Local News – Page 4 – All It Takes Is A Little Love

The Little House

Published on April 13, 2017April 7, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

2012114-collations-cottageLBL Last week we had some of the most beautiful weather that I have experienced in a great while. The air was cool and crisp, and the sky was a brilliant blue with the sun shining so brightly that it brought a smile to my face. I happened to be tutoring at a high school back in the old neighborhood where I grew up and I suddenly felt a sense of deja vu. The conditions reminded me of the days when I was young and my whole life lay before me. Suddenly I had an urge to drive to my former home just to see how it was doing on such a glorious day. Somehow I imagined that it might have been transformed from its rundown state by the sheer wonder of spring just as the formerly barren trees that were now filled with green had been with the bloom of spring in the air. My thoughts of returning to the center of my youth faded as quickly as the silly idea that my mama might be waiting for me there. Instead I headed for my present home in the opposite direction.

Perhaps my mother had been looking out for my welfare after all. I later learned that a Houston Police SWAT team had been engaged in a four hour standoff at Belmark and Crosswell just down the street from where I once lived. It seems that one of the residents had taken to shooting his gun anytime that he wished and on this particular day one of the bullets had found its way inside the home of a neighbor who decided it was time to report the inconsiderate resident to the police. The rest as they say is history.

After hearing of the latest difficulty in the area I was reminded of the need to be vigilant when I drive over there for my sessions with students. The loveliness of the trees and the sounds of the birds had lulled me into believing that all was well in a part of town now known more for its toughness than the pastoral feel that it once had. I should have been warned by the burglar bars on the windows and doors of the nearby houses, but somehow in my daydreamy state I had forgotten that things had changed so much.

I thought of a book that had been one of my very favorites when I was no more than five or six years old. It was about a delightful little house that stood in the middle of a country field and belonged to a big happy family. Initially life for the house was grand but as time passed its paint began to fade and peel. As it aged so did the area around it. More and more buildings popped up here and there until one day the little house was surrounded by skyscrapers and tenements. It was only a shell of itself, an abandoned heap of broken glass and rotting wood that had once been so loved. Because the book was a story for children it naturally had a happy ending as someone purchased the tiny place, renovated it, and moved it to a hill filled with wildflowers and lovely shade trees. The little house was smiling once again.

Sadly the real world if far less like that story. I often envision a time when my old neighborhood will be rediscovered by people willing to return it to its one time glory. So many of the folks who now live there appear to be trying hard to make it a good place for their families, but as long as there are those who seem not to care about the rights and the safety of their neighbors it remains a dangerous place to be. I suspect that when the sun sets and the streets get dark there is much fear inside the walls of the houses surrounded by high fences that sometimes sport concertina wire as an added way to keep out marauders. Given that most of us at one time slept in the same structures with our windows wide open at night, it is difficult to imagine having to live with the worries that must surely plague the good people who want to provide a nice family atmosphere for their children.

The signs are all there that caring people inhabit the neighborhood. There are still lovely roses growing in many of the yards and fresh coats of colorful paint brighten the exteriors. Sadly here and there are the marks of neglect, eyesores that clash with the efforts of the vast majority of residents and everywhere there are the barriers erected in an attempt to keep intruders at bay.

Schools like the one where I tutor are doing their best to bring a light of hope to the people who live nearby, but their hard work is too often offset by stories like the SWAT standoff just down the street. On the same day as that horrendous event there was also a news item about a teacher at the local middle school who had impregnated a thirteen year old girl. Little wonder that so many of the people who live where I once found so much innocent adventure and security feel as though they are forgotten.

I’d like to believe that the work being done inside places like the school where I help young people is the key to changing the fate of those who live in less than ideal circumstances. Education will surely make a difference. The men and women who toil each day at Cristo Rey are providing hope one student, one family at a time. Many of the youngsters that they teach will be the first to graduate from high school and then continue on to college. The knowledge that the students acquire will most surely bring them the power to take control of their destinies.

The criminal element is everywhere, all over the world. Seeing evil is an inevitable part of life, but being continually victimized by it is not. I still harbor dreams that we humans have the capability of reviving even dilapidated neighborhoods into vital and inviting centers for living well. The spirit of hope is still evident in my old stomping grounds. Most of the people there really care and want to eliminate the hopelessness that sometimes overtakes them when they see the gangs and the drug deals just outside their doors.

After the SWAT team had subdued the trouble maker who lived on the street where I once did a newscaster interviewed an old man who voiced my own thoughts. He proclaimed that his was a nice neighborhood with good people who just wanted to feel safe. He hoped that the man who had been stealing their security would go away for a very long time so that they might live in peace. Even though I no longer live on Belmark Street like that man, I felt a kinship with him and I too would like to think that things will get a bit better for the folks who might have been my neighbors had I stayed. Today is a beautiful day and tomorrow should be quite fine as well. I pray that the sunshine will bring a ray of hope to Belmark Street and all of the places where darkness sometimes descends and that there will be better days just like there were for the little house in the story that I read so long ago.

The Colony

Published on March 7, 2017March 4, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

historic-colony-map-sm My husband still owns a house that his grandfather built in Houston in the nineteen thirties. It is on a tract of land that was part of the original Stephen F. Austin Colony that was deeded to Mike’s family before Texas won its independence from Mexico. The Sharman family traveled to Texas from Georgia in the hopes of starting a new life after experiencing hard times in a south dominated by large landowners. The parcel that they purchased lies just north of what is now downtown Houston and is bordered by Interstate 45 and Cavalcade Road.

When the Sharman’s first came it was wooded and undeveloped. They built a homestead and did some farming, never thinking that one day their place would be located in the fourth largest city in the United States and the second fastest growing metropolitan area. At the time that they arrived Mexico was hoping to develop the large swath of land to the north that was mostly wild and barren. They made a deal with groups like the one to which Austin belonged to provide low cost grants to anyone willing to settle down and develop the land. The Sharman family was willing to risk everything for a new start.

They used to own an area that included the place where the freeway now sits but that was taken by the state when it was deemed to be a good route for a major highway linking Houston to parts north. Mike recalls playing in the woods that lead down to the bayou when he was a young boy but that was before there was a concrete ribbon obscuring the once pastoral view. Later he rode his bicycle on the unfinished ramps while I-45 was being constructed. Sadly the finished roadway changed the feel of the neighborhood forever.

I often laugh whenever I read articles about that part of Houston. Nobody seems to realize the real history of the area. They speak of developments that happened long after my husband’s clan arrived in a time before there was even a Republic of Texas. Over the years much of the property has changed hands but Mike, his grandfather and his mother have kept the family legacy intact against all odds. In fact it was not until the nineteen eighties that one of them did not actually live on the land that has so much historical significance.

My mother-in-law was quite proud of the fact that her ancestors had been among the first settlers in what would eventually become the state of Texas and the city of Houston. She had so many stories of what life had been like for the pioneers. Those tales were handed down to her from her own grandmother who even told of her dealings with the native Americans who lived nearby as neighbors. We still have photos of family members standing in front of log cabins looking like visitors from the wild west. They worked hard and somehow overcame diseases, floods and many obstacles that might have driven away lesser souls. In many ways my mother-in-law became the unofficial historian of their trials and tribulations, a task that she enjoyed enormously. She loved being a Daughter of the Republic of Texas and kept up a membership for her grand daughters as well.

Her father’s home was built shortly after she was born. It is a quaint looking cottage that speaks of a simpler time. It was so well constructed that it will probably last for many more decades. Some of the nearby homes are even older and were the living quarters of her grandmothers, aunts and uncles. It was really a family compound where everyone contributed to the well being of everyone else. Being the only girl back then made my mother-in-law the center of attention and while she was quite spoiled by her adoring relatives, their love made her into a strong, generous and confident woman.

I would have enjoyed meeting her kin but they had all died by the time that I came into the picture. They were a tough lot, particularly the ladies. The Houston area was a harsh environment back then with outbreaks of yellow fever being commonplace due to the rainy weather and swarms of mosquitoes. Somehow the clan tended to stay quite healthy and live long lives in spite of the less than inviting conditions that they had to endure.

The part of north Houston where the family land still lies became downtrodden over time and my mother-in-law eventually moved after she inherited an uncle’s house in the Heights which is a gentrified area that is home to artisans and professionals. It felt safer there than in the home that had always been her residence. Lately however her childhood neighborhood is slowly but surely being beautified once again. It even has a new name that would undoubtedly horrify my mother-in-law with its ordinariness, Northside Village.

A Metro rail line runs only a block or so away from the property and its construction has prompted new interest in a part of town that lies only minutes away from the central business district. There are nearby lots selling for millions of dollars and tiny nineteen twenties houses are inching up in price. For now nothing particularly exciting is happening on the old Sharman tract but there are those who insist that it will one day become high dollar real estate.

I love the house that my husband’s grandfather built and always have. I can almost see myself living there with only a few updates to make it more amenable to twenty first century living. It is almost like a dollhouse in its design and even better in the love and care that went into building it. Right now there is still a great deal of crime in the area and the future of the street is uncertain. It’s difficult to know if it will become yet another rediscovered jewel or be ignored as it has been for the last couple of decades.

My daughter and I dream of rebuilding a kind of family village there. She wants to use some of the land to create a modern home for herself and I would be content with staying next door in the older house. We imagine the two of us riding the rails to shop in downtown or to visit the Medical Center. We think of buying our produce in the open air of the nearby farmer’s market or enjoying the of view of the skyscrapers that loom on the horizon. We envision a rebirth of the place with my mother-in-law serving as our guardian angel. We both know just how much she treasured the legacy that belonged to her and now is owned by her descendants. From the time that I met her she dreamed of the day when her homestead would be loved once again. She died without witnessing a renaissance but insisted that it was near. I’d love to see that happen before I too am gone. There would be something quite special about returning to the land that made her ancestors so very proud. We modern folk are so prone to throwing out the old in favor of the new. How grand it would be to find value in a place that has meant so much to generations of Texans who so proudly called themselves Houstonians.

Meh?

Published on January 19, 2017January 18, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

winter-day The twinkly lights are gone. The tinsel is packed away in the attic. It’s that time of year when the year stretches alarmingly in front of us with more work on our schedules than entertainment. We’ve made resolutions to avoid all of those yummy but unhealthy foods that we secretly love so much and find ourselves munching on raw carrot sticks and celery. The days tend to be dark and dreary with winter storms popping up again and again. Here in my hometown a series of training storms dumped several inches of rain yesterday leaving roads flooded and impassible in many parts of the city. The memories of the recent holiday seem to be in the very distant past rather than just a couple of weeks ago. It’s back to the routine with a vengeance and for some of us it’s the time of year when we have the most difficult time being enthusiastic.

We have taxes to pay and have to face those bills that we accumulated over the holidays. We get notices that our heath insurance premiums will rise once again. We wonder if we will even have health insurance with all of the arguing in Washington D.C. We hear of layoffs in businesses near us and watch the price of gasoline rising again. Some of us look forward to the inauguration of a new president with the same level of excitement that we would feel in undergoing a root canal. We dream of hibernating like a bear until the sun returns in April. Even better are thoughts of escaping to a tropical paradise.

In the schools so many teachers are noticing that their students have seemingly shut down. They arrive unprepared and listless. Their grades are tumbling and they appear to not even care. Motivating them is sometimes a Herculean task. Frustration abounds.

What is it that causes us to become so lethargic and sometimes even depressed each year as January rolls around? Only days after making all of those noble promises to be better so many of us lose interest. It feels as though we are in our sophomore year of high school once again. The best part of the year feels so far away and seemingly endless piles of work loom ahead. Why is it so ingrained in our natures to hit the doldrums in the grey days of winter?

We’ve all heard about people who become so despondent in January that they are said to have SAD disease, seasonal affective disorder. It is the tendency of some individuals to suffer with deep feelings of melancholy at the same time each year. Notably there appear to be more cases of SAD disease when the days are short. It is often linked to a surfeit of sunshine and one of the recommended treatments is to spend time under lighting that mimics the rays of the sun. Somehow this therapy actually works in many cases because we need a certain amount of daylight to feel balanced. As with almost anything, some of us need more than others.

I suspect that most of us experience particular days or times when we don’t feel as energetic and enthusiastic as normal. We feel a certain sense of dread when we face tasks that appear to be almost insurmountable. We have a difficult time envisioning how to break down our demands into doable chunks. We are often overly doubtful about our abilities to maintain the strict routines that we need to ultimately lead to successful conclusions. When the days are long and we have opportunities to end our work days with rewarding relaxation in the sun, we feel a bit better about our responsibilities. When our days begin and end in the dark it is less likely that we will be able to shake the feeling that life is filled with drudgery. We get low and just want to crawl under our blankets and wait out the long winter months.

The trick to finding the happiness that we seek is to keep moving forward, one step at a time. Each of us has more power within ourselves than we have the capacity to imagine. We just have to push ourselves enough to free the talents that are always there. We also need to accept that true achievement is rarely easy.

I saw a news item about a young man who was born with no arms or legs. He has pushed himself to overcome his disabilities from the time that he was a young child. In the process he has mastered a number of athletic skills. He runs with prosthetics. He learned to use the stubs that should have been his hands to type and catch and throw. The one thing that he most wanted to do was climb a mountain. It at first seemed to be an impossible goal but with the help of skilled adventurers who had reached the summit of many a peak he began to practice moving over rugged rocks. He had to literally crawl using the four stumps of his appendages. He wore specially designed leather covers to keep from tearing his skin as he slowly pulled himself along. Because of his disabilities it took him four or five times longer to cover the same ground as his fellow climbers. Even with the protective gear that he wore his skin became raw and excruciatingly painful. For many it seemed as though he was embarking on a hopeless task that was far too dangerous to even try but he was insistent that he only needed to concentrate on making one small bit of progress at a time. With a will of steel he not only made it once but has now climbed multiple mountains and has no intention of stopping. Instead of drowning himself in sorrow and regret he has constantly pushed himself to accomplish his dreams by realizing that all that it really takes is a willingness to face each day with a spirit of can do optimism, rather than wasting time worrying about what he lacks.

My husband’s famous words to our family have always been, “Stick with the plan.” That doesn’t mean that there will not be delays or that our routes will never change direction. It simply implies that we need not give up in frustration when things get really tough. Realistically we can all expect to have some days when our energy wanes and we just don’t have the oomph that we need. There is nothing wrong with giving ourselves a mental health vacation now and again. Sometimes that may take the form of sleeping in and staying in our pajamas all day long. The important thing is to get back on the path again and follow our individual yellow brick roads. Happiness really is to be found inside ourselves and nothing makes us feel better than overcoming our fears and realizing that we are capable of far more than we had imagined.

We’ve all experienced the elation of a wonderful moment when we manage to tame the voices inside our heads that hold us back. For me it was connecting a bat to a baseball and watching it soar over an open field. I have known that feeling of elation when I managed to bring true understanding to a struggling student. Getting to the end of a difficult road is as wonderful as the merriment of Christmas. As we begin our journeys anew each January we need to remind ourselves that it will be spring before we even know it so there is nothing to frown about in the dreary days of winter. Instead, embrace the moment. Enjoy the diversity of the year and never forget that there will always be fellow travelers to help us as we crawl along. We’ve all got this no matter how difficult it may seem, so don’t grumble with a “Meh,” just smile.

Escape the Island

Published on December 28, 2016December 31, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

b82b872f6e7410e609a4cf12456bcdfe At first we were just taking a leisurely stroll down memory lane in the once famous Balinese Room in Galveston. There was time for some world class entertainment and a little drink from the bar. We wondered if it was true that the margarita was invented here. Then we found our way into the back room where the high rollers gathered and the gambling was king. They were all there, Frank, Dean, Sammy, Peter, the members of the Rat Pack. Before long our fun had turned to panic. Suddenly we had to get out. Playing the slots for money was illegal after all. The Texas Rangers would soon rush into the room to round up those of us who were flaunting the law. The clock was ticking. We became desperate to escape. We knew that all of us would have to work together to save our collective skins. We wondered if we would be able to escape in time to avert certain danger.

Of course, the Balinese Room no longer exists. The famed nightclub that was a magnet for the rich and famous back in the thirties and forties played out its final hand when Hurricane Ike blasted it from its moorings in 2008, leaving nothing but flotsam and jetsam in its wake. We were instead inside a brand new attraction that opened its doors just before Christmas in the historic Galveston Island Strand area. Escape the Island is a fun-filled brain teasing challenge that features two escape rooms based on Galveston’s colorful history.

For those who are unfamiliar with the newest craze, an escape room is a real time game in which participants must gather clues hidden all around the area so that they may work their way out of rooms within a particular time limit. It requires out of the box thinking, observational skills and teamwork to beat the clock. Everyone contributes to the process with the variety of skills and background that they bring. It is fast paced and demanding but great fun when the “aha” moments that lead to progress prove to be correct. Both the trivia buff and the academic have an opportunity to shine forth. Children and adults alike bring important abilities into the mix.

Escape the Island is located at 910 21st Street in Galveston, Texas just blocks away from The Strand. It features two escape rooms, the Balinese Room and one dedicated to Jean Lafitte. Both supply great fun and adventure even on cold and rainy days. For those who love to explore Galveston Island and spend time getting to know all of its nooks and crannies Escape the Island will surely become the newest must visit attraction. We took our family there on the day after Christmas and the youngest members enjoyed the challenge as much as those of us who are supposed to be older and wiser. We combined our afternoon outing with a stop at one of the many restaurants that are only a short walk away from the Escape the Island location and all agreed that it was a great way to enjoy unique entertainment in the always welcoming atmosphere of Galveston Island.

I suspect that once the public begins to hear about Escape the Island it will become a must see destination for family outings, date nights, parties, corporate team building, church groups and the like. I have attended planning conferences in Galveston in the past and I can imagine taking similar groups to Escape the Island as part of the effort to jump start the team into thinking about alternatives and building camaraderie. As a former teacher I see Escape the Island as a great vehicle for engaging students in the kind of brain activities that teach them how to become critical thinkers. They will absolutely become totally involved in the process of the game and won’t even realize how much they are learning.

The owners of Escape the Island plan to change the themes and puzzles in the rooms regularly to keep their visitors coming back for more. They are filled with enthusiasm, creativity and ideas designed to keep the visitors guessing. This is only the beginning of what is sure to be a fun way to spend an afternoon or an evening any time of the year.

For more information just call 409-443-5092 or visit the Escape the Island website at www.escapetheisland.com where you can book your appointment. The cost is $30.00 a person but if you bring a group of six or more people like we did there is a discount of $5.00 per person. The owners are willing to talk about other special deals for larger groups like businesses, schools or churches so just give them a call to make your plans. I can guarantee that it will be the most fun that you have had in a very long time.

Once you have your appointment just travel down Broadway until you see a sign pointing to The Strand then turn onto 21st Street and look to your right for the 910 21st Street location. You will see a red brick building that has an Escape the Island sign hanging across the second story. There will be three small palm trees in the front and two old time lampposts. There is parking on the street and on either side of the building. Once you enter the rooms be ready to be transported to another time and place where you will be in for a mind blowing experience that is truly great fun.

No Greater Love

Published on November 11, 2016November 10, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Greater love has no man that this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

I cannot even conceive of the courage that it must take to be a soldier. We all too often forget that many of our fellow citizens are in harm’s way in dangerous places even on this very day. They quietly pledge to protect our country and sometimes lose their lives in the process of doing a day’s work. Only last week a young man from Houston was killed in Jordan. He had attended Strake Jesuit High School and the University of Texas. He was known by his friends as someone who was fun and generous. He was bright and talented and had a whole lifetime of possibilities ahead of him and yet he chose to enter the military, an action that he felt was an honor and his duty. His friends and family grieve that he is gone and all of us should feel a sense of sorrow as well. It was for those of us that he never even met that he gave his life.

There were a couple of young men who went to my high school when I was there who died in Vietnam. One went to war shortly after graduating. He was a friendly fellow with an inviting smile. It broke my heart to hear of his death. The other soldier was brilliant. He had graduated from college and had a promising career but he wanted to help in the effort to maintain a democracy in South Vietnam. He too lost his life, a tragedy that touched me in a very personal way because his little brother was good friends with one of my siblings.

At the time that these two soldiers were killed it never occurred to me that theirs had been an act of love. I was too busy protesting the war and participating in rallies. I actually thought that they had been foolish to take part in the conflict. As the years went by I began to see their sacrifice as something sacred. I began to hold them in high esteem. When I visited the Vietnam wall on the National Mall I found their names and ran my fingers over the etching in the stone. I wept. I felt the love associated with what they had done. I spoke to their spirits and thanked them for their service to our country.

I came of age in an era of protest. I thought it noble and fitting to speak against a war that seemed unreasonable to me. It never occurred to me that it was so incredibly easy to do what I had done while the efforts of the soldiers who had been my classmates were monumental. It has been five decades since their passing. Their love of country inspires and humbles me.

I have a long time friend who served as a medic in that same war. I often think of the horrors that he must have seen as he fought to save lives. I suppose that I never expressed enough gratitude for what he did but I can imagine how important his efforts must have been to the soldiers who lived because he was there. I know that he never discusses those days. He came back far more serious and contemplative than he had been. His wife told me that he often had nightmares as he relived the battles and thought of the torn and bloodied bodies that he viewed.

We sit safely in our cities and towns and rarely think of what our fellow citizens of the military are doing. We complain about the unfairness of our country. We criticize and speak of being ashamed of our nation. We refuse to sing the national anthem or salute the flag. All the while the men and women of the Armed Forces are doing the heavy lifting that we don’t want to do so that we will have the freedom to make ourselves heard. They deal with uncertainties and danger as a matter of course. We all too often take them for granted, sometimes even neglecting them when they return home. Even worse is when we insult them by self righteously assuming that they are violent individuals who somehow deserve our scorn rather than our praise.

On this Veterans Day and everyday we should honor the present day military and those who once served. They are real heroes who deserve our highest consideration. They are mostly humble and silent about the work that they have done for you and me. They rarely bring attention to themselves. They will tell you that they were happy to be able to give back to the country and its people.

I see a great deal of whining in today’s world. People continuously complain about what they don’t have and tend not to count their many blessings. They take more note of slights than opportunities. They make degrading comments about our country, its leaders and our soldiers. They have little idea of how safe and secure they are because of the unseen, unsung men and women who are guarding us twenty four hours a day. They rarely think of our military if at all.

Take the time to remember our veterans and our Armed Forces today. Don’t just think of them. Thank them. They won’t ask for your gratitude but I can’t help but think that they will appreciate knowing that their efforts have not gone unnoticed. God bless them and their willingness to lay down their lives for friends that they don’t even know. There is no greater love.