Stories from a Storyteller

Our Winter Solstice Event finds a new home...

2011-12-09T16:38:00.000-08:00

This year we are moving our Winter Solstice performance from our seven year home at the Visitor's center at the Arnold Arboretum to the historic Loring-Greenough House nearby in Jamaica Plain. The reason for the move is that the newly hired director at the Arboretum wants only science-based programming at his facility and so I went looking for a new home for our annual Winter event. We couldn't just move to any location! We needed to find a space that could somehow rival this elegant tree sanctuary.

Today I walked into our new performance home, the Loring-Greenough House, and fell in love! To experience an old house requires all of our senses. From the unmistakably beautiful scent of age and time, to the feel under your feet of uneven floors married to the earth, to the visual delight of rooms filled with antiques and resonant with stories gone by is a rich thing.

Ed Stanley who met me there and who has welcomed us to this space also works as an appraiser of antiquities. "I work with antiques too," I said. "I go in search of old myths and polish them over time in hopes that they can resonate for us today."

"If I had to appraise a myth he said, "I would say it's priceless." On that subject and all the others about the set-up of the evening we were in full agreement!

I know our audience will love this new space and that these ancient myths will shine in these surroundings. I remember attending Robert Bly's talks and poetry readings in the 80's. He often spoke of the difference between soul and spirit. 'Soul lives in things like old wooden spoons,' he said. This house has SOUL.

Happily, my friend Katharine Cipolla, an amazing chef who also has a great sense of play in the kitchen, is going to come up with special intermission fare evocative of the season. Perhaps something based on Sweden's Santa Lucia's Day- breads with cardamom and saffron. For a centerpiece, a storytelling friend, Len Lipner, has loaned me an authentic St Lucia headdress (this headdress crowned the head of the young girl of the household as she descended the stairs on the morning of December 13th) Len also loaned recordings of traditional St. Lucia carols to be played at intermission.

Thanks to this new Evocative Place, the setting is SET. Now we move forward with our rehearsals of stories, songs and music traditional at this time of year...
Looking forward to an upcoming full sensory immersion!

A Sense of Place

2011-08-17T18:58:00.000-07:00

Summer 2011 was a busy one with over 40 performances at various venues. A grueling but satisfying journey but how would I find ways to ground myself in this onrush of places... I hardly felt like myself when I arrived at a venue. I was too much in transit.
Enter a new idea! BE ON THE LOOKOUT! The lookout for places "on the way" nature spots spots to walk in or contemplate to help me feel connected
I found such amazing little nature sites and as I look back over the summer those moments in nature come back to me with such sweetness. The deep pool of quiet water beside a rushing river in Rhode Island, A nature path I walked before a show where I saw the most unusual mushrooms and beetles. These places also gave me pause as I saw how everywhere people were preserving wild spaces. It was a heartening experience for a conservationist like me.
To be on the LOOKOUT also turned out to be a great idea for the foodie in me.
I saw a road side sign that said SQUASH BLOSSSOMS and celebrated the moment by pulling over at Aquilantes a little diner-like restaurant in Rhode Island with lots of heart. I could not resist these little gems they fried and stuffed these blossoms with delicate cheese and a lemon sauce. "Where do you get your zucchini blossoms from?" I asked the waitress. "Oh from a sweet little old Italian lady. She brings them every year." Perfect!! I was Walking Local Eating Local and this on the road teller got to support so many things local to being wherever I was on the road.
The summer was filled with other moments of wonder. Eating roadside peaches by the side of the road in Granville Mass. They burst open with juice and flavor. Next year I will return there at the same time even if I don't have a job there!

The Three Little Pigs and the VideoGameBoy Wolf

2011-02-19T09:46:00.000-08:00

I've begun an inner city (inner Boston) storytelling residency which I'm enjoying very much. Lots of challenges- There are sweet moments and there are days when my learning curve is very steep.

I often begin my residencies by having students re-tell a classic folktale either Goldilocks or The Three Pigs. Much to my surprise, when one of my students re-told The Three Pigs it soon became apparent that within it is the structure of a video game.

First of all note that we have the three LEVELS. Pig ONE who builds his house out of STRAW is LEVEL ONE. Pig TWO who builds his house out of STICKS is LEVEL TWO and Pig THREE the ULTIMATE who builds his house out of BRICKS is LEVEL THREE. If the wolf succeeds at all three levels it turns out that he can incinerate everything in a fireball. As the story was told we met the wolf. Obviously the "player" who the person playing is supposed to identify with. At the the beginning the wolf only has LASER EYES that he can use to demolish the first pigs house!! But after he demolishes the first pigs house he gets additional powers and his hands become SPIKEY MITTS!!! If he succeeds there he gets the ability to BREATHE FIRE. And the whole PigDom goes down in flames. Of course there is now no moral to the story! Just a progression. I guess that's progress for you!

STORY SAVES LIBRARIAN FROM DEATH!

2010-07-27T20:34:00.000-07:00

Heard an unusual story from a Children's Librarian today. She said that storytelling had actually saved her from death... I was instantly intrigued as among storytellers there is always much talk about "The Power of Story" This sounded like the real thing!
As we stood amidst the stacks of books she told me this tale...

"I was walking around a reservoir. It was a cloudy day and no one was around. Suddenly a huge man - six foot tall jumped out and cornered me. He had a terrible expression on his face and a long knife that he used to hold me hostage. As I was confronted by this life threatening situation I remembered a story my Polish grandmother had told me about being in a dangerous situation herself. She was out on a country road when someone approached her and tried to grab her so she clubbed her attacker with a great Kielbasa Sausage and so was able to escape. 'What do I have with me, I thought.... I'm not carrying any Kielbasa even though my Polish grandmother did advise me to. What do I have?' Then I remembered I had a golden key with me that I was going to use as a prop in a storytime for my library children the next day. I pulled out my golden key and began telling the story. I just kept telling the story no matter how frightened I was because I had read recently in Ladies Home Journal that in situations with an attacker it is important to keep talking. It does not matter what you talk about but it is important to talk. I told the story of the Golden Key. The story has a refrain which is 'I have a golden key and it has magical powers' Over and over I told the story and showed the magical golden key. I don't know whether he repented or whether he really believed this key had magical powers but he let me go. He said to me, "Walk away from me but if you look back or run I'll kill you." "That was the hardest thing I ever did,turn away from this madman holding a knife."

That - I said to this brave little children's librarian - is truly an example of the Power of Story.

Henna Night

2010-06-09T18:14:00.000-07:00

In late May I was invited to Henna Night for my Kurdish friend Gulcem. I didn't know much about this ancient tradition for the bride to be. All I knew was that it would be a gathering of women and that Henna would somehow be involved. We arrived one by one. Everyone looked so modern- and why not - we were modern! There was a huge amount of delicious food prepared and casual conversation but then in a small back room the shining red veil was brought out. It had been brought by her sister from her home in Turkey and was an important part of not only the henna night but the wedding itself.
Her sister and close Kurdish friends prepared Gulcem for the ritual, draped her in the beautiful red veil the same red lace veil she will later wear walking down the aisle at her wedding. They mixed and placed dark circles of henna on a plate. Danced and sang around her, mixing the henna into her hands and then offering henna to all of us. We opened up the palms of our hands and they made deep circles of the henna mixture in them. Later when we washed off the henna mixture there were the richly colored circles still there. Linking us to the bride and to her journey to a new home. Wishing you well dear friend!!

Genesis

2010-04-01T16:39:00.000-07:00

I was hundreds of miles from home on a Florida beach cradling a wounded seagull. Its head was bowed by two fishing hooks that tethered its beak to its foot. Almost unable to breathe, it had been dredged back and forth in the pounding surf till I scooped up its limp body, carrying it to safety.

The hooks were in deep and I was despairing. “Do you have wire cutters?” I implored of all until at last, a man with a crew-cut and wire-rimmed glasses stopped before me. His jacket said “Coastal Conservation Association” and my heart leapt at the sight.

He knelt down, gently, “What have you got there?”
“It’s hurt,” I said, “I think we can only free it with wire cutters.”
“I knew I should’ve brought my truck.” He turned to the dark-haired woman behind him.
“I think we have some at the office,” she said, “I’ll go.” She set off, determined. We huddled over the bird as an evening storm approached. Its eyes were dark and liquid with pain.

“A group of girls came by,” I blurted out indignantly, “they said ‘Ewww!’ and took a picture for Facebook!”

“Maybe it will inspire more to help,” was his thoughtful reply.

“Why don’t they help?” I asked, “Why does it seem so few care?”

“They don’t want to sensitize themselves; then they would have to slow down.”

How true his comment was. I remembered my first reaction to the struggling bird. I was torn between my compassion and my fears that my Florida vacation would be spent nursing a wounded animal.

“We’re here to take care of them,” he said quietly, “Genesis tells us that. In Genesis we weren’t created first, nature was first and we came after, to be its guardian.”

I was hearing a Christian homily delivered for the first time by this kind man. His faith in Genesis and his interpretation of its meaning were giving him strength as he worked for the preservation of nature.

“This is all I could find.” The dark-haired woman handed him a pair of wire cutters, but they were too thick for the delicate work needed to free the gull.

“I’ll take it home,” he said, “I know what to do.”

He lifted the gull and tucked it under his jacket next to the warmth of his chest.

“Have a blessed day,” he said.

As I walked back to the rented condo, a fierce rain fell. I wished that I too had a sacred narrative that would cradle me in the palm of its hand as I fought to keep hope alive in these crushing times. His sacred story was giving him strength. Mine was a mystical view of nature that tied me to its livingness but, unlike him, did not give me the directive that I was ordained to help. Perhaps sometimes that weakened me. I glanced one last time at the pounding surf that an hour ago had been battering the bird into submission. Despite its beauty, nature seemed cold and indifferent. That’s true, I thought, the elements of nature are indifferent. We are the saving grace.

Rushing Water Under Ice

2010-02-25T16:10:00.000-08:00

After telling stories at the Appalachian Mountain Club's Pinkham Notch Center for supper, lodging and a bit o' bread, I read Mary Oliver poems by the fire late into the night. In and out of reverie... Her collection "White Pine" is like hearing a deep inner voice and the natural elements she loves and tries to enter in her work create a joyous hymn to our perception of nature. I was halted by this particular poem:

Yes! No!

How necessary it is to have opinions! I think the spotted trout
lilies are satisfied, standing a few inches above the earth. I
think serenity is not something you just find in the world,
like a plum tree, holding up its white petals.

The violets, along the river, are opening their blue faces, like
small dark lanterns.

The green mosses, being so many, are as good as brawny.

How important it is to walk along, not in haste but slowly,
looking at everything and calling out

Yes! No! The

swan, for all his pomp, his robes of grass and petals, wants
only to be allowed to live on the nameless pond. The catbrier
is without fault. The water thrushes, down among the sloppy
rocks, are going crazy with happiness. Imagination is better
than a sharp instrument. To pay attention, this is our endless
and proper work.

~ Mary Oliver

The snow fell silently all through that night. The next day I hiked the short AMC trail up to Cascade Falls, walking sideways in my street shoes to keep from cascading down the trail myself. I stopped still so many times along the way just to listen - to listen. The pines were heavy and close with their white burden. The silence that snow makes is soft and sure, like a deep knit muffler. There is a reason we say that the snow "blankets" the land. It was that blanket full and enveloping today and the rushing river was silenced under its sure hand. Only two roundish holes near the bridge revealed its hidden hurry and excitement. I kept Mary Oliver's poem before me. She was saying something profound about our interaction with nature. Something I also feel.

It IS important that we listen and observe ... but then we need to take it a step or many steps further. Drink it in ~ BE the consciousness, the witness and - as in the case of her poem - the imagination that finds the meaning and the deep connection with this wild world. That is a form of love and that is never in vain.

Standing at last at the ledge to see Cascade Falls. The water fell headlong, rushing down. As it fell, fingers of ice, blue winter ice, edged in from the side to enclose it. The snow and that icy hand seemed to be loving things to death under its cold blanket. That was as far as I could come in thought today. It may seem harsh what I came to, but then my observations are were just a work in progress. What was more important was that today I was challenging my ability to see and to feel. Finding a way to enter into communion through image.

I try to follow the same road with my stories of nature. Why do I so deeply feel we should embrace the natural world with stories of origin from ancient times, stories and myths told at just the particular times of seasonal change. I call down those corridors to the past and because there is resonance, because there is a deep echo, I wrestle with these tales. Every search for meaning is Right.

Recording "In the Grove"

2009-09-27T18:06:00.001-07:00

Just spent two days in the recording studio putting our tree myths and songs on vinyl or the digital equivalent. IN THE GROVE our next CD is finally on its way! We had our 'one and only' all time - cannot record without - engineer Huck Bennert and our favorite studio Wellspring Sound in Acton. Tom came in at the end to bring a haunting accordion background to the Russian birch song. Eight hour and nine hour days with not even a half hour lunch break and no complaints. You can tell we all have backgrounds as free lance artists. We would starve to death if we worked union hours... Hey wait a minute, Maybe those are union hours!!

There will be an incredible amount of beautiful ethnic music on the CD thanks to the wonderful material Margot has brought in to complement the stories. Margot and I sing in Japanese, Welsh, Russian, Czech and ... OK English!!

There is an ongoing very beautiful story about the Russian Birch Song we are recording for the CD.

Several years ago a wonderful, elderly Russian woman came to our In the Grove performance (tree myths and music along the paths of the Arnold Arboretum- Boston's tree sanctuary (more on the performance) We end the performance at sunset among birches while telling the Czech story of the Dancing Spirit of the Birch Grove. The whole experience brought her back to her childhood days - there is a great love of the birch in Russian culture. She took off her shoes and walked barefoot among the trees remembering her childhood and singing a song. Her daughter was with her and later sent us a copy of that same song. We decided to bring it to life for this recording. The day we went in to record, her daughter sent me an email - the first she had sent in years! 'What a coincidence!' I wrote to her. 'We are heading in to record your mother's song today.'
Talk about synchronicity - another incredible coincidence occurred. Our recording studio adjoins another and, in a break from working on the Birch Song, two musicians from the other recording studio met us in the hallway. "You are singing in Russian!" they exclaimed. "How do you know?" they were asked. "We are Russian!!" they said and they began singing that same beautiful song. Makes me feel our CD is on the right track!

Margot and I wore our Angel socks for luck. Huck was barefoot all the time but had a cool Thai dragon tattoo around his ankle. We Prevailed!!

Fess up. You be a Gardener.

2009-09-15T19:40:00.000-07:00

Fess Up I do Be a Gardener! That's what I got to say. Got it from my Dad. In fact I dug up the ground and put in my first garden when he died. I have a Community Garden and a Backyard Garden. My Community Garden plot is a former compost pile so it is a major producer of produce. Here is the proud Farmer with her Eggplants that she grew from teeny widdle seeds planted on the dining room table way back in March! You see her Rosa Bianca, White Clara and Lavender Touch. Green Ravena eggplant hated the soggy weather we had this year and only yielded one eggplant - not shown here! Not gonna show you pics of my beautiful heirloom tomatoes brought down by the blight either. My garden is a place where I like to be happy and I'd like you to feel that way too. Celebrate the Eggplants!! I have all the fixins to make delicious Eggplant Parmigiana on the table. If I get requests I just might share my secrets for the absolute ULTIMATE EGGPLANT PARMIGIANA!

The ULTIMATE Eggplant Parmesan

2009-09-10T08:23:00.000-07:00

Hey I got a request!!
So here is the Recipe

Recipe for ULTIMATE Eggplant Parmesan
The tender eggplant is the star in this fresh and delicious recipe ~ Diane Edgecomb

Ingredients:
2 firm and fresh medium size eggplants
1 egg
1 and ½ T Milk
½ cup breadcrumbs
½ cup flour
Tomato Sauce of Choice (Tomato/Basil style)
Parmesan Cheese pre-grated or grate yourself. Best if it is not totally powdery and has some heft to the cheese “Kernels.”

To Prepare

Make an egg/milk batter. Mix one egg so there are no lumps left. Add 1 ½ T Milk and incorporate well (if you run out make the same amount of batter again – same goes for the breading)
Mix together flour and breadcrumbs (Progresso Italian Flavor my suggestion for breadcrumbs)
Prepare eggplants. Prepare one eggplant at a time as they discolor if left out in air.
Cut off ends of eggplant and peel skin. Cut into ½ inch circles.
Place each slice in turn in the batter. Make sure the slice soaks a tad on each side. Coat with mixture of flour and bread crumbs equal proportions. Shake off excess – you want your surfaces to be flat not lumpy so they fry evenly. Generously coat bottom of large cast iron or saute pan with light vegetable oil. (1/8 inch layer of oil or a bit less.)
Warm up oil on medium heat. When oil is warm begin frying the slices. Fry on one side till they begin to change color slightly around the edges. This takes a while! You can test them, if you stick a fork in to flip it, the eggplant should be getting soft and losing its resistance. Flip and fry on the other side until a fork inserted into the eggplant indicates it is soft and very very tender. If an edge of one is still very resistant you can move it to a hotter part of the pan and fry for a few more minutes. Resist poking them too much as that lets extra oil in.... still you must test! Useth thy judgement!
Whenever an eggplant slice is done remove it and put on paper towels to drain. Very lightly blot the top of the eggplants to remove excess oil but don’t squish them!
Take a 9 x 12 or so baking dish (glass or pyrex preferred) and coat bottom with generous layer of tomato sauce. Layer eggplant on top. Cut pieces to fill in gaps. Coat the eggplant layer with tomato sauce and then layer of grated parmesan cheese. Put on second layer of eggplant, top with tomato sauce and layer of parm cheese.

Cover with Foil and Bake 375 degrees for 20 minutes
Uncover foil and bake an additional 10 minutes or until the casserole bubbles lightly on the outer edges and the cheese has become slightly golden on top.
Serve with foccaccia bread or French bread and Pasta (Shells or Cellencini Pasta are nice) topped with a red pasta sauce that can have additional treats in it like mushrooms, onions- you know fun and chunky stuff. Enjoy!

The "Year of Grotowski"

2009-06-13T18:43:00.000-07:00

In case you didn't realize, it's the "Year of Grotowski." Ignored by all who are not "in the know" or treated as an esoteric theatre guru by those who do know - Grotowski was discovered this year by UNESCO and henceforth 2009 became the "Year of Grotowski." This is especially significant for me as I have been an avatar of this kind of theatre since running away from Musical-Theatre college to join Stage One Theatre Lab, a Grotowski influenced spin-off, in the '70's.
My solo piece Restraints (at Charlestown Working Theater in 2006) was developed using this approach and I was invited to present a short talk on it as part of the Year of Grotowski Conference and Symposium at the University of Kent in Canterbury, England.

Suffice it to say, it is never an easy or direct route whenever working in this kind of theatre. In this kind of theatre we always discover things "by the way" - meaning by accident. Glorious Accident. So of course I did not go to Canterbury, England but informed my husband Tom that I was going to work with my Grotowski-oriented theatre pals in Poland and then we were going to drive to England. He looked at me quizzically. "Isn't there water in between?" "Well," I said, "they must know what they're doing. They live there." They (my dear pals Jola and Khalid) had told me we would take a leisurely drive from Poland to England stopping and camping and visiting countries all along the way. Sounded Loverly.

Fast forward to the strange yellow machine. First "on the way" diversion. Flight delayed out of Boston, missed flight to Poland, stranded overnight at Heathrow airport where they show up with strange humanoid vacuming machines in the middle of the night. Otherwise Heathrow was 'Loverly.'

Spent time in Poland writing about the workshop I took with Zbigniew Cynkutis in the 1980's. While I worked I had an enormous picture of him looking down on me from the wall. I was staying with his widow, my friend, Jola. Cynkutis was a leading actor with the Theatre Lab and I have an enormous amount of notes, audiotapes of him speaking etc..from that workshop. I am fifty pages in to my writing and almost finished with what has been a gargantuan task. The workshop I took with him, short though it was, changed my life and I am determined to finish this testament to his work. While I was there, I also participated in all vocal and physical training and watched Jola and Khalid work with a very intense director. He was Greek, raised in Poland and spoke Russian. Needless to say he always dressed in black.

Being spontaneous and alternative and crazy the decision was made to nix the leisurely drive and instead travel through the night to reach England. Great idea except that it meant that we hit Brussels rush hour at 6:00 in the morning tired, bleary eyed and irritable. We made it to the car ferry in Calais, France and collapsed until we debarked in Jolly Old England.

The conference was fabulous because it included as presenters so many young "practitioners" (and odd practitioners like me) on a later symposium track. It was not as prestigious as the first track which had all the remaining remnants of the original Grotowski Theatre Lab troupe and all those who took it upon themselves to protect his legacy from pirates and infidels, but I liked our weird little second track. It shook things up in a good way. I got to present on Restraints using the powers of powerpoint and pointing and Jola told me that what I did was Honest. Hopefully not too honest!! That makes me nervous.

We stayed at what turned out to be an ancient hostelry for Canterbury pilgrims. It was within shouting range of the Canterbury Cathedral and I took pictures of the views out the window until I discovered that our hotel/hostelry was reportedly haunted. Then I only took pictures of suspicious doorways and Medieval iron pieces sticking out of the walls. Glad I didn't find out it was haunted until the last night there. Cheerio!!

A Book Celebration Party at Outspoken Word

2008-02-08T12:34:00.000-08:00

OK ok... I held TWO book celebration parties, not one! But hey it was a seven year project so who's counting anymore! The celebration at Club Passim in Cambridge, MA was sold out - with a crowd that seemed as happy as I was to have the book on hand. Kurdish musician Andrew Aytac sang- and I told stories from the book and anecdotes of my travels. My versatile musician husband played Middle Eastern drums. The second event (pictured here) was in Framingham where I was happy to see some of my collaborators on the book and old friends I hadn't seen in years. A photo of me dressed up in my "Kurdish- Las Vegas" outfit for the grand finale is attached. I was surprised I could even read the last story the sequins were so busy creating a disco ball effect.