I went to a restaurant with my grandson, and there was a small round piece of fruit in the salad. Using my fork, I picked it up, held it out and asked him if he wanted it.

“Don’t you like kiwi?” he asked.

“So that’s what you call that,” I told him, turning the green piece of fruit around.

I’ve never eaten a kiwi. I’ve seen it plenty of times, but I never wanted to admit I didn’t know what it looked like or that I’ve never eaten one.

It’s not the only fruit I’ve shied away from.

I’ve never eaten papaya until my son’s girlfriend cut one up in the kitchen the other day. I never would’ve guessed such a pretty color fruit was encased in an ugly outer shell and filled with about a thousand black seeds.

The truth is, I’ve never been an adventurous eater. People are surprised by that admission because my dad was a Cajun.

People from Louisiana are known to eat almost anything – alligator, turtle, and, the most disgusting, fried frog’s leg.

“It’s delicious,” people will say, holding up something that looks like fried chicken.

“Then you can have it,” I’ll say as I recoil in horror, the same as I do when someone waves a raw oyster in front of my face. I’m sure they’re delicious, just as I’m sure a glob of snot is delicious.

There’s a few other things on my list.

I’ve never eaten a beet, turnip or parsnip. I’ve heard they’re all delicious, but I’ll stick with potatoes, green peas and corn.

The only reason I’ve tasted snail is because a chef at a Cajun restaurant shoved one in my mouth when I was opening it to say “No thanks.”

They can call those slimy things escargot all day long, but a snail is a snail is a snail.

I also don’t like buttermilk. That one, I tasted and thought I was going to spew it all over the kitchen table. The only reason I didn’t was because I caught the look on my mother’s face, the look moms give that says “don’t you dare.”

I think I’m justified in this regard. I read a recipe that said if you don’t have buttermilk, add vinegar to regular milk and watch it curdle.

And you want me to drink that?

No thanks.

I love a good steak, but there’s no way I’m eating cow tongue or any of the intestines, often called “tripe.” See my comment above about snails and escargot.

The same “no way ever” holds true for chicken gizzards and the kidneys from any barn yard animal.

I’ve also never eaten collard greens or kale and they’re not on my “Things to do in 2023” list. The same goes for Spam and Vienna sausages.

And even though I’m a Cajun, I’m not going to try sushi. I remember baiting the net to catch crabs and crawfish when I was a young girl.

Knowing sushi is raw fish makes me think we should be getting a prize at the end, like a crawfish boil.

The same goes for anchovies – tiny fish with the heads still attached – and bell peppers. I pick those off if I see them, but they always leave a nasty after taste.

Just so you don’t come away from this column thinking I’m a food snob, there are some candies I don’t like.

Easter Peeps in all colors and candy corn are at the top of the list. Right underneath those are black licorice, dark chocolate and circus peanuts.

All disgusting.

Some people might say I’m a picky or fussy eater. I’ll rename and classify my eating habits with another name that sounds more cultured, just as the snail and escargot people do – I’m choosy.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

On the last day of the year, I make a list of resolutions. Some years, they’ve been lofty goals. Other years, my resolutions are simple, easy-to-accomplish promises.

This year, I didn’t do either one.

I considered plenty of promises – exercise, lose weight, be kind to others, vacuum more than once a month. Those resolutions have been on my list for years. Obviously, those won’t be accomplishments in 2023 either.

One year, I tried using positive affirmations instead of resolutions.

First on that list was “eat healthy.” According to some wellness plans, eating a balanced diet is considered healthy. I managed to balance the salad on my plate with a slab of meatloaf and a mountain of mashed potatoes.

I doubt that’s what those doctors had in mind.

There’s the self-serving resolutions we all make. Clean out closets, alphabetize our favorite recipes. These don’t work for me because those kinds of resolutions fall under one category – work.

Of all the fake promises I make to myself, camouflaging cleaning out the closet as a goal is like taking everything out of the closet in one room and storing that clutter in another closet. In other words – work.

Maybe the trick is to continue doing what I do but do them a little bit better. Cooking comes to mind.

Defrosting a six-month-old dinner and serving it canned corn isn’t exactly gourmet dining.

There’s exercising. Maybe instead of telling myself walking up one flight of stairs is a strenuous workout, I could actually put on some music and dance for 15 minutes. Then again, that sounds like fun, so maybe it wouldn’t necessarily count as a resolution.

I considered organizing my office, but I did that a few months ago. When I went to look for a leg massager my son gave me, I couldn’t find it. When that massager was sitting under my desk gathering dust, I knew exactly where it was.

Same goes for the extra tape I bought months ago. When the boxes were sitting on top of a stack of folders on the bottom shelf of my closet, I knew exactly where they were. I organized that closet – last year’s resolution – and now the boxes have disappeared.

I’d like to make a resolution to be less sensitive. If I text or call someone and don’t hear back from them in a couple of days, I figure they’re angry with me or “ghosting” me.

They’re probably busy, have other things to do than listen to my inane and pointless ramblings or they really are ghosting me because their New Year’s resolution is to get rid of people in their contact list who are a drain, not a positive.

Ouch, that one hurt.

There’s always an urge to get rid of all the junk food in the house, but my thrifty self just can’t see throwing out perfectly good Hostess Twinkies and Oreo cookies to stifle my snacking.

Truth is, I’ll just go out and buy more.

I thought about making a resolution to stop sifting through dumb YouTube videos. Those entertaining videos offer a benefit to me.

When I can’t sleep, watching 30 minutes of power washing videos makes me sleepy. Organizing videos tire me out, and the guy restoring paintings inch by inch is a sure-fire insomnia cure.

Now I have the answer. No resolutions this year except keep rationalizing away all the reasons why I don’t have resolutions.

That’s a goal I can accomplish.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

My first mistake was being in a hurry.

I wanted to pick up a Christmas tree so my son’s girlfriend could decorate it. Ingrid’s from a different country, and decorating a Christmas tree would be a new experience for her.

I’ve learned to check the bottom trunk of the tree first. If it’s too thick, it won’t fit in the stand. If the bottom of the tree is crooked or too wide, the tree won’t stand straight in the stand.

I saw a tree that seemed tall enough, the trunk was straight at the bottom, and it was half price.

Sold.

I got the tree home and my husband said he’d get it in the stand while I went to the grocery store.

When I got home, he was immediately apologetic. He’d moved the furniture around and the tree was in the stand by the window, right where we always put it.

“I did everything to make that tree look straight, but there’s only so much I can do with what you got,” he said.

“The trunk was straight, I looked,” I said putting down the groceries.

“That’s about all that’s straight on that trunk,” he said.

He told me to stand right in front of the tree, and it did look straight. But when I walked to the side, it was quite obvious – that trunk took a definite turn to one side. I walked to the other side – that was even worse.

If I hadn’t been in such a hurry, I would’ve noticed that flaw in the tree. Now we were stuck. My husband tried to reassure me – once we got the lights, tinsel and ornaments on, the crooked part would be covered up.

My hurrying to get a tree was for nothing as Ingrid and Nick had to leave early, so I asked the grandkids to help decorate. They were more than willing to help. As they looked at the tree, I apologized for it being crooked.

But they looked at the tree in a different light.

“It’s an Alice-in-Wonderland tree,” our eldest granddaughter said with a laugh. “Full of twists and turns.”

I’d posted the undecorated tree on my Facebook account, and friends had some pretty funny remarks about it – the tree was a conversation piece, the tree was distinguished and had character.

But my friend and artist Theresa Vincent nailed the right perspective. She said whenever she paints, she thinks of the objects as having personality.

“Their imperfections make them more interesting and relatable, just like people. The tree could be reaching out to hug someone who needs it.”

Theresa’s words made me see the tree in a whole different light. It was one of the few trees on the lot because most people saw its flaw and kept walking. But this overlooked tree had found a home with us.

As the grandchildren hung fake icicles and keepsake ornaments on the branches, we forgot about the imperfections. Instead, we enjoyed transforming a plain pine tree into a sparkling walk down memory lane.

I’ll admit, once decorated, the front of the tree looked good. Of course, if I walked around to the sides, the fact that the tree was crooked was pretty obvious.

But nobody else had a tree like ours. I’d bet nobody else had as many laughs about their tree as we did.

The tree sparked a few philosophical talks about accepting ourselves for who we are and concentrating on positives instead of negatives.

Christmas is a time for making memories. We’ll all remember the laughter we had as we decorated our Alice-in-Wonderland tree.

I’ll also remember Theresa’s last bit of advice – this tree was bent, not broken.

With all its imperfections, it was the perfect Christmas tree.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Thirty years ago on Dec. 30, we moved to Pecan Grove. We were surprised by all the homes that were decorated. We told our 3-year-old son the lights were there to welcome us to the neighborhood.

The folks in Pecan Grove are still welcoming people to their neck of the woods.

If you haven’t driven through Pecan Grove in the last couple of weeks, load up the car with blankets and be prepared for an even more incredible show this year.

I’m not sure if it’s the aftermath from the isolation of Covid, but people are embracing life and celebrating even more this year. This is quite obvious in Pecan Grove.

You’ll find a light extravaganza on almost every street. If the children are hoping to catch a glimpse of Santa, they’ll not only find his likeness in people’s yards, they just might see Santa himself waving at them from a front yard.

We watched children’s faces peering out from car windows, their eyes reflecting the lights, wonder written on their faces. Some streets have carolers while others gently play Christmas music for visitors to enjoy.

That Christmas spirit is infectious. Visitors weren’t honking their horns at each other – they were polite, patient and understanding as cars drove slowly down the streets, marveling at the incredible display in this neighborhood.

The people who live in Pecan Grove understand they’re a tourist destination in December, and they handle the traffic congestion and noise with a generous heart. Not only do the people in Pecan Grove provide free entertainment for us, what they do behind the scenes is even more amazing.

For the past few Christmas seasons, neighbors in Pecan Grove have been helping people in need. Someone will post to a Pecan Grove Facebook page about a family needing food, clothes, furniture, toys, and a committee gathers the right people to help out.

Often times someone writes they’ve been out of work, having trouble paying the electric bill or they can’t afford gifts for their children.

Santa’s elves get to work and the wish list is completed. This generosity is not surprising as the people in Pecan Grove give back anonymously in ways we don’t think about.

Nobody else pays their electric bill. Nobody else scours the internet and stores for that just-right front-yard decoration.

Nobody else spends hours stringing lights from trees, replacing burnt-out bulbs or making sure the wooden cut-outs are placed in just the right spot.

Nowhere else will you find a yard completely decorated to reflect a family’s love for the LSU Tigers, Texas A&M or the University of Texas. You’ll have to look far to find a house whose lights are choreographed to flash and change with music on a particular radio channel.

You’ll also be hard pressed to find a cul-de-sac with a dozen trees decorated from top to bottom with a different theme on each tree. Love the Astros and the Dallas Cowboys? Those trees are there.

Take a drive through the neighborhood but be respectful of the people who live there. Don’t come past 10 p.m., stay in your vehicle and don’t stop in the middle of the road.

The Grinch and Scrooge learned the true meaning of Christmas. I’d say the folks in Pecan Grove figured that truth out a long time ago.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

The chalkboard sign in the hallway set the stage – “Baker High Pepsters 1973 Reunion This Weekend!” Trudi Baltz was my best friend in high school, and we were officers in the Pepsters. My teenage years are incomplete without her.

Trudi was one of the smartest people in our class and could sing and play the piano at a professional level. But she was always humble about her accomplishments, hence the reason she was so loved.

After graduation, we went to separate colleges and our lives took different turns. I married my high school sweetheart and she married John Stafford, one of our friends from high school.

Their married life of 45 years has taken them to different cities – Pittsburgh, Fort Worth and, one of Trudi’s favorites, New Orleans. She earned her doctorate and has taught and mentored hundreds about how to be incredible nurses.

Their beautiful home in the Hill Country is filled with mementos of their travels and interests as well as photos of their beautiful daughter, Hillary, and her family. Their grandson, Ford, is the light of their lives and rightly so.

Trudi believes a sense of humor is the best sidekick to have in life. She owned up to having potted plants in her kitchen stove instead of burners. She’s been kicked out of more bars than even she can count. She laughs about these adventures and makes no apologies.

Five years ago, Trudi was diagnosed with a grave illness, myasthenia gravis, an auto-immune disease that causes breathing difficulties, muscle weakness and difficulty talking.

At the time of her diagnosis, Trudi was holding down a position as a well-respected hospital administer, training for half marathons and throwing beads from Mardi Gras floats each spring.

All that came to a halt. She doesn’t drive anymore, and there are days when it’s hard for her to walk unassisted, eat or talk. It would be easy for Trudi to feel sorry for herself.

But that’s not Trudi.

Not by a long shot, because she is the definition of finding joy in every moment of every day.

Instead of being angry and bitter at life for the hand she was dealt, Trudi made a decision to search for happiness, and she always finds it. Some days, that can’t be easy.

She undergoes plasma transfusions, a long, tough afternoon, a couple of times a month. But she makes that grueling process fun because she dresses up in a different, outrageous costume every time.

Sometimes it’s her majorette boots, other times big wigs and clothes from the 80s. Pom-poms are a must.

There’s a collection of blinged-out headbands in her closet, and she wears one every single day.

Although she can bring the party, it’s the quiet, genuine moments where Trudi’s true nature shines.

She knows the wait staff in the restaurants she and John frequent, and not just their names. Trudi knows about their families, and she has them over to her house for tea and conversation.

In every place we visited, she found someone to talk to, asking about their day and she’s never in a hurry or asking to be nosy. Trudi’s genuinely interested in other people.

She sees the beauty everywhere and doesn’t rush through life. Friendships are to be savored and treasured. Pretty afternoons are opportunities to enjoy walking Sevvi, their dog, napping under a shady tree or crocheting gifts for friends.

I owe her more than I could ever repay. She pulled me out of the suburbs when I first came to Houston and introduced me to the Theater Under the Stars and the antique shops in The Heights.

When I was having a particularly rough patch, she called and told me she was putting the phone on the floor. Then she proceeded to yell Pep Squad cheers from high school, telling me when she was kicking her legs and what hand motions she was doing.

That’s the definition of a true, life-long friend.

I’ll bet there’s a hundred people in Horseshoe Bay who know if Trudi is in their life, they’re one lucky person.

Thank God, I’m one of those.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Long-time readers of this newspaper will remember former managing editor Bob Haenel’s annual “It’s a Wonderful Life” column. Now that Bob’s retired, we decided to collaborate to continue testing our readers’ knowledge about Frank Capra’s 1946 classic.

First, some background on “IAWL.”

“IAWL” takes place on Christmas Eve in Bedford Falls. The central character is George Baily, played by the legendary Jimmy Stewart.

George is a man who’s always done what he had to do, not what he wanted to do which was travel, see the world and build skyscrapers. Donna Reed plays his wife, Mary, who’s loved George since she was a little girl.

There’s Uncle Billy, a forgetful relative who helps manage the family business, the Bailey Savings and Loan. Then there’s Mr. Potter, the meanest and richest man in Bedford Falls. Money is lost, George loses hope, and a would-be angel comes to show George what life would be like if he’d never been born.

When the movie first came out, it wasn’t successful. Not until Ted Turner bought the rights to the long-forgotten film in 1986 and showed it non-stop on his new cable channel, TNT, did the movie become a beloved holiday classic.

This movie is more than a film about a miracle taking place on Christmas Eve. The frustrations and driving forces still ring true.

George Bailey is many of us – stuck in a job because we have obligations, dreaming of places we’d love to visit but know we’ll never get to and not having enough money to give our family all the material things they want.

This movie is one of Bob’s favorites and mine. His wife, Denise, and I believe Bob is George Bailey. He helped so many of us at the newspaper as well as people in the community. I doubt Bob knows just how loved he is in this area.

The moral of the story is one George learns. Someone who has friends is the richest person around. Bob and I hope you give “It’s a Wonderful Life” a chance and, remember… every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.

Here’s the annual “It’s a Wonderful Life” quiz. Answers are at the bottom.  Good luck!

1. In which ear did George Baily lose his hearing?
2. What was George’s father’s name?
3. How much money did Uncle Billy misplace?
4. What’s the name and rank of George’s guardian angel?
5. What did Clarence do for a living when he was alive?
6. What’s the name of the police officer and taxi driver in Bedford Falls?
7. What’s the name of the druggist that George worked for as a young boy?
8. What are the names of George and Mary’s children?
9. What character’s trademark line is “hee-haw?”
10. How did George know he was alive?
11. What medal was Harry awarded?
12. There were two owners of the bar – one in real life and one in George’s view of life without him. Who are they?
13. What dance contest did George and Mary enter at the high school dance?
14. What does George put on Mary’s sundae?
15. Name at least two people who worked at the Bailey Building and Loan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Answers:

1. Left
2. Peter Bailey
3. $8,000
4. Clarence Oddbody, Angel, Second Class
5. He was a clockmaker
6. Bert and Ernie
7. Gower
8. Tommy, Janie, Pete
9. Sam Wainwright
10. He found ZuZu’s petals in his coat pocket and it started snowing again
11. The Congressional Medal of Honor
12. Martini and Nick
13. The Charleston
14. Coconut
15. Peter Bailey, George Bailey, Eustus, Tilly and Uncle Billy

One of the big trends in decorating is minimalism.

Less is better, they proclaim.

Get rid of all the knick-knacks, clear off all kitchen and bathroom counters, and donate or throw away everything extra in your house.

I bought into it for a while, especially around the Christmas holidays. My husband would get down all the boxes of decorations, and I’d only use about half of them. After a couple of years, he only brought down a few boxes.

There were reasons I didn’t get into the holiday spirit. Replacing the regular towels with green and red ones was ridiculous, I told myself. My husband didn’t care if the soap dispenser had reindeer on the front. Frankly, neither did I.

The boys were grown and gone, so the primary reason for decorating was no longer valid. Our grandchildren enjoyed seeing the lights and decorations, but the gifts under the tree were the main event.

Plus, decorating is a lot of work. We had to haul all that stuff out of storage, unwrap dozens of ornaments and gee-gaws out and then rewrap everything in a few weeks.

People didn’t come to visit our house, and the months-long Covid quarantine made the feelings of isolation worse. It’s much easier to just leave things as they are.

Why bother, I told myself. One day, our sons will have to deal with all that “stuff” when we’re no longer around. It’ll all end up in a garage sale or in the trash.

Bah, humbug, I know.

But this year is different. People are celebrating together. In stores, people are talking to each other and smiling at strangers. The Christmas songs are playing, and I can hear people humming along, myself included.

We’re back with our families, sharing meals and holidays. There’s not a hesitation when thinking about attending a concert or football game. The libraries and restaurants are open, and we’re back at meetings and parties.

It’s time to celebrate and pull out all the stops.

This year, I’m asking my husband to haul down all the boxes of Christmas decorations, and I’m putting everything out.

There’ll be red and green candy-cane towels in the bathrooms. For the next month, a Christmas rug will replace the brown one in front of the sink.

Every strand of twinkling lights is going on the tree. In fact, I’ll probably buy a few more so our tree will look like downtown Houston on a Saturday night.

I’m going to put every single ornament we own on our Christmas tree, not just a few for that minimalistic view. I ordered two boxes of silver tinsel, and I’m going to drape every branch so the whole tree will sparkle.

I’m going to haul out the rolling pin and cookie cutters and the grandkids and I will make some Christmas cookies. There won’t be any limits on how much sugar and sprinkles they can put on each cookie either.

There’s so much sadness and fear in the world – wars, poverty, climate change.

The sentiment “good will towards all” is especially true for those struggling with sorrow. Many of our friends and families have lost loved ones, jobs, friendships and connections.

As we’ve learned, tragedy can strike without warning, so when we can celebrate, pull out all the stops.

Drag out all your Christmas decorations.

Drape garland and tinsel everywhere.

Play Christmas music loudly and hug as many people as you can.

Embrace the holiday with every bit of twinkling lights and garland you can find.

Don’t hold back. Drape that tinsel and layer on the ribbons and garland.

Christmas comes but once a year.

Make this one count.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

It’s Thanksgiving, a day to show gratitude for the people and events in our life. I am truly grateful for family and friends every moment of every day.

I’m thankful for good health, a roof over my head and a warm bed at night because I know there’s so many who don’t have those comforts.

But as is my way, this column will be about giving thanks for the little things, the sometimes overlooked good things that make every day a little bit easier. If the list makes you smile, I’m thankful for that.

Seat warmers in my car. The vehicle we bought a few years ago had seat warmers. When the salesman pointed out this feature, I laughed. I live in Houston where shorts are the daily attire 10 months out of the year.

But when these cold spells hit, I’ve got the seat warmer cranked up to the highest level it’ll go. My bum has never been happier.

My fridge’s ice maker. There’s a scene in the third “Back to the Future” trilogy when Doc Brown builds a gigantic machine and it churns out one ice cube.

If only Doc could see how much I appreciate sticking my glass in the door of my fridge and instantly being rewarded with either ice cubes or crushed ice.

Many of us remember filling ice cube trays with water and carefully finding a place in the freezer where they wouldn’t tip over.

In a family of seven children, chances were high you’d pull out the tray and find someone had put the tray back without water and, hence, no ice cubes. For that reason alone, I appreciate the automatic system that churns out an entire container of ice overnight.

Leaf Blower. I’m not a big believer in sweeping, especially the patio or front porch. But the first time I turned on a leaf blower and felt that power in my hands, I was hooked.

I remembered when my dad got a leaf blower for Christmas, and he used it to blow all the wrapping paper into one corner of the living room.

He was always quite the inventive one.

Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. The first time I looked up a recipe for homemade macaroni and cheese, I shut the book and reached for the blue and yellow box in the pantry.

For we baby boomers, nothing beats that orange macaroni and cheese, Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup and red Kool-Aid.

Anything by Hostess. I understand Twinkies are nothing but empty calories. Ho-Ho’s aren’t a laughing matter when you realize what that cream filling is doing to your arteries.

Still, I’ll take a Ding Dong over a slice of pumpkin pie any day of the week.

Democratic check-out lines. My hat’s off to the stores who have one line for checking out because the next person in line is the next person called to the cashier.

I have an uncanny knack for getting in the wrong line every single time in the store. Yesterday, I had the chance to get in a longer line, but I took the short line.

The woman in front of me questioned every single item she was buying – could she return it, was that the right price. By the time I realized what she was doing, all the other lines had at least five people in them.

So thank you to the stores who have one line for check out. You get my business and my money.

The pots and pans are washed and put away, and it’s time to settle back on the couch with the remote control, a glass of Kool-Aid and a bowl of Kraft mac and cheese to watch “A Christmas Story.”

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours, and may the blessings in your life shine on you every day.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Tee Jolie was running.

Not jogging.

Not trotting.

She was running so hard, every breath felt as if she was being stabbed. She prayed her legs would hold out. She’d worn sneakers that morning because walking five blocks to her office was too hard in the heels her boss, Martin, demanded women wear.

She wanted to tell him she wasn’t some idiot from the fifties. Shoes didn’t define a woman just as Martin wearing his blue-tooth headphone didn’t make him important.

He’d come on to her a few days after she’d started working in the office.

“Hey, Tee Jolie, I know you’re new to Savannah,” he’d said. “As your boss, I feel it’s my responsibility to make sure you’re acclimated to this area.”

Martin’s breath smelled like the onions he’d had on his lunch sandwich. Tee Jolie noticed there was a bit of lettuce stuck between his teeth. Looking at that made her stomach turn over. She knew men like Martin. Knew them well. He didn’t notice the revulsion in her eyes.

He didn’t notice she’d backed away from him.

“We’re right here on the coast, and there’s a lot to see in the historic downtown area,” he continued. “I’m a good tour guide.”

What made him think she wasn’t from Savanna? She had a Southern accent, but it was from Louisiana, not Georgia. If this ape thought he could introduce her to history, she could tell him a few things about New Orleans that might cause hair to grow back on his sweaty head.

She’d told him maybe another time – she was still unpacking. But that evening, she was hungry and still hadn’t found the box with her kitchen skillet and potholders. So she’d checked online and found a small restaurant down by the docks. She’d taken an Uber to the restaurant and had decided to walk to the dock, the smell of the bay irresistible to a Cajun girl.

Luckily, there was a full moon tonight, so Tee-Jolie could see where she was going. Unfortunately, so could the person following her.

The running footsteps were getting closer. They were heavy, not a woman’s, she knew from her racing days. Tee Jolie picked up the pace. She was glad she hadn’t dropped out of that Pump-It-Up class a few months ago. The hard workouts had been paying off. She’d always enjoyed running and had completed a marathon when she was in college. But she’d kept running, using the solitary times to think and dream.

Tee Jolie knew she couldn’t keep running much longer. She needed to hide somewhere, but this isolated street didn’t offer much refuge.

There was a sign up ahead. What was on it? Dead End? She wondered briefly if she should take it. If it was a dead end, maybe she could find a better place to hide. In the movies, there was always a dumpster or trash cans along the dead-end street.

Tee Jolie made the decision and made a hard right down the street. About 20 feet in, she stopped dead in her tracks and listened. She could still hear the footsteps, but they were slower. Whoever was chasing her wasn’t in as good a shape as she was.

She pictured whoever it was taking in deep breaths, holding their side as the stitch started setting in because they weren’t used to taking deep breaths.

“I got you now, you creep,” Tee Jolie thought, and silently thanked her aerobics teacher for pushing her. She looked down the street, an alley really, and noticed it wasn’t a dead end. There was a faint light at the end, maybe from a partially opened door. She’d rather be in a building instead of out in the open.

“Be quiet, girl,” Tee Jolie thought. The street was dry, unusual for Savannah which had more than its share of spring showers. She quietly moved down the street toward the light.

That’s when she heard the footsteps stop. She froze in place, looking at the light. She thought she could reach that door in half a minute, but was she far enough away from the entrance to beat whoever was following her?

She took off running as fast as she could when she heard the footsteps start again behind her. Tee Jolie got closer to the light and saw it was a door. Just as she reached the door, it suddenly slammed shut. Tee Jolie froze in place, but the footsteps kept coming closer.

She looked around, desperately looking for a way to defend herself. She’d been so scared she hadn’t taken notice of what was around her. Tee-Jolie had to find something in this alley she could use as a weapon.

She saw some empty soft-drink cans and crumpled fast-food wrappers. Then she spotted a glass beer bottle. Tee Jolie rushed over and picked up the bottle by its long neck just as she felt a presence behind her. She hit the end of the bottle on the street, leaving a sharp end, and then turned to face whoever or whatever was coming down the dead-end street that, she laughed to herself, wasn’t really a dead-end. Would that be the metaphor for her life? Tee-Jolie Broussard had escaped the hell hole she’d grown up in and an abusive husband. Would her life really end up a dead end?

Tee-Jolie held the bottle with the jagged end facing whoever was coming down that alley. The rasping voice wasn’t loud, but she knew that voice. She’d heard it for two years and then, the last six months, in her nightmares.

“Once something’s mine, it’s mine,” the voice two feet away from her said.

“How did you find me,” she asked her ex-husband, her voice a little shaky.

He was still trying to breathe normally, she noticed. She looked closer at him, her eyes readjusting to the moonlight. He didn’t have a weapon – of course he wouldn’t. His hands could inflict plenty of damage.

“This is a dead-end street,” he said between gasps of air. “Just like your life, Tee-Jolie. A dead end.”

That was it. She’d heard enough. She lunged forward and plunged the end of the broken beer bottle into his neck with as much force as she could manage. He shrieked in pain and fell to his knees.

Tee-Jolie backed up, watching the blood ooze from his neck, covering the front of his shirt. His eyes filled with anger then shock then defeat.

He rocked back on his heels, and Tee-Jolie came closer.

“This is a dead end for one of us,” she said quietly. “Guess which one.”

There’s a proverb that it takes a village to raise a child. In the case of helping a young person grow from a Tiger Cub to an Eagle Scout, it takes the determination of the young person, a supportive family and countless caring adults.

I was fortunate to attend an Eagle Scout Court of Honor with Troop 941 in Fulshear. Will and Robbie Stomierowski, Grant Nowotny, Ryan Burdette and Luke Stoddard were being recognized for this achievement.

Having a court of honor for one Scout is something to celebrate. Having five reach this pinnacle from one troop at the same time is an incredible achievement.

Since 1912, only 2% of enrolled Scouts have become Eagles, and the road isn’t easy. Scouts have to serve as a Life Scout for at least six months, demonstrate Scout spirit and leadership within the troop, and earn a minimum of 21 merit badges.

These merit badges aren’t earned in one afternoon. For instance, Scouts spend three months earning a financial planning badge and a personal fitness badge.

The would-be Eagle also has to do camp at least 20 nights with the Scout troop. These hours are from teens who are active in the school band, play sports, take AP classes, and have after-school jobs.

Their final step is completing an Eagle Scout project. The Scouts have to raise the money for the project, round up others to help and then complete the work. The projects these five undertook are benefitting this county every day.

Will built a bird sanctuary at a local park, and Luke created a fully outfitted campsite at Long Point Ranch. Grant restored a historic bell that was previously in the belfry at Fulshear United Methodist Church. He also built a seating area for the cross.

The new Daily Park in Simonton received two Eagle projects. Robbie built three benches at the park around the lake and Ryan built and installed Barred Owl houses.

Looking at those boys at the front of the room, I imagined all the people standing behind them, the wind beneath their wings, to coin a cliché.

There’s Darren McCarthy, Parks and Recreation Director for Fort Bend County, who found numerous Eagle Scout projects that would not only help the Scouts achieve their goal but also benefit the community for free.

Fort Bend County Commissioner Vincent Morales Jr. made time to talk with each Scout before signing off on the paperwork.

There’s Hannah Muegge, director of charitable activities at the James B. Harrison Foundation’s Long Point Ranch. They’ve encouraged these Scouts to enrich our area with their Eagle projects. All three were at the Eagle Court of Honor, further giving their support.

There’s the neighbors and friends who lent their expertise in everything from wood working to engineering. There’s Scout leaders who show up every week, on campouts and on Sunday afternoons to keep the Scouts on the right track.

I’ll give my husband Rick a pat on the back as he serves as a coach for the troop. Each new Eagle Scout honored him with a mentor pin as he helped them chart and complete the steps to Eagle.

I’m happy girls are now allowed into the Scouting program, and even prouder our 9-year-old granddaughter joined Scouts. She wanted to become an Eagle Scout, and I know she’ll achieve her goal.

When she’s standing in front of her fellow scouts, her grandfather tying her blue Eagle neckerchief around her collar, I’ll not only see her but the dozens of people behind her who helped her achieve her goal.

It’s all about the village helping rear the child.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.