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Bev's Burner
Some's Hot, Some's Not 

By B.K. Carter

"Bev Carter is the owner/publisher of the Fort Bend Star, winner of numerous state and national awards. She has been a voice of Fort Bend's largest circulated newspaper for 30 years."


I am retired.....Someone asked me the other day if I was retired. Without thinking, I replied, “Mostly.” This happened last Tuesday and as I went to bed that night, I recapped my day.

Let’s see: the alarm went off at 7 a.m. and I reached over and turned it off. The next thing I remember is that “Morning Joe” had morphed into something else and it was 8:30.

I bounded out of bed, ate a banana, drank some tea took my pills and a breathing treatment. I spent 15 minutes dressing and curling my hair and putting makeup on my 60-something face, the wrinkles getting deeper and deeper as I spend more and more money on miracle-promising creams. The creams haven’t helped my face one iota, but my hands that I use to rub the cream on my face feel like a baby’s behind.

That ticked me off enough that it was easy to pound out a rant to be used for Bev’s Burner. I emailed it to the office and chopped up 1,000 things to put into the homemade chicken salad I had promised to make for lunch for the ladies at my office. I sped to the office and answered emails and voice messages. I scanned the stories editor Jean had saved me for the front page and ranked the ones I wanted to go at the top of the page or to use for the inside. I gave those to graphic designer Joey.

Just then my realtor Becky called and reported an agent showing the house said there was a “squatter” smoking and reading the paper in my house. He had turned on the air conditioner, the energy thief. She was in the middle of something as was I, but we agreed to meet at the house in 30 minutes and decide what to do then. Neither of us expected to find him but if we did, we would call the Missouri City police.

I finished the front page layout, jumped in my car and sped to Quail Valley. Becky was waiting with her 6’4” son. She marched up the stairs and knocked on the closed door the agent had reported as occupied. We could smell the smoke, see his bicycle downstairs, and feel the air conditioning. He said he’d be right out. Becky and son scurried down the stairs and called the police. I turned on the water (might as well water the flowers while there) and caught the squatter trying to leave through the garage. I asked him to stay and wait for the police (silly me) as Becky snapped his picture, but he said, “Make me,” as he bicycled off. I gave chase, he on his bike, me in my Tahoe.

I called 9-1-1- to give them my location and report I had him in my sights. The Missouri City police were right behind me. I pulled over and motioned to the last place I saw him then got out of their way. When I returned to my house, Becky and neighbor Jeanne Hillier were standing in the front yard talking. Almost immediately, the Missouri City police drove by with my squatter in the back seat. I told them I wanted to press charges. I can’t understand if people are so anxious to get into my house, why can’t I sell it?

I returned to the office, corrected the front page headlines, corrected the mailing list and ran out labels for the mailing of our subscription newspaper the next day.

I had an appointment at 2 p.m. with an advertiser who wanted help with a business concern. I met with him, patted his hand, then devised a plan to help him which I put into motion the moment he was gone.

I went home, put on a roast, and made a banana pudding as I had some bananas that were on the cusp. I looked out the window and saw my son playing hookey from work and swimming with my grandson Carter. Soon his wife showed up with the other grandson, Jack and I decided they were having too much fun without me so I got on my suit and joined them in the water. We called my daughter Sherry, and she left work a little early to cool off with us.

Of course they wanted to stay for dinner which now consisted of roast, gravy, hot bread, Mac and cheese, mixed vegetables and banana pudding.

After dinner, Carter begged to spend the night and I agreed. He kept me up until midnight watching a Harry Potter movie and would raise up every few minutes to make sure my eyes were still open. Of course they were because I realized I was out of milk and bread so when I got up to make him breakfast before Vacation Bible School, I was going to have to prepare some sausage, frozen orange juice, and sweet rolls all by 8:30.

Yes, I’m retired. Somebody please tell my body.

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