything in the house rattles and shakes. Then I notice the Mexican plum tree that’s provided so much shade over our pool is on its side, yanked out and thrown down by the wind.

Whenever the wind gusts, the small branches of the shrubs outside our kitchen window knock on the window, almost begging to come in.

Finally, the wind dies down, and the rain eases up. It’s the eye of the hurricane, and its eerily calm outside. We walked outside to assess the damage and see a huge limb blocking our driveway.

I hear a sound, and our neighbor, Arthur, and his teenage sons Luke and Kyle have arrived, chainsaws in hand. They saw our driveway was blocked and came to help. In times like this, having neighbors who come to the rescue is worth more than gold.

Soon, the rain starts to pick back up and so does the wind. It’s not as angry as it was a few hours ago, and we know the storm will soon be over.

We head back inside and thank the good Lord our home and lives were spared and pray others sustained little or no damage.

Later that afternoon, as I’m sitting at the kitchen table, my husband noticed a hummingbird darting in and out of the now calm bushes. I wondered where that little fella was during the storm, but he made it through.

And so will we.

Neighbors will help friends, the power will come back on, we’ll all replant and replace.

We made it.

 

Denise’s email is dhadams1955@yahoo.com

 

To my grandfather, Henry Eade, the Fourth of July was a day to celebrate. Every year, he retold the story of how he came to America as a young boy.

His family was leaving Lebanon, a war-torn, poor country. My great-grandfather believed they could have a better way of life in America.

My grandfather remembers seeing the Statue of Liberty from the bow of the boat and crying tears of hope.

I’m glad my grandfather doesn’t have to hear people say the Fourth is only good for getting out of work, barbecuing and setting off fireworks.

Perhaps there’s some truth to those statements. But like many traditions and celebrations, the feelings of gratitude and freedom from tyranny can be forgotten underneath the pageantry.

Fifty-six men signed the Declaration of Independence. Most of the statements were revolutionary. Those who signed risked quite a bit by signing their names to a declaration that called out the king of the most powerful country in the world.

Because of their bravery, America was established.

Here we are, almost 250 years later, and I wonder what they’d think of how our country’s behaving.

Political parties put their affiliation, wallet and the candidate before what’s best for the country.

People refuse to stand for the Pledge of Allegiance or when the American flag passes in front of them in a parade.

It might seem we’re falling deeper into apathy. But we’ve had shining moments.

On May 8, 1945, people in America and around the world celebrated to mark the end of World War II in Europe. My mom said her hometown celebrated the end of the war, proud of what America had helped defeat.

After the horrific events of Sept. 11, 2001, people cried when “America” or “The Star Spangled Banner” was played.

A lot has changed since then, and so many people feel disenfranchised from what America was supposed to be.

But there are those who still believe.

There was an engineer at the chemical plant where I worked back in the 1980s. Rumor had it that he’d escaped from a communist country and had been granted political asylum.

One day, I asked him how he’d come to America and what, if any, rumors were true.

He said in his country, people were free to go to dinner and talk about politics.

But you never knew who was listening.

Later, there would be a knock on the door. You were taken away and never seen again. He decided he’d had enough, and he made plans to leave.

With only the clothes on his back and money in his pocket, he waited under cover of night at a checkpoint. When the guard passed, he ran like the wind to freedom. The guard was yelling at him to stop or he’d shoot, but this man kept going.

He said the next week, someone was crossing at that point and the guard shot and killed that person. But the man I was talking to made it to freedom.

He risked his life to come to this country and never looked back. For him, the freedoms we enjoy were worth leaving everything he knew and all the people he loved.

This Fourth of July, I’m going to celebrate that America has flaws. America has a lot of things that need to change. But she’s still the country my grandfather and my friend dreamed of and where they found success and freedom.

Is this a perfect country.

Nope.

But we’re still working on what those 56 signers of the Declaration of Independence demanded.

And one day, we’ll get there.

 

Denise’s email is dhadams1955@yahoo.com