Recently I went through the girls closet at our house and gave away the clothes they’d outgrown.

Some of the clothes were the princess dresses the girls had. I didn’t think I’d ever want to part with them, but a friend’s daughter was the right age for the dresses.

I realized it was selfish to leave those pretty dresses hanging unused in the closet when I knew her daughter would enjoy them.

One was a simple purple dress I made. It wasn’t fancy, but the dress was long and had lace. The fanciest one was a dress I found in a dress store at least 15 years ago.

The light pink dress was full of tulle and lace and, when the wearer twirled, the dress flowed out in a beautiful circle. The dress itched our younger granddaughter, so she didn’t wear it very often.

But my friend’s daughter absolutely loved the dress, and she wore it all the time. Knowing the dress was being enjoyed by a young girl absolutely made my day.

I thought back to the days my Aunt Bev would let my cousin and me play in her closet. Aunt Bev was a “girly girl,” and she had a closet full of beautiful clothes and accessories.

She let me try on all her gloves, and that was back in the day when the gloves came up to our shoulders, the tiny pearls at the wrist an extra beautiful touch.

We’d try on her hats and spray perfume on our necks, just like we’d seen our moms do when they were getting dressed up.

I spent many hours sitting at Aunt Bev’s make-up table with the three-paneled mirror. The flat part of the dresser held tubes of lipstick, powder and blush, three “tools” I used with abandon.

She never fussed at us for messing up her things, an extremely gracious thing for her to do. As an adult, I thanked Aunt Bev many times for allowing us to play in her closet and to allow us to believe we were really princesses.

There’s something magical about playing dress up, both for girls and boys. My sons loved dressing up as superheroes when they were young. They especially loved capes.

We had a black cape for when they felt like Batman, a red one for the days they wanted to scale tall buildings – an overturned kitchen chair – and a green cape for the days they pretended to be the Green Lantern.

True Spiderman and the Green Lantern did not wear capes, but in a young child’s imagination, capes are a necessary part of the superhero wardrobe.

We also had a Flash costume complete with a headdress and yellow boots. There was also a Wolverine costume, realistic down to the plastic adamantium claws.

Many times, they’d dig around in our closets, looking for bandanas, boots, hats or anything else they could use to create what they saw in their imaginations.

When they put on those costumes, they believed they were somebody else, usually superheroes. They jumped off the couches, making sound effects like they were squirting a web or slashing a bad guy’s cape.

For hours, they’d wear those costumes and live in their fantasy world. Watching them, I was transported back to my Aunt Bev’s closet. My boys might’ve been Superman, but I was an exotic fashion icon from the hat on my head to the high heels that were five sizes too big.

I hope my friend’s daughter never loses her willingness to play dress up, just as I hope my son and son-in-law teach their 2-year-old sons that it’s okay to let your imagination run wild.

And never forget the childlike joy in pretending.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

 

 

 

Louisiana is known for its beautiful scenery, mysterious swamps and, most of all, her scrumptious food.

If you’ve never had a steaming bowl of dark, spicy chicken and sausage gumbo, you’re missing out. Some of the best Louisiana eating is in the spring because it’s crawfish season.

I remember my dad boiling crawfish. He’d set up folding tables in the back yard and cover them with layers of newspaper.

My mom would place paper towels on the tables, and Dad would fire up the propane burner. He’d always dump a couple of boxes of crawfish seasoning in the big pot of water on the burner. He added small potatoes and corn on the cob to the pot for, in Louisiana lingo, a bit of “lagniappe” – something extra.

As kids, we loved picking up the live crawfish and chasing each other with the mudbugs until it was time for them to go in the water. When Dad believed the crawfish were cooked, he’d drain the crawfish from the pot and dump the cooked crawfish on the table.

There was a system – when the first batch of crawfish was eaten, we’d roll up the newspaper with the shells inside, dump that in the trash can, and put down a clean, dry layer of newspaper.

Then it was time for round two, and we’d peel and eat crawfish until we thought we’d bust. The potatoes and corn were too spicy for me, but not for my red-pepper-loving relatives.

I thought about them when driving through Louisiana this past weekend and the memories from those get togethers. There are billboards up and down I-10 advertising places to eat, each one making me miss Louisiana food.

Most of the time, I’m in a hurry to get to Baton Rouge and a hurry to get home, so I’ll pull into an interstate fast-food joint. They’re convenient and as bland as bland can get.

I didn’t want to leave Louisiana without having some Cajun food. Sulphur’s near the state line, and I was running out of choices.

That’s when I saw a sign for The Boiling Point restaurant. I turned on my blinker and saw a building that looked like it had been there for years.

The parking lot was filled with mud-caked pick-up trucks, and I knew I was in the right spot. Metal tables and chairs offered lots of places to sit, and decorations were sparse. I wanted to get back on the road, so I asked the nice lady behind the counter for a suggestion for something quick I could eat in the car.

She suggested a pistolette. She said they’re small rolls filled with the customer’s choice of seafood and cheese. Because it’s crawfish season, I chose that.

I left a few minutes later, bag in hand, and got back in my car. I opened the foil and the pistolette looked like she’d described it.

But when I took a bite, it was heaven.

Big, thick crawfish tails were mixed with a creamy cheese sauce, and the roll was hot and crunchy on the outside, just like freshly baked French bread.

I wished I’d ordered a dozen of those, and I was thankful I’d taken the time to stop in at a local restaurant.

So many times, we go to the chains to eat. We overlook the places that have been around for years, or the restaurant that’s not shiny and new.

But when we take a detour and a chance on a locally-owned restaurant, that’s an opportunity to experience something wonderful.

There are still quite a few locally owned restaurants right here in our community. Take a chance and support the families that allow us to enjoy the meals their families have enjoyed for generations.

Dedicate the extra time to stop in and order from a real menu, eat with a metal fork and knife and have your food served on a real plate, not from a sheet of wax paper.

Slow down, pull in and sit a spell. The time you spend at a local spot is time well spent.

 

      This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Sunday is Mother’s Day, and I was stumped about choosing a gift for my mom. She has everything she needs and steadfastly tells us not to buy her anything.

We’re fortunate our mom is still with us, and we know how lucky we are. Still, I wanted to get her something. While shopping, I saw a pretty pink box with “Mom” stenciled on the top.

The inside was empty, and I had an idea. I’d fill the box with notes, highlighting some of the wonderful memories mom created for our family.

Coming up with the memories was easy because there’s so many ways mom made sure we knew we were loved. She underplays the little ways she made life special for us, and I wanted her to know how much the small gestures meant.

I thanked my mom for sneaking peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to me in the pocket of her apron on the nights I was a picky eater. She didn’t want her daughter to go to bed hungry.

When we were young, the thunder and lightning scared us. I thanked my mom for telling us not to be afraid – the thunder, she said, was simply the angels bowling.

Even though our mom worked outside the home, we had a hot dinner every night. She also made sure we had roast, rice, mashed potatoes, corn, salad and gravy every Sunday after we came home from Mass.

I thanked mom for her steadfast devotion to her faith, especially the Virgin Mary. I remember helping her create a special altar with fresh flowers from the yard to honor Mary.

Mom made birthdays special. With seven children, holidays like Easter and Christmas were shared.

But she always made our favorite dinner and favorite dessert on our birthdays, even when she worked full time. I thanked her for teaching us how to make someone feel special. I know now she must’ve been bone tired, but she never complained.

How our mom made sure we never felt deprived or did without is still a mystery to me. Our dad was a salesman, and we never knew how much money he’d bring home. But mom made sure we never felt less than.

I thanked my mom for creating a life-long love for our Lebanese heritage. She also learned how to cook Cajun food to honor our Louisiana roots, and gumbo remains our every-year Christmas Eve dinner.

Our mom loves music, and if I heard “A Taste of Honey” by Herb Alpert once, I heard it a thousand times. Whenever this song comes on the radio, I’m immediately back home, a smile on my face.

Mom has a beautiful voice, and I can still hear her singing, serenading us on Saturday mornings.

I thanked her for instilling a love of movies in us. I can recite the dialogue in “Stella Dallas,” “Imitation of Life,” and “Backstreet” without notes.

My dad could tell a joke better than the comics on television, but our mom is the one with a sense of humor.

She always found a way to make us laugh, even in the tough times, and some of her zingers are family heirlooms. One of my favorites: “Keep your chins up, honey. All of them.”

Mom took up crocheting for a few years, and one of my favorite Christmas memories is the year she made beanies for all the boys and grandsons. That’s over 30 head coverings.

Of all the wonderful gifts mom gave us, one of the best is how she makes our children feel special.

Each grandchild will tell you their grandmother – Siti – doesn’t play favorites, but secretly, they’re her favorite.

I thanked mom for putting up with a rowdy house of seven kids and a crazy husband, all the while making us feel safe and loved.

I thanked her for valuing each one of us, loving our strengths and weaknesses, always knowing what we needed and when.

She’s a shining example of what it means to be an incredible mom, a loving grandmother and an even greater great-grandmother. Most of all, she’s an incredible friend.

I love you, Mom.

Thank you.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I consider myself a life-long learner. When computers arrived, I immediately volunteered to learn the software.

Books about foreign places and travel were the novels I’d check out of the public library. I read “Black Beauty” and believed I knew everything about horses.

I never go on a trip without reading the travel guide, and I can recite useless trivia about some of the places we’ve visited. Want to know about the back roads through Yellowstone National Park? I’ve got the answer.

Self-help books are some of my favorites, and I’ve learned a lot about organizing, housekeeping, child rearing and improving personal relationships from the pages of a well-written book.

But it’s time to admit – there are some things I have no interest in learning.

Whether that’s a product of my baby-boomer age or being retired, I have little interest in broadening my horizons in the following areas. I’ve seen videos telling people that they need to do these things immediately.

First – how to change the filter in the dishwasher.

I grew up in a family of seven children, and our dishwasher ran at least once a day. I don’t ever remember looking for a filter in the bottom of the dishwasher and cleaning it.

That roll-around dishwasher lasted for years, so trying to take my current dishwasher apart to get to a filter in the bottom – which I can’t even see – doesn’t interest me at all.

Same goes for the washing machine filter. It’s at least 25 years old, and clothes come out clean.

I also don’t care if I ever change flat tires.

I know how the process works.

I know where the jack’s located.

My solution to solving road issues is belonging to AAA. When I had a flat tire a few weeks ago, I called the toll-free number, a nice mechanic came out to where I was stranded, changed the tire and I was on my way.

I also have no interest in learning how to do my taxes. I’m fortunate that my husband reads the tax manual for fun.

I humbly relinquish all my Uncle Sam responsibilities to my much more qualified spouse.

My laptop’s convenient whenever I travel and when the grandkids come over. Right now, it’s running a little slow, and I’m sure I’ve gummed up the works with stupid downloads and having too many files on the desktop.

I have no interest in learning how to defrag the laptop or download a program to diagnosis the problem. I will leave that to people who are up to date on computer issues.

Becoming a complete moron isn’t my goal either.

There are things I’d like to learn.

I’d love to know more about the women who paved the way for my generation. Not just the ones mentioned in the first couple of paragraphs in history books but the lesser-known ones who made positive impacts in their communities.

Even more importantly, I’d like to know more about the women in my family. The few tidbits I know reveal women who, when handed tough blows, rose to the occasion and excelled.

There will come a time when I’ll have to learn how to handle tires, appliances and computer issues. But until I have to, I’m going to put those learning lessons on the back burner.

Knowing the difference between having to and wanting to, I believe, still makes me a life-long learner.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.