Most fashion trends have a revolving-door life – they’re all the rage when they arrive, fade away and then eventually come back into vogue.

Some of these fashions, like neon blue eye shadow, should stay in the history books.

Others, like chiffon gowns, should come back every five years. If, however, you have a decorating style in your home that’s considered old-fashioned or out of touch, you’re shamed.

I’m here to say enough is enough to the fashion police who think they know everything and shame those of us who prefer styles and fashions they deem old fashioned.

I like earth tones in my house. The current kitchen trend is for white countertops, gray cabinets and gray walls. There’s no clutter on the countertops and the floors are – go ahead and say gray because that’s the right answer – gray.

This is great for some homes, but not for me. I like the rusts, golds and browns in our granite, and there’s no way I’d ever paint our wood cabinets. Each door has its own character, the irregular grains and random knots adding interest and personality.

I’ll also keep small appliances and knick-knacks on my countertops. The toaster and coffee maker are out in the open, right where I need them every single day, and our refrigerator is covered with art work, courtesy of our grandchildren.

The walls in the room where we watch television are covered with family photos. According to the decorating magazines, I should be ashamed of myself.

The walls should be painted – go ahead and say gray because, once again, that’s the right answer – gray and only expensively framed posters with French words on them should go on the wall.

Sorry but everything that hangs on the walls of our house has a special meaning. There’s a print we bought on our honeymoon over 35 years ago, photos we’ve taken over the years and posters my husband won in the many marathons he ran.

A picture our son drew in middle school has a prominent place in the hall as does the magazine article written about our eldest boy.

No way I’d take those memory pieces down and replace them with some expensive, cold poster.

I don’t want holes or rips in my pants and I especially don’t want to pay more for those holes.

The last time I looked at jeans, the ones with rips and tears were $25 higher than the plain Wranglers. Cue the old fogey voice here – when I was in high school, if you wore pants with rips or tears, your classmates thought you were too poor to afford decent clothes.

The only place I found jeans that’ll last more than three washings was at the feed and seed store, and they were half the price of the ripped ones.

I also want my shirts to reach below my hips. Granted, the women and girls buying these midriff shirts don’t have the stretch marks and belly rolls I have, but trying to find a shirt for my granddaughter that covered her abdomen was like trying to find tennis shoes that cost less than a tire for my car.

Just so I don’t sound like a cranky old lady, there are some wonderful current trends. Plaid’s back in vogue, as are hats and T-shirts in all styles. I loved high-waisted jeans in the 70s and I love them now.

Sweatpants, a staple of my winter wardrobe, are being sold in a variety of colors, finally earning the fashion industry’s respect.

Buck the trends, decorate and wear what you like and go ahead and keep your toaster out on the counter.

Come join me in my earth-toned kitchen and enjoy a cup of percolated coffee while we wish for the day bell bottoms come back in style.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

For most of Fort Bend County, school starts next week. If we thought last year was the most bewildering year in recent history, prepare for another three-ring circus.

No matter if teachers have to find a way to socially distance 36 kids in a classroom the size of your smallest bedroom or if it’s back to normal, here are some tips for you to remember as the 2021-22 school year begins.

One. The teacher is a human being. He or she will make mistakes, achieve incredible goals and cry herself to sleep. Give your kid’s teacher a break and if you’re criticizing without helping, you’re part of the problem.

Two. Your child is a human being. He or she will make mistakes this year. They’ll hit another kid, spill their milk and flunk a test. Find out the root of the problem before jumping to conclusions.

Three. Administrators are human beings. I don’t know any assistant principal or principal who wished they could spend all day assigning detention, checking to make sure teachers were on hall duty or breaking up fights.

They got into administration to help teachers and students achieve success. If you’re complaining that your darling couldn’t possibly be breaking the rules or they’re being too harsh for taking away your daughter’s cell phone when she had it out during class, you are making an administrator’s job harder.

Four. Make sure your child is prepared. That means getting kids to bed on time. The American Academy of Sleep Medicine recommends 9-12 hours of sleep a night for elementary students and 8-10 hours of sleep a night for teens.

If your third grader has to get up at 6 a.m. to get dressed and catch the bus, they need to be in bed by 8 p.m. at the latest. You know how you are when you’re tired – your child’s no different.

Five. Buy supplies now. You might not think your child will go through two boxes of 24-count crayons in one year.

That is incorrect thinking.

Your child will not only wear down the red and black crayons by Thanksgiving, they will break all the crayons in the box by Christmas. Buy back-up supplies now while they’re cheap. That 50-cent box of crayons is $1.50 in January.

Six. The teacher is right. No matter what your child tells you, back the teacher up first. My sons were notorious for blaming everything on the teacher. They learned that trick from blaming their youngest brother instead of accepting personal responsibility.

Seven. Make learning important. Parents are busy working from home or juggling two jobs to make ends meet. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t put value on school work. Make it a priority to ask what they learned that day, but don’t fall for the “nothing” answer.

Ask specifics.

“What science experiment did you do today?” “What book did the teacher read to the class today?” “What did you play at recess?” Older teens would rather talk about what’s happening on the social level. Ask but don’t pry.

Eight. Be there. In the elementary schools, parents can barely walk down crowded halls on Open House night. On the secondary level, teachers get solitary work finished because few parents attend.

Your child needs to know you care about their academic success every single year, not just when they’re in grade school. Show up, meet the teachers and establish a line of communication so you know what’s happening.

Nine. Learning is 24/7. Put your phone down and encourage your children to seek out information and knowledge.

A car ride is an opportunity to talk about cars, traffic, weather, flowers, concrete, pollution – the list is endless. You can make your children life-long learners by teaching them to be curious about the world around them.

Ten.  Enjoy the year. No matter what happens, soak up these years with your child because they will never again be a second grader, a middle-schooler or a high-school senior. Your email, texts and Tik-Tok videos can wait. Your child will not.

Enjoy the year and buckle up.

It’s going to be a heck of a ride.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

Growing up, my dad had a direct, no-nonsense way of dispensing advice and marching orders to his seven children.

“Do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it” and “Do what I say, not what I do.” Simple, easy to understand and to the point. He dealt with us in that straight-forward manner until he passed away, even though his children were all adults with their own families.

At some point, children become adults, and it’s not always easy for parents to modify the way we impart advice.

When my boys were young, my friend, Helen, gave me the best advice – use one-syllable words and their entire name in circumstances requiring immediate obedience.

“Stop it” and “right now” were two of my favorites. Those two phrases met all of Helen’s criteria.

When they were teenagers, my mothering orders became lengthier. I read a lot of parenting books, and I tried their expert advice.

“Explain why you’re making that decision to your teen so they understand,” was one technique I thought would work.

I remember standing in my teenage son’s disaster of a room and explaining why it was in his best interests to put his dirty clothes in the hamper. I failed with that technique for months until I remembered Helen’s advice.

“Clean it up or you’re grounded” finally worked.

Now that all of my sons are adults, I’m realizing it’s hard to transition from the front-line mommy role to the bleacher-seat mom role.

My husband mastered the evolution with a lot more success than I did and only offers advice if asked.

On the other hand, I spout “words of wisdom” like I’m a soda machine.

I’m still trying to tell them what to do even though they are quite capable of running their own lives.

That realization is a little depressing because I want my sons to still ask me for help or advice. I want to help them through the tough times and ask me how to remove stains from a dress shirt.

My mom, Delores, has adult parenting down pat. I asked her how she manages to keep a good relationship with all seven of her adult children and her daughters- and sons-in-law.

She said the answer is easy – she never tells us what to do and she doesn’t get too involved in our personal lives.

The best she can do, she said, is to listen without judgment. She is there to love and support us, our spouses and especially our children and grandchildren.

Most importantly, Mom said we need to know she believes in our decisions and will stand by us no matter what path we decide to take.

“It’s that simple,” she said.

Maybe simple for her, but that advice is hard to put into practice. I tried her way when talking to my niece. Because of the coronavirus outbreak in Louisiana, she was looking at postponing her wedding.

She asked me what to do, and my first impulse was to spout off my opinion. I almost overlooked a golden opportunity to change the way I deal with my now adult nieces and nephews.

I thought long and hard about my mom’s philosophy. Then I told my wonderful niece I knew she’d do the right thing because she was smart and I believed in her.

Not giving advice was hard, but listening to her, really listening, and then talking to my niece like the intelligent, caring adult she is was a whole lot easier.

I hung up without my giving my two cents’ worth, and hoped I’d said the right things to her.

Now the hard part comes. When dealing with my now-adult children, I need to remember: “WWDD” – “What Would Delores Do?”

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

It’s back-to-school time. Some parents like shopping for school supplies with their children so their child will feel like they have ownership in their supplies.

Those now-frazzled parents will discover that’s the first and last time they let their children accompany them.

No matter if you shop in person or online, there’s always one item on the back-to-school supply list that’s impossible to find.

Manila paper is the needle-in-the-haystack school supply oddity this year.

Students use manila paper for art projects, so you’d think the stores would have boxes of manila paper. They have construction paper, neon paper, plain paper and cardstock. But manila paper? Forget it.

That’s the tip of the frustration iceberg called back-to-school supply shopping. It doesn’t matter whether you’re ordering online or standing in a line, the list is often confusing.

Here’s a breakdown of what you might find on the list and the questions you’re liable to face.

Ear buds. Are ear buds supposed to be the ones that plug into a keyboard or wireless buds? Get ready to buy them for anywhere from 99 cents to $59.99. Just know that sooner or later, your child will shove the ear buds up their nose.

Pencils. There’s pencils that smell like blueberries and pencils made in a swirl shape. Your child will curse you if you buy the swirly ones. We know who these children are because they’re the ones who can’t fit the swirly pencil into their plastic sharpener because it was made for the lowly #2 pencil.

Mechanical pencils have their pluses and minuses. On the plus side, if the lead breaks, the child can click and keep going.

On the minus side, most kids will click the whole stick of lead away or see how far they can click the lead out of the pencil before it breaks. Why? Because it’s fun and will drive the teacher and the parent crazy.

Pens should be an easy purchase. But should a parent buy gel pens? Ball-point pens? Pens in blue, black, green, purple or red ink? And what about the point – medium, fine or extra fine?

When you see the word “ruler,” you might think you’ve got it made.

Nope.

There’s wooden rulers, plastic rulers, plastic rulers you can see through and triangular rulers. And all of them come in every color of the rainbow. No matter what color you get, your child will want one like their best friend’s and it will not be the color you picked up.

Plain folders with brads. Easy enough to find, you might think, but there’s cardboard folders and plastic folders. There’s folders with bunnies on the front or racing cars.

And if mom accidentally buys all blue folders and the child next to yours has orange ones – you know your child’s favorite color is orange – you are suddenly the worst shopper in the world.

Crayons. Should you buy the washable crayons, the “colors of the world” crayons, Twistables, neon or pearl? If you stick with the basic colors, should you get the 8-count, 12-count or 24-count? Go ahead and be the most hated parent in the class – get the 64-count yellow Crayola box with the built-in sharpener.

Markers fall in the same category as crayons – way too many choices and sizes. Just make sure you get the washable markers, especially if you invested in white uniform shirts.

Three-ring binders. I could buy a half gallon of Blue Bell ice cream for the same price, and I’d get a lot more enjoyment out of a carton of pralines and cream than I would a plastic binder my kid will bend, break and deface the first week of school.

Happy back-to-school shopping. And remember… after the first day of school, it’s only 172 instructional days until summer 2022.

Hang in there.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

With the temperatures in the 90’s, it’s hard to remember how cold we were in February. There were icicles hanging from the trampoline and the fences, and most of Texans went days without electricity or news about why we were freezing in the dark.

It might seem strange to think about preparing for those cold days during the hottest months of the year, but now is the time to stock up on supplies for both an arctic blast and a hurricane.

The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Admiration, NOAA, has predicted an above-normal Atlantic hurricane season. Not the level we saw in 2020, but all of us know it only takes one to wreck your world.

Instead of fighting the crowds when a hurricane or freeze is on the way, why not do some preparedness shopping now.

Here’s a list compiled from what we encountered and feedback from you, faithful readers:

A generator. Order now while they’re in stock. They’re not cheap, but you’ll be glad you spent the money when the lights are out, especially if you’re depending on the state of Texas to restore power quickly.

Christmas lights. Not the LED lights but lights that use bulbs. These are what you’ll use to keep your bushes and plants warm in case of a freeze. Of course, they’re useless if the power doesn’t stay on.

Extension cords. In case we’re lucky enough to keep the power on, you’ll need extension cords to hook up those Christmas lights. Not the $1.99 extension cords you buy at the dollar store. You’ll need the heavy-duty bad boys to handle running the refrigerator from the generator.

Candles. Stop saying you don’t want them as a gift. Take every candle you can get and search the clearance aisles for those ugly ones no one wants. While you’re at it, buy a box of Diamond Head matches to light those candles.

Flashlights and batteries. In case candles make you nervous, pick up some flashlights but get the ones that run on AA batteries because they’re cheaper and easier to find than the 9-volt ones.

Pipe insulation. Forget buying wraps when a freeze is predicted, and don’t kid yourself you can use a pool noodle. Get the insulation now and store it. Insulation doesn’t have an expiration date.

Kitchen:  A manual can opener. Get a Baby Boomer to show you how to use it. Plastic water pitchers are cheap at a dollar store. You’ll use these to hold drinking water or, if you have to fill the tub with water, to get the water out of the tub. Buy bottled water, but keep an eye on the expiration date.

Blankets. The only blankets most of us have are the heirloom quilts our grandmothers made or light-weight fleeces we use for our usually mild winters. Layering on blankets is the best way to stay warm.

No refrigeration needed. Any food that requires only boiling is your best bet here. Ramen noodles don’t have any extra calories or sky-high levels of sodium when the power’s out. Other staples include protein shakes, cookies, individual bags of snacks, crackers and peanut butter.

Paper goods. Pick up a supply of paper plates and paper towels, including extra toilet paper. For some reason, whenever there’s a natural disaster, people stockpile toilet paper. Go ahead and get in front of the hoarders.

Battery-powered radio. If you’re a weather or news junkie like me, not knowing what’s happening in the world causes anxiety. Invest in an inexpensive radio that runs on AA batteries. “C” and “D” batteries are expensive and hard to find.

Make sure you’re taking care of your home and business instead of relying on the Public Utility Commission. It might be the only way you’ll keep the lights on this summer or stay warm this coming winter.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Every Easter, “The Ten Commandments” movie airs. The 1956 blockbuster movie was a must-see in my parents’ time because of the epic scenes, from the impressive parting of the Red Sea to the many plagues Moses sends to Egypt.

I remember everyone in the family raving about the movie except my Uncle Eli. A thrifty man, Eli refused to pay to see the movie when it would eventually be on television.

Years later, it was and Uncle Eli was vindicated.

As kids, we couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t go to the movies. Every Sunday afternoon, the cousins would head down to my grandfather’s five-and-dime store and fill up a small bag with penny candy – licorice laces, Tootsie rolls and Atomic Fireballs.

We’d walk to the nearby Palace Theater and watch whatever was playing. I can’t recall what we saw, but I remember watching the thick red curtains dramatically pull back before the movie starts.

I wished I could sit in one of the box seats that lined the inside second floor and that the actors on the giant white screen seemed bigger than life.

There’s nothing like seeing a movie on the big screen. I saw “Star Wars” in a movie theater and the fear I felt when Darth Vader first enters was real. I don’t think I would’ve been that scared had I first seen him on a TV screen in the safety of my living room.

During high school, I worked at the Robert E. Lee movie theater after school and on the weekends. I loved taking my break on the back row, watching a story unfold in brilliant Technicolor.

But loving the movies is more than where you watch one. It’s who’s with you.

My youngest brother, Jeff, and I watched “Raiders of the Lost Ark” without knowing anything about the movie before we sat down.

Jeff and I were blown away by the epic story, the soaring score and the amazing special effects. At one point, we looked at each other, huge smiles on our faces, and together said “this is a great movie!”

I saw the coming-of-age movie “Breaking Away” with my brother Joey. The movie came at just the right time as he was getting ready to go to college.

My husband and I went back to the movie theater last week after quarantining for almost a year and things have changed.

No more stiff chairs packed into every row. We sat in plush recliners with a food tray at our fingertips. We ordered popcorn from our seats with the push of a button. In addition to ordering a Coke or Pepsi, we could’ve ordered a craft beer, wine or a mixed drink.

No more rotisserie hot dogs or boxes of Jujube candies – now movie patrons can order chicken and waffles or a grilled chicken chef salad brought to their seat.

Today’s lobbies are smaller, more like a restaurant instead of a grand theater, and there’s often a full-service bar where patrons wait instead of standing in a long line behind a velvet rope.

But what hasn’t changed, and what I hope never changes, is the majesty and thrill of seeing a movie on the big screen.

I wish I could’ve seen “The Wizard of Oz” on a big movie screen. Dorothy’s ruby-red slippers are pretty on television, but I bet they were dazzling on a big screen.

Charlton Heston is forceful as Moses on my computer screen, but he had to be commanding on a gigantic 70-mm movie screen. That’s what my Uncle Eli didn’t have a chance to experience.

There’s nothing like sitting in a theater as the lights dim and the opening music invites you to enter a magical world as these words appear on a giant screen … “and now, our feature presentation.”

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

One of the best inventions of the past 20 years has been the GPS, Global Positioning Service. A GPS allows someone with internet access to find anything on a map – a city, a highway, a restaurant.

The service on my phone shows road construction, radar stations and heavy traffic. The only drawbacks are if I’m in a remote location and the GPS signal is lost and the inability to see the big roadmap picture.

Sometimes, I want to see all of the city instead of one route, but that complaint is miniscule compared to the good that I get out of modern technology.

My mom and I took a trip from Baton Rouge up to my sister’s house in Alexandria, located in central Louisiana. Interstate 10 has become a nightmare with stalled traffic, endless road construction and 18-wheelers that blast regular cars off the road. I try and avoid I-10 whenever possible.

For the trip to Alexandria, we took the old highway, 190, through some small towns over to Interstate 49 north to Alexandria. It’s a pleasant drive although the concrete on 190 is rough on tires and there’s not much to see past shut-down nightclubs and gas stations.

Mom and I had a terrific visit with my sister, her husband and three of her five grandchildren. Because I don’t like to drive at night, we decided to leave late in the afternoon. At the end of my sister’s driveway, I put our ending location in the GPS system, and off we went.

I saw the entrance for Interstate 49 coming up, but the GPS had me travel further on the highway we were on and meander down the state instead of going out of our way to the interstate. My mom pointed out the turn, but I explained what I thought the GPS had in mind.

After about 30 minutes, it was obvious we were on a different highway than what I’d thought we’d be on.

“You missed the turn,” my mom said. “Maybe we ought to go back.”

By this point, we were a good 40 miles away from the interstate, and I didn’t want to double back. The GPS had us headed in the right direction, so I decided to stick with technology.

“We’ll be fine,” I told her. “The GPS knows what its doing.”

Instead of a crowded interstate highway, we were on a smooth, two-lane country road. We drove past acres of sugar cane, their tall stalks swaying in the wind underneath a blue sky packed with puffy white clouds.

Instead of name-brand gas stations and convenience stores, we saw small towns with local hardware and mom-and-pop stores.

Weathered signs offered home-grown watermelons and vegetables, and trucks, their fenders speckled with mud, filled the parking lots.

Tidy homes greeted us along the way, the siding painted in different hues of white, yellow and beige. At almost every house, flowers dotted the neatly trimmed yards and most of the back yards had swing sets or trampolines.

I saw a few clothes lines in the yards, and some had clothes swaying in the wind. The crops changed from sugar cane to corn, and I marveled at the endless rows of tall stalks of corn reaching for the sky.

There were massive live oak trees, their elderly trunks thick and dark. They seemed to hug the homes underneath their sprawling branches. A gently rolling levee separated the simple houses from the river, and I thought about how close the people here were to nature.

Sure, we could’ve taken the interstate and gotten home about 10 minutes earlier. But we took the comfortable back roads through towns that had stood guard for dozens of years. The trip was relaxing, and the sights gave us a chance to talk about the old days and how her grandparents and parents made life work through the good times and the hard times. That was a conversation we might never have had not we traveled the comfortable, country roads of central Louisiana.

Perhaps the GPS knew what it was doing all along.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I’m addicted.

Not to drugs, alcohol or “The Queen’s Gambit.”

I’m addicted to sales.

Big sales.

Ten-percent-off sales are ordinary.

Ninety-percent-off sales are for bottom-of-the-barrel shirts and pants that remain unclaimed through back-to-school sales, winter sales, spring sales and summer sales. These are the true rejects of the fashion world, so getting something from that pile is way too easy.

What gets my brain doing cartwheels is a solid 75 percent off the sticker price.

We sales addicts don’t want to cheat anyone – we want a great deal we can brag about for decades.

A few years ago, I was in an antique mall in Baton Rouge, La. with my mom. I was looking for some vintage china cups and saucers to replace some I’d given away.

Mom and I were enjoying browsing the shelves, remembering when we’d used those items in our every-day life.

I spotted three black cup-and-saucer sets on a dusty shelf in the back of the store. The design on each was similar, and the black color was intriguing. Most china cups and saucers are white with flowers. These, I knew, were different.

The price was on the bottom of one of the saucers — $6. I looked at the other two – same price. Normally these kinds of cups and saucers go for $20, so I knew I’d found a great deal. I told Mom we’d hit gold, and it was time to go.

We gathered the sets and carefully took them to the front counter. The lady who owned the shop smiled as she rang up my bargains.

“The man who owns that booth generally knows his antiques,” she said. “But he doesn’t know how to price china cups. You got yourself one heck of a deal today.”

I felt like a college football player who just made an interception and ran the ball 50 yards for a touchdown.

My Aunt Bev taught me the value of a good sale. One year, my sisters and I went with her to an estate sale, and she told us to look around, make a note of anything we liked, and then get a bidding card.

I spotted a battered tin tray holding four lead crystal wine glasses and six yellow etched champagne glasses. I wrote down the lot number.

Next, a small wicker basket caught my eye. Inside were linen handkerchiefs, some with delicately embroidered edges.

There were also about 50 antique postcards. Some had personal notes and some were brand new. And, again as instructed, I made note of the lot number.

The auction flew by, and at the end, Aunt Bev wondered who’d gotten those glasses.

“I did,” I proudly told her.

“How much?” she asked.

“Five bucks,” I replied. Then I told her I got the wicker box for the same price, and she told me I’d done quite well.

We put the glasses on a bar shelf after checking they were worth over $50. The wicker basket ended up on a shelf in my closet, and I forgot about it for almost 30 years.

A couple of months ago, I got the box out and started looking at the postcards, wondering if they were valuable. I opened up eBay, and the first postcard I found was worth $2.60. The second was worth $10. The third was 50 cents. All total, there was almost $100 worth of antique postcards.

The same held true for the handkerchiefs. One antique hankie was worth almost $12, and there were about a dozen in the box. That’s not a lot of money, but the amount of money isn’t the point.

It’s the thrill of the hunt.

It’s the powerful adrenaline rush a die-hard shopper feels when he or she finds a genuine bargain others have walked past.

So call me an addict. I’ll wear the label proudly over the name-brand jacket I found for half price at a resale shop.

Did I hear someone say estate sale?

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Baby boomers take a lot of good-natured ribbing about being fuddy-duddies. Take one of my favorite commercials, Dr. Rick with Progressive Insurance, on “unbecoming your parents.”

His funny and clever clues for new homeowners to see if they are becoming their parents rings true. If you have too many pillows on the couch, try to fix leaky plumbing or can’t pronounce “quinoa,” you could be in trouble.

I seldom recycle a sturdy cardboard box because that box will be good for something one day. I turned shoeboxes into a holder for gravy and taco packets, and I covered a few with wrapping paper to hold small toys.

The latest item to come under fire is the minivan. A minivan owner might as well walk around with a sign around his or her neck proclaiming “I’m a nerd.”

Rubbish.

I’m here to sing the praises of the bashed minivan or, as it’s often called, “The Mom Car.”

We purchased a minivan the second year they came out. We had three children: two toddlers in car seats, and a third grader who played sports.

Our sedan was too small and it was almost impossible to get a third child in the middle of the back seat without kids climbing over the seats and punching each other.

When I saw how the side doors opened on the minivan and how easy it was for the kids to climb in by themselves, I was sold.

Let’s not even talk about backing up or parallel parking. With the spacious window of the minivan and the height of the seat, I could see everything all around me.

The minivan fit my personality. My wardrobe back then was Mom jeans and a T-shirt, sweat pants and a T-shirt or shorts and, you guessed it, a T-shirt.

A recent article crucified women who dressed like that, and I felt bad for the thousands of moms out there who are lucky to get out of the door with their shirt on the right way when they’re trying to balance kids, snacks, an oversized purse and car keys.

In a minivan, it didn’t matter if the vehicle was filled with toys, pillows and empty juice packets. It also didn’t matter if you wore your pajamas or the kids had on just a diaper and slippers because minivans were invented for the mom who used her shirt to wipe her kid’s nose.         Minivans, I salute you.

While we’re at it, here’s to plastic containers that do triple duty. Not only do they hold Cool Whip or soft-spread margarine, these plastic containers are perfect for leftovers. Sure nobody knows what’s in them, but that’s part of the fun of leftover night – mystery meals.

There’s no way I’m recycling a plastic container until I’ve reused it at least three times. In fact, they’re perfect for holding the extra ketchup packets from fast-food joints.

The red plastic bottles don’t reflect how much ketchup is in the container, so I’d usually pull the bottle out and find one of the boys had put an empty bottle back in the refrigerator rather than go to the trouble of throwing it away.

Ketchup packets to the rescue, and I knew they were in the old Cool Whip bowl in the pantry.

I love my imitation-leather purse with a dozen pockets on the inside, the mismatched plates and bowls in the cabinet, some of which were grocery store specials, and our scuffed-up Pyrex baking dishes.

Even though I don’t have small children and we sold the minivan years ago, I still drive a mini-van style vehicle because I’m basically a nerd mom who morphed into a nerd grandmother.

So here’s to misunderstood minivans, mom jeans and empty Cool Whip containers. Long may you serve the overworked and overtired moms of the world.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

We grew up hearing my mom singing. “The Sound of Music” album was a constant play for her. I loved hearing her sing – she has a true soprano voice, but she never believed she was a good singer.

She thought the glory belonged to her older brother, Ray. I remember hearing him singing opera as he came down the staircase at the Eade house.

Ray had a booming voice and confidence. He never pursued a career in the arts, but younger brother Vincent did.

Vincent was the lead singer in three popular bands, and I loved listening to the 45s he played on the family record player.

Uncle Vinny visited us when I was a teenager, and I remember him sitting in our driveway, playing his guitar, and singing “Ventura Highway,” much to the delight of the fan-girls on our street.

Mom said all her siblings had beautiful singing voices, a genetic gift from her parents. My grandmother was often asked to sing the Arabic refrains at the Maronite services at the Catholic church.

Our grandfather sang all the time as he went about his duties in the store.

We didn’t know much about one of my mom’s brothers. When we were in elementary school, Marshall died at the young age of 21 from kidney disease.

My grandmother grieved for over 40 years, always wearing black or navy blue, seldom smiling.

A few weeks ago, my cousin, Jimmy, was cleaning out the third floor over the store my grandparents owned. The Standard Store has been in the same location in Olean, N.Y. for over 80 years.

My grandfather had everything in the store anyone could want – yarn, towels, candy, cigarettes, tools, kitchen items, knick-knacks, potholders – and the merchandise was stacked from the floor to the ceiling.

As a result, there’s lot of stuff in the attic. One afternoon, Jimmy found a white box, and written on the outside in my grandfather’s shaky handwriting was “Marshall talks and sings – this is good tape.”

We know no one’s heard those tapes in over 60 years, probably because the family’s grief was so deep, they couldn’t bear to hear Marshall’s voice.

The reel-to-reel tapes were in remarkably good shape, and our cousin Amy put the word out to see if anyone knew how to translate the tapes into a digital format.

Our nephew Adam came to the rescue. He’s a talented musician in Athens, Ga., and he thought he knew someone who could translate the tapes.

Adam was right – Jason Nesmith transferred the audio from the reel-to-reel tapes to a digital format, and Adam made a special trip to our mom’s house to play the audio file for her.

He couldn’t have given my mom a better gift. She heard her brother singing and his voice for the first time in decades.

We were struck by how clear and beautiful Marshall’s voice was, and all of us who watched the unveiling online were so moved as we heard this young voice singing about love and springtime.

Vincent remembered Marshall going into his room and locking the door, playing and recording music for hours. No one, however, knew what a beautiful voice he had until now.

Our family is extremely grateful to Adam and Amy for not giving up and bringing such happiness to our mom and uncles, Vincent and Bobby.

Adam uploaded the recording to YouTube, and I’ve listened to our young uncle’s clear voice so many times, happy, strong and confident. I’m so sad his dreams of singing professionally were unfulfilled.

We wish Mom’s only sister, Beverly, could’ve heard the tapes before she passed away last year.

Like Bev’s daughter, Amy, we’ve chosen to believe there’s an Eade chorus in heaven and, oh, how magnificent they must sound.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.