F is for Friendship (by Chance)

Friendships are made, cemented, broken.  But one thing we can never change about our friendships is how they came to be, how they were born.

Friendship by Chance is perhaps the most refreshing friendship.  Let me tell you a story about one such friendship.  I have to go back a way in time to when I lived in Florida for nine months.  And even further back than that to when I went to a conference where the first person I met was one I’d been told to look for.  She was right there at the check in desk waiting for the computer to decide to work.  We waited together and got to know each other some.  Carrie lives in Florida.

So when I spent nine months caring for my grandson, I knew I couldn't go without Story, my constant companion in life.  I joined the Tampa Bay Storytellers’ Guild and met some wonderful tellers.  And besides I already knew Carrie even though she didn't live in the Tampa Bay area! I was encouraged by my Tampa Bay friends to send in a proposal for the Florida Storytelling Camp; and did so with Judith, another friend by chance.  Our proposal was accepted.  MyLinda was camp director (which means she was the producer).

Then I moved back to Colorado, and so did my son and his family!  The following November, MyLinda posted on Facebook an announcement of her Chocolate Festival which she holds the Saturday after Thanksgiving.  And someone named Ann said she wished she could come but was living in Denver now.

My mind started ruminating: How do I not know this storyteller named Ann who lives in Denver?  I thought I knew most of the Denver storytellers.  Who is she?

Well there was only one way to discover the answers to my questions – ask!  So I did.  I sent a message to Ann, storyteller in Denver.  She answered my questions.  We continued our Facebook chatting and then became friends through Facebook.  In February when I was in Denver (again to care for my grandson), Ann and I decided to meet for lunch.  We took an instant liking to each other!  Ann joined Rocky Mountain Storytelling and actually helped out with the registration that spring which she continues to do. 

Annie and I exchange cards, stories, emails, phone calls.  I've stayed at her house.  We love each other and the wonderful things we've been able to accomplish. 

Here’s to Friendship by Chance!

E is for Empty

Sometimes we work hard and come up empty.  Sometimes it’s meant to be that way.

“The Empty Pot” is a Chinese story about hard work, trying to please someone else, and honestly being yourself.

The Emperor was old; he had no heir.  And so he devised a plan to find the smartest boy in China to take his place when he died.  Because he loved plants, the Emperor sent out a proclamation stating: “Any boy who wants to be king come to the palace to receive one royal seed. Whichever boy can show the best results within six months wins the contest and becomes the next to wear the crown.”

Every boy in China fancied he could win.  People who knew boys who grew wonderful plants thought their son, brother, friend, kid down the street would win, and they would be guests at the palace.

Such a boy was Jun, he grew the best vegetables in his village.  He could always be found in his garden caring for the plants.  Carefully Jun carried home the royal seed.  He planted it after preparing a large pot with good drainage and rich soil.  Each day he waited for the baby plant to appear.  But to no avail.

Other boys in Jun’s village announced their seeds were growing.  But still nothing sprouted in Jun’s pot.  More and more boys reported their seeds were growing.  Jun repotted his seed, yet it still lay dormant and did not grow.

After six months it was time for the boys to take their plants to the Emperor.  Jun was ashamed that nothing had grown in his pot.  He asked his parents, “What should I do?”

His parents answered, “Take your pot to the Emperor.  You did the best you could.”

So shamefaced Jun took his empty pot and walked to the palace amid the other boys whose pots sprouted all manner of strong healthy plants.  In the courtyard the boys lined up in rows.  Then the Emperor, dressed in fine silks, strode out of the palace.  He looked at all the fine plants with a scowl on his face.  When he got to Jun, he stared at the empty pot before asking, “What is this, you’ve brought me an empty pot?  Where’s the plant you were supposed to grow?”

Jun hung his head and answered in a small voice, “I am sorry Your Majesty.  I did the best I could.  I planted your seed in good soil, the best I could find.  I watered it enough to keep the soil moist but not wet.  Every day I looked for the seed to sprout.  When it did not grow, I repotted the seed in new soil and then did it all over again a third time.  But it just won’t grow.  I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm,” replied the Emperor.  Then turning toward the crowd he thundered, “I am not sure where all these other boys got their seeds.  The seeds we passed out for the contest were cooked; so NOTHING could have grown from them!”

Then he smiled at Jun.

Who do you think became the next Emperor?

Here's where I found this story.

D is for Dads

Daddies are little girls’ first love.  I’ve found stories about Fathers that I have used for Father’s Day programs on my radio show, but the Dad stories I love most are the ones I tell about my own dad – my first love.

Most of these stories aren’t even about my dad and me; they are about my dad as a youngster.  For instance Dad won a horse when he was eight.  Well a pony – a mean Shetland pony named Fannie Mae (yep, you read that right).  But Fannie Mae was pregnant and so my dad also won Stormy who was more like a big dog that a Shetland pony.  Stormy stayed with dad’s family for a year and a half until Dad was too big to ride him, then he was sold to a man who wanted a pony for his little boy.  Dad, at 9, was in on the transaction.

Or there’s the story about the first “Got Milk?” picture.  Yes, my grandfather came up with the picture idea – not the slogan.  He hired a photographer to come and take pictures of his children drinking milk as an advertising campaign for his dairy.  As my aunt told the story, they had to drink milk and grin all afternoon.  Dad looks like he might have been in kindergarten or first grade, his shock of unruly straight black hair stood straight up from his head, thus earning him the nickname Fritz – from the Katz ‘n’ Jammer Kids comic strip.

Stories about our parents become more poignant as we age and our parents leave us.  My dad, my first love, left early – he was only 60.  But he lives on in the stories I tell about him and his adventures as a child.

 

C is for Cats

Most of my life I have been owned by or at least influenced by a cat or two.  At present there is a small black cat who shares my abode.  She keeps me company and complains when I've been gone while ignoring me most of the time I am home.

One of the earliest stories I remember is Millions of Cats written and illustrated by Wanda Gág.  So it wasn’t surprising to me that I learned to tell Millions of Cats early on in my storytelling career.  I was teaching second grade and used my storytelling skills to enhance my teaching and to keep the children engaged while we had to wait – for lunch, for P.E., for recess, for library.  Right away they learned the refrain, “Hundreds of cats, thousands of cats, millions and billions and trillions of cats.”  And chanted with me each time I used the refrain.  Sometimes we enacted the story with the children being the cats trailing behind me as we “went over the sunny hills and through the cool valleys.”  For a Summer Reading program, where a craft was expected to go along with the stories, I came up with the idea of paper bag cat puppets.  The story has grown and changed through the years, but it is still one of my favorites to tell.

Other cat stories that come to mind are Puss in Boots, The Cat Who Went to Heaven, The White Cat, and, of course, the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland.

Here is a link to a great cat blog.  

B Is for Blogging

For me, blogging started as a way to let people know what I was doing, where I was telling stories and a place to post pictures of those storytelling events.  It has since morphed into more of an informational based blog.  However I have not blogged in over a year which is why I decided to take the challenge of blogging 26 days in April.

We've all read various blogs.  We know most bloggers write about what they know.  Their observations, experiences, thoughts.  There are cooking blogs, dog blogs, blogs for “cat ladies,” blogs about writing, storytelling blogs and the list goes on and on. 

In writing today’s blog I discovered something I did not know – the origin of the word blog.  Back in the 90’s when blogs began they were called weblogs.  That’s web + log = weblog.  But someone who could be considered a wordsmith changed weblog to blog, one syllable is faster to say than two.  And isn't this the technological age where everything is going faster and faster?

So, what does a storyteller/writer blog about?  If you guessed Story, you won’t surprised to be told – “That’s right!”   Stayed tuned!

A Is for April's Fool

Today being April Fool’s Day, I thought it appropriate to begin with April’s Fool.  The fool in story is a common phenomenon. The medieval court jester or fool had the king’s ear, was to amuse the king - so the king thought.  But the Jester or Professional Fool could tell the king anything.  And maybe, just maybe the king would listen.  So saith my jester friend, Miles Eddy.  And believe me, Miles is nobody’s Fool.

Then there are the noodlehead stories.  Stories where a character or characters are so foolish that the audience waits only for the scene to be set.  After which the audience anticipates how the story will go.  The noodlehead stories are in many cultures.  Such stories include the Fools of Chelm (Jewish), foolish Jack (British), Nasreddin Hodja (Turkish), Jean Sot (Cajun), and lazy Heinz (German), Polite Jack (Appalachia).  And, yes, there is a southern noodlehead tale, some of you may have heard it – Epaminondas.  Sara Cone Bryant wrote down Epaminondas and His Auntie in 1907.  Whether the story was concocted in Ms Bryant’s head or someone told it to her, I do not know. 

My mother told the story to me when I was a child in the 1950’s.  When I needed a foolish story to tell in a workshop a friend and I were giving, I thought of Epaminondas, found my copy and learned it.  Recently (2002) Epossumondas and His Auntie was written by Coleen Salley and illustrated by Janet Stevens.  In this version of the story the main character, a boy, is replaced with a possum.  So it is the possum who is the fool.  This was when I was still working as a school librarian.  It was a student who brought home to me the fact that I could pair my telling of Epaminondas with a reading of Epossumondas for a compare and contrast lesson.  And be sure you hear the version Donna Washington tells!  Auntie is Grandma in her version.  It was my grandsons’ favorite story the year I lived in Florida and was their caretaker because, “Even if you drive your mama crazy, your grandma will always love you.”

You might also enjoy Donna's Blog - she tells it like it is when comes to Language, Literacy and Storytelling!

We've all done foolish things from time to time.  Noodlehead stories help us laugh at ourselves when we do.  When was the last time you laughed at yourself?

It's All About Story

Everything we do, everything, can be formed as a story.  A story we can tell to others so they know more about us.  A story we can weave together for entertainment.  A story we can use to teach a lesson.  Oh there are so many uses for Story.  If only, as the old parable says, we dress Truth in Story's finery, people will listen.


Stories come to us in a variety of ways.  Some of my blogs will be about how a particular story came to me.  Other blogs will be a story-gift from me (teller) to you (reader/listener).  Sometimes I will tell you about the story's journey from discovery (by me) to the telling (to an audience).  As a former teacher and librarian I used stories in my work, some of the upcoming blogs will explain how I used a story in my work.