Hair salons and barber shops opened their doors last week, and for most, not a moment too soon.

Without the benefit of professional hair stylists for the past six weeks, most of us were showing our true colors. In my case, that hair color is not chestnut brown.

Some decided to take matters into their own hands and turn their kitchens into a beauty salon. That made me remember when my dad cut my brothers’ hair.

He’d get a stool and start with the oldest. Usually Dad had a couple of beers before he cut their hair, so he was feeling pretty confident about his abilities.

My brothers – not so much.

Dad’s hair styling consisted of three styles.

One was putting a bowl over the boys’ heads to use as a guide. They ended up looking like Moe from The Three Stooges.

His next style was to put his hand on top of their heads, hold them still and then drag the electric razor up the sides of their heads and finish it off with an attempt to get their bangs even.

His main style was to shave the sides of their heads and the tops and they’d walk away with a crooked crew cut. There was no trying to get out of the haircut – my dad wasn’t about to pay a barber for what he could do with that electric razor in the comfort of our own kitchen.

My youngest sister tried her hand at cutting our neighbor’s little girl’s hair. When they were 4 years old, my sister decided Lisa needed her bangs trimmed.

When Lisa’s mom came home, she was mortified. I remember standing back and saying “Well, for a 4-year-old, she did a good job with the scissors.”

I’ve never been brave enough to cut my own hair. Years ago, I tried a home perm. I thought I was buying a body-wave kit, but I accidentally bought a Lilt Home Permanent kit.

When I took the rollers out of my hair, I thought the curls would wash out.

I was wrong.

I washed my hair 20 times that night, used half a bottle of conditioner and still I looked like Harpo Marx.

There are success stories. Some friends decided since they were married and a team most of the time, they might as well beauty salon together.

With a cell phone set up as a camera, they showed each other giving the other a facial. Then they moved on to haircuts.

Coy and Liza did a fabulous job with the trims and facials and provided a hysterical cut-by-cut chronicle of their actions, complete with cotton balls between their toes while they toasted each success with a fresh glass of wine.

The most recent home haircut didn’t turn out quite as successful. My oldest grandson was tired of his hair always getting in his eyes. He asked his dad to trim up his hair since dad has a haircutting kit.

Chris warned James he wasn’t skillful with cutting someone else’s hair, but James felt confident his dad could at least trim his hair in the front.

Chris called later that night. The home haircut had been a disaster. Apparently, it’s not so easy to cut and trim hair as it is to shave your whole head. They found a friend who’s a hairdresser and she agreed to fix the haircut.

They socially distanced and James loved being able to see.

His father has vowed to never try and cut his sons’ hair again.

He’s off the hook for a while as, thankfully, the hair salons and barber shops are taking customers.

Businesses are reopening slowly, and we can stop pretending we’re chefs, home-school teachers and flower-power “make-love, not-war” children from the 1960s.

Although those love beads have been a lot of fun to wear around the house.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Sunday is Mother’s Day, and this year, we have a whole new column to add to the reasons why we love our mothers.

The Quarantine Parent.

Over the past few weeks, moms and dads have learned a whole new level of parenting they never dreamed existed.

Not only are we handling a disrupted reality and looming bills, there’s also the uncertainty of whether or not we’ll have jobs when this is all over. For many, the parenting job is a solitary one and those parents are doing a super-human job.

Still, there is some venting moms need to do with other moms.

“Are there ever times you don’t like your child?”

“Can I just go to the bathroom without little fingers waving at me from underneath the closed door?”

At the park or playground, we do a lot of comparing. Why is our kid the only one trying to hang from the money bars without his pants on?

Why is our kid the only one eating sand, and why is our kid the only one afraid to go down the slide?

While you’re thinking you’re a failure, a life-saving mom will come sit by you and tell you her kid still picks his nose and eats what he finds.

Moms with elementary-aged children are finding out what their child does all day long. It’s not singing and finger painting. That’s just what you see in the Friday take-home folder.

The real lessons are hard.

Kids are using iPads to create digital posters and presentations. Most of us feel like magic markers and a 20-cent poster board from the corner drug store should be more than good enough for the life cycle of a butterfly.

This major detour wasn’t in the mom handbook that’s supposedly out there, but parents are getting with the program and finding out a few important facts.

One, their child is not the angel they thought. Their child fidgets, whines, refuses to work, wants frequent Popsicle breaks and has to go to the bathroom every 10 minutes.

For moms of teens, you still badger them to get his or her work done and they tell you they’re handling everything and to stop nagging them. Then you get an email from their teacher saying they haven’t logged on to their class in two weeks.

Thanks to technology and the steep learning curve we’re now on, you know how to check their grades. You know how to see if they’ve been on the computer and, for the first time in years, you can play the “got-cha” card and win.

In the midst of the computer storm, we’ve gotten some perks.

We’ve learned to appreciate our children. We’ve been given time to really get to know our offspring.

Our squirmy 8-year-old is that way because she doesn’t understand the lesson. You now have time to talk one on one with your little one to explain the Constitution the best way you can.

Your toddler is quite the gymnast as you’ve discovered when they maneuver their way through the living room that’s littered with toys, the cat, the dog, Legos, Barbie shoes and everyone’s slippers.

Your disinterested teenager is that way because he has trouble reading. You weren’t able to catch it because he managed to hide his struggle behind video games and false reassurances.

You’ve rediscovered the joys of sitting next to your son or daughter while cooking, playing in the back yard or just talking because there’s no soccer or baseball practice, no martial arts class, no dental appointments.

And best of all? They’ve watched their parents adjust to a new reality, learn to handle their fears by not giving into them and to believe the future has to be better.

This virus has been a curse to so many of us, but there’s usually a silver lining in every situation. Getting to know your kids in a leisurely way just might be the lining we’ve been looking for.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our moms out there. Of all the years, this is the one where you really deserve that big Mom trophy.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I’m not someone who enjoys cooking. I’d much rather wash and dry the dishes, pots and pans.

But in this time of staying home, I’ve found myself looking through cookbooks and the internet for easy meals.

I told myself that this was a great time to branch out and try something different. Most of the recipes I saw included some foreign spice or ingredient I wasn’t sure how to find during my usual shopping trips.

So it was back to turning on the oven for the tried-and-true recipes of my youth.

Mostly, there’s meatloaf with mashed potatoes and corn, baked chicken with peas and macaroni and cheese and spaghetti and meatballs.

It’s hard to come close to my mom’s home cooking, but what ties me to her in the kitchen are potholders made by her mother and my grandmother.

My Siti, as we called her, had many talents, but one that still amazes me is her crocheting skills.

She crocheted afghans for most of us, and I still use them. One of my favorites is a blue, beige and white afghan she made almost 50 years ago, and it’s still in great shape, despite being washed and used every winter.

For me, her most artistic creations are the potholders she made out of crochet string. They’re circular and feature a widening circle in the middle with matching colors blending into each other. I have them in gold, purple, blue and red.

Outside of the main circle are designs that look like leaves or a six-sided star.

The backs are simpler, but they’re the same colors as the front. She inserted layers of cotton batting in the middle, and then crocheted the two circles together and formed a lacy edging.

Even wearing glasses, I have a hard time seeing the stitches as they’re so small and delicate, yet these pot holders have kept my hands from burning no matter how big the pan or pot.

I have thicker “store-bought” potholders in the drawer, but they don’t do as good a job as the ones my grandmother made all those years ago.

I use the potholders every day, and they’re showing their wear – there’s food spots on most of them, a couple have a little burn on the edge where I got it too close to the fire, and some have frayed in spots. I’ve done my best to stitch them up as soon as I notice a hole because I’d never throw any of them away.

My mom has some of the pot holders as well, but she keeps them in a drawer, wrapped in tissue paper. When I found them at her house, I asked her why she didn’t use them. She said she was afraid she’d catch them on fire or ruin them.

My sentiments are different. These potholders aren’t meant to stay hidden in a drawer no matter how beautiful they are.

They’re meant to be used because whenever I use them, I remember my grandmother.

I picture her sitting at the end of their gold couch, crochet needle in hand, moving that needle in and out of the yarn so quickly, I thought she was in double time.

I remember sitting close to her, patting the soft skin on her arm, loving the way she smelled and the warmth she gave off.

My sons reach for the same potholders when they’re here cooking, and, one day, I hope those potholders will be theirs. They will mean something to them because they saw me using them, but they also know the rich history behind these family heirlooms.

When I find myself repairing one of the frays on the potholders, I wish one of my grandchildren were sitting next to me so I could tell them the story of their great-great grandmother who wove beautiful potholders and spun mesmerizing tales of her childhood in Lebanon.

There’s not a lot to be grateful for during this pandemic, but slowing down and remembering why the things I use are important has been a blessing.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

We live in a crazy world.

People are hoarding toilet paper, not silver or gold.

The top television show isn’t something intellectual – it’s a series about an egomaniac who breeds big cats, has three husbands and is in jail on a murder-for-hire judgment.

The president of the United States gets into verbal bashings with members of the press who go on to bash him and we’re headed into a world-wide recession.

It’s easy to lose hope, and that’s what I was feeling.

Until I saw what two young men are doing to make the world a better place through a servant’s heart.

These two young men are my nephews, Jason Hebert and Randall McGarry.

Jason is the manager for a number of Waffle Houses in Louisiana and became concerned when stores started closing their doors.

He and a friend put together a program “Waffle House Adopt a Meal” that serves a free breakfast to those on the front lines – first responders, government officials and other essential workers.

With his sister, Tara, handling the media blitz, including social media and television, the drive has been extremely successful.

Jason’s reason for pushing the program is simple. He has a purpose.

“I’m doing my part of being part of a bigger picture,” he said. “It makes me feel good to give back.”

In Richmond, Va., Randall is the manager at a local restaurant and became concerned when the coronavirus started shuttering eateries. Restaurant servers and wait staff are notoriously underpaid, and many live paycheck to paycheck.

Randall and three friends organized an online fund, “Support Richmond Restaurant Workers” with money going directly to restaurant workers who need money to make ends meet.

Not only that, the friends are working to establish a union to have employers provide better working conditions for servers, including equitable pay and improved benefits.

To say our family is proud of these young men is an understatement. Giving back to the community is a commitment that runs deep in our family and that’s done without ever asking for publicity or thanks.

Great-grandfather Herbie Hebert ran a newspaper in Vidor and was a huge supporter of unions.

When he died prematurely, the church overflowed into the parking lot with working-class people who believed Herbie to be their hero.

On my mom’s side, great-grandfather Henry Eade was an immigrant who came to this country with only the money in his pocket and big dreams.

He made a solid living for his family and served on the school board. Although dangerous, he established and funded a clinic in his hometown back in Lebanon for both Muslims and Christians.

Randall’s father has volunteered with the Kiwanis Club in Martinsville, Va., is a years-long volunteer with the Boy Scouts of America and is currently a judge in Martinsville when he’s not volunteering in his church parish.

Jason’s dad regularly goes to Central America to provide free dental care for locals and has provided free dental care to prisoners. He’s also a decades-long religious education teacher.

Our mom volunteered at the local hospital in her 70’s and 80s, and my sister volunteered on the Child Advocates’ board, CASA, for years in her hometown and served on the United Way board.

Youngest sister is a church youth leader and catechist and volunteers with the community storehouse board that provides food and backpacks for school-age children.

Our brothers have taught religious education for years, worked with prison ministries and were working with the governor’s wife on a prison-education program in Louisiana.

The in-laws donate their talents by coordinating events and supplies with their spouses, including providing meals for school kids, a parish program to prevent child abuse and neglect and help with online support groups for kids, animals and those with chronic illnesses. One has sewn and donated hundreds of face masks in the past two weeks.

Our cousins volunteer in schools, civic groups and in their cities.

Service to community is how they live their lives, and that generosity is sprinkled with laughter and a reluctance to stand in the limelight.

Whenever I see the madness and sorrow in the world, all I have to do is look at this wonderfully endearing family that quietly serves to know I’m as incredibly blessed as the communities where they live.

Our grandfathers would be quite proud.

 

    This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

My son gave me a fabulous Christmas gift – a gift certificate to get my vehicle detailed at the local car wash.

The weeks after Christmas were too cold and we had company, so I didn’t make it to the car wash place. One late afternoon, I went, but they didn’t have enough workers there to fulfill the intent of the certificate.

So I left, saying I’d be back.

January turned extremely busy, February even busier, and my car got dirtier and dirtier.

“As long as I can see out the back window, I’ll be fine,” I told myself.

Spring break was looming, and I thought I’d be able to take my vehicle to the car wash.

And then the coronavirus scare hit.

Getting prepared for a shutdown and helping out with the grandkids trumped getting my vehicle washed, and then businesses shut their doors.

This week, I couldn’t stand the grime any longer and dragged out the hose, water bucket and sponges.

It’s been a while since I’ve washed my own vehicle. I told myself I was doing my part for the economy by supporting a local business.

But now it was time to stop waiting for the quarantine to pass and wash my car myself.

I filled a bucket with soapy water, dipped an oversized washcloth in the suds and started on the hood.

It took a bit of time to scrape the love bugs off. As I scrubbed, I realized love bug season was months ago. Had it really been that long since I’d washed my car?

Apparently so.

I’d forgotten the license plate was white with black letters – it had been dirty for so long, I thought the license was gray – and what a pain the hubcaps were to clean.

I gave the outside a thorough scrubbing, stopping twice to change the water. With sweat pouring down my face, I stepped back, expecting to see a gleaming vehicle.

The car looked like it had stripes of dirt.

Apparently I was rusty when it came to washing cars.

So I went back over the exterior twice and was finally satisfied I’d gotten most of the grime off.

Then it was time for the interior.

I took inventory.

Toys and books were strewn all over the floor mats, in addition to empty juice packets and Legos stashed underneath the seats.

There was mud on the backs of every seat and door, on the carpet and even on the seat belts.

In addition, the youngest grandchild had opened a box of M&M’s so there was melted chocolate in the seat and even down in the seat-belt holder.

I pretended not to see that.

Underneath the seat, I raked out a pile of candy and fast-food wrappers. I was okay with that until I realized the candy wrappers were from Christmas. Had it really been that long since I’d cleaned out my car?

And that’s only the mess the youngsters left. I had my own fair share of fast-food wrappers, CDs, gum wrappers, letters and gas receipts stuffed in the shelf underneath the dashboard.

The trash filled a garbage bag, and the toys filled another one.

A half hour later, I stopped vacuuming because I was worried the motor was going to overheat.

It took another hour and half a bottle of Windex to clean the seats, windows and dashboard.

When I finished, my car looked like it had just come off the show room floor, well except for those dings on the side of the car I put there banging the door against the wheelbarrow in the garage, the dent from parking too close to a trailer and the missing paint, courtesy of the love bugs.

That car’s been in the garage for a week now. I told myself it’s because I don’t have any business going anywhere during the coronavirus quarantine.

The reality is — I don’t have the heart to take that car anywhere and dirty it up again.

I think I’ll wait for the car wash to reopen and tell myself I’m helping support local business.

Maybe they’ll have more luck with the love bug carcasses than I did.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

About a year ago, I bought a scanner capable of scanning in documents for electronic sharing.

I had high hopes of scanning in family pictures I’ve been taking for decades and posting them in our family Facebook page.

Something always came up to keep me from the scanner – appointments, work, family obligations.

But every few weeks, I’d glance over at that unopened box, feel guilty and tell myself that I’d get around to scanning in all the pictures no one remembered I’d taken.

Until this week when social distancing became a familiar phrase in the world’s vocabulary.

That’s when I noticed the scanner box.

Excuse time was over. I had nothing to do for the foreseeable future, so it was time to put my money where my scanner was and get busy.

I dragged a chair from the dining room into my office, put the scanner on the seat and plugged it in.

After months of sitting in the box, I wasn’t sure the scanner would work, but the lights came on and the “ready” light flashed.

Then I went searching for all the photo albums we have.  I’d forgotten how many pictures I had until I started flipping through a few albums.

I had pictures from Easter, Christmas and backyard celebrations going back over 35 years. Page after page of family memories were right in front of me.

With each photo, my mind replayed what was going on – the laughter, the sound of the basketball hitting the concrete in the never-ending game in my parents’ driveway and the laughter of children from holiday to holiday.

My parents on their wedding day, full of hope and promise and no clue they’d have seven children and three times as many grandchildren.

There was my dad, full of life and laughter as he rode his grandchildren around the yard on his three-wheeler. He made them feel like they were riding the wind, and I never knew who had more fun, him or them.

There was my mom with a welcoming smile on her face in almost every picture. Her hair went from black to gray to snow white, but her beautiful smile never faltered.

There were dozens of pictures of my boys at playgrounds, splashing in water puddles in the driveway, eating ice-cream cones and playing in kiddie pools.

I’d forgotten my two youngest wore Batman capes everywhere we went, but I was reminded of those days when I saw the pictures of them complete with their capes and boots.

There were pictures of them filling Easter baskets with candy and dressing up for the annual Christmas play with their cousins.

I needed to share these feelings, so I started scanning in the pictures and got into a rhythm of scanning, saving and then posting to our family Facebook page.

Almost immediately, the comments started rolling in.

“Oh I remember that day!”

“Geez, they were so little!”

“Why didn’t anybody tell me my hair looked awful!”

What really surprised me was the reaction of my now-grown nieces and nephews. They remembered minute details from their childhood, and they said the pictures brought back those memories in vivid detail.

If you have photos on your cell phone, download them, save them and then share with your family.

If you have photo albums, get them out and take a leisurely trip down memory lane during this time when you’re home socially isolating.

You’re not alone when you’ve got those pictures in front of you for they’ll connect you with the people you love and the moments that made life special.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

In response to the Covid-19 pandemic, Fort Bend County is now under a “stay-home-to-save-lives” order.

To remain healthy, we need to remain home, stay away from crowds, avoid social contact with others and wait until the contagion period has passed.

I can handle this.

For months, I’ve told myself if I ever get the time, there’s a long list of things around the house I want to do. Now I’m forced to stay at home, so it’s time to get busy and start in on the list.

First of all, I have to find the list.

I think it’s underneath the stack of unread magazines and unopened mail next to my computer. Since they go back two years, it’s a good shot the list is buried in there somewhere.

I sit down to go through everything, and find myself paging through an Oprah magazine, wondering how her designers can get a room to look that put together.

“Get to work,” the little voice in my head whispers. It’s right – forget the list. I can look around to see what needs to get done.

But where to start. There’s something to be tackled in almost every room, so I decide to start in the kitchen.

Too overwhelming.

So I elect to start in our bathroom and choose the top drawer under my sink. There’s prescription bottles in here dating back three years.

Better find out how to safely dispose of those, I think. I head to the computer, but that nagging voice tells me to stay put and finish one job before I start another one.

So I keep going through the drawer, making stacks. Here’s one for all the little soaps I’ve picked up in our travels.

I’ve thought about throwing those away, but if we’re going to be short on toilet paper because of the coronavirus, then I’d better hoard those.

Same with the trial sizes of shampoo and toothpaste I’ve been stockpiling in that drawer. And the three half-empty jars of Vicks VapoRub come in handy when I’ve got a stopped-up nose or a visiting grandchild has a pesky cough.

I probably don’t need all these loose Q-tips and cotton balls, but with this virus and the shelter in place, I’d better keep them.

An hour later, I end up keeping everything that was in the drawer. But at least there’s some order to the stuff.

Feeling accomplished, I figure it’s time for a much-needed break. I grab a couple of Oreo cookies and sit down to take a quick look at the news.

It’s depressing and devastating.

So I decide to take on something manageable – organize the T-shirts in my closet.

I take them all off the shelf, thinking they’d look nice organized by color. All the white shirts to the left and the rest to the right. That doesn’t quite work because most of my T-shirts are white.

Stacking the T-shirts on the shelf in a variety of colors looks better. At least, that’s the rationalization I use before starting in on organizing my shoes.

But first, it’s time for a break.

I surf through YouTube for an hour, avoiding all news about the coronavirus, until I remember I’m supposed to be organizing my shoes.

I find the shoes are somewhat orderly.

Most of them are matched up, even the ones with the worn-down heels and the ones I never wear any more. I can probably skip this job.

“Slacker” whispers the voice inside my head.

With all the bad things happening in the world, having organized T-shirts and shoes should be the very last thing on my to-do list.

Congratulating myself for following the law of the land, I sit down at the computer to see what everyone’s posting on Facebook.

If we all do our part, we just might come through this pandemic a stronger nation.

“If you keep eating all those Oreos, you’ll come out a much rounder citizen,” the voice tells me.

“Yeah, but I’ll be a much happier staying-home-to-save-lives citizen,” I reply.

I wonder if there’s any chocolate-chip cookies in the pantry…

 

        This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

It’s the last day of spring break, and we just found out the schools are going to be closed for the next week.

My husband and I volunteered to take care of our five grandchildren since their parents are still working outside the home.

The grandkids come to visit often, so we’re familiar with their routines. We also reared three boys, five guinea pigs, two hamsters, a cat and a couple of dogs.

How hard can taking care of our beloved grandkids be?

Day 1:  The kids arrived at 7 a.m., ready to start playing, excited about being out of school an extra week.

As the day wears on, the news isn’t looking good about school returning next week. In fact, it looks like a lot of businesses and establishments are going to be shutting down.

News flash – there are rumors that school could be closed an additional week. No problem. Parents have created elaborate online schedules to keep their children on task, and they look easy to copy.

I’m a list maker. I should be able to come up with something for the next few days.

News flash – school’s out until Easter.

Kids celebrate.

I scramble for a game plan.

Day 2:  I have a plan. We’ll get up with smiles on our faces, have a delicious and nutritious breakfast and then spend 45 minutes reading.

Then it’s play time, a hearty lunch and they’ll quietly complete worksheets for another hour. After that, all the happy children will go outside to play.

The plan is a moot point about 10 a.m.

We had a pretty good breakfast if a pound of bacon and a half pound of powdered sugar on french toast is considered nutritious.

When it was time to read, somehow I was the one reading all the books while the kids curled up on the couch all around me.

I’ll admit, it was heavenly even though the 45 planned minutes were over in 20. I suppose I’m a fast reader but we did cover six books in that amount of time.

News flash – people might be forced to shelter in place.

My husband braves the grocery store and comes back with everything we need. In the meantime, I thought the children could straighten up their rooms.

That was pie-in-the-sky thinking. Instead of cleaning up their toys, I let them swim while I obsessed over grim Covid-19 news.

Lunch was Spaghetti-O’s and chicken noodle soup. Snacks were all the Doritos in the pantry and a few oranges thrown in to ease my conscience.

I did manage to get some worksheets printed out. The hour of after-lunch learning was over in 4 minutes and 29 seconds, and then it was time to eat again.

Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs, snacks were the crumbs from the Doritos bags, two bags of cookies and an apple with Nutella on it.

Hey, that’s somewhat healthy.

Day 3:  I don’t think I remembered to brush my teeth last night or this morning.

I don’t remember taking a shower last night either.

It’s hard to be sure since I slept in my clothes, falling asleep on my way from the laundry room where I just finished folding the 10^th load of clothes for the day.

Day 4:  Or is it Day 5? Maybe it’s the weekend.

Wait, it’s only Day 4 and there’s almost 30 more to go?

We’re gonna need a lot more Doritos and Spaghetti-O’s to get through this.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I saw a tired woman in the grocery store doing her best to get her children to behave.

The kids were a bit rambunctious, giggling and chasing each other, and mom was unsuccessful in getting them to quiet down.

My first reaction was judgmental – that woman should either learn how to control those kids or leave them home.

My second reaction was shame. Has it really been that long since I was in her shoes and have I forgotten what it’s like to be overwhelmed and exhausted.

The answer is obviously yes.

Our son just moved into a house he’s been building for two years.  His previous home burned to the ground, and he lost everything. He’s been working shut downs and saving every penny to build a house for him and his children.

He moved in a couple of weeks ago and he’s slowly but surely furnishing the house. He let his children pick out the beds they wanted, and he posted a picture of their bedrooms on a family site.

My first reaction was pride – he’d accomplished what he set out to do after life dealt him a hard blow.

My second reaction was – why didn’t he make the beds before he posted the pictures.

My third reaction – shame on me.

This single dad is doing everything himself, from putting furniture together to cooking to making sure his children are safe and fed and I was worried about whether or not the beds were made for photos.

Many of us make snap judgments about what others are doing based on a single snapshot of their day.

The people in front of me in the grocery store line in the middle of the day using food stamps initially made me wonder why they weren’t working like other people.

Then I looked a little closer at what they were buying – formula and off-brand diapers. Perhaps that young mother was doing her best while trying to rear an infant, but my first judgmental reaction was “get a job.”

I see able-bodied people parking in handicapped spots, and I can feel my shackles rise because I have friends who need to park closer due to age or an illness. Here’s someone who seems to have it all together taking that spot.

Then I remember friends who have anxiety attacks and need to get out of a stressful situation in a hurry. There are autistic children and adults who have melt downs – not because they want them but because they can’t help it, and they need a close and safe escape route.

I remember the times I forgot my checkbook or my wallet at the grocery store. People behind would sigh loudly and angrily move to another line while I stood there embarrassed.

I remember changing lanes without checking properly because I was distracted, worried about a family member. Usually the person I’d almost smacked into would lay on the horn and scream obscenities at me.

As a young mom, one of my toddlers would throw a hissy fit in the store, and most people would back away with a glad-that’s-not-me look on their face.

But there would always be one person who’d smile and quietly whisper they’d been in my shoes plenty of times.

I need to be that person.

I need to be the person who reassures, not the one who steps in as the judge, jury and hangman.

Please, Lord, let me be that person.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

No bottled water.

No Germ-X.

No chicken-noodle soup.

That’s what I found in the three grocery stores I visited this week. The reason – the scare about the coronavirus, abbreviated to COVID-19 by the Center for Disease Control.

There’s now a confirmed case in Fort Bend County, and the simmering panic we’ve been reading about will probably blow into a full-blown fire right here in our own back yards.

We’ve been through viruses before. There was the SARS outbreak a few years ago that caused shortages in grocery stores, even though the flu – which has been around for centuries – historically affects thousands more than any virus so far.

But we panicked, clearing out grocery store shelves in case we were quarantined.

There was the Bird Flu, SARS, MRSA, the Swine Flu and the H1N1 virus.

This past summer, people stayed away from Texas beaches because we heard the waters were polluted with flesh-eating bacteria.

When it comes to the beach, I’m not easily scared.

We visited Gulf Shores, Ala. after the British Petroleum oil spill, and the waters looked the same as they did for the past 10 years. The only difference was I was the only soul on the beach except for the occasional person coming by in a haz-mat suit.

According to abcnews.go.com, we’ve worried about cell phones giving us brain cancer, getting a letter in the mail with anthrax bacteria and trans-fats in our food. We shouldn’t eat fish because of the high mercury levels, and vegetables are loaded with dirt and bacteria.

When a hurricane or bad storm’s coming, the weather folks go into overdrive, and people panic. Stores shelves are bare, there’s long lines at the gas stations and you can’t find a generator for hundreds of miles.

It’s good to be prepared for emergencies, but are we overreacting?

This week, I went to the store for a replacement bottle of hand sanitizer. I got a little spooked when the third store I visited had bare shelves. I looked online at Amazon, and the bottle of sanitizer that was $4 in the store a month ago was $50 online.

That’s what panic will do to us.

National Public Radio is practically dragging out the air horns and emergency broadcasting signal to tell us the sky is falling and we’re all doomed. Oh, I’m sorry, they say that every time a Republican’s in the White House.

On the other hand, what if we really do need to be prepared and COVID-19 could wreak havoc on the operation of the world?

If we quarantine workers, forget getting fuel at the gas pumps, groceries or pharmaceuticals. Stores will close until the emergency passes, and people who stocked up on bottled water and Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee canned spaghetti will be sitting pretty.

All of us who shrugged off the warnings will feel ignorant for not paying attention sooner.

So I find myself in the middle of the debate.

I’m angry at the media for causing public panic with phrases like “I’m not going to use the word pandemic, but we should be worried.” Announcer – you just used the word pandemic and raised the anxiety levels of every listener about 20 points.

I’m angry at people for not washing their hands throughout the day, coming to work with a cough and cold and for not examining every piece of news with a skeptical and informed eye and believing every bit of exaggerated news they hear.

But then I find myself in the grocery store at 6:30 a.m. with a dozen other shoppers. We’re all filling our carts with toilet paper, cans of beef stew and the biggest jar of peanut butter we can afford.

Here’s the best advice I’ve heard and read:  Wash your hands. Stay home if you’re sick. Wipe down door knobs and light switches with Lysol and, whether it’s the COVID-19 virus or a shortage of toilet paper, keep your wits about you.

Get the facts.

Make informed decisions.

And don’t panic.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.