I sit in wonder
And look at me
A picture of me
A world ago
More than a lifetime
It almost seems.
I sit and wander
Back through memories
Some just shadows
And I wonder
Did I do his hopes
His dreams and plans
Justice?
Would he forgive
Me for his failings
Would we laugh at
Our shared shortcomings?
Or would he look
Across time
And wonder who I was?
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
Sunday, December 26, 2010
The Santa Secrets
As I drove to visit children as Santa Claus this year, I pondered often why a man would determine to be Santa. To understand a little of my thoughts and why I chose to portray Santa, you probably should read my post, "Why I Believe".
With that background in place, it helps to be a big kid at heart, to have never lost your imagination, to enjoy dressing up in costumes, being Peter Pan, or Superman, or even a pirate occasionally. It doesn't hurt to have a good laugh, twinkling eyes... or at least some of the girth needed to portray Santa (one can always pad). If you choose to be Santa, do it well. The suit doesn't matter so much to a child. Yep, it is great if you can have real boots, but kids don't notice. They just see Santa. Choosing to be Santa is an inside thing, not just a costume.
Attitude is terribly important. No one wants to see a grumpy Santa. Can you smile no matter what? Can you put aside your own concerns, heartaches, hurts and headaches for a short while to make a little one Believe with a capitol B? Can you be glad to see each and every child like they were your own child, or even better, your grandchild? Can you listen carefully, no editorials, no rebuffs, no "tsk tsk" from Santa, just a listening ear. That child really doesn't care about how long you have sat in the big chair, or if you had no lunch. Its not that they are indifferent, it just doesn't occur to them that Santa has anything else on his mind but their Christmas wishes at that moment.
It is all about undivided attention for those few moments. They need it, they deserve it, they crave love and attention from Santa, who may have a "naughty and nice" list, but who loves them and puts them on the "NICE" list no matter what orneriness they have been into. No matter what their home life is like, regardless of their parents (or parent) or socio-economic position of their family, each child is precious to Santa - so act like they are the first and only child to sit on your lap.
You are going to cry, that is a promise (yes, more on that subject later too). Children share their heartaches with Santa often. You can't get around it, can't prevent it, can't fix it. You just listen and sometimes smile sadly, sometimes hug their thin little shoulders, sometimes look away and wipe a tear with that white gloved hand.
You will laugh and grin at parents when a precocious child says something that shocks Daddy or makes Mama blush. Oh my, think Art Linkletter heard some of the funniest things from kids? Let Santa tell you a few incidents! Yes, listen carefully, listen because they speak softly, sometimes whisper shyly. Don't forget to repeat it so Mama and Daddy can hear and nod knowingly.
Never promise anything, it is not your job. The last thing you want is to put a parent on the spot, especially if they cannot afford the dreams of their little one. A new computer would be great for anyone... just not in the budget!
Have you noticed that not everyone can "Ho Ho Ho" well? It takes practice to do it well, mean it, make it sound like you are laughing AND not frighten the socks off 2 year olds (yes, we will have to speak about 2 year olds soon). The best advice you can receive is to try to add a few "ho ho"s to your regular laugh to see what it should sound like. That is all it is, a big jolly elf laughing because he is always happy, joyful and glad to see you!
With that background in place, it helps to be a big kid at heart, to have never lost your imagination, to enjoy dressing up in costumes, being Peter Pan, or Superman, or even a pirate occasionally. It doesn't hurt to have a good laugh, twinkling eyes... or at least some of the girth needed to portray Santa (one can always pad). If you choose to be Santa, do it well. The suit doesn't matter so much to a child. Yep, it is great if you can have real boots, but kids don't notice. They just see Santa. Choosing to be Santa is an inside thing, not just a costume.
Attitude is terribly important. No one wants to see a grumpy Santa. Can you smile no matter what? Can you put aside your own concerns, heartaches, hurts and headaches for a short while to make a little one Believe with a capitol B? Can you be glad to see each and every child like they were your own child, or even better, your grandchild? Can you listen carefully, no editorials, no rebuffs, no "tsk tsk" from Santa, just a listening ear. That child really doesn't care about how long you have sat in the big chair, or if you had no lunch. Its not that they are indifferent, it just doesn't occur to them that Santa has anything else on his mind but their Christmas wishes at that moment.
It is all about undivided attention for those few moments. They need it, they deserve it, they crave love and attention from Santa, who may have a "naughty and nice" list, but who loves them and puts them on the "NICE" list no matter what orneriness they have been into. No matter what their home life is like, regardless of their parents (or parent) or socio-economic position of their family, each child is precious to Santa - so act like they are the first and only child to sit on your lap.
You are going to cry, that is a promise (yes, more on that subject later too). Children share their heartaches with Santa often. You can't get around it, can't prevent it, can't fix it. You just listen and sometimes smile sadly, sometimes hug their thin little shoulders, sometimes look away and wipe a tear with that white gloved hand.
You will laugh and grin at parents when a precocious child says something that shocks Daddy or makes Mama blush. Oh my, think Art Linkletter heard some of the funniest things from kids? Let Santa tell you a few incidents! Yes, listen carefully, listen because they speak softly, sometimes whisper shyly. Don't forget to repeat it so Mama and Daddy can hear and nod knowingly.
Never promise anything, it is not your job. The last thing you want is to put a parent on the spot, especially if they cannot afford the dreams of their little one. A new computer would be great for anyone... just not in the budget!
Have you noticed that not everyone can "Ho Ho Ho" well? It takes practice to do it well, mean it, make it sound like you are laughing AND not frighten the socks off 2 year olds (yes, we will have to speak about 2 year olds soon). The best advice you can receive is to try to add a few "ho ho"s to your regular laugh to see what it should sound like. That is all it is, a big jolly elf laughing because he is always happy, joyful and glad to see you!
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Hunkered Down Cabin
The old cabin sits hunkered down
Covered deep all round by snow.
No path is worn to the porch
Not does smoke curl from the chimney.
Not far behind, the unpainted barn
Has that forgotten, unkept look
As if folks had just wandered off
Leaving barn doors open, swaying in the wind.
Snow drifts deep into the barn
Deeper still on the broken down porch.
Snow covers porch swing and Maytag washer.
It banks high against the old screen door.
From the old dirt road it is a lovely scene
Drawing on memories of beloved times past.
Go closer, see the neglect and you almost hear the moan
Of a once loved, now... forgotten... home.
Covered deep all round by snow.
No path is worn to the porch
Not does smoke curl from the chimney.
Not far behind, the unpainted barn
Has that forgotten, unkept look
As if folks had just wandered off
Leaving barn doors open, swaying in the wind.
Snow drifts deep into the barn
Deeper still on the broken down porch.
Snow covers porch swing and Maytag washer.
It banks high against the old screen door.
From the old dirt road it is a lovely scene
Drawing on memories of beloved times past.
Go closer, see the neglect and you almost hear the moan
Of a once loved, now... forgotten... home.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Lights in the dark
Some time ago I sat and spoke with a group about Appalachia, the folks back home, the way it used to be and what we all missed. Needless to say, it was sometimes emotional for all of us who lived in the mountains.
One by one folks who were not storytellers stood up to tell their stories from their childhood, from the hills. We all celebrated the hard times shard by many. We laughed at "off plumb" uncles and aunts that kissed folks right on the mouth to say hello!
We seemed to share a common bond of Grannies and Aunts who loved us, cared for us, slipped us a biscuit or tater in between meals as our bodies grew way too fast. Uncles that gave us our first pocket knife, taught us to hunt and fish.
Those coveyed up there fell in love all over again when one then another arose and spoke with tears in their eyes of lost loves from childhood, of those who wait for them on the other side of the Jordan, of rugged cabins stuck with determination on the side of a mountain.
Then came the story that stopped us all for ever so long in quiet reflections.
A dear woman rose carefully and told us she promised not to cry. She spoke of her life in Eastern Kentucky, of her Mama and Daddy and little sister, of her Granny who watched them during the day while her Mama went off to clean house and cook for the superintendent's wife at the coal company while her Daddy went deep into that mine to dig coal. She spoke with love about that Daddy who would walk out at night and get in the truck, careful not to rub the ever present coal dust onto his sweet darlin' as she sat beside him.
They would arrive home about the same time each night, hindered occasionally by snow or high waters after a hard rain that would swell the creek bed that was also the road for a good part of their journey.
Once home, her Daddy would take off his work clothes while her Mama boiled enough water for him to go on the back porch and wash the coal dust off. Hot water, rough washrags and Lava soap would leave his skin rough and red, but clean. It took that to get the dust out of his pores each night.
When her Granny would see the lights come on across the mountain, she would bundle both girls up, give them lard buckets filled with dinner, maybe fried chicken and biscuits in one, bowls of slowly cooked green beans with ham hocks, turnip greans, butterbeans, maybe a big bowl of fried taters in that other lard bucket, all carefully wrapped with wax paper so there would be no precious food spilled.
She and her sister would follow the path to home. The start of the trip was always easy, but after about 100 yards they would go down into the holler. Though the path was clear and wide, it always made them fearful. Those girls would cling tightly to each other as they walked, carefully holding the handles of their lard buckets. Every sound would make them jump. Yes, they were country girls, but as she said, "we were all girl". We all laughed at that.
She then broke her promise as she spoke of walking up the last rise in the holler. That was their favorite moment. That was when they knew they were almost home.
She said, "When we got to the top of that there rise we could begin to see the lights of home in the dark. We knew Mama and Daddy were there. We knew that if we called out they would come. We saw the lights in the dark and knew out short journey home was complete, that the dark and the holler were nothing to be afraid of. When we climbed that rise and saw those lights we felt safe, happy and loved."
We all helped her break her promise not to cry as she concluded, "Oh, if I could just walk that path again. That little holler wouldn't scare me anymore. I have been there and it is just a short walk. Don't y'all think my folks were cruel, we probably didn't walk more than a minute in that holler. We were just little girls goin' home."
She paused, turned and got a hankie out of her purse, "This is silly, cryin' like this, but I would give all I have to walk that path one dark night, just one more time, say goodbye to Granny with a hug and walk down into that little holler. I would run through them woods and up that hill just anxious to see the lights in the dark. I would run to the porch, hollerin' as I ran, Mama, Daddy, I am home, I am home and its supper."
Wouldn't all of us love to run back home just one more time, to the mountain we love, down the hollers and up the rise, to the memories we cherish, cryin' out, "I am home and its supper"?
One by one folks who were not storytellers stood up to tell their stories from their childhood, from the hills. We all celebrated the hard times shard by many. We laughed at "off plumb" uncles and aunts that kissed folks right on the mouth to say hello!
We seemed to share a common bond of Grannies and Aunts who loved us, cared for us, slipped us a biscuit or tater in between meals as our bodies grew way too fast. Uncles that gave us our first pocket knife, taught us to hunt and fish.
Those coveyed up there fell in love all over again when one then another arose and spoke with tears in their eyes of lost loves from childhood, of those who wait for them on the other side of the Jordan, of rugged cabins stuck with determination on the side of a mountain.
Then came the story that stopped us all for ever so long in quiet reflections.
A dear woman rose carefully and told us she promised not to cry. She spoke of her life in Eastern Kentucky, of her Mama and Daddy and little sister, of her Granny who watched them during the day while her Mama went off to clean house and cook for the superintendent's wife at the coal company while her Daddy went deep into that mine to dig coal. She spoke with love about that Daddy who would walk out at night and get in the truck, careful not to rub the ever present coal dust onto his sweet darlin' as she sat beside him.
They would arrive home about the same time each night, hindered occasionally by snow or high waters after a hard rain that would swell the creek bed that was also the road for a good part of their journey.
Once home, her Daddy would take off his work clothes while her Mama boiled enough water for him to go on the back porch and wash the coal dust off. Hot water, rough washrags and Lava soap would leave his skin rough and red, but clean. It took that to get the dust out of his pores each night.
When her Granny would see the lights come on across the mountain, she would bundle both girls up, give them lard buckets filled with dinner, maybe fried chicken and biscuits in one, bowls of slowly cooked green beans with ham hocks, turnip greans, butterbeans, maybe a big bowl of fried taters in that other lard bucket, all carefully wrapped with wax paper so there would be no precious food spilled.
She and her sister would follow the path to home. The start of the trip was always easy, but after about 100 yards they would go down into the holler. Though the path was clear and wide, it always made them fearful. Those girls would cling tightly to each other as they walked, carefully holding the handles of their lard buckets. Every sound would make them jump. Yes, they were country girls, but as she said, "we were all girl". We all laughed at that.
She then broke her promise as she spoke of walking up the last rise in the holler. That was their favorite moment. That was when they knew they were almost home.
She said, "When we got to the top of that there rise we could begin to see the lights of home in the dark. We knew Mama and Daddy were there. We knew that if we called out they would come. We saw the lights in the dark and knew out short journey home was complete, that the dark and the holler were nothing to be afraid of. When we climbed that rise and saw those lights we felt safe, happy and loved."
We all helped her break her promise not to cry as she concluded, "Oh, if I could just walk that path again. That little holler wouldn't scare me anymore. I have been there and it is just a short walk. Don't y'all think my folks were cruel, we probably didn't walk more than a minute in that holler. We were just little girls goin' home."
She paused, turned and got a hankie out of her purse, "This is silly, cryin' like this, but I would give all I have to walk that path one dark night, just one more time, say goodbye to Granny with a hug and walk down into that little holler. I would run through them woods and up that hill just anxious to see the lights in the dark. I would run to the porch, hollerin' as I ran, Mama, Daddy, I am home, I am home and its supper."
Wouldn't all of us love to run back home just one more time, to the mountain we love, down the hollers and up the rise, to the memories we cherish, cryin' out, "I am home and its supper"?
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Postcard Marketing
A while back I wrote several blogs about the best marketing tool a performer can have… a business card. I carry cards with me anytime I am out and hand them to others constantly.
There is another card to be played in a winning marketing hand. It too is inexpensive and easy to use. I am talking about the postcard, of course!
As I mentioned before, I use vistaprint.com for most of my printing needs and postcards are no exception. There are several other good online companies that you may choose to use to order postcards.
I use postcards in place of brochures much of the time. Brochures in smaller quantities run about $1.00 on vistaprint. Postcards about 7 cents. This is a no brainer.
A lot can be said on a two sided postcard. I personally don’t use color on the backside, black and white printing is usually free, but it really doesn’t increase the cost much if you choose to do a color backside.
Full color postcards are often on sale at vistaprint with the first 100 free or significantly discounted. The last cards I ordered cost about 7 cents each. Combine that with 28 cents postage for a total of 35 cents per mailed postcard or $35 per hundred.
Important note! Postcards are not a part of a broad marketing plan for me. I tend to start with e-mail which is free or very low cost to do mass contacts. Postcards are used for specific projects and/or specific mailings to a limited group.
The front side – in color is the hook to get the attention of your designated audience. The backside allows you to give more information. If you want to know how clean your mailing list is, be sure to include your return address on the backside. If you know the list is clean, save that room for copy and forget the return address.
Pay attention to font size. You may be able to use a size 4 font and get a ton of information on the back of a postcard… BUT NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO READ IT!!! Limit the content to a reasonable amount and use a decent sized font.
Keep it brief. Make the point you want to make and point the recipient to your website or blog. I prefer to have my website address on both sides of the postcard.
Include your phone number! Make it visible and easily found.
Want to add more information or send an additional note? Find envelopes that fit your postcard. Use the address area to write a note or add info. You would be surprised how cool it is to open an envelope and pull out a full color postcard!
If your printer can print on postcards, don’t use labels. Stack them and print the address on each card. If you have a small number to send, consider hand addressing them. If you need to send a large number, consider the invisible labels.
The oversized postcards are nice, but the mailing cost is 44 cents, the cost is higher and averages about 60 to 65 cents each. Almost double the cost of a standard card. For a special event or program they are neat. You can also get envelopes to fit them and you have more space to write in the address area.
I have several postcards I am using at present. I redesign the postcards to fit specific needs and order limited quantities so the messages stay fresh.
The great thing about postcard marketing… you can try it without major expense!
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