Some movies are instantly recognizable with just one line – “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give…” “You’re gonna need a bigger boat…” or “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.”

Movies have given us quotable lines since talkies were invented. Those lines include “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse” from the original Godfather movie and, a personal favorite, “You’re killin’ me Smalls” from “The Sandlot.”

“The Wizard at Oz” has quite a few memorable lines, including “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore,” and “There’s no place like home.”

The “Back to the Future” movies have dozens of great lines. My favorite back-and-forth comes from the first movie.

When Marty lands in 1955, Doc Brown is doubting the teenager came from the future.

Doc Brown:  “If you’re from the future, who’s the president of the United States.”

Marty:  “Ronald Reagan.”

Doc Brown:  “The actor? Who’s secretary of the treasury? Jack Benny?”

I was in a crowded movie theater, and the entire place laughed so loud, I almost couldn’t hear the next two minutes of the movie.

Some of my favorite lines come from the 1989 movie “Steel Magnolias. I’ve dropped the line “I love you more than my luggage” a few times in my life.

When I want a deep insult, this line runs through my head: “The nicest thing I can say about her is all her tattoos were spelled correctly.”

“O Brother Where Art Thou” is an Hebert family favorite. When the situation required it, which happens a lot more than I ever thought possible, I’ve muttered “You guys are dumber than a bag of hammers.”

I’d almost forgotten about a movie that has some of the best quotable lines of the past 50 years – the original “Ghostbusters.”

Written by Dan Akroyd and Harold Ramis, the creative screenplay is filled with snappy dialogue delivered by some of the best comics of the 1980s.

Bill Murray, Dan Akroyd, Ernie Hudson, Annie Potts, and Harold Ramis are perfect together. They serve up lines and someone else serves it back to score the point.

It’s easy to miss some of the funnier lines, something I realized when I watched “Ghostbusters” a week ago. I found myself laughing out loud, so I started writing down some of my favorite lines.

Here’s my top five:

“Back off, man, I’m a scientist.”

“We better split up. Yeah, we can do more damage that way.”

“You don’t act like a scientist. You’re more like a game-show host.”

“This is a sign all right. It’s a sign we’re going out of business.”

“I’ve worked in the private sector. They expect results.”

One of the best scenes comes when the ghosts have been let loose, thanks to an obnoxious EPA representative. The mayor of New York isn’t sure if he should listen to the Ghostbusters, who have a solution, or listen to the EPA guy who wants to throw them in jail.

Venkman, played by Bill Murray, tells the mayor “If I’m right, you will have saved the lives of millions of registered voters.”

The Ghostbusters got the green light.

My all-time favorite line from “Ghostbusters” comes toward the end of the movie.

After almost getting killed by the big bad Gozer, Winston, still gasping for breath, says, “Ray, if someone asks you if you’re a god, you say yes.”

The line I’ve used the most from any movie is delivered by Michael “Squints” Palledorous in “The Sandlot.”

He’s waiting for Benny to finish giving instructions to the new kid, Smalls, who hasn’t a clue about baseball.

When “The Jet” finally throws the ball, Squints can’t help but yell “It’s about time Benny. My clothes are going out of style.”

So the next time you’re in the market for a good laugh, you know who you’re gonna call.

Yep. Ghostbusters.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

We sat in the folding chairs in the cafeteria, waiting for the play to begin. Our granddaughter’s junior high had been practicing for months on their musical “Beauty and the Beast Junior.” We’d been hearing about the ups and downs of rehearsals, but there was always an excitement in her voice about the production.

And then it was opening night.

Little girls dressed in Belle costumes. Fidgety toddlers climbed in and out of laps up and down the row, and no one minded a bit.

White-haired grandparents waited excitedly for the lights to come up, and some brothers and sisters idly played on their phones, obviously dragged along by their parents to see sister or brother perform.

The lights dimmed and three young teens came onto the stage. The costumes were made by the students, with help from some parents, and the sets were also designed, painted and constructed by the students.

Nothing looked second-rate or hand-made. These young thespians took us on a journey with Belle and the Beast, their energy infectious. People laughed at the right times, clapped at the right times and, I’ll admit, we all teared up at the right times.

These teens immersed themselves in their roles and captured our hearts along the way.

We owe a debt to fine arts teachers who see the potential in our children. Our family can never repay retired theatre teacher Wanda Harrell. She coaxed a winning performance from two of our sons.

I will never forget sitting in the audience at Garcia Middle School and literally pulling back in awe when our middle son strode across the stage as Daddy Warbucks.

We had no clue he liked acting and no idea he could sing that well.

I attended every performance and cried through the entire last one. Those were tears of joy that my son had found something he liked and tears of gratitude for the teacher who nurtured our son to shine on the stage.

She did so with our youngest son as well and turned his buck-the-system personality into Harry McAfee, a conservative, jacket-wearing father. I saw every one of his performances and cried through the entire last one, just as I had for his brother.

There’s so much pressure on teachers and students to do well on standardized tests.

Achieve a 100 on math tests, make sure they’re in advanced classes and apply for college early and often.

We forget that kids need more than numbers on a test report.

They should learn to work with their hands to create art, sculptures and rocking chairs.

They benefit when they learn how to sing with their peers or play an instrument.

Their lives are enriched when they know how to bake, speak a different language or work behind the scenes for a theatrical performance.

They can learn to watch the cues and quietly change a stage from a forest to a castle in the dark and in minutes. Many will find they love creating a costume or transforming someone’s face from a person to a candle stick.

Scoring a 100 on a test is satisfying, but that feeling only lasts until the next test.

Watching an audience jump to their feet and applause with enthusiasm is a feeling that lasts all one’s life.

Fine arts classes nurture confidence, and that nurturing is even more important for those who struggle with academics. Students find success behind the curtain, behind the camera and behind a table saw.

And that’s what education is all about.

Thank you, fine-arts teachers, for giving our young people the opportunity to experience the nuances of life for those are what give us long-lasting satisfaction and joy.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Easter is coming soon and we’re all hoping for a more optimistic Easter than we had last year.

This year, the candy shelves are full, and shoppers can be a little more particular about what treats to pick up for the holidays.

To help save you money and time, here’s my top 10 list of Easter candies ranked from worst to best.

# 10 – Jelly beans. Unless you spend money for the top brand of jelly beans, the inexpensive ones are awful.

The taste stays on your tongue like glue, and the gummy residue sticks to your teeth. Don’t try convincing me that black licorice jelly beans taste good. Or coffee jelly beans. Some flavors need to stay in their original lane.

#9 – Anything nutritious. Sorry, but Easter is the one day when sugar highs should be allowed.

I know the dangers of sugar – some people equate it to heroin – but I’ll take my chances on the sweet train this one day.

#8 – Nestles Crunch. When I was a kid, that red, white and blue wrapper signaled the best candy bar on the shelf.

Not anymore.

There’s too much crunch and not enough milk chocolate. I’ll give them credit for their 1950s commercials where we’re reminded that “N-E-S-T-L-E-S – Nestles makes the very best chocolate.”

#7 – Cadbury Crème Eggs. I know Cadbury is, for many people, the pinnacle of top-notch Easter candy. However, that cream stuff in the middle is the messiest candy around.

If you bite into the egg, the gooey center drips down your chin, making a huge mess. Also, that fondant center is taking up space where there could be chocolate.

#6 – Off-brand chocolate. I’m a bargain shopper and try the off-brands before spending money on name brands. However, chocolate is one item where you get what you pay for. Off-brand chocolate has a waxy texture and taste.

There’s one exception to this rule and that’s the giant chocolate Easter bunny. It doesn’t matter how those taste, Easter baskets aren’t complete unless there’s a Peter Cottontail chocolate bunny in the fake grass. Besides, the only parts we ever ate were the ears.

#5 – Miniature candy bars. Not enough chocolate. When I look down and see there’s a pile of wrappers in front of me, I feel guilty.

In fact, a dozen of those candies probably doesn’t add up to one candy bar, and they still make me feel like I need to go to confession. Still, they’re great when you need a small chocolate fix.

#4 – Peeps. This admission will probably ban me from social media but there’s too much sugar and too much marshmallow. But I accept the unwritten rule that an Easter basket isn’t complete without those yellow Peeps.

#3 – Hershey’s Kisses – Just because they wrap the Kisses in pink and purple foil instead of the standard silver doesn’t make them any more special. Still, we all need those kisses sprinkled in the fake grass.

The downside, if there could be any downside to chocolate, is the holiday wrappers remind you how old those Kisses are when you find them in your robe pocket in July. But you’ll eat them anyway.

#2 – Reese’s Peanut Eggs – these are the same recipe as a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, which I love. But for some reason, the Easter ones have a little too much peanut butter filling and not enough chocolate. A regular Reese’s Peanut Butter cup has the perfect balance of chocolate and peanut butter. So Reese’s stays at the top of the list.

#1 – Cadbury Mini Eggs – these delicious confections are the Maserati of Easter candy. That hard candy shell protects rich chocolate, and you can either chew them for an instant burst of flavor or let them melt on your tongue to prolong the sweetness.

You can only buy them at Easter, and I know people – me – who buy five or six bags so they can savor them all year long.

So happy egg hunting and Happy Easter! And if you can’t find any Cadbury Mini Eggs on the shelves, you’ll know who’s hoarding them.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

A good friend posted pictures about her fabulous trip to London. They saw the changing of the guard, the Crown Jewels and toured some of the most famous places in England.

Another friend just came back from Switzerland, and she said there is no way to properly describe the majesty of the Swiss Alps. Every shop had exquisite chocolates, and she said the food was wonderful.

My niece constantly scours travel deals and recently returned from trips to Denver and San Antonio. She posted photos of the snowy mountains and scenes from the leisurely boat ride down the Riverwalk.

Me? I took a trip to Louisiana.

Saw a chemical plant, a giant metal building shaped like an alligator and more concrete median barriers lining the side of the interstate than there are Thibodeaux’s in Breaux Bridge.

Not that there wasn’t excitement along the way. I narrowly missed a giant pothole between Lafayette and Rayne after watching the guy in front of me practically lose a back wheel when he hit the pothole.

I also patted myself on the back for having the foresight to get off I-10 before the Mississippi River bridge, thus avoiding sitting in a long line of traffic to get into Baton Rouge.

Not everything on the trip was sunshine and roses.

When I pulled over at a rest stop to catch a quick nap, a van pulled up next to me and blared rock music while they smoked and made sandwiches from the side door.

That 20-minute nap lasted about 5 minutes.

There was some excitement. I drove five miles over the speed limit, refusing to slow down to 50 when the traffic thinned out. That only lasted about a half mile, but I was pretty daring for that five-minute stretch.

Instead of staying on a crowded interstate highway, I took the 210 Loop around Lake Charles. Being that high over the water is always a bit nerve racking for me.

Not exactly on-the-edge living, but these days, that’s about as exciting as it gets.

When we were quarantined for Covid, I told myself when it was safe to travel, I wasn’t going to waste any time. I’d get out there and see the world.

First on the bucket list is a trip to any section of Route 66. The reason – I celebrated my 66^th birthday back in July and I want to drive on Route 66 when I am 66.

I settled on flying into Albuquerque and taking a drive northeast to Santa Fe and then circling back to Albuquerque.

I was ready to book our flights a few months ago after the summer holidays, and Covid reared its horrible head again. When the coast looked clear, it was snowing in Albuquerque, and I have no desire to sightsee or drive in the snow and ice.

Just when I started researching airline flights to New Mexico, gas prices and airline tickets shot through the roof.

The section from Albuquerque to Santa Fe looks promising, but the pessimistic side of me thinks we’ll go to Amarillo, take a look at all those Cadillacs stuck in the dirt and come right back to Houston.

But hope springs eternal. As of the date this column is published, I have 118 days to make that road trip from Albuquerque to Santa Fe a reality.

Seeing Big Ben or traveling internationally is pretty exciting, but as the song says, I’ll get my kicks on Route 66.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

When my boys were young, finding a place to get their hair cut wasn’t easy. I didn’t want to take them to a fancy salon, and there was no way I was going to cut their hair.

I still shudder remembering my dad sitting my brothers down on a stool, hair clippers buzzing, while he pretended to be a top-notch stylist.

He had one hand on their heads while the other dragged the clippers up and over their heads. He’d stop to take a sip of beer and totally ignored their wails.

Uneven doesn’t come close to describing those haircuts.

So styling my sons’ hair was never an option. Someone told me about the Richmond Barber Shop in the downtown area, so, when the boys were old enough, we stopped in.

The place was like stepping back in time. There were a couple of real barber chairs in the center of the room and a row of well-worn waiting chairs against the wall. The linoleum was faded and cracked, but there was a homey vibe that made us feel comfortable and welcome.

We took a seat and a man with a slight hump in his back greeted us. He was the owner and said it might be a little bit, but we were welcome to wait.

The boys were content – they were fascinated with all the pictures and seemed to enjoy listening to the men talk. The boys left there with quality haircuts, courtesy of the owner, Mr. A.D. Eversole.

Sadly, “Mr. A.D.” passed away after over 60 years of being in business in the same location, the past 20 with his grandson continuing the legacy.

The men who came for a quick cut hailed from all walks of life – former Houston Oilers coach Bum Phillips stuck his head in one day and told A.D. he’d be back.

Judges, politicians, businessmen, working guys – all came to the barber shop to hear the local gossip and get an old-fashioned haircut. Once I took my son to the bathroom in the back, and I had to chuckle.

There, set up in the corner, was a perpetual poker game, complete with mannequins and cards on the table.

When A.D. was a young teen, he contracted polio, and his life changed forever. When I wrote a feature about a polio survivors support group, I asked A.D. for his story, and he graciously shared that with me.

He was getting off the school bus, and remembers falling down. He was out for the next couple of days with a high fever.

When he woke up, he was partially paralyzed on one side. As a polio survivor, the symptoms of polio come back later in life, and there’s no way to compensate for the nerve damage polio caused.

A.D. cut back on his hours, but never lost that gentle smile. He was forthright in his business, steady in his demeanor and loyal as a friend. He was an outstanding listener and always remembered what his customers wanted. For my son, it was a buzz, and that chair was the only place my kid sat still.

Years later, I asked him why and he said Mr. A.D. told him he would cut his ear off if he didn’t sit still. He believed the barber, but he also loved him because A.D. liked him, and our son knew it.

A.D., I can’t thank you enough for enriching our family’s life. You will always be remembered with fondness whenever I see a red and blue barber’s pole or a beautiful hand-made bird house.

Those of us who visited the best clip joint in town were fortunate to have known you.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

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.