Sunday, May 12, 2013

Lucky Me – Stories My Mother Told Me



Mom & Me
My mother, my mother told me stories, sang me songs and read to me every day when I was little.  She told stories about her life, her brothers and sisters, her mother and father.  She read fairy tales and folktales from a set of books we called the Red Books which were part of the deal when she purchased a set of encyclopedias when I was about three or four.  By the time I needed to use an encyclopedia they were pretty much out of date, but I still have the Red Books.

A few times when Mom told us, my sisters and me, folktales and fairy tales she made up little songs to put into the stories.  The one I especially remember is The Three Billy Goats Gruff and I use those little ditties when I tell that story.  I loved listening to Mom tell and read stories.  I wanted to remember the stories she told; so I retold them to my imaginary brother, his name was Bother, when he would come to visit me.
From http://www.bbc.co.uk/cbeebies/misc/stories/
I remember sitting in the rock garden overlooking the valley that was next to our rural Ohio home.  Brother lived in the Valley.  When I called, “Brother, come up!” sometimes he would be there, and I could practice telling Mom’s stories since he never seemed to be around when she told them.  Brother was a good listener.

My grandpa was an engineer for the gas company in Iowa.  The family moved a lot, and Mom told us stories about all the places she lived.  One I particularly remember is about when she and her older brother got in trouble for throwing crab apples at the trolley.  Her older brother taught her how to play basketball.  These were the olden days, remember, and girls played by different rules in basketball than boys did.  They couldn’t cross the line in the middle of the gym.  But Mom learned to play boys’ rules.  Basketball was a big deal in Iowa even back then.  Mom was on the Girls Basketball Team in High School.  The whistle blew a lot when she was on the court – every time she crossed that middle line!


Mom & Daddy
As we got older, Mom’s stories were sometimes about when she met my dad.  It was a blind date, but they weren’t dating each other.  Daddy’s sister went to the same Nursing School my mom did.  She volunteered her brother as a date for a dance.  Mom’s good friend did not have a date; so…  The day after the double date, Daddy stepped way out of his comfort zone and called Mom to see if he could take her out.  She said, “Yes,” and that was it.

Mom is gone from my life now.  It’s been a number of years.  But those stories she told me, read to me, and the songs she sang to me are still part of me.  They always will be! 

Happy Mother’s Day to my very first storytelling mentor – MY MOM!

 


Friday, April 12, 2013

Fear of the Unknown

 




Franklin D. Roosevelt
"So first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself --  nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed effortsd to convert retreat into advance."  --Franklin D. Roosevelt




          The month of March brought fear back to me in vivid memory as we waited to see what the prognosis would be on my husband’s open heart surgery.

            I’ve had heart problems most of my life, since I was a youngster stricken with rheumatic fever.  Although that was not the diagnosis at the time, the doctor did come every day for ten days with a huge shot of penicillin.  It got so I didn’t want to see him anymore; I still don’t like needles.  I wasn’t really physical as a kid, but back in those days it was okay for girls not to be athletic; so I contented myself with quieter activities like reading.
 
With permission of Drugs.com
            Age 23, I had my first genuine physical since I was 10.  Diagnosis: Heart murmur in the mitral valve.  Then fluid started collecting in my lungs at night when I was trying to sleep – scary not being able to breath.  The doctor thought it might be asthma.  I bought an over the counter inhaler which didn’t help at all.  There were nights when I slept in the recliner because lying down was impossible.  Finally, with a little detective work, we figured out the trigger was salt.   That led to the diagnosis of Mitral Stenosis.  The mitral valve had been damaged by the rheumatic fever 20 years before and had degenerated more through the ensuing years.

            Over the next four years, my energy waned along with my weight.  I had been slender, but was now downright skinny weighing only 106 pounds.  I was told we had to wait.  It wasn’t “bad enough to operate.”  So how “bad” did it need to be?  I thought I was dying.  At 26, an echo cardiogram (the computer took up most of the room and the monitor was small with only green on black imaging; now the computer and monitor which shows the heart in vivid colors fit on a cart) and a cardiac catheterization showed that my mitral valve was almost completely useless as the opening was the size of a pencil instead of a large sausage.

            Then when I was almost 28, it was time.  I was scared.  What would happen?  Would I be scarred for life?  Would I die?  My wonderful surgeon explained the whole operation to me – a closed heart commissurotomy which is rarely performed anymore.  He would make an incision under my left breast, stretch my ribs apart, and clean the valve with a small scalpel fitted over his finger.  That was still scary.  We toured the hospital.  That was a little bit reassuring.  My pastor visited with me a number of times to help reassure me.  On November 12, 1975, I presented myself at the admissions window of St. Luke’s Rush Presbyterian Hospital in Chicago, Illinois.  I was as ready as I would ever be.
            I woke up with a tube in my throat.  I could not talk.  The nurses in ICU told me to bang on my bed if I needed something.  My ribs ached something fierce!  Pain meds allowed me to doze in that semi-awake state through the weekend.  I have a few vivid memories of isolated incidents during that time.  Mostly it’s a blur.  The next week was better.  Tubes had been removed; I could talk and walk around.  My ribs still hurt, but not as bad unless someone made me laugh.

            As I recovered, I gained strength.  By that summer, I was playing tennis, running around the track at the local high school, and enjoying as sense of freedom.  Carrying the air-conditioner up from the basement was so easy – not the painful trip to carry it down.  I wondered if it would work since someone had obviously taken the heavy motor out of it.
 
            The operation was said to last five to seven years; I knew I did not want to lose two years of my life again.  But after the seven years was up, I was still going strong and running after two kids!  Luckily my operation lasted 25 years.  In 2000, I had a balloon valvotomy performed.  No long recovery, I only missed a week of work instead of eight weeks.  A medical advancement well worth waiting for.

            But all that worry, anxiety, and fear came flooding back early in March when my husband told me of his fears.  I believe the fear of the unknown is the hardest fear to overcome.  It is not until you are on the other side that it dissipates.

Saturday, February 23, 2013

Waiting ...


I’ve spent a great deal of time waiting the last two months.  Waiting can be exhilarating, tedious, a practice in patience, tiring, full of anticipation, frustrating.  It all depends upon the circumstances surrounding the waiting and whether or not the person waiting has any control over why they are waiting or what they are waiting for.

Waiting to recover from an illness is frustrating.  Your mind is ready to go full-tilt, but your body must have time to recover before it can run smoothly again.  Much of my waiting during the winter has been this.  It’s like taking the car in for service to have one thing fixed and being told there are three other repairs that have to be done now.

Waiting for a Gathering or Meeting (as in meeting another person) that is anticipated to bring great joy and delight is a practice in patience.  We can put our time to good use in preparing for the arrival of Joy.  We can be mindful of how we are proceeding with our wait.

Julie and Cathryn
Jessica Baris and me
Daoist Temple in Chinatown
Waiting for an Event that is sure to offer more than advertised is exhilarating.  Everyone loves getting a good deal, don’t they?  I waited all of January and a bit of February for such an Event.  It proved to be well-worth the wait.  Thanks to Storyteller, Cathryn Fairlee, for her invitation to spend Chinese New Year with her and my cousin, Peggy, for a great time in San Francisco!  Also while in San Francisco, I was pleased to meet in person Wakeful Storyteller, Jessica Baris, whom I had just met a few days earlier via Skype thanks to Buck Creacy and his World of Storytelling Radio.

Waiting for a well-deserved Reward that is having difficulties putting in an appearance is frustrating.  Most of us desire our promised rewards on time.  Come on, we deserve it, don’t we?

Waiting for a Gift is full of anticipation.  Anticipation is titillating, exciting and makes the waiting all seem worthwhile.  


Denver International Airport
Waiting in an airport as I was doing when I wrote this because flight connections did not work (the wind gods plotted on high resulting in a five hour wait) is tedious and tiring. But at least I had something to occupy my mind (my book to read was with me instead of in my suitcase and the internet is free!) and could take a walk to exercise my body. I could have been bored or surreptitiously eaves dropped on others' conversations and watched people scurrying about. Which is, of course, way more fun than being bored!  I wish I had known about the quotation from Diane Wolkstein which is on the window in the B Concourse (thanks to Regina Ress for letting us know about this wonderful tribute) because I would have gone to see it.  Now I must wait until I fly again!

So there are all kinds of waiting.  What do you like or dislike waiting for?


© Julie Moss Herrera, 2013


Sunday, December 23, 2012

Connections and Re-connections


            “Connective tissue forms a mechanical continuum, extending throughout the animal body even into the innermost parts of each cell.” ~Paul Gilley Yin Yoga, a Quiet Practice

            I bought this little book late last spring because my yoga teacher was pursuing other options, like a degree in art.  As I leafed through it, the quote above caught my eye.  “Isn’t that what my life is doing this year?” I thought.   And it is what my life has been up to this whole year!  Not just new connections, but reconnections with my past as well. 

            When, late last spring, I first began thinking of writing a blog about connections and reconnections, I wondered what else could happen this year since I had already made many new connections in the Storytelling World through conferences at LANES and Northlands; a trip to Oaxaca, Mexico with Jim May; and Facebook; reconnected with my storytelling mentor, Norma Livo; and with a tour through the state reconnected with some of the people from my life at Illinois College and in Rochelle, Illinois.

            What else indeed?  With more conferences and storytelling events (NSN, RMS, STNM), I made more connections and reconnections in the Storytelling World.  Connections that reaffirmed for me the importance of Story in my life.  I wrote about that in July.

Fischer Family Reunion
            Family is always and forever important, but when we disperse to the far corners of this large country of ours, it isn’t always easy to remain as connected as we were when young.  By year’s end I visited both my sisters and four of my special cousins, all from the same family. 
 
Friends from the past keep reappearing as if by magic.  My high school class has discovered the power of reconnecting through social media and with the diligence of one woman, with help from a few others, 115 out of 247 people have been “found.”   We’ve changed and grown over the many years that have stretched between high school graduation and social security.  It seems for the better. 
 
Writing and publishing a book (Old China through the Eyes of a Storyteller) has made connections too.  Connections to others who have a desire to know about China, to pass on a legacy to their adoptive children or have made a journey similar to mine. 

Reading Women Who Run with the Wolves by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes has reconnected me to my intuitive self.  I found my way back to my real self, the person I was when I was 19 and realized I had walked down some paths where I should not have gone.

What I find fascinating is how doors that I never knew or even suspected were there, are opening, showing the way to growth.  I feel a part of a community as I never have before.  A community connected by life.  So that “mechanical continuum formed by connective tissue that extends into the innermost parts of each cell,” isn’t that what connections/reconnections do for each individual?  I think so…





© Julie Herrera 2012

Monday, October 29, 2012

Tale of a Mouse's Foot Continued

In June I posted the follwoing:
"Last month, after I heard a mouse escaping from a trap we had set, I posted a Facebook comment about it.  Beginning below is the resulting story.  It is a rough draft, not finished yet. But for those who helped me write the story by commenting on my post, I present this as is.  Please let me know what you think.  How can I make it better?  If you who commented before do not see your piece of the story, it is coming next time."
This is next time!
 
A Tale of a Mouse’s Foot (Part 2)
 
 

          Above their heads, the Cats, Comet and Shadow were planning a party to which they texted a message to their friend Quandary who lived far away: “Dinner Party – Informal Dress – Menu: Mouse Pate” Quandary texted back: “Mouse Pate? Drool… I’ll be there even if I have to drag L along!”
Part 2
Shadow and Comet
           But before the Cats, Comet and Shadow, could even finish looking for Mouse Pate recipes in the cookbooks scattered across the floor there was a snap in the drawer!             “Another one!” purred Shadow.
          “Murow,” replied Comet flicking his tongue across his lips.  “Start texting again.”
          The collection of mice had grown fairly large.  The Cats were keeping them on ice so as not to stink up the house.  They did not want to live outside and knew when they had it made.  Finally they located a recipe in an obscure little cookbook that was shaped like a mouse.
          “After boiling for 10 minutes, skin, debone and mash 12 mice,” the recipe stated.  The Cats started banging pots and pans about in order to find just the right one.  “Do we have enough mice?” Comet asked.
          “Let me check,” Shadow said as she climbed into the freezer and started counting. “One, two, three, four, five, six… NO.”
          “Maybe we could supplement with fish.  There are fish in there too, aren’t there?”
          “Or we could serve two dishes.  First Course: Mouse Pate; Second Course: Fried Fish; with ice cream for dessert!  Yummmmmm!”
          “Let’s set a date and see if Quandary can make it,” suggested Comet.  “Maybe by that time we’ll have gotten some more mice.”
          Looking at the calendar hanging on the side of the fridge, the Cats chose two possible dates in mid fall and texted Q.  To which he replied, “The earlier the better, drool : b”
Quandary
 
          But as the late summer leaves began to change color and the evenings had a decided chill in the air, no more mice ventured into the drawer.  “Where’d they all go?” the Cats asked one another.
          One evening while perched on the chair reading over the Two-legged’s shoulder, Shadow discovered where all the mice had gotten themselves off to.  That night she explained to Comet, “Those fool mice hitched-hiked all the way to New York state!”
          “How do you know?”
          “They found their way to Bear’s house.  And were caught sleeping in her bed!  I saw it on Facebook.”
          “Then of course it’s true,” stated Comet matter-of-factly.  “We’ll have to make do with the six we already have.  Too bad because both Q and I love to eat.”
          Quandary and L finally made the pilgrimage south and the three Cats had a fine dinner of Mouse Pate, Fried Fish and Ice Cream for dessert while the Two-leggeds went off to enjoy stories at the TaosStorytelling Festival.


Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Breast Cancer Awareness Month


            Thinking about my friend Mary Motz and the annual walk in memory of her daughter, Stephanie L. Miner, who lost her life to breast cancer made me think: most of us have a story about how breast cancer has affected our lives in one way or another.  Because this is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, here’s mine. 


Elsie Mae Andress
            Many years ago Rebecca Haifleigh Moss became afflicted with breast cancer.  As the disease progressed she needed special care.  Elise Mae Andress was hired to be her private duty nurse.  Elsie had wanted to be a nurse from the time she had to care for her whole family and the threshers when she was young.  But her family frowned upon nursing as a profession for “proper young women.”  Elsie became a teacher, saved her money, moved to Chicago and put herself through nursing school.
            While she was caring for Mrs. Moss, Elsie met her son, Will.  Will was smitten and started spending a lot of time with his mother just so he could see Elsie.  Finally he asked Elsie to marry him.  Elsie, who had chosen career over marriage years ago, told him, “I will marry you on two conditions.  One, I will not be a nursemaid to your mother.  Two, I will have a career.”  He gave her this beautiful coral necklace. 

            Will agreed to her conditions and so at age 30 Elsie Mae Andress became Elsie Mae Andress Moss.  She had three children in the next five years each born in a different place, while Will tried to decide where they should live and what he wanted to do with his life.  Norman, the youngest, was born in Gates Mills, Ohio, not far from the community of Chester.  Soon after his birth, Will bought an old barn and started a creamery.  The new business was named Moss Farm Dairy and the family moved into the old farmhouse.
Dora and Norman Moss
            Nancy, the middle child, followed her mother’s footsteps and went to nursing school.  There she met Dora Fischer.  She introduced Dora and her best friend to her younger brother, Norman, when Ciglinda needed a date.  But Norman (or Fritz) was more interested in Dora than his date.  He called the next week and they started seeing each other.  A few years later they were married on July 11.  (That’s 7-11; Norman chose the date.)

            Rebecca Haifliegh Moss was my great-grandmother.  Elsie Mae Andress and William Oscar Moss were my grandparents.  And Dora Fischer and Norman Moss were my parents.  So I am here because of breast cancer.
 
 

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Dreams Do Come True


          In the spring of 1969 as I filled out applications for teaching jobs, a difficult question for an eager young teacher-to-be to answer, “Where do you see yourself in ten years?” needed a special answer.  I loved my student teaching position.  I hoped I would love my first teaching position.  But where did I see myself in ten years?  Hmmm?
Tilton School 2nd grade


              Thinking long and hard I wrote, “I plan to write a children’s book.  In ten years I see myself as a children’s author.”  That dream did not come true.  For ten years later, I was the mother of a toddler with another baby on the way.  What I had done was tell stories to my second grade classes and obtain my master’s degree with a dual emphasis on library and media.  But still I wanted to write.
Preschool Story Hour
 

My son's birthday party.
           My children grew.  The volunteer task of holding the preschool storytime at our public library was offerd.  It was fun, I told stories, learned finger plays and silly songs.  All the children loved what we did and I became a minor local celeb.  But still I wanted to write.

Telling stories at Ortega Middle School
            My children grew.   They started school, I obtained a position as secondary librarian in a nearby school district.  I taught students how to find information.  We used Billy Joel’s “WeDidn't Start the Fire” as a fun way to start the freshmen on the road to scholarship.  The middle-schoolers learned research through History Fair and Science Fair.  And I introduced storytelling to these students, who loved it.   But still I wanted to write.

            My children grew.   They entered secondary school.  I became the elementary school librarian.  I was back with children’s literature!  I told stories and read the latest new books to children ages four through ten.  And I taught them how to find information.  The internet entered our lives – email, lots of information at our fingertips.  But still I wanted to write.

            My children grew.   They attended the colleges of their choice, graduated and started their own lives.  Now I was working only with the upper grades.  I still told stories and read new books to the students.  We learned research skills by making science booklets for the kindergartners and first graders.  The internet grew more sophisticated.  So the students and I together learned how to sift through the myriads of stuff to find just what we needed.  The principal directed me to help with the gifted and talented program.  My partner and I worked on reading, poetry, math, science, computer skills and storytelling.  The storytellers told their stories to the kindergartners and first graders and learned the joy that comes with sharing a story well-told.  But still I wanted to write.
Telling stories for my grandson's class.


            My children grew.   One started a family of his own; the other traveled around the world.  I retired and was privileged to spend nine months with my grandsons - singing songs, reading books and telling stories.  The oldest had his public debut while singing a story song with me to a group of other children and their parents!  And I was writing!
            Following an NSN sponsored trip to China with other storytellers and my daughter where we collected and shared stories, I began to research the story-gifts we had been given.  I told them and worked those stories into versions of my own.  I wrote the stories down and changed them as they changed with the tellings.  There were workshops about writing and books to read about publishing.  Then, oh then, I was ready to find a publisher.  Query letters went out, and my friend and fellow-traveler, Judith Heineman, introduced me to Ted Parkhurst of Parkhurst Brothers, Inc.  He was interested!  And now, very shortly the finished product will be ready and available.  I did write a book, a book not only for children, but also for storytellers and story-lovers.  My Dream Came True!


     

 
View my website at:
www.StoriesByJulie.com