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.  

I have no clue what to write my column about this week.

Nada.

Nil.

Nothing.

Usually an event happens, I break something or I have a thought about life and go from there. But this week, my mind’s like Jell-O – slippery, empty and nothing sticks.

Looking at the news, it’s bleak and depressing. A probable war in Ukraine, a Hitler wannabe taking over parts of Europe and forecasters warning that gas will cost $7 a gallon by the summer.

There’s global warming, computer-chip shortages, empty shelves in the grocery store and constant warnings about a new virus, ready to shut the world down again.

Who wants to read about those depressing subjects?

Not me.

Looking for an idea, I went through a file I keep of interesting news clippings. One was from 2000 about banning books. Parents were demanding the Harry Potter books, “The Catcher in the Rye,” “Lord of the Rings,” “The Handmaid’s Tale” and any books by Maya Angelou be taken off library shelves.

Today, parents are demanding these same books be banned and brave librarians are still leading the fight against banning books.

We haven’t changed much in 21 years have we?

Inflation is a hot topic, but nobody wants to read about rising prices. Besides, we’ve been down this road before. When I was in high school, gas was 19 cents a gallon. When I was in my 30’s, gas was $4 a gallon.

Global warming continues to make headlines. When I was a teenager, I also thought we only had 30 years left on this planet because Barbra Streisand said so on the back of her album.

Today, they’re saying that in 30 years, it’ll be 115 degrees in most places during the summer and to expect tundra-like winters. These doomsday prophets aren’t batting a thousand with me.

Being a mom is always a fun topic, but my boys are adults now. They’re no longer hoarding dirty dishes underneath their beds, running experiments on how long they can consecutively wear a pair of socks without washing them – two weeks is the record, by the way – or learning how to drive.

The grandchildren are perfect, just like everyone else’s grandchildren. My mom’s still rocking and rolling at 89 and retirement finds me looking for the best place to find a deal on day-old muffins.

I don’t go on cruises or exotic vacations, so I can’t try to entertain you with tales of a Caribbean voyage or the wonders of the Egyptian pyramids.

I’m not in an exercise class, so I can’t talk about the humiliation of standing in the back of the class in hopes of hiding just to have the instructor turn the tables and the people on the back row now become the people on the front row.

YouTube videos continue to entertain, especially cleaning ones. The one recommending using toilet-bowl cleaner to whiten the grout in my kitchen floor worked like a charm. Now I’m contemplating mixing vinegar and Dawn to clean the scum off the shower doors.

Just typing that last paragraph made me hang my head, admitting that removing bathroom scum is the highlight of my week.

So I’m back to wondering what to write about. How to make the words worthwhile so you, patient reader, will enjoy spending a few minutes reading this column.

Perhaps I don’t have to write about anything earth-shattering. Maybe you don’t want to read about the glamorous life someone else is living or the fabulous places they’ve traveled to.

Maybe you’d enjoy spending a few minutes with an ordinary, ho-hum retiree who believes even though there’s struggles all around, life is still pretty darned great.

It wasn’t any fun cleaning that kitchen floor, but I listened to my brother’s podcast and was quite entertained. I don’t go to live concerts, but I enjoyed listening to George Strait singing from a truck’s sound system while waiting for a train to pass.

So maybe having nothing to write about gives me the opportunity to realize that even nothing can be something special.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

These cold mornings gave me a chance to hunker down and clean out some of the kitchen cabinets. In the process, I remembered why some things are more useful than they appear on the surface.

For instance, a pasta fork or, as we novices call it, a spaghetti stirrer. This useful device allows you to scoop spaghetti noodles out of the bowl with ease.

Our mom taught us a second use for the spaghetti stirrer – it’s a great back scratcher. Just be sure you don’t put it back in the utensil drawer after you’ve taken care of that itch.

A four-cup Pyrex measuring cup serves double duty. It’s perfect for making one serving of oatmeal in the microwave.

You’ll never have to worry about oatmeal boiling over in the bowl, thus leaving a layer of oatmeal that resembles concrete on the microwave plate. Plus you can eat the oatmeal right out of the measuring cup.

Our mom taught us a useful trick for a spatula. In a pinch, the pancake flipper thing makes a great spanking tool for unruly children. More than once, she would wave the spatula around and threaten us with a spanking if we didn’t behave.

The pizza cutter isn’t just for pizza. It’s a great tool for cutting sandwiches in half and doesn’t massacre peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches like a regular knife will. The pizza cutter also makes cutting the crust away from sandwiches a snap.

Zip-loc bags are a lifesaver for me. I use them as they’re supposed to be used –sandwiches, cookies and grapes. They’re also my first choice for keeping a wet washcloth in the car when traveling with little ones.

The jumbo Zip-loc bags are a traveler’s best friend. You can put four or five T-shirts in one bag and then squeeze the air out of the bag. This step compresses the bag down to about an inch thick. Then you toss it in your suitcase, saving space and keeping the garments relatively wrinkle free.

Same goes for your nightgowns and shorts. Put them in the bag, squeeze out the air, and you can pack twice as many garments as you’ll need. The gallon-size bags are great for packing undergarments for travel as well. My suitcase resembles a plastic factory whenever we travel.

I also use the sandwich-size Zip-loc bags for sorting pens and the extra plastic dispenser cups for kids’ medicine. They’re also great for separating Legos by color or shape, and the bags are the perfect size for a toddler’s hands.

A butter knife not only spreads butter, but it’s great for spreading anything. Hint – lightly mist that knife with cooking spray before attempting to spread Marshmallow Fluff on a slice of bread.

In a pinch, a butter knife makes a fabulous flat-head screwdriver. I’ve also used a butter knife as a shoe horn, a tool to pry open the lid on homemade jelly and to clean the gunk out from the sides of the kitchen table leaf on the rare occasions when I take it out.

At the top of my not-needed list is a food processor.

I have a friend who swears by this machine, but I’ve never taken it out of the box. In my over 50 years of cooking, I’ve never had the need to process any food. So, buh-bye.

Also on that list is a blender. Once I found out the calorie count in a milkshake, the blender became a distant memory. That unused appliance came out of the cabinet to make room for more boxes of Zip-loc bags.

Our thoughtful son and wife gave us an Insta-Pot for Christmas a couple of years ago. The directions were confusing, and the one time I was brave enough to use it, the chicken came out like rubber. I can accomplish that with my old Magnalite pot from Louisiana.

So there you have it – what’s useful and what’s not in the kitchen. The next time your back itches, try out that pasta stirrer. You’ll never look back.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Unexpectedly, I found a pendant along with another necklace I thought I’d lost years ago. I went to Chris Dostal’s Fine Jewelry to have the pieces checked and evaluated.

Gina and Steve not only took their time with inspecting the jewelry, they cleaned the pieces to showroom quality. We enjoyed small talk as they worked, and I felt as if I’d stepped back in time to when shopkeepers knew you by name.

As long as I was in downtown Rosenberg, I decided to see what other shops had to offer. As I walked down the sidewalk, I remembered conversations I had with the late Arthur and Lydia Mahlmann about their growing-up years.

They said downtown Rosenberg was the place to be on Saturday nights. would come in from the farms and surrounding areas to visit with each other, catch up on the county news and do a little courtin’.

Lydia said the girls would go to the drugstore, sample the lipsticks and giggle at the guys. Arthur said the men would pick up a beer and a brat for a nickel and try to talk to the girls.

Downtown was the place to be, and that’s as true today as it was 60 years ago.

The downtown area has long been known for their antique stores, but there’s so much more. The stores have been updated and offer more than antiques. One store offered hand-made soaps and jewelry in addition to a room with a variety of coffees in all flavors.

So many shops have a backyard garden area, landscaped with beautiful flowers and garden knick-knacks. I walked past one shop where you can have your hair cut and styled while looking out on the street, just like people did back in the olden days.

Walking is enjoyable, thanks to the wide sidewalks and beautiful murals that cover the entire side of the buildings. Window shopping is always fun, and it’s a lot more satisfying than looking at pictures on a computer screen.

I found quite a selection of clothes, from pants to vests to shirts to baby clothes. The prices are reasonable, and the quality is top notch. There’s clothing for all occasions, from attending a casual rodeo to an elegant quinceanera.

You’ll find hand-made wreaths for all holidays and occasions and candles in all scents. A downtown area is complete when visitors have access to quality restaurants, and the downtown area has what you want.

My grandchildren and I enjoyed an old-fashioned milkshake, burger and fries while watching the trains roll by and promised ourselves we’d be back again. They asked if we could visit the Railroad Museum on our next trip as they thought the caboose on the grounds was calling their names.

The antique stores in downtown Rosenberg have always been a favorite haunt for me. One year, I found all the Christmas gifts for my sisters-in-law in the shops and had a fun time browsing, picking up items and saying “remember this?” to my friend.

In all the shops I visited, the owners were helpful and we had real conversations. You won’t find that on Amazon.

There’s other restaurants and shops around the downtown area as well, including the Black Cowboy Museum. Cast Theatrical has a full season of plays for 2022, all staged in the historic Vogelsang Bulding.

There’s no need to drive for hours west or north of Houston to rediscover the allure of a downtown area. The best is right here. Minutes from your house, you can get a bite of something delicious to eat, sip a little wine, pick up something special for that special person in your life, browse in quality shops for a variety of one-of-a-kind gifts or see a live theatrical performance.

In downtown Rosenberg, you’ll meet friendly shopkeepers and discover that hometown feeling right here in your own back yard.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

When I had my first real job — the one where you wear sensible heels and a white blouse instead of a band T-shirt and scruffy jeans – I secretly laughed at the older women who worked for the big bosses on the fourth floor.

“The dinosaurs” we called them.

Word processing software and equipment had just hit the markets, and we young guns embraced the software immediately.

We could now delete entire paragraphs with the press of a button. The dinosaurs didn’t have a clue about that. They just started over.

All of them had at least two bottles of Liquid Paper in their desk drawer, right next to a box of carbon paper.

We knew everything because we were young.

We understood technology, a new word back then.

We could run circles around them if only they’d get out of the way.

Forty years later, the tables have turned.

In my former job as a yearbook teacher, I used every trick in the book to reach parents and students to get them to buy a book.

We put up signs and posters all over the school and mailed letters home.

We sent emails to parents’ accounts and put a link to our yearbook account on the school’s website. We recorded a message for the school phone tree.

But times change.

Students don’t look at posters on the wall because, during these post-pandemic times, they’re still not physically in the building.

If they are, they’re looking at their phones when they’re walking down the hall.

Letters mailed home are unread because parents don’t check physical mailboxes. Anything really important is texted to them or posted on social media.

Forget phone calls. Hardly anyone has a land line and, if they do, they never check their messages. Cell phone numbers change so frequently, it’s hit or miss to actually connect with a potential buyer.

A former colleague posted on social media that they were looking for ways to sell more yearbooks. I suggested some options, but every suggestion was nicely shot down as being out of touch.

“But you’re a really nice person!” she posted as a reply.

I realized something tough.

I’m now the dinosaur.

I’m the relic.

I’m the irrelevant one.

After a few hours of feeling sorry for myself, I thought more about what I did and didn’t know about marketing a product.

You must have something people want. You have to enlighten buyers as to what you have for them, why they need it and how they can get it. The transmission system changes, but not the message.

The same goes with writing. People join the author with an unspoken contract.

Engage and entertain.

Enlighten and involve.

Surprise and satisfy. The author’s characters, plot, and intention should touch a nerve in a readers’ heart and head.

Sometimes writers want to make people laugh. Other times, they want them to cry, but always, readers want to feel emotionally connected with the characters they’re reading about.

Good writers – and there’s only bad ones and those looking to improve – are continually searching for the best way to connect with readers.

That never goes out of style.

I don’t know how to navigate the latest social media platform or how to put emoji’s in a text message.

I don’t have a reason to create a Tik-Tok video.

I’ve never ordered fast food from an app and the only door dashing I do is from my car to the front door during a rain storm.

And I don’t mind that I don’t know those things.

I suppose it’s time to find out where the other dinosaurs are grazing and join the herd.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I’m not a fan of rainy, cold days. To avoid the dreariness, I hunker down inside, either with a book or surfing the ‘net. Sure, I could mop the floor or rearrange the pantry, but the computer is too tempting and I’m too weak.

One of my favorite surfing stops is power washing videos. From driveways to tractors to old rugs, power washing videos are satisfying entertainment because you can see the actual change from filthy to clean in a matter of minutes.

Maybe that explains why I like watching Julian Baumgartner restore damaged paintings. Julian takes old, damaged paintings and painstakingly removes the grime, dirt and varnish to restore the painting to its original vibrancy.

As a bonus, you can watch the conservator work without the sound on if you’re on a boring Zoom meeting.

Cleaning videos are also right up there on icky days. There’s often some good ideas, but I draw the line at the people who steam clean their ovens or pull out appliances to clean the floor under them. Also in the “no-way” column are people who use power tools to remove lime scale from shower walls.

The videos I enjoy are the ones where someone takes a messy room – much like mine – and demonstrates how to tidy up and clean with the least amount of effort. They’ve taught me how to use every-day items in creative ways.

Dawn dishwashing liquid can be used on everything from rehabilitating ducks to removing dirt from bathtubs. Dishwasher tablets are quite effective if you want to remove baked-on gunk from oven doors, remove built-up dirt from the inside of the washing machine or have sparkling clean toilets.

Who knew?

As great as YouTube is, there are still fabulous tips our parents and grandparents taught us back in the day.

My grandmother taught me that baking soda has universal uses. When my eldest son was an infant, he suffered from colic. Grandma Marguerite was visiting one afternoon and noticed his distress.

She told me to get a teaspoon, a small glass of water and the baking soda. She mixed some baking soda in the water and gave the baby a few teaspoons of the mixture. Nick must’ve burped for a full minute. After that, the baby was relieved, calm and happy.

My Lebanese grandmother was thrifty. She washed out plastic bags and used those to store extra raw hamburger meat.

She taught us to wash the rice before cooking to remove some of the starch and to use our hands to mix salads to evenly distribute the salad dressing. No need for specialty spoons and forks.

My Aunt Bev wasn’t a fan of cooking, but she had a few tips she passed on. One was to fill the sink with hot, soapy water before I started cooking. Whenever I used a measuring cup, spoon or plate, drop it in the water to make clean-up quicker and easier.

Aunt Bev was also a master shopper, and she taught me how to spot name-brand labels in thrift store clothing.

Our mom taught us how to take leftovers and items in the pantry and create a meal in less than 20 minutes. The writers of “Stone Soup” were amateurs compared to our mom.

My dad taught us that black electrical tape can fix anything. Brother Jeff remembers Dad “repaired” a rip in our tan ottoman with the black tape and “fixed” the ceiling fan with the black tape but left the wires wrapped in tape dangling out of the fan.

Dad’s best use for black electrical tape was to keep his toupee on when he ran out of toupee double-sided tape.

You’ll never see that trick on YouTube.

These new cleaning hacks are great, but nothing beats old-fashioned wisdom.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

There are days when I forget I’m old enough to collect Social Security. Then there are days when I feel like putting on some go-go boots and rocking out to Creedence Clearwater Revival.

Recently, I found an old metal box I’d purchased when I was a young teen. The box locked, perfect for an oldest sister with curious younger brothers and sisters.

I’d decorated the outside of the box with the names of my favorite recording artists – The Monkees, Dave Clark Five, Davey Jones and Lesley Gore.

Back then, we’d save our money and buy 45-rpm records. You had to have a yellow plastic clip in the middle if you wanted to play the record on a stereo, and those were as valuable as money.

We’d write our favorite stars’ names on our notebooks and decorate our rooms with their posters. My youngest sister and her best friend loved Donny Osmond, and my younger sister thought Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler were the bomb.

There were the movie and television stars we dreamed about – Michael Landon, Robert Redford, David Cassidy, John Travolta and Will Smith are just a few of the heartthrobs from back then.

I thought about those times when our 14-year-old granddaughter checked her phone and noticed a new episode of her favorite show was being released that day.  When she screamed, I thought something was wrong. But when her younger sister joined in, I realized those were yelps of joy.

The old fogey in me wondered why they were so excited about something on television, a streaming service these days. Then I remembered and thought about two of my favorites on the screen, The Beatles and Tom Jones.

The Beatles surfaced on the music screen when I was in elementary school. When their movie “A Hard Day’s Night” came out, we couldn’t wait to see it.

The movie theater was packed when we finally got tickets. I didn’t hear one word in the movie because girls were screaming the entire time.

I went home angry because I’d paid to see a movie and didn’t hear any of the dialogue or songs.

A few years later, I became a huge Tom Jones fan. My siblings were forbidden from talking during the last 10 minutes of his “This is Tom Jones” show because that’s when the man would come out and perform.

Jones wore a tuxedo better than anyone else, including James Bond. He’d smile, the women would scream. He’d dance a little, and they’d scream louder. Then he’d go over to the audience and start kissing the women. At that point, I was screaming at home.

Literally.

My siblings thought I was crazy, and I was – for Tom Jones.

Now, I cringe at the memory.

I’m glad my granddaughters reminded me what it was like to be young, excited about seeing a favorite movie star on the big screen or a singer on stage.

They reminded me of how important pop-culture is in our teenage years. Most of us cried when we heard The Beatles were breaking up and then again when Diana Ross left The Supremes.

I thought about the afternoon I played The Beatles’ White Album backwards to hear “Paul is dead” for myself and the hours my friends and I spent figuring out the meaning of “American Pie.”

Pop-culture connect us and bridges the years.

On a recent car ride with some of my grandchildren, I played “Bad Moon Rising” and “My Girl,” and they loved the songs.

Later, six of us were singing every word to “Bohemian Rhapsody,” complete with air guitar during the instrumental hard-rock part of the song.

All of us have our music and big-screen legends. Some of those might be Frank Sinatra, Paul McCartney, Freddy Mercury or even an anime character.

Mine is that sexy singer from the 1970’s, Tom Jones.

   This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I watched as my 10-year-old grandson silently sketched at the kitchen table. He was sitting in front of a laptop on a Zoom call with my brother, his pens and sketch pad in front of him.

We’d set up the call so Jeff, an extremely talented artist, could show James some drawing techniques.

After 20 minutes of quiet, I heard them talking, comparing what they’d drawn. James asked intelligent questions about Jeff’s shading and poses, and Jeff asked the same questions of James.

The huge smile on James’ face told me the session was a success. Grateful doesn’t come close to describing how I feel about my brother. He graciously took a few hours out of his weekend sharing his talents with a youngster eager to learn.

Days later, I walked into my Mom’s kitchen and saw my nephew, Randall, at the stove with our youngest granddaughter. Randall works in the restaurant business in Virginia and has a dream of one day opening a co-op restaurant.

But today, he was showing Kat how to cook pasta, complete with an over-the-top Italian accent. They were laughing and chatting non-stop about cooking, vegetables and why the sky is blue.

After we got home, I asked my granddaughter to help with the pasta as she’d learned how to cook from a real chef.

She jumped right in, and we sent Randall a video of her at the stove, stirrer in hand, telling him how to cook the pasta, just as he’d done, accent and all.

Randall was delighted and said he’d like to set up more sessions with Kat so he could show her a few more cooking tips.

When adults pass on their knowledge of what they love doing, they aren’t aware of how impactful those innocent, often quick, lessons become to someone else.

Katherine knows the basics of sewing because her grandmother, Nonie, taught her, and she created some cute costumes for her brothers one afternoon.

Watching her, I thought about my grandmother, Marguerite, who taught me the basics of sewing.

She taught me how to make darts, the right way to trim seams, how to put in a zipper and how to hand sew buttonholes and a hem.

My Aunt Bev taught me how to knit. She was patient and made sure I understood the difference between knitting and purling before she let me create on my own.

Years later, I shared what Aunt Bev taught me with my two cousins, Lindsay and Casey, and Lindsay’s knitted a dozen slippers for those in need.

My mom, without making a big deal out of what she says, shows all of us how to be a fair and loving grandmother. Because of her, her children know how to transform random items in the refrigerator and pantry into a feast.

My dad taught me how to drive, and I think of him every time I’m navigating the interstate or trying to parallel park. He also taught us that a hammer, duct tape and black electrical tape can fix anything. You know what? They usually can.

Parents teach their children basic life skills, and they’re never taught in a formal setting. Those lessons are casually passed on in day-to-day living sessions.

Teens learn how to check the oil in their car or fix the chain on their bicycle in an easily forgotten summer afternoon, but those are skills we need.

Children learn to play during silly times with grown-ups. They learn how to make a bed, bake a cake, fold a fitted sheet and tie a tie as part of growing up.

Consider sharing what you know with a younger family member. It might not seem like a big deal that you know how to cast a fishing line, bake cookies or build a fire.

To the child learning about life, those moments are golden.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.