Celine. And Dion.

Y’all might remember how much I love America’s Got Talent. It’s one of my shows that make me cry. EVERY. SINGLE. WEEK. (Since The Biggest Loser hasn’t been on in about…oh, I don’t know exactly…two years?...I have all of those tears just waiting to be released from my old, sad eyes.)

If y’all are not watching this season's AGT, my question is this: WHY? I mean, SERIOUSLY…WHY? It has lots of ridiculous acts—at the beginning. But, after the first four shows, it’s ALL TALENT. Some of the acts? I cannot watch. I must fast forward. ICKY ICK ICK. Like contortionists? Uh, no. NO, thank you very much. But the singers? Dancers? Magicians? Comedians/Comediennes? LOVE THEM ALL.

I’m missing Nick Cannon—yet liking (and I’m semi-surprised I’m saying this) Tyra Banks as the Host. Howie? Mel B.? Heidi? Simon? ADORE THEM. Each and every one of them.

This year there is a 9-year-old girl who is INCREDIBLE. Her name is…wait for it...drumroll...Celine. Yep. Named after you-know-who. Her parents LOVE, LOVE, are OBSESSED with Celine Dion. (I can’t blame them.) Her little sister’s name? Yep. Dion. I cannot make this stuff up, Peeps.

I also cannot put into enough words—that are accurately descriptive—how good/talented/cute this little girl is. Last night? She got The Golden Buzzer (if you don't know what this is you're just going to have to watch the show...). From Guest Judge Laverne (spelling?). (I think she’s on Orange is the New Black. I think. I don’t watch that show because we don’t get that channel—but I’m fairly certain that’s her claim to fame. And she was precious. Truth.)

My Suggestion: WATCH America's Got Talent. If you never have—GIVE IT A TRY. On Demand it. Netflix it. Go to their website. You can watch every show from there. I believe. Do whatever you have to do. The contestants (and MANY are from other countries around the world) are full of The American Dream. How can an American not treasure that? At the very least, YouTube Celine’s performances, okay? You’ll fall in complete love with her. Trust me.

ELC

p.s.: My Sweet Hubby (MSH) and I meet TLC at our rendezvous spot in Euless manana at 9:30 a.m. This is THE WEEKEND! The Big Move will happen beginning tomorrow afternoon. TLC has literally been packing for over a month. She says she's (mostly) ready. Little Leighton and Baby Elle will be staying with us—at our country casa—for 3 nights/4 days. MSH and I could use a prayer or two for our physical stamina, energy and general well-being—if you have some prayers to spare. Baby Elle? WEARS. US. ALL. OUT. Sheesh. She also sleeps in my Boffice. That’s my combo word for our second guest room and my office. Any hope that I can post—or even get on my computer for more than five minutes—is completely dashed by her need to sleep in here. If there’s anything left of me on Monday night? Come back and look for my follow-up post possibly entitled: We Are Officially Pooped. If it's not there? Check back Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Winky. Wink.

Six Decades...

Well, Folks/Friends, in three weeks-ish, I’ll celebrate the BIG Six-O. 60. Wwhhhaaaattttt? How and when did this happen?

Please don’t get me wrong. I am grateful for every single day I’m blessed with Life on this Earth.

I didn’t mind 30. I’d just had TLC—she was the BEST GIFT EVER.

I wasn’t going to mind 40. (I got to plan my own Surprise Party—Ha!) But then I was diagnosed with breast cancer six weeks later. I had a modified radical mastectomy of my left breast and six chemo treatments over the next four months. Spent five more years on Tamoxifen (nicknamed chemo-in-a-pill—it was only tough the first three weeks and then it leveled out). That’s how I remember 40. Breast cancer.

50? It’s not that I was upset about it. I really just couldn’t believe I was there. I didn’t feel like a 50-year-old person. Whatever the heck that feeling is, I suppose. I went totally deaf in my left ear at 54. No explanation. No treatment. Can’t even wear a hearing aide. There’s nothing left to “aide.” Was grateful it wasn’t both my ears.  Had my first broken bone at 55. Broke my right wrist (I’m right-handed, of course.) falling down in our shower one morning. (I was in a HUGE hurry to meet two high school friends, in Ft. Worth, for lunch. They teased me about the lengths I went to to get out of that date!) Was grateful it wasn’t my hip or leg. Or neck.

Now, sixty? Hasta la vista, fifties. Sixty! I’m ready for you. BRING IT ON.

(Feel free, at this point, to practice singing me the Birthday Song, okay?)

Smooches and hugs from a Senior Citizen in Texas…Sigh…