Growing up, I remember my mom and aunts rolling up their sleeves for spring cleaning. We lived in the North where it snowed half the year. Houses needed to be aired out after being shut up for the long, cold winter.

Here in Texas, it’s winter for about three weeks, and chances are good we’re still opening windows and running ceiling fans when it’s cold outside.

I do feel the need to air things out and maybe do some spring cleaning when the humidity’s low for the first time in months and the sun is shining. It’s probably long-ago voices in my head telling me to air out the rugs, clean the drapes and wash down the walls.

I try to ignore them, but there’s always a wave of guilt if I ignore the voices. When I start to make a list, I rationalize my way out of almost every spring-cleaning item. Trying to be thorough, I found a list online, printed it, and took a hard look at what these experts suggested I do.

Washing throw rugs was at the top of that list. We have wall-to-wall carpeting in the bedrooms, and they’re not going anywhere. The throw rugs we do have get pitched thanks to our dog that sheds at least a half pound of fur a week.

One down, nine more to go.

They had cleaning the outsides of the kitchen cabinets on the list. That big job requires getting on a ladder, and with a bum knee, that maneuver is a few months away. So, we’ll live with the greasy build up along with the dust that clings to the grease until next spring.

Washing the windows has been on my spring-cleaning list for at least a decade. It’s hard to see out of some of the windows in the garage thanks to pollen and dust from the lawn mower.

Yep, they sure do need cleaning, but there’s one big problem. That chore also requires getting on a ladder, so cleaning the windows can go on the list for next year.

This “bum-knee” excuse is getting better and better when it comes to getting out of spring-cleaning chores.

“Stop being a wimp,” a voice in my head yells. I feel guilty, so I begin my own list of chores that qualify for spring cleaning.

These include cleaning off the top of the refrigerator, taking down all the pictures in the family room, removing and polishing the glass, dusting the frames, and hanging them all back up.

Just writing that to-do item is exhausting.

I should be outside enjoying the wonderful temperatures, but there’s a stack of goggles and swim toys on a shelf on the patio that requires a disinfecting from the winter months. I’ll get to that when I can get a swimsuit on, and that’s not for a few more weeks.

Move that chore to the summer to-do list.

Here’s two more jobs that come to mind:  clean out the pantry and throw away all expired foods. Same goes for the medicine cabinet. Straighten up the closets, especially the one in my office.

A half hour later, I’ve got a list of 20 items.

I look at the list.

I look around the house and make a decision.

Nobody’s coming to my office and giving me a grade on the condition of the closets. Besides, the last time I cleaned out a closet, I couldn’t find anything. When it was a wreck, I knew exactly where things were.

Spring cleaning for me gets a “not today” pass.

Who said rationalization wasn’t productive?

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Our daughter-in-law wasn’t feeling well, so the grandsons and I decided to pick up a few groceries. It was an after-school run, and the store was packed. As we headed to the check-out line, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

The woman’s lightly gray hair framed a friendly face, and a timid smile was on her face. She was holding something out to me.

“Here,” she said, extending a gift card closer to me. “I’d like to give you this.”

I looked and saw she had a gift card for the grocery store.

“Oh, I couldn’t take this,” I told her, indicating she should keep the card.

She smiled again and extended the card again.

“I’m paying it forward,” she said. “Somebody did something nice for me, and I’m putting good out into the universe.”

It was obvious she wasn’t going to let me get away. The kindness and sincerity in her eyes surprised me. I’d never met or seen this woman before, and here she was, offering us a gift.

I took the card, stammering a thanks. My grandsons looked at the two of us, not sure what was happening.

Before she walked away, she said something.

“Now it’s your turn,” she said. “Pay it forward.”

These kinds of encounters are things we read about in books or see in movies, not real life. People have been kind to me hundreds of times, but something about this woman touched me.

She wasn’t dressed like someone with money. More like a retiree who’d put in her years of service to the world. If anyone should be getting a gift card, it was her.

Before I could argue any more, she was lost in the crowd.

The boys couldn’t believe a total stranger would give us a gift card. The clerk said it was for $50, and I was even more amazed. That’s a lot of money to just give away to a stranger, and I kept hearing her voice – pay it forward.

When we got back to my daughter-in-law’s house, the boys were excited to tell their mom about the incident. I gave her the gift card so she could use it for a last-minute store run, an often occurrence with five children.

But simply giving the card to my daughter-in-law wasn’t enough. Over the next few days, I kept my eyes open for an opportunity to do something nice for someone.

The next time I was in the grocery store, a young family was two carts in front of me. The woman was holding a toddler, and the man was picking up and putting down items on the conveyer belt.

They were looking through their groceries, deciding what to put back. They had a government card, and the card only covered certain brands of food. Some of the items they picked up weren’t covered.

The items on the belt were staples for a young family – milk, bread, cereal, diapers. I waited for a second to see if the person in front of me was going to do anything, but he didn’t. When I saw the mom hand back the milk, I stepped around the guy in front of me.

“I’ll pay for whatever’s not covered by the card,” I quietly told the clerk.

The mom thanked me, and the family got all they’d picked out and left. The clerk thanked me for what I’d done, but I told her the thanks didn’t belong to me. The thanks belonged to a gray-haired lady who extended a kindness to me along with a promise to pay it forward.

I gave the same challenge to the clerk. Kindness doesn’t have to be money. It can be calling someone who’s home alone, letting someone merge into traffic in front of you or smiling at someone who’s having a tough day.

There’s no way that one act in the grocery store fulfills my obligation to the universe. I’m keeping my eyes open for opportunities, and perhaps that’s what the woman in the store meant.

Pay it forward isn’t a one-stop promise. It’s a lifelong commitment.

 

        This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

When I was young, I wanted to become a ballerina. I’d practice twirling and bowing in my bedroom for hours.

Never mind I didn’t have a graceful bone in my body. I believed I would one day dance in “Swan Lake.”

Before I had children, I remember watching a child throw a temper tantrum. I was with my grandmother, and I told her my children would never do that. I was going to be a patient, kind and intelligent parent. I wouldn’t rear children who would behave so poorly.

“Don’t spit up in the air,” she said with a smile.

Not only did my children throw temper tantrums in public, they threw fits in our house, friends’ houses and almost everywhere we went.

I thought I’d keep a neat and orderly house at all times.

There are days when making the bed is about the only neat chore I accomplish.

Over the years, all those pre-conceived notions about myself dissolved.

Recently, I’ve had to face another belief about myself.

I thought I had a high threshold for pain.

Turns out, I’m a wimp.

I had knee replacement surgery about three weeks ago. I went into the procedure, telling the doctor I’d be driving the second week. Unlike others who had trouble with pain and recovery, I’d be the one powering through, breezing through physical therapy.

I was smug, confident and convinced I’d sail right through the procedure.

Was I wrong.

Now with every little pang, I want to yell “Medic!”

A twinge in my knee has me on the recliner, the ice machine humming next to me, providing an icy reprieve.

Not bouncing back like I thought I’d do has me accepting some hard truths about myself.

I’ll never be able to pass up a slice of apple pie, especially if there’s a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top.

Forget learning to like turnips, beets or parsnips. When I see those veggies featured in a recipe, I’ll think they look appetizing.

The truth is, I’m a picky eater.

I’ll never ski down a mountain. To be fair, I couldn’t have done that when I was in my 20s. I dislike the cold and I especially dislike heights. Seeing myself riding in a ski lift hundreds of feet in the air and then skiing down a mountain with no brakes or safety net scares the heck out of me.

I’m much better suited to staying in the ski lodge, drinking hot chocolate and reading a book.

I’ll never learn to parallel park. I understood the concept – line up with an already parked car, turn the wheel and back in.

In all my years of driving, I’ve managed to avoid parallel parking. I tell myself pull-in parking is more available, thanks to living in an area two feet above sea level.

The hard truth – I cannot parallel park.

People say “never say never,” but with all honesty and frankness, there are things I will never do even though I thought some of them were a possibility in my 20s.

These activities include bungee jumping, sky diving, running a marathon, riding a bike down a hill, and driving a motorcycle.

The real truth is – I’m not made of steel.

I’m made of good traits and weak ones. Somehow, I’ll live with the fact I will never run with the bulls in Spain, will never climb Mt. Everest or scuba dive with sharks. I can barely keep up with our elderly dog, I’m out of breath walking up a hill and I don’t go in a body of water unless there’s cement at the bottom.

I’m okay with keeping my feet firmly on the ground and admitting I’m not Superman.

Being Denise, the ungraceful wimp, is okay with me.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Every year, my mom and I would settle in on the couch and watch the Oscars. We’d ooh and aah over the exquisite gowns the movie stars were wearing.

Some of the outfits were way over the top, like the year Cher wore a huge headdress. Elizabeth Taylor showed off her diamonds and her shoulders, and Audrey Hepburn always wore classy and tasteful gowns.

Usually, we’d seen all the movies nominated for awards, so we always had a film or star we were rooting for to take home the gold statue.

In the past few years as streaming services dominate the process, more than likely, I haven’t seen the nominated movies. From this year’s list, it looks like the most I’ve missed is misery and anguish.

That’s not what I look for in a movie. Yes, I know movies that shine the light on discrimination and true suffering are worthwhile and need to be made and seen. Movies also reflect what’s going on in society.

But when doom and gloom are mostly all that’s offered, and the news is nothing but bad to worse, having movies that uplift is even more important.

Back in the 50s, movie stars were America’s royalty. We knew little of their personal lives other than what their publicists wanted us to know. Feel-good movies like “Cheaper by the Dozen” and “Father of the Bride” made us smile and laugh.

We had stars like the swashbuckling Erroll Flynn and the gorgeous Grace Kelly. They lit up the screen with class and beauty. The movie “Imitation of Life” was one of the first films to introduce me to looking at life through the eyes of people of color.

The 1960s reflected turbulent times. Popular movies were “Easy Rider” and “Midnight Cowboy.” The stars were grungy guys, not good-looking stars like Gregory Peck, Sidney Poitier and Rock Hudson.

“To Kill a Mockingbird” opened the door to talks about how we look at people from different classes. The movie showed viewers that discrimination crosses both color and cultural barriers.

The 60s also gave us a break with fun musicals like “Mary Poppins” and “My Fair Lady.”

But then there’s “Psycho,” a movie that still scares the life out of me. The music alone is terrifying.

The 1970s weren’t much better. “Apocalypse Now” and “The Deer Hunter” reminded us of the futility of the war in Vietnam and its effects on the soldiers who served. “Deliverance” remains the only movie I’ve ever walked out of because of a few scenes that sickened me.

“All the President’s Men” was a reminder of the corruption in Washington, D.C., but “Rocky” reminded us that one person can overcome the odds and come out a champion, even if he or she doesn’t win the fight.

I guess we got tired of the dreadfulness in films, and in the 80s, hope and laughs returned to the cinemas. We still quote lines from the slapstick film “Airplane.” The beautifully acted and costumed “Moonstruck” remains one of my all-time favorite movies almost 40 years later.

“The Breakfast Club” allowed adults to see teens as young people trying to figure out life. “Field of Dreams” still makes me cry and is a movie most fathers and sons should watch together some time in their life.

Then we took a turn back to grim reality in the 1990’s. “Schindler’s List,” like “Saving Private Ryan,” is a film I could only watch once. The horrors people inflicted on others because of their culture and religion is still sickening.

The movie “Philadelphia” reminded us that it wasn’t just people of a different religion we feared. It was people whose lifestyle was different than ours.

The 2000s started off a bit more hopeful with “The Pursuit of Happyness” and “Slumdog Millionaire.” Both were stories of underdogs who beat the system to find they could achieve their dreams.

In the last 20 years, we’ve had some great fantasy films. Marvel gave us “Iron Man,” “The Hulk” and “The Avengers” to name a few, and “Spiderman” was a fun story that remains popular.

“Wicked” reminds us of the power of friendship between women and “Hidden Figures” reminded us that greatness comes from all genders and races.

Next year, even though I’ll probably miss most of the nominated films, I’ll still tune in to the Oscars. I want to see the gowns, the pageantry and the glitz and the glamor that American royalty, Hollywood, has to offer.

 

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.