Andy Jons sings Lady Marmalade with Patti LaBelle

A dream of a lifetime for my son, Andy Jons as he sings with Patti Labelle.

She said,

“Darlin', I hope you can sing. What's your name?

“Andy.”

“Where ya from?”

“Des Moines, Iowa. Originally.”

“Ok, Andy. Can you sing?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“Really? Do it.”

Andy sings, “Miss Patty, I love ya. Ooooh, yeah.”

“Sing boy,” commands Miss Patti.

“I've been so excited all day.

Ooo, walkin' round this fair.

I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep last night.

Wo, Miss Patty. Miss Patty LaBelle.”

Then he sings her trademark run, and she jumps up and down,

twirls around , and throws her hanky at him.

Andy nails the high note at the end, and she tops it off with an even higher note.

“Wow! You can SING, boy!”

“Well, thank you.”

She hugs him and says, “Thank you, baby.”

As he exits the stage, she asks, “Andy? That's your name, right?

Andy, don't ever stop. God has given you a blessing. Wow!

How old are you, Andy? How old are you? 31?

Keep on singin'. Whew, you make my heart throb!”

This proud mama says, "AMEN! 

  I held a tiny miracle in my hand today. I was visiting with a client on my cell phone, having a long distance life coaching session. Needee McGreedy, my ever present plus-size cat, was sitting next to me on the wooden bench on my front porch. It was a cool, overcast day, and the first touch of autumn was in the air. I was relishing the last gasp of my outside plants and flowers before the inevitable frost, and watching various birds at my bird feeders, colorful butterflies and jeweled dragonflies flitting around my yard, and hummingbirds battling for the best position at their feeder.

   Suddenly, two hummingbirds flew straight for my face, then dipped down under my bench at the last second. One zipped away, but the other went missing. Needee jumped down, landing lightly despite her phat cat self, grabbed something with her ridiculously dainty paws, then put it in her mouth. I told my client, “Oh my gosh, I think Needee actually caught a hummingbird!”

   Ya gotta understand, Needee is the worst cat huntress ever. She has trouble catching dead spiders, much less bagging a supersonic hummingbird. I chased her into the kitchen, and she was trying to growl with her precious prey in her mouth, and the prey was vibrating, and I said, “Needee, DROP IT!” So she did, bless her heart. Like I said, not the greatest hunter ever. Cat Rule #1: Do not open mouth when filled with prey. 

   I carefully picked up a glowing, iridescent emerald green hummingbird* with a black and white speckled chest and tail. It lay still in my palm, but its heart was beating so fast, my whole hand was vibrating. I was sharing the play by play commentary with my client, and she was as astounded as I was. “Really? You're holding it IN YOUR HAND? What does it look like? That is SO COOL!”

   I went back outside to the bench, and sat down, cupping the bird in both hands, and asked my client to pray with me for this beautiful little bird. My hands vibrated intensely, the vibration going up my arms and making me light headed. After a moment, I opened my hands, and the bird shifted slightly, from laying on its side to its belly. As I watched in wonder, it seemed to take a breath, get its bearings, and then it zoomed away into the pine tree.

   I was dumbfounded! We high fived each other through the phone, screaming, “That was AMAZING!!!” I told her I was so glad I could share that experience with her. She said, “You know something kinda weird? I'm looking at my birdbath here, and there's, like, six or seven robins there. I've never seen them up here in Northern Wisconsin this late in the year.”

   I've said before and I'll say it again: God is SUCH a showoff!”

* After some in-depth online research, apparently I held in my hand a young male ruby throated hummingbird. They don't get the ruby throat until they reach maturity. It's like a man getting a beard. Ironically, the older females may occasionally have a red feather or two on their throat. That's why I keep several pairs of tweezers handy at all times. For my "chin feathers.”

LIP SERVICE

Upper Iowa University Choir, 2/2015; Robin Jons, Director
 7 Nepalese, 2 Africans, 3 African Americans,
and 1 white kid (Robin's son, Seth)

We all pay lip service when tragedy strikes. 

"What a shame!" "How terrible!"
"We must pray for those unfortunate ones!"

Then we go about our day, secretly relieved it wasn't us this time.

         It was another town, another state, another country,
on the other side of the world.

We watch the horrific images of bodies buried alive,
bloody grandmothers, families under a tarp,
blue toddlers not responding to resuscitation. 

We hear the frantic shouts of men
digging in the rubble with their bare hands
before time runs out on those trapped beneath.

"Oh, how awful for them!" "What a tragedy!"

We go about our business, sweep our floors, do the dishes, 

 feed the cats, figure something out for supper. 

Life goes on.

But this time, it's different.

This time, the faces on the screen resemble faces
 of those I've come to love, to call family.

They are now MY families' homes in ruins.
My loved ones lost and missing in the destruction. 

My prayers are no longer lip service.

This time, it's personal.

This time, I can do something about it.

The Healing Power of Kittens

Another kitten visit for my mom with Clancy, Fiona, and Siobhan. Like Keely and Sean Patrick, they also zeroed in on her painful arm, and stayed there for several hours. 

                                                             Sean Patrick at 2 weeks

                                                                 Keely at 2 weeks

Today I took Sean Patrick and Keely to visit my mom. They're just a little over 3 weeks old, and I wasn't sure how they'd do separated from their mama for the first time. Sometimes kittens this age mew and mew until I have no choice but to return them to their mama and siblings. Mama Nadi had a lovely litter of 6 assorted kittens this time, and she's already taking frequent breaks from their ravenous assaults on her poor nipples. I opened the clothes cupboard where they nest on the bottom shelf and cried, "Here Babies, Here Babies!" in my expert kitten-calling voice. Sean Patrick came "running" which looks like a drunken stumble at this age-very adorable-and then Keely came wobbling up to me. I showed Nadi I was taking those two and putting them in the cat carrier, and she flapped her paw at me, and said, "Whatever. Just have 'em back by 9 pm or so. I'm gonna take a long nap on your bed."

I put a pair of Steve's pajama pants in with them since they'd been sleeping on them for 2 weeks, hoping the familiar smell would soothe them, and loaded the carrier in the car. They mewed a little, but were fairly chill on the drive over. I got them into my parent's house, and my mom looked up from her recliner at the grocery sack I was carrying and asked, jokingly, "You got KITTENS??" I showed her the cat carrier and her face lit up. "I got kittens!!" I said.

I opened the carrier door and calmly got them out and they immediately snuggled up to Mom's chest. Keely went to sleep on Mom's injured arm, and Sean Patrick wandered around on Mom a little, giving her kitten kisses, and then he went to sleep, too. Mom said, "This baby is making my arm feel so much better!" She kept talking to them and petting them, and her face was filled with the wonder and bliss that proximity to babies always gives her. And they just stayed there, absorbing her love and absorbing her pain.

I noticed my dad's face soften as he looked at her, and my constant desire to ease her chronic pain eased up a little.  Mom was able to join us at the table and eat the gluten-free lasagne I'd made, enjoying a second helping, and finishing off with the delicious gluten-free vanilla cheesecake pie Dad had made. She then went back to her recliner for more kitten time. They were content to lay quietly on her while we had a nice visit, talking of nothing in particular, in that satisfying roundabout way that we do.

Mom has had an even rougher week than usual. She suffers daily from polymyalgia, severe arthritis, tummy troubles, and often getting out of bed proves too much for her. She had a bad fall last Thursday, and has been in horrific pain since then, especially her elbow, arm and ribs. She had an MRI Monday to check for stroke damage in her left eye. Good news-no new strokes, just scar tissue causing a blind spot. She had a cat scan yesterday to see what the damage is to her elbow, arm, and ribs. Is it any wonder that her spirits are often low, and she constantly fights depression and despair?

I know that my cats and kittens are as effective as a valium when I am anxious or depressed. They get my endorphins and serotonin levels up, and I totally bliss out when I'm handling kittens. It did my aching heart so much good to see those 2 little kittens do the same for my mom. Dad told me as I went out the door that that was the longest she'd been out of bed and in her recliner all week.

Great miracles can come in tiny little packages: adorable, fluffy, calico and ginger packages. Thank God for the healing power of kittens.

CHOOSE BEAUTY

Robin, age 1

                                                                Summer, 1980, age 18

                                                                  Headshot, 1990

                                 "Angie," female lead, The Yoofo Club, independent film, 1996

                                                                    Winter, 2015

Fall Glamour Selfie, 2015

         

Fall 2015, age 53

Beauty, then and now: when I was 18, it was all about the packaging. I spent hours on my hair and make-up, my nails were always flawless. and my wardrobe was fashionable and color co-ordinated. I starved myself into a size 5, and I never left the house without full make-up and perfectly styled hair. It was exhausting! And still, I never really believed I was beautiful. If I gained a pound or two, I'd panic and feel sick to my stomach. My sense of self-worth was all based on my weight (105), my size (5), and my looks (Perfect 10 wannabe).

I started to get chubby in first grade, and that is when my shame regarding my looks set in. Add thick, coke bottle bottom glasses, and I knew I was not pretty. I spent hours fantasizing about the great beauty I'd become when I grew up, and felt I was just marking time until that transformation occurred. Meanwhile, I discovered I had brains and talent, which gave me value, but also set me apart from my fellow classmates. Since I couldn't fit in, I derived some satisfaction from being better at music than anyone else, but grade school was a long and lonely road.

Food became my comfort and my secret friend, and I obsessed about when and what I could eat next. My mom was concerned about my weight, so I never felt permission to eat my fill at dinner, and would sneak sweets whenever I could work up the nerve.

In 6th grade, I went to see a handsome young doctor that told me how pretty I'd be if I lost weight. I was 5 ft. tall and weighed around 107 lbs. He put me on a diet, and I discovered the the high I could get  from withholding food from myself and watching the pounds drop off.  I got down to 97 lbs, grew breasts, got contacts, and suddenly the ugly duckling was a swan. A swan with really low self-esteem, because by then I had learned I'd never be good enough no matter how hard I tried.

I managed to stay under 110 lbs in high school, though it was touch and go. I'd starve myself down to 98 lbs, then binge and shoot up to 110 lbs. The numbers on the scale determined my mood, and I was on a constant roller coaster ride.

The summer I was 18 was the only time in my whole life that I felt satisfied with my looks. I was tan and fit from picking up rock* in my bikini, my hair had grown out and was blonde from lemon juice and sunshine, and I was TOTALLY in love** for the first time. Oh, life was SO sweet! Too good to last. And it didn't.

Flash forward: College. Emotional trauma. Gained 50 lbs. Believed I was hideous. Junior year: got engaged, got down to 133 lbs for the June wedding, gained 8 lbs on my honeymoon, and was back up to 159 lbs when I found out I was pregnant in October. I was over 200 lbs when I delivered Andy, and by then I had begun My Life As A Fat Lady. The Horror! The Shame!! I had let myself go, and I never came back.

'Til now. I'm back! I'm full-figured, fat, voluptuous, and absolutely gorgeous! That is, when I FEEL gorgeous. When I feel fogly (fat, old and ugly) I look fogly. My top weight around 12 years ago was 315 lbs. As of today, I weigh 261 lbs. They're just numbers. They have no power to destroy me. Lower numbers mean I feel better, and my body is getting healthier, but the numbers do not define my beauty.

I used to think my desire to be beautiful was just vanity. Now I realize beauty is something I can create; it's a state of being. I know how to create beauty in my art, and my music, and my home. I know how to bring out beauty in people I love. As I take selfies on my computer, I see my face totally change depending on what I'm thinking, and how I feel in that moment. It's not about my features-it's all about the look in my eyes. Pure joy lights me up from within, and despair drags everything down.

So, to each of you, fat or thin, young or old, pretty or ugly: CHOOSE BEAUTY.


*Rock picking: a typical job for a NE IA teen. You walk the fields and pick up rocks and put them in a loader and pile them at the edge of the field. This was so the rocks wouldn't get stuck in the machinery when the farmers worked the land. After all these years, I still see a rock in a field and get the urge to pick it up!

**Still in love with that handsome redhead, Steve Jons. He's a FORMER redhead, now, but man, he makes bald look GOOD!!!!

WORDS TO LIVE BY (NOTE TO ANDY)