Signs of Spring

Inspired by that child, I lead a group of kids in a search for "Signs of Spring!

Here in the Northeast it has been an extremely torturous journey towards the springtime with unexpected heavy snowfalls and piercing winds. So it was with joy that I heard a young boy with a prancing skip to his step say as he walked along with his Dad, "I'm looking for signs of spring!" "Signs of Spring" was a newly learned phrase and that boy was filled with enthusiasm for it as though solving the greatest mystery in the world. I love the way children wake up our tired eyes to the precious beauty of it all...

Our Winter Solstice Event finds a new home...

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

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

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!

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

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

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.