Read her shocking secret!

Amazing but true!  Her skin is like peaches, her body as firm as a yogi’s.  She is within 10 pounds of her ideal weight, has lift, height, energy and great hair.  Her only makeup is a little mascara and some lip gloss, and her only beauty enhancement consists of some pretty severely overplucked brows.  HOW IN THE WORLD DOES SHE DO IT?

Simple.  She just uses a 37-year-old picture.

Today is my birthday.  I am 57 years old, and I look it.  My jaw line (among other things) is saggy, my eyes ringed with crowsfeet, and I have a swooping pair of apostrophes between my eyes.  I have one of those fat Irish noses that will never stop growing.  It’s starting to look like Bill Clinton’s.  The veins on the backs of my hands look like caterpillars and I don’t look in the mirror and see my mother, because she was 6 years younger than I am when she died.  I am probably not within 30 pounds of my ideal weight. My energy is limited, last year I hurt my hip walking the dog, and recently I pinched a muscle in my neck riding on an airplane.  My favorite song was published 40 years ago, and my favorite book published longer ago than that.  I recently looked at the “Top 20 Google Searches for the Day” and I didn’t recognize 7 of the names or events out of 20.

My doctor, lawyer, pastor and the president of the United States are all younger than I am.  The newest bathing suit I own is at least ten years old, I haven’t worn anything sleeveless in public since the first Bush administration,  and I have never seen a single episode of “Jersey Shore”.

I don’t even HAVE a bucket list.

Would I like to look and feel like I did at 20?  Sure, but not at the risk of actually being that girl again.  That girl worked a ridiculously simple job at a daily newspaper where she administered typing tests and made employee badges.  She was regularly hit on by the editorial staff ( who were ALL men in that long-ago and far-away year of 1975) and thought that made her special.  She was in a relationship with an actor who was as shallow as the marshy end of the pond and was constantly on a diet where she drank Diet-Rite Cola for breakfast, ate cottage cheese with pepper on it for lunch and had ONE maraschino cherry and another Diet-Rite Cola for her 3:00 “coffee break”, because that shallow actor was going to drop her like a hot potato if she gained another five pounds.  That girl thought she was too tall, too fat, too loud and too unattractive to ever reach her life goal of being a famous Hollywood actress.  That girl would have been gloriously scornful of this girl.

This “girl” is the  happily content travelling artist who truly believes that her stories can make a difference in someone’s life, and  who knows without a doubt that ventriloquism can be funny and meaningful without being snide, crass, mean-spirited, or involve any racial stereotypes.  She is never hit on by anyone, but her husband thinks she is beautiful and tells her so.  Her “diet” consists of making sure she eats her Activia.  This girl knows that she is not too tall, too fat, too loud or too unattractive to reach her life goal because it has become, like the old song, “Don’t Worry – Be Happy”.

Happy

Birthday

To Me.

Today’s post was inspired by my visit this morning to Hood County’s Head Start and is dedicated to early childhood educators everywhere who give so much for so little financial reward.

I began my day on Facebook.  I try not to do that too often, because it means getting sucked into the vortex of other peoples’ lives and photos plus new videos and inspirational sayings and cute dogs and on and on ad infinitum.

But today my son and his lovely wife had posted their new family photos which, of course, I had to see.  Here is one of them, because you KNEW you weren’t getting out of this post without seeing one:

Yes,  yes I know – they are a BEAUTIFUL family.  And to be clear, I take no credit for anything other than baby Margaret’s (aka Peach) chubby thighs, which she got from me.  Hers will probably fade at about age 5, mine never have.

But I digress.  I started the day on Facebook, just to see these lovely photographs, but ended up of course watching “just one”  inspirational video.  This one shared by my friend Jay Stailey, an awesome storyteller and a big liar, and I mean that in the nicest way.

Jay shared this video, which I loved and watched twice in succession before sharing it on FB myself.

The  images are from the book “Be Happy: A Little Book To Help You Live A Happy Life” by Monica Sheehan. ISBN: 0762429623  The music is “Cuore Di Sabbia” by Pasquale Catalano.  No one seems to know who made this lovely little video, even though it’s been viewed on YouTube more than 373,000 times.  The most any of my videos has been viewed is about 85.

I hope someone claims this video, even though part of me knows that it’s the creating, not the praising, that is important.

I loved this video and its message so much, that I made my own notes based on the ideas that I loved the most.  Here is what my monitor looked like when I was finished.

I am aware of course that I will have to take these down soon.  Peeking around them is getting old.  But oh how much I love them!  Today I have claimed “Follow Your Dreams” and “Create What You Desire”.  I CAN market myself – I CAN continue to make a living as a storyteller and ventriloquist, getting better as I get older and doing the things I always said I couldn’t do.

My thanks to Jay for passing along this video and to my friend Shelly Tucker storyteller and fabric artist extroidinaire for giving me the great advice:  “You can do this!”.

Excuse me a minute I have to make a note of that.  I’ll just have to figure out where to put it.

And I sit and look at the cursor.

In the “olden days”, the cursor used to pulse on the computer screen.  Now it just sits there.  Mocking me.

Inspiration divine, yet fickle.  Every time I sit to write I ask myself “have I completely lost it?”  Will I be doomed to perform the same shows over and over and over like some vaudevillian Sisyphus, pushing the same tired old jokes up the hill only to see them roll down again? 

On a trip to Houston over the weekend, I listened to about 10 or so hours of “Fresh Aire”, the podcast from WHYY with Terry Gross.  The inteview in question, conducted by Dave Davies,  was with Jonah Lehrer author of the new book “Imagine.  How Creativity Works”.  According to Lehrer,  ”Moments of insight are a very-well studied psychological phenomenon with two defining features.  The answer comes out of the blue – when we least expect it. … [And] as soon as the answer arrives we know this is the answer we’ve been looking for. … The answer comes attached with a feeling of certainty, it feels like a revelation. These are the two defining features of a moment of insight, and they do seem to play a big role in creativity.”

Good to know.  But “insight” and “creativity” are two entirely different things.  How can I have a moment of blazing insight if I don’t know what the question is?

I want a burst of inspiration today.   I want to be able to write a soul-stirring blogpost and a fabulously funny and topical entire new show, and I want some innovative and creative ways to market myself and I want a new outlet for creativity and… and.. and…

Alas.

A little study into how creative types find their “muse” gives up some interesting information.  Many, MANY poets and writers have turned to chemical enhancement.  Benzedrine was once known as the “drug of the poets” and inspired such writers as W. H. Auden and “Howl” author Allen Ginsberg.  It was widely marketed as a decongestant in the 30s and thousands of consumers were hooked, cooked and wasted by the time it became available by prescription only in 1959.  But I’m not going to go out and find myself some bennies – fear not.

Coleridge used opium, Balzac died of caffeine poisoning after drinking 50 cups of coffee a day for years. (Fifty cups!  That’s more even than my husband drinks!)  Mark Twain and Truman Capote both wrote lying down.  Many “inspiration coaches” counsel taking a walk, clearing your mind with meditation, massage or hot baths.  Some writers find that it helps to simply let it all out, writing page after page of free associative nothingness.

In her new book, “Then Again”, Diane Keaton attributes her longevity in Hollywood to “saying yes to everything”.  Eleanor Roosevelt said you should “do something everyday that scares you”.

Inspiring words.  Excuse me while I go do something.

Ah the rare and elusive Texas Peach Photinia.  Haven’t heard of it?  It’s a hybrid.  Began as one thing and was manipulated into being another.  As are we all.

When this back yard became ours a year and a half ago, the peach tree was stunted by the weather and had lost lots of branches, as fruit trees often do.  They are fragile, and the weight of their fruit hangs heavy upon their beautiful limbs, causing them to droop and crack and ultimately break.  Still, the peach tree had two great trunks and a several cascading limbs.   It was fall when we moved in, but we were looking forward to the peaches and the jelly and jam that my beautiful DIL Marie would kindly make for us the next summer while I played with my awesome grandchildren and talked about how – alas – I had never learned to make jelly.

The Texas Drought of 2011 however, had other ideas.  We could not keep enough water on the poor peach tree to help her make any fruit, and the few peaches that appeared quickly shrank and died.  It was hard enough to keep the mother tree alive.

The drought also took out 16 might red-tipped photinias, already weakened by some Photinia disease.  Towering 15 or so feet into the air, they generously divided the back yard from the open field behind us and the coyotes that roam there.  Now only one of them remains.

While cutting down the poor Photinia corpses last week, I urged the mister to look at the peach tree too.  It had lost several branches and one,  full of fruit, hung dangerously low.  It was obvious that it would soon crack and fall, and all the fruit would be lost.

Here then, is our solution.  A Photinia trunk, stripped of leaves and branches, had a natural fork at the top.  We sank it into the ground, wedged it under the fruit-filled limb, and lashed it to the trunk of the peach tree with yet another sawn-off limb.  The result is what I call the Texas Peach Photinia. 

It is not lovely, but it bears much fruit.  The old country saying goes “It ain’t long on purty, but it’s hell for stout”.  That’s the Texas Peach Photinia.  She will weather the storm, she will stand through the drought.  She will give up all attempt at beauty and glamour so that her limbs can bear fruit.

And the butterflies?  They don’t know the difference.  The small ones know when something is there for their benefit.  The beauty is not in the color of the flower or the slenderness of the silhouette.  The beauty is in the opening fruit.

This is my granddaughter, Margaret Marie.  She was born March 19, 2012.  She will never know her grandmother as a young, beautiful, slender woman.  She will never know my face other than seamed by time and care.  She will never know my hands other than covered with age spots and puffy veins.  But I will stand for her in the storm.  I will wedge beneath my limbs whatever it takes so that I can show her that a strong woman loves and cares for her deeply,  and without reservation.  I will stand for her.

She is my peach.

“The fruits of the spirit are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control”

Galatians 5:22, 23

Don’t brag about yourself

Let others praise you

-Proverbs 27:2

"Modesty" by William Bouguereau, 1902

I was raised on these words – these and others like them:  “don’t push yourself forward”, “don’t be pushy”, “be modest about yourself”.  Every southern girl I know heard these words.  It’s a hard job to push past them and learn to believe in yourself and your abilities.

Now don’t get me wrong – everybody hates a braggart it’s true.  But modesty can be self-destructive if you make your living, as I do, entertaining others.  I’ve been doing this 20 years now, and it’s still hard for me to tell people how good I am.  When I acknowledge the applause at the end of a show I feel like Sally Field in her famous Oscar speech, “You like me!  You really like me!”  I know exactly how she feels.  Every performer has surely at times doubted his or her own ability; has surely lain awake at night thinking “I’m a fraud, I’m a fake.  If people only really knew.”  or “I’m losing it, I’m going to die alone and forgotten”.

These thoughts have come to me a lot recently due to some big changes in my performing life.  I have been represented by the same company for more than 20 years, and that is no longer my reality.  So the question has become “can I do this?”   Can I handle both the performing part and the marketing/office/invoice part?

I don’t really know, but I know this:  I have the best job in the world.  I’ve always said it and it’s true.  I get to motivate, inspire, educate and entertain people every day that I work.  I get to see the shining faces of children as they laugh and laugh.  And I am just the right amount of famous.   Yesterday as I walked my dogs Moochie and Bruno the Destroyer, I met three little girls driving around on a golf cart who recognized me and squealed like I was a rock star.

So here’s the truth.  I am a really good ventriloquist.  I do a great job of entertaining and educating people of all ages.  I tell wonderful stories and everybody at the show has a good time.  There – I’ve said it.  So now having said it, I’m going to ask you to say it too.  Will you help me spread the word about myself?  Pass my name along, repost my posts – and pray for me.  It’s going to be a tough year but I can do it.  Because “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me”.

The Rev. Loys Vess Family 1934

Cousins.  Most people  have them.  They are our best friends when we are young, our once-in-awhile friends as we are teenagers, and then often lost to the mists of time.

I have, if I’m counting correctly, ten cousins on the Vess side.  They are the children of my mother’s brothers Herman and Bob, and her sisters, Bettye and Martha.   I was the oldest of the girl cousins and believed myself to be the favorite of my grandmother.  All the other cousins perhaps thought THEY were her favorite as well, however – but I’m sure they’d be wrong.

It was awesome to reconnect with Brent.  The little boy whose head I petted has grown into a man of courage, valor and faith.  His testimony on Sunday was moving and I truly enjoyed getting to visit with

He spoke to our Sunday School children and reminded them when they brushed their teeth at night and got to the “molars” to think of the Moeller family in South Africa.  I hope you will do that too.  You can view their website at http://bbfi-africa.org/Moeller/

Grandmother.

Just the sound of the word makes my throat close up a little and tears spring to my eyes. I am the proud grandmother of three. Veronica is 11, James is 2, and Margaret is not yet a month old. I love them all fiercely and would do anything for any of them.

My own grandmothers died much too young. My paternal grandmother died when I was ten, and I was 17 when I lost my mother’s mother. I hope I can live to be an old, old grandmother and that my grandchildren love me as much as I did my Grandmother Vess.

We all called her “Mother” – all of the grandchildren. Apparently my cousin Herman Jr. started it because that’s what he heard his father and aunts and uncles call her. So each of the twelve grandchildren called her that in turn as well. It fit. The beautiful word “mother” will always bring to mind her sweet ways, loving arms, gentle voice. I loved her beyond words, beyond understanding, beyond death.

My grandson James, the star of the attached video, calls me Grandmother although it sounds more like “Granmunner”. Veronica calls me “Grandnance” since she is lucky enough to have two other grandmothers as well.

A very dear friend of mine who spent many years on the road and in the air as a high-powered and successful salesperson and executive recently told me the reason she had retired. Apparently she, along with several other salesmen, young men all, were each vying to win an account whose name you would all recognize. She won the account, and at the national conference she was praised highly by the company president who said “Five people were out to get this account and who got it? A grandmother“.  She retired, glad to no longer be part of a world where such a miraculous word as “grandmother” could be spoken with such dripping scorn.

Some women can’t wait to be grandmothers, some view the prospect with alarm.  But I don’t know a single one who isn’t amazed by the instant love that springs forth the moment the baby is handed to them.

It’s a wonderful life.  Like they say – if I’d known how great grandchildren were I’d have had them first.