Growing up Shea: A legacy of laughter

It's never good to start a blog off with an apology, but this photo (circa 1986) requires it.

My apologies to my sisters for dressing them in these bridesmaid dresses. At the time, I thought everyone could wear them again. Apparently I wasn't wrong--- they were used for Halloween costumes as the years went by.

My apologies to Dale Evans. Apparently I thought I could pull off the western wear bridal hat, but apparently, no one but Dale has that right,

My apologies to Fran, my brother's girlfriend. One look at my brother's perm is going to have her in gales of laughter for a week and probably pull a muscle.

My apoologies to the Family Feud. Apparently we stole this pose from the t.v show. Little wonder, my mother loved Richard Dawson. Good answer, good answer.

My apologies to my nieces and nephews and my son. This was taken pre almost all of them except Christopher, the oldest grandchild. I know the colors of the 80s are a bit blinding and I should have warned you all to wear sunglasses.

My apologies to my husband Jim who is still trying to figure out why in the world I have dark hair when I swear that I am a natural red head. All I can say is, Clairol 54, and 75 gave way to Revlon Auburn Sunset. Good answer, good answer.

So what is the point of this stroll down memory lane? Well, this was the only photo with us four kids and my parents I could find. I know there are others, but I just got off the phone with my sister and this blog is fresh in my head.

At the start of it all, there's your family. And in the middle, they are the ones you count on, And in the end, they are still the ones who love you, even when you screw things up.

A lot has changed since this photo was taken. All but one of us is divorced. Babies have been born and are now adults (or at least so they think). My father has passed, but is still as much as presence as ever. But we're all still family and we are all there for each other every day. As that saying goes, We may not be all there, but we're all there for each other.

I sometimes forget when writing this blog that words that I think are funny, may be mistaken by others as taunting or unkind. Nothing could be further from the truth when I write. I try and make others laugh, but nothing is ever meant to wound. I leave that to political campaigns and the SLAM books of the 1960s.

I love my family, all of it. The inlaws, the outlaws, the nieces, nephews and the ones to be. The cousins, the aunts, the uncles, all that goes into having grown up Shea.

And here's to my folks who didn't plan on raising two comedians but ended up doing so. And to my siblings for having not only gone along with me for the journey, but letting me share these family moments with others so I can pass on a legacy of laughter.

Apparently, I'm the Cat's Meow (and jingle mouse)

5:30am. Southern Man and I are blissfully unaware that a war is about to break out. A sort of "Whose King (or in this case Queen) of the Castle" between our two cats, Gracie and Houdini. Little did I know, the territory they were claiming was me...or more accurately my head.

Let me preface this by saying before these cats came into our lives about a year ago, I was strictly a dog lovin girl. Always had dogs, loved dogs, could never see myself with a cat. EVER. Note the EVER.

Enter Southern Man into my life with his easy way, charming smile and a LOVE FOR CATS! It took him nearly a year, but he wore me down to just go and "look". We came home with Gracie Allen, a lovely grey teenage cat in need of rescuing. Life was fun, life was great and I have to say, I was learning about Gracie and she was learning about me. Then the Southern Man gets an even more brilliant idea: Let's get another cat!

Enter Houdini. I should have known the minute we brought Houdini in, trouble would follow. She was what we call a "street chick" apparently picked up the streets and is trying to redeem herself after a sketchy past of hanging out in garbage bags with dubious creatures with ill manners and bad pasts and no breeding. The result is Gracie is a lot like Julie Andrews and Houdini...well she could easily pass for Amy Winehouse. Minus the bouffant.

I had high hopes they would love one another, ah but that's a dream ship that has sailed. Now I just want to have chairs without shred marks and the ability to walk my kitchen floor without stepping on jingle mice (Gracie's) rubber balls (Houdini's) or kibble (both).

Novice cat mama that I was, I figured these ladies just needed some time together to understand that "everybody gets along" in my home. What they needed was serious cat couples counseling.

The war first broke out in the livingroom. One of my favroite chairs, aptly known as the crazy chair, became the first casualty. The battle waged on toward the kitchen. Kibble was being thrown. Cat litter was a lethal method of disposal. Things were getting worse in the trenches.

Apparently this morning the choice was to have my head at dawn. That's right, my head.

Gracie did something I used to think was adorable (key word, used to) which was waking me up with gentle pats from her paws to my face. Now it's a slap so hard my head rings.

Houdini countered it with a full body tackle and then Gracie...did something that I have no idea how to explain and maybe you cat people can: it was like she aimed a primitive blowgun in my direction, blew a dart and surrounding me with a light mist. A moment later came the most AWFUL STANK you have every known in your life.

No it was not a sneeze, or a hairball. I have already played 20 questions with my husband and I am sure that yes, it came out of her head in some capacity, but no, it was not a sneeze, it was like she "spritzed" something on me, the way you would get at MACYS. But instead of Eternity by Calvin Klein, I got spritzed with "Eternally my owner" by Cat.

The smell permeated my pores. I was out of the bed in moments, grabbing for sheets. Unfortunately, the Southern Man was still blissfully unaware and sleeping at the time I chose to yank the sheets from the bed. You haven't lived until you have seen a grown man roll off the bed like a hot dog off a bbq.

When he asked what happened, who died, and why the heck was I yanking sheets off him in 22 degree weather at 530am, I could only answer, "The cat was marking her territory,and apparently, it's my head."

I believe if you listen you can still hear the sound of my husband laughing so hard he coughed up a hairball.

In comedy, like in life, you had better bring good snacks!

I just performed the worst show of my life since my very early days of comedy.

Oh sure, there were a few polite chuckles, but for the most part, I was going down quickly in flames and for a comedian, it's not pretty. You literally start pulling out every bit you know just trying to eek out even one laugh, one smile-- if it wasn't winter, you could have heard crickets. IF I thought setting my hair on fire would have made someone laugh, I would have considered it (but again there were fire codes). What was going wrong? It was one of my favorite groups to perform to....also known as some of the toughest critics---- the senior citizens--. I did all the wonderful stories about my mom. Nothing. I moved on to my Southern Husband, more nothing. I pulled out some of my classics-- nothingness nothing.

One man actually put his head on the table. Another woman started doing a crossword puzzle. Sweat was breaking out. My husband shook his head. This was some of my classic material GTMYL (Guaranteed to Make You Laugh) and nothing was bringing a smile to these faces.

What could I do? It look liked I was making them go through gum surgery. I am a comedian. It's not supposed to be painful for the audience. I ended the act and slunk off. There was clapping and then the movement of the senior crowd as they gathered their coats. One woman came up to me and surprisingly told me how good I was.

"Let me ask you something, it just didn't seem that my humor was hitting with your group. Do you know if I was doing something that maybe was offending them?"

It was the woman's turn to look surprised. "Honey, we loved the show. Half of those people are deaf. The other half are so old they just want to head home and be in time to watch Judge Judy. And things are always slow on tapioca day."

Tapioca day?

She looked around like she was giving me the secret to World Peace. "If you ever perform here again, ask to perform on chocolate cake day. No one misses chocolate cake day. The tapioca pudding though---well---," she rolled her eyes. "The only reason people come on tapioca pudding day is because all the good shows aren't on until later and usually if they give tapioca for dessert they make the sandwich pretty decent. Today was turkey and swiss." And with that piece of advice, she patted my hand and was off.

After speaking to the Senior Center coordinator, it seems these town programs actually give lunches to lure the seniors in. Had I known it all relied on the snacks, I would have made sure I packed my pockets with a few extra boxes of Russell Stovers chocolate cremes but I went in a total babe in the woods. Next time I know better. In comedy, like life, some days you show up and its tapioca and other days it's chocolate cake. But who says you have to take what they give you? I came in and brought a whole new kind of dessert but hardly anyone was there to enjoy it, and those who were there, weren't willing to open themselves up for a new receipe.

As my husband and I walked out to the car we spied a couple who had been amongst the few who were listening and laughing. I walked up to them and apologized that apparently their group wasn't pleased with the show. The woman smiled and said, "Oh no, we enjoyed it. You can't go by that group. They've just given up on enjoying anything. And besides, you have such a sweet face."

I had to laugh. That was something my mother would say.

And speaking of my Mom, if her senior group served tapioca on one day and she didn't want it, she wouldn't eat it but it wouldn't stop her from doing what she wanted. She's her own person and thank God truly that she is.

I tease my Mom a lot and she ends up being comedy in my act more often than not because she's funny, really funny. But more than that, she's got a real firecracker personality and thank God truly that she does. She hasn't given up just because there's a 7 in her age and her friends, the posse are one of the most active bunch of ladies I ever met. You're never going to find them eating tapioca if they don't want to.

But if I ever do another senior citizen show, just to be on the safe side, I may wait for chocolate cake day....or bring my mom as my security guard.

My mother has joined a gang...

I am concerned about my mom. I believe she has joined a gang. This wild, tea swilling, bingo playing, sideview hitting mirror vandals hang out in her senior citizen complex, or what she fondly calls "the Compound." Generally, the number can fluctuate (depending on who's in Florida for the winter) but the gang, or the Posse as we call them are as follows:

Big Marge: Towers over the rest and is a real live wire. Thought to be somewhere in her 80s and still drives (I would tell you the make and model but she goes too fast for me to get her license). My favorite thing about Marge is she actually has one of those little stair elevators in her apartment. "You have to try it," she begged me when I stopped over one day. "It's so much fun! I just use it for my groceries!" So there I was, sitting in this very slow moving stair car as Marge walked beside me saying "Isn't this fun?" Just like Disney!

Little Marge: No relation to Big Marge but since they had the same name and she's about three feet shorter, hence the name. Little Marge doesn't live in the compound but can be found joining the Posse for outings to the movies and Atlantic City. Little Marge may not say much but her eyerolls are classic.

Betty: Now if there was ever a woman who should have her own talk show, it's Betty. No way would you believe she is 90, she sings, dances and basically tells jokes. If you had a piano and a step stool, I bet she'd dance on it, without even benefit of a can of ensure.

Inga: I want to have Inga's energy when I grow up. Again another 90 year old, this woman is the ultimate health nut and I wish I had her gams! She walks, gardens and basically keeps the others in line with a look. You don't want to mess with Inga on a dark street...you would lose.

Bridie: Don't let those Irish eyes fool you, this lady is one sharp cookie. She and Inga travel down to Florida every winter and she's always happy to be "back home" with the "girls" when the spring comes. A true lovely lady but don't ever play bingo with her, she's a shark!

Lorraine: Lorraine is the first one to have her door decorated for any holiday, included Groundhogs Day. She has a wonderful sense of humor despite some of her neighbors obvious attachments to putting hats and scarfs on garden statues.

Ali (my mom) She's the kid of the group and often a driver for the event. You can tell she is coming by the giant owl glasses peering over the steering wheel, the four white heads in her back seat and the sounds of Frank Sinatra blaring out of the stereo. She has a few scratches on the side of her car now because apparently "I hit one of those traffic things."

I hope she didn't mean a traffic cop.

What are you...a couple of comedians?

Meet my family.

My husband, The Southern Man. We've been married about 16 months. He gave up his life in the South to come here in what he likes to refer to as "this frozen wasteland" and speaks with a thick Southern accent that just melts my heart. He also has some fabulous yet confusing phrases such as "I might can" and "I'm fixin to" and "I've been rode hard and put up wet" which apparently is a fancy way of saying he's tired. The Southern Man is a great fellow and a lot of fun but has a tendency for fainting in Penn Station. He used to be in the funeral business and on our first date he picked me up in a hearse. Now that's a story worth hearing!

My son, The Fashion Designer. A freshman at FIT, the Fashion Designer has enough creativity to cover the world in suede and fringe. He is an only child, probably because he wasn't the greatest advertisement in his early years for increasing the herd. Raised primarily by me for a great part of his life, I have managed not to damage him too severely, but just enough to ensure I have comedy for the rest of my life. He still has not forgiven me for having taught him how to shave with a pink daisy razor.

My Mother, the Senior Citizen. Hates bingo but has to play it because it's apparently "mandatory" she lives in a senior citizen complex she calls "the compound." Smart, sassy and a real firecracker, I get a great deal of my comedy from her, although she rarely realizes how hilarious she is. Almost every line out of her mouth is a golden gem and when she gets disgusted with someone she starts the line with..."are you serious???" She loves to be "in the know" so much that I got her a cellphone. Teaching her to use it was a whole other thing entirely. It has become one of my most popular comedy bits and would be even funnier....if it wasn't a true story.

My goofy brother. A fellow comedian and my partner in crime, one look across the table without a word spoken can send us both into gales of laughter. We share a brain apparently, and it's not that large.

The sister who is dearly loved and is a great audience member. This sister never had a choice. We shared a bedroom and she has been listening to my schtick ever since. She deserves super kudos for that. I'm funnier now than when I played in front of a contingency of Barbies

The sister who knows everything about everything which is annoying to those of us (me) who have no clue about anything or everything. Obviously the oldest, this sibling graduated I believe cum laude..... I was lucky I got to come to graduation.

The girls. Gracie Allen and Houdini, our two cats who share an odd relationship. Gracie has a mouse addiction and will hide up to 12 little play mice under our stove that require the use of a dowel to free. Houdini has a sock addiction and steals one sock of every pair and hides them. Location still unknown.

That's the family for now. More to come.