Z is for Zed

zed

noun \ˈzed\

 the letter z

\Full Definition of ZED

chiefly British\

:  the letter z

Origin of ZED

Middle English, from Middle French zede, from Late Latin zeta zeta, from Greek zēta

First Known Use: 13th century

How easy it is to write about the letter Z or as it is spelled here, ZED.  The last letter of the alphabet. Some people always start from the beginning. Me, I often like to start from zed.   

Common wisdom says to start at the beginning and work towards a goal.  But, what about that vision that compels us to start? Is that at the beginning or the end?  Isn't the beginning also the end?  What about "backwards planning"?  Isn't the beginning wherever we start?

We all commence our story, our project, our life-work in the way best suited to us.  Some start with an image, some with a song, some with a memory, some with a larger goal in mind.  Some start in the middle.  Some of us know the ending and want to find the beginning.   Some muddle through and pull it together in a way only they can understand.  

When I was an actress, we would talk about different acting techniques: inside out or outside in.  The "inside out" method was most popular at that time, but I usually preferred the "outside in" approach - creating the outside character first and using that to discover the insides.  

Sometimes I just can't make myself read a book from beginning to end; I start then skip to the end and then pick up again in the middle and read to the end.  Sometimes I eat my dessert first.  sometimes I think about what I want to say then figure out how to say it.  

A few days ago, I was stuck in the middle of a mess; I had been in vacation mode for too long and I suddenly remembered I had deadlines.  My desk was in an uproar; my projects were scattered in several rooms.  I had a grant to write, a story to create, luggage to unpack, a program to plan.  I needed to update my QuickBooks invoices and payments, and make good on promises made a while ago.  What to do, what to do.   After a period of what I judged to be justifiable panic, I took an action.  I did the first thing in front of me.  When that was finished I did the next thing that seemed if not logical then approachable.  Then the next, and so on.   I am still working my way out, just doing the next right thing, and I figure if I continue this way I will find my way to a new beginning.   

How do you work?  How do you live?  Where do you start from?



Thanks to Harold Gardiner for his work on "Multiple Intelligences", and to Grant Wiggins for simplifying "Backwards Design."

Y is for YELLOW

They call me mellow YELLOW

that's right

They call me mellow YELLOW

that's right

They call me mellow YELLOW

I never understood that bit of the wonderful song by Donavan...MELLOW yellow? Yellow is bright, loud, strong! I thought of yellow only being like the yellow in the flower logo in the Blogging A to Z Challenge. How could it be mellow? 

I have always liked yellow, and I tried to wear it. You know, fabulous yellow sundresses, and hats and blouses. Spring, summer time; I would look like the season felt! Problem was, I could not wear the color. It made me look "sallow." What a terrible disappointment!

And then, in my 30's, I had a breakthrough. Through the "science" and magic of color analysis, I found the perfect yellow to use in my wardrobe. Soft, lemony, sweet; it was a mellow yellow indeed.  Finally, my wardrobe bloomed like a tulip mimicking the sun. A soft sun, of course.

"They call me mellow yellow

that's right."

Thanks, Donavan. You knew~ you always knew.

Quite rightly.

X Marks the Spot

Aaaaarghhhhh!  X marks the spot! Which means that treasure was buried by pirates and can be found just under that piece of earth represented by the letter on the ancient map.

Cool.

What else does X mark?

W is for Watermelon

Here's a riddle:

What is juicy

Can be eaten

Can be drunk

And can be planted in a garden?

A watermelon!  

My favorite summer fruit is watermelon. Pink, or yellow, succulent, juicy, preferably with seeds (they taste so sweet when you bite into them, followed by a little bitter.)

My mother told me that if I swallowed the seeds, I would grow watermelons in my belly. So I swallowed them and waited...alas, no sprouting and no beautifully formed fruits grew in my belly.  I tried and tried, and I still try when I can find the rare watermelon that still has seeds.  Yummy!

V is for Vagina, Vulva, Verisimilitude, Virginia, Venting, "vy not?", Vindictive, Vantage, Veracity

It would, of course, be wrong for me, a woman, to not put as first the two words - vagina, vulva - that make up parts of the female anatomy - important parts indeed.

But V is a powerful letter.  A voiced plosive.  (remember plosives? a few blogs ago?) So naturally important female sexual parts would be start with the letter V.

Celebrate!

(I had a longer blog, guys, but it was lost via Delta's ride from Chicago to NYC. So I hope you enjoy this one!)

U is for Us

Us.  A two letter word that is truly infinite.

Us.  You and me.
Us.  Me and the people of the world.
Us.  Me and the people in my country, the United States of America.
Us.  Me and New Yorkers.
Us. Me and Brooklynites.
Us.  Me and my family.
Us.  Me and my friends.
Us.  Me and my neighborhood.
Us. Me and other people who work for a living.
Us.  Me and other storytellers.
Us. Me and other stepmothers.
Us.  Me and my husband.
Us.  Me and you.
Us.  Fill it in yourself.

T is for TITLE

It is so hard to come up with titles for my stories, or longer pieces, or for programs. I mediate,  I labor, I cogitate, I stress out, I finally just choose something and hope it works and sounds good!

Oh, friends and colleagues try to help. They are supportive, creative, definitely helpful. Sometimes the librarian or producer of the venue will offer ideas.  But the process is always mind bendingly difficult.

Well, almost always.  The story, "Every Day is Basil Houpis Day!", named itself. So did "Strong Girls and Brave Women", though I kept stressing, wondering if somewhere there was something else named similarly.  But most are not so easy.  I still have not named the ghost story from Belize ("Ghost Story From Belize"?) or my personal stories or  the retells of some traditional stories which have become more mine than traditional.

What it comes down to is this: I create titles by hook and by crook, or by a deadline!  Some of them definitely will need revamping, if only to please my ear.

But that will happen another day. Today is so sunny, so bright, and why get my brains all in a knot?  Maybe I will be lucky...I will have an inspiration!  One can hope.

S is for Soooooooooooo

Sooooooooooo many blog posts to write.  This A-Z Challenge is a lot of work!


S is for:
Stephanie....my next door neighbor and first best friend growing up
Susan....... my older sister who does not talk to me
Silly........ a great state of being to be in and help others be in
Stupid.... a not nice word, but one that often is used to people one does not agree with
Stupendous ..... what a great big wonderful word!

sooooooooooooo..........

See you at "T"

R is for ROBIN

Traditionally, Jewish children are named after a person who has passed on. So, when I asked my mother who I was named after, I was not prepared for her answer.  "No one, really. We just liked the name, and it would fit both a girl or a boy."

I had hoped to learn about a long dead ancestor, preferably from the "old country," or even to learn that I was named after one of my parents' heroes or heroines.  Nope. I was named after a bird!

It did not help when my very proper English cousin came to visit us in our home in New Jersey, and after learning my name, told me, "Robin is a boy's name, not a girl's name."

There were no boys named Robin, and only two other girls I knew with the same name.  We were lonely in a sea of Susans, and Lynns and Debbies and Barbaras.

No one ever shortened my name or called me by a nickname. I was always "Robin", plain and simple.

When I got older, I realized that I was uncomfortable with the moniker. It did not fit, seemed too formal, too British.  Sometimes people would call me by other names, like "Iris" or "Claudia" or "Beth", and I would try them on.  But they did not work either.  I knew the importance of a name, both symbolic and kinesthetic, but could not settle on what seemed right.

About 16 years ago, I took a long hike with a friend,  and as we were resting on top of Breakneck Ridge, a big hawk flew overhead and landed a bit aways.  And then soared away.  I then decided that the hawk was my spirit animal symbol, and wore a pewter hawk on a necklace in communion with him.  I liked the power, the strength, the wingspread of the large predator birds. I also enjoyed feeling at one with a predator - not my usual connection!

But I recently looked up (online, of course) the significance of the name Robin - both the meanings of the name and the symbolism of the bird as spirit animal.

Robin is the shortened form of Robert, a diminutive, most often used for a child.  A nickname, as it were. (So I guess I never needed a nickname - my name was already one.)  It was originally a boy's name, and still is in England, but in the United States it is used mostly for girls. Interestingly, most of the Robins I know are either Jewish or black girls/women, so it is a powerful choice for two groups who have been and are marginalized and discriminated against.

The animal symbolism is not as outwardly powerful as that of the hawk, but it is powerful in other ways, ways I hope to embody. Hope, clear thinking, renewal, wisdom, justice, love, joy.

Perhaps we grow into our names, or our names come into us.

R my name is Robin.

.

German Meaning: 
The name Robin is a German baby name. In German the meaning of the name Robin is: Famed, bright; shining. An all-time favorite boys' name since the Middle Ages. Famous Bearers: Scottish national hero Robert the Bruce and novelist Robert Ludlum.

American Meaning: 
The name Robin is an American baby name. In American the meaning of the name Robin is: Famed, bright; shining. An all-time favorite boys' name since the Middle Ages. Famous Bearers: Scottish national hero Robert the Bruce and novelist Robert Ludlum.

Teutonic Meaning: 
The name Robin is a Teutonic baby name. In Teutonic the meaning of the name Robin is: Bright fame.

English Meaning: 
The name Robin is an English baby name. In English the meaning of the name Robin is: Famed; bright; shining. Form of Robert popular since the medieval days of Robin Hood. Robinson: (English) Son of Robert 'Famed; bright; shining.' Surname.

Shakespearean Meaning: 
The name Robin is a Shakespearean baby name. In Shakespearean the meaning of the name Robin is: The Merry Wives of Windsor' Page to Falstaff.

SoulUrge Number: 6People with this name have a deep inner desire for a stable, loving family or community, and a need to work with others and to be appreciated.
Expression Number: 4People with this name tend to be orderly and dedicated to building their lives on a solid foundation of order and service. They value truth, justice, and discipline, and may be quick-tempered with those who do not. Their practical nature makes them good at managing and saving money, and at building things in the material world. Because of their focus on order and practicality, they may seem overly cautious and conservative at times.

(http://www.sheknows.com/baby-names/name/robin)

ALSO:

There's a reason we "start singing that old sweet song when that red robin comes bob bob bobbing along."

Foremost, the red robin is a portent of spring. Robins are one of our first visual signs from the animal kingdom that the return of warmth is on its way after a long winter haul. This is a time for celebration! Bird song returns to the skies, little buds on trees are ready to burst open, and the spring flowers are poised for blooming. At long last we can put away our coats and mittens; the first red robin has been sighted!

Animal Symbolism of the Red Robin - A Quick-List

• Joy
• Hope
• Clarity
• Renewal
• Pleasure
• Simplicity
• Happiness
• Satisfaction
• Rejuvenation
• Contentment
• Bright future
• New beginning

Native American Plains' tribes attributed the return of the sun (inception of spring) with the red robin too. Indeed, many Native American beliefs attributed solar symbolic meaning to the red robin because its rosy red chest is symbolic of the dawning sun. Also, its bright yellow beak is symbolic of sun rays lighting the earth with hope. Omaha tribes believed the sun rose and set on the wings of the robin.

The robin's bright yellow beak is also symbolic of sun rays to the Native American. Native Americans attributed their beak color with being mindful of the spoken word. The robin was a sign to only present the highest truth when speaking.

Further, Iroquois and Shoshone tribe lore indicated the white ring around the red robin's eye was symbolic of prophetic vision, clarity, and great wisdom. The robin would be called upon during ceremonies when clear understandingwas needed, and quality judgments needed to be made. 

The robin brings a fresh new perspective to situations that are otherwise foggy and unclear. Try calling on robin energy for clarity when your judgement is clouded or when you need light shed on an issue.

The red robin reminds us it's time to shake the sleepiness out of our head (both figuratively and literally), get alert, get moving, and start enjoying life! Spring has sprung, tides have turned, and no matter how crummy or grey our world has been it is time for new beginnings! Enjoy the bright road ahead because it's only going to get brighter!

Not only is the robin a promise of new beginnings with the new cycle of spring in our midst, it carries symbolic meanings of cheer, joviality and light-heartedness. We can see this in the spring of the robin's step, and it reminds us of that wonderful song I quoted in the intro of this post. The song also hails the message: "Live, love, laugh and be happy" and that is precisely what the symbolic meaning of the red robin tells us too.

http://www.whats-your-sign.com/animal-symbolism-robin.html

Q is for Questions

Some people like answers.  I have always liked questions, and have always had more questions than answers. These are some of my standard queries: Why? Why not?  How? When? Where? If not then, why not?  Will you?  Why not?

I particularly enjoy following a question with another one. This is not an evasion, but a further investigation of the question.  And answers always lead to more questions.

My favorite questions come from Rabbi Hillel: 

If I am not for myself, who am I?

I I am not for others, what am I?

If not now, when?

When, indeed?  Do you have any answers? Or perhaps, any questions?

Why? Why not?

P is for PLOSIVE - and the words Practical, Pernicious, Persnickety, Parsimonious, Pandemic, Positivity, Persepolis, Panopoly, Presumptious

Don't you just love all those P words? The syllables roll off your tongue into the air, the vowels serve the consonants, the consonants snap, and by the time the word is said, you feel so good about yourself for knowing how to pronounce it!

At least I do.

P words rock.  They are positive, perky, with an attitude. You don't miss it when someone says a word starting with with the letter P.  It signals strength and point of view. It is loud!

P is a plosive, a voiceless plosive. A puff of air popped out, with no sound behind it. If you do add sound, you roll back the alphabet to the letter B.  Try it.

P,
then
B

P,
then
B

Other plosives -T, D; G, K; F, V
First the voiceless, then the voiced.

Cool, eh?

What letters do you love?

Oh! "Oklahoma!"

O - kla - hom - a!

I have never been to Oklahoma, but I have always felt I knew all about that great state.  This is because: I saw the movie, I could sing all the songs in the musical,  and I loved the characters and their stories. How American were they!

Loved that show. My sisters and brother and I would sing along to the record, which we played non stop. Though you might think I would want to take Laurie the ingenue's part, for some reason I was always casting myself as Ado Annie. She was much more fun! Sassy, silly, outspoken. She could not say no! Sounded just like me.  Then as well as now.

The main characters in the show are Laurie and Curly, Ado Annie and that peddler she settled down with, and poor Jed.  I always felt sorry for Jed. He was very handsome, in a dark way. But I could not understand why he sang that awfully sad song, "Poor Jed Is Dead."  It never made any sense. And, why was everyone so mean to the guy? Just because he was melancholic, and would get angry because Laurie did not love him...that did not seem fair. I could identify with him - I also had vivid thoughts of my own dying and how everyone would then feel sorry that they had not been nicer to me! But I never got into fights over boys.

That was my vision of Oklahoma. Land of cowboys and long skirted ladies, with buggies and horses and peddlers on the road. I figured it had stayed in the last century, and had not made it into modernity.

Nowadays, as an adult, I have friends who either live or have lived in Oklahoma. Like Megan Hicks, the storyteller. She and they have disappointed me. They tell me Oklahoma is not as it was in the movie. First of all, people do not break into sing at a moment's notice. Secondly, they do not drive buggies with firing on top.  Thirdly, they do not wear duded up cowboy/cowgirl get ups. Fourthly, they do not get into fights over a girl named Laurie. Nope. They are all quite nice and live in the 21st century. Just like me.

O - kla - hom - a!

N is for NANCY DREW

N is for Nancy Drew - Girl Detective!

Oh how I loved Nancy Drew.  She was brave, she was strong, she was well loved, she was smart, she was respected. She had great friends in Bess and George, a marvelous boyfriend Ned, a loving father and a caring housekeeper.

Oh, and she was blond or brunette, petite and well dressed.  I wanted to be Nancy Drew!

My body was curvy and well filled out, my mouth never stopped running, and my clothes could always use help both in style and care.  Nancy seemed to breeze through life, just perfect in most if not all these details.

But I knew I could be a detective.  I was smart and intrusive, inquisitive and thoughtful. I was not afraid to push past the boundaries and I was not afraid to say what I figured out.  I was also patriotic, brave and cared about justice.

More about me and Nancy another time.

Till then, my friends....dream a little dream of a girl detective like Nancy.  Only her name is Robin!

M is for Marriage

 

Marriage for those who choose it

Marriage equality

No one "owns" marriage

L is for.....

Live

Laugh

Love

K is for kittens, ketchup, kertuffles

Also, Ketchum, kindergarten, Kaliope and kindness.

My favorite (new) "K" word is kertuffle.  

You may look at it and say, "Hey, what, the word is spelled "kerfuffle."  And, as I learned today, you would be correct!

I love words. I particularly love reading them without knowing how they sound. There is nothing quite like hearing the accurate pronunciation of a word for the first time ... and it is not as you have been saying it to yourself for the past however long!

My first example of this epic letdown was the word "melancholy."  My internal pronunciation  was mel-AN'-ko-lee'.  How dismal to learn that it was said, MEL'an ko lee.

Today I used the word "kertuffle" and was told in no uncertain terms that the word was "kerfuffle."  How wrong my corrector was, I replied.

"Oh no," said she," look it up!"

I did. She was right.  

Sigh.

Thus another word is struck from my imaginary dictionary.  

But in my googling, I did learn that the word "kertuffle" has been by others. For example,  C/Net has a headline on July 20, 2005 - "The last word on the Rove kerfuffle."  You can google "kerfuffle" for more.

See,  I am not the only one with a private lexicon.  Thus spake Robin!

But now that I know the truth, I am forced to use the real word...and it is...KERFUFFLE!

(Check out Megan Hicks's musing on kerfuffles at meganhicks.wordpress.com.)

The definition and backstory of the word, according to Merriam-Webster, is as below:

chiefly British

:  disturbance, fuss

Examples of KERFUFFLE

<predictably, the royal scandal caused quite a kerfuffle on Fleet Street>

Origin of KERFUFFLE

alteration of carfuffle, from Scots car- (probably from Scottish Gaelic cearrwrong, awkward) + fuffle to become disheveled

First Known Use: 1946

J is for "Just so..."

Just so you know, I was out of touch with all electronic and digital connections, so there was no Saturday post. It is late and I am exhausted and I have a big day tomorrow...so, today's post is:

Just so you know, each day's post is written on the day it is published. Unless something intervenes.  But I will get it in the next day.  So...here 'tis!


Till tomorrow....and the letter "K".

I is for Izzy!

"Whose Izzy is he,
Is he yours or is he mine?
I'm getting dizzy 
Watching Izzy all the time"


Isidore was my dad's name, but all his friends and family called him either Iz or Izzy. My mother loved singing that song to him, dancing around him and making him the center of her attention.  Poor Izzy would shrink away if any of us were in sight; he was a very shy and private person - which was probably why he married my mother the extrovert.

He was a luftmensch, as they say in Yiddish - a man with his head in the clouds.  He started on the rabbi track, but sometime before he was to make the final push, he dropped out and went to engineering school. Then he pursued his engineering religiously, getting a masters and a doctorate. When he wrote to Albert Einstein for advice on whether or not to go for the doctorate, the great man said not to bother.  All you needed for engineering was a bachelor's degree.

But my dad didn't listen. He loved learning, he loved trying things out and experimenting, he loved teaching, and he got that doctorate. He was ready to go for a post doc in math, but my mom begged him to come home and help her with their four growing kids.

My dad the luftmensch. He gave up his post doc dream, but he would talk to me about the absolute beauty of mathematics and how he could do math for hours just for the fun.

He was not big on hugs or "I love you's" but he was there always when we needed him, to help in any way he could. He would fix anything and everything, and watched as I developed a similar interest in doing repairs. Dad hoped I would become an engineer or a scientist, and was not so happy when I went into theater.  But he persevered in that way of his, being there for me when I asked and even when I didn't ask.

My dad loved stories, making them up, reading them, telling them and he loved singing Jewish songs,  So when I became a storyteller, and he heard me tell Jewish stories and sing Jewish songs at the Brooklyn Museum of Art, he stopped regretting my lack of interest in a career in science or math - this storytelling he could identify with.  Eventually, my pops began to brag about me, and tell everyone about "my daughter, the storyteller."

"Whose Izzy is he,
Is he yours or is he mine?
I'm getting dizzy 
Watching Izzy all the time"

H is for "ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

Did you know that it takes the same amount of energy to laugh as it does to cry?

An old theater/voice exercise, which I learned in my (third) college goes like this:

First, begin laughing.Then change into crying. Then change again and begin laughing. Continue as long as you want to.

Notice, if you will, the change in your thoughts as you go from laughing to crying and back and forth. Notice the energy expended.  "The only difference," my teacher said, "is the thought. Same energy, different thought."

How powerful, how profound! Besides its obvious use as an actor or storyteller, this exercise offers  a wonderful tool for living life. To think that I have choice as to whether I choose to laugh and look on the brighter side, or whether I choose to be sad and cry. It is about my attitude. And my choice.  What do I want to be feeling? What do I want to be thinking? How do I want to respond? How do I want to spend my day?

I will admit - as a died-in-the-wool depressive, being sad and sorry is very familiar. I come from a long line of Jewish women, for goodness sakes!  But I know and those Jewish women always reminded me,  it only takes a change of attitude for that misery to fall away.

I like laughing. It's great exercise for the soul.  

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

Try it!  You will like it.

G is for GHOSTIES

Not sure why, but I have, in my love of all things ghost-like, given the wee (or large) spirits a nickname.  Ghosties. That's how I know that they are definitely part of my personal ecosystem. My ghosties.

Loving the spooky critters came late to me. My first experience with ghost stories was at camp.  My big brother Jon told the scariest ghost stories. I remember all us young 'uns sitting on a log, while Jon held sway. He waved his hands, let his voice whoop and simmer, and scared the shit out of us! Jon was already my idol, and now my role model.

As I grew older, I never liked the horror flicks, or TV shows - I got too scared - but when I entered the world of folklore and was asked to perform ghost stories at Halloween, I read and read and read. And the more I read, the realer it got. And the more it pulled me in.  Especially some of the Native American Stories, or the Southern stories, or the old Jewish/Yiddish stories.

Somehow, reading these stories gave me license to put in perspective my own strange experiences. Like when I went to Pere LaChaise in Paris, looking for Sarah Bernhardt's grave. Or when my mother died. Or those noises in Chichester, England.

I began to tell them in shows. And that's when I discovered the stories that people told back to me.  Like the woman in upstate NY who said, "Now that I have heard you, I will tell you my story. You are probably the only one who would believe me! Others would think I am nuts!"  Then she proceeded to tell me a story of waking up and finding a translucent man  at the foot of her bed, leaning in.

Or the group of school teachers who had one amazing story after another, about being in lighthouses and homes built on top of Indian burial sites, and living in a farmhouse from the 1700's. Or the kids who had some strange occurrences in their 10th floor apartments in the Bronx.  Or the assistant who saw faces in her 3rd floor window.  Or my brother's German girlfriend with her great grandmother's devil tale.

These stories are now my obsession. I love the weird true stories, not all of which have linear narrative structure or take you anywhere recognizable, but are always something I and the rest of the audience can identify with.

There might be people at these shows who make up stories. But for the most part, people tell their own honest to goodness experiences. In the time we spend together, we become a community of people who share something not usually talked about as believable. We are not "weird" or ridiculous.  No, we are all grateful to hear of others with whom we can identify with, who will believe us, who can support us.

"Hi, my name is Robin.  I have seen a ghost!"

F is for FINALLY!

I am a kinesthetic learner. Which means: I pick up on things easily, and really "get" ideas quickly, but before I own it I have to feel it, integrate it.  And I need that ownership to fully move forward.

It is a rather ungainly process. There are times when I am ready and even well functioning on the outside but the ions and electrons, the cells and the chemicals, have not fully reorganized so that I can fully (and FINALLY) claim ownership. Luckily for me, I love process.

But the beauty of it all is the "FINALLY".  When all begins to make sense, when the madness becomes marvelous, when the disorder is ordered. Oh, how gorgeous it is. I love the stage of FINALLY.  The knowledge of the FINALLY is what I aim for.

My dad, an engineer doing the work of physics, used to talk about the beauty of math. He loved the combinations, the quiet steady excitement, the design of numbers, the problems, the answers. That was his beauty, his  FINALLY.  Mine is more outward.

Last night I FINALLY went to the Moth and FINALLY told a story. Wow. 

So you say, "Big Deal! You are in New York City, and you are a storyteller. Why wouldn't you go to the Moth? "

 That's what the host, Ophira Eisenberg, with whom I have shared a program, asked me. Why wouldn't I have done it already? Because I had to check out the concept, the feelings it brought up for me. I had to play with story ideas in my head and on paper. Because I was not yet comfortable with the idea of judging and 5 minutes for a story and I was not sure I wanted to get up on a (beautiful) stage with an audience of young's and all sorts of unorganized ideas in my head that now of course make no sense but indeed were there as a block to the kinesthetic integration.  Because I had scheduling conflicts!

Well, last night was the night. At the last minute, I told my friend Mel I would meet her. I said, "Yes!"  

Quickly, I floated a story idea past my friend Megan Hicks, and then wrote a first line, a partial structure, and some interesting side thoughts.

And though  I had not gotten enough sleep (still picking up from the Passover megablat), and though I had just taught a rigorous couple of hours of Musical Theater strategies to YMCA summer camp staffers, I knew it was time. That my kinesthetic integration was complete. So, I went. And got a seat up front with Mel and her man. 

I was picked to go up 8th.  And oh....it was fun, and easy. I was fully ready. I did what kinesthetics do...I FELT the stage and the place and got it. Though my story did not hit all the right marks, I loved the audience and the story and the spotlight, and I found myself in the zone...that marvelous performance place where there is time enough to rearrange and think while you are connecting with the story and the audience. To my delight, I tied for third.

Mel and I are making plans for the next ones.

Maybe I was "ready" earlier.  Maybe I should have pushed myself. Often I do that, and  more often than not it turns out just fine.  But sometimes I know it is time to listen inside and act on what seems to be right.

FINALLY is worth it.  FINALLY is a platform to launch from. FINALLY is the end of one process and the beginning of another.

Finally.

E is for Evangeline Walton

Evangeline Walton was a writer of fantasy fiction.  Here's a link to her goodreads page Evangeline Walton.

I discovered her re-do of Welsh mythology as fantasy fiction in my early 20's. The Mabinogion Tetralogy I read was packaged as four distinct books, with great cover art.  I devoured them, one after another. And why not? They were the books I was looking for at that time. The women were strong and respected.  The "old tribes" honored women as equals and their society was matrilineal. The "new tribes" were patriarchal. One of the major story lines was that of a woman from the old tribe joining with/marrying a man from the new tribes and being treated horribly.  When the men of her family learned of this, they retaliated by attacking and laying waste to her husband's people and lands, and bringing her home.

I had no idea that mythology could be so vibrant, so alive - that it could relate so very much to what I felt and saw and believed in my own life and for my own time.

Last summer, as my friend Carolyn Stearns read the real Mabinogion, I decided to read along with her, and re-read Evangeline Walton's version. What a treat! It was more complex than I had realized, and the stories lingered more than I had remembered over the landscapes and people and historical/mythological changes.  It was much more than the feminist mythos I had internalized, but that was still there too. It was still timely, and vibrant and beautiful, and so very alive.

It was a great introduction to mythology, and is still a wonderful read.  Check it out!

Dum de dum dum.....Presenting the letter "D" and DREAD

I was happily amidst a group of middle schoolers, all working hard on doing improvs or watching their friends do improvs when I had a comment on the work. As I began to speak my coaching piece, one of the girls interrupted with:

"Dum de dum dum.....!"

We all laughed.  No, there was no terror to be gotten from my statements but the drama of the lead in was enough to change the mood and start us on a path of ghostly improvs.

Dread sends adrenaline coursing through our bodies. Dread imbues stories with urgency.  Dread is the ingredient that addicts us to "The X Files", Rod Serling's shows, Hitchcock's movies, zombies, vampires, ghosts.  What if it REALLY did happen? What would I do?  How would I react?  Would I survive?

Walk into a room and sing out the phrase, "Dum de dum dum...." and watch everyone get silent, or worried. What power dread has over our lives.

I have been following the blog, Storytelling Matters.  There's lots of dread there!  Watch out!

Dum de dum dum.....

C is for Cat

Meow meow meow meow. 

Meow meow meow meow

Meow meow meow meow meow!

I am proud to be have been raised by cats!

First was Thomas E.S. Pussycat the First

Then TESP the Second and the Third

Then Cleo

And Patra

The list goes on and on, but as anyone who has a pet as a child knows, they take care of you more than you take care of them!

It has been a long long Passover day, so instead of writing about cats, I will show you our dear ones...Inanna Queen of Heaven and Earth (known  familiarly as Nonnie) and William Butler Yeats (aka Willie.)

B is for Brisket

It is day 2 of the "Blogging From A-Z Challenge April 2015," and that means the letter is "B".  

Passover is on Friday, which means  my extended clan of Weiss relatives will gather together to read the haggadah - the story of the exodus of the Jews from Egypt plus prayers and commentary. I expect the usual - lots of complaining about the length of the service, arguing about rhetorical questions, singing everyone's favorite song "Dayenu" and eating a fabulous meal.

The role of host and hostess has been passed along the generations. First my parents, then my cousin Joyce and now me. Yup, I am in the elder seat, and husband Tom and I host the seder, which means I have a second responsibility - to provide the main meat  of the meal - BRISKET!

My mother's brisket is a vague memory, though I suspect it was as wild and wacky as she was.  Joyce's brisket I do remember - a light brown flavorless meat covered in a lighter salty brown sauce.

Therefore, when the mantle of brisket passed to my shoulders,  I resolved to to find a tastier version. And I did - the Passover brisket from Molly Goldberg's Jewish Cookbook by Gertrude Berg and Myra Waldo.  It is cooked in apricots and drenched in a sweet and sour sauce, and it was scrumptious. Everyone wanted leftovers.

Then, earlier this year I was at a friend's house and tasted her Texas style brisket.  Tender meat infused with smokey garlic goodness. "Ah ha!" I said. "Time  to open up our traditions and include such a brisket with our Passover goodies."

However, I did realize this would be an upsetting of our usual order, so I sent out an email to the family. When I got no replies, I figured no one cared enough to comment! Texas brisket it would be!

I googled Texas brisket and came up with a suitable recipe. It looked good enough, and I was ready to give it a go.  But then luckily for me, a real live Texan offered me her family recipe.  Elizabeth Ellis, the wonderful storyteller and cook, dictated her method for making Texas brisket overnight.

So, last night I whipped up a concoction of herbs, liquid smoke and Worschestershire sauce, rubbed it on 6 pounds of brisket, put it in a 200 degree oven and slow cooked it all night. I carefully followed her recipe faithfully except for one little yet important exception. Her recipe calls for trimming all the fat off the meat.  But, being a Jew and making a Jewish meal, how could I?  

So I will be serving an honest Texas brisket - Jewish style, with a little beef schmaltz!

Thank you Elizabeth!  I can't wait to serve it! 

But just in case, Tom is making a small traditional brisket, so any old timers who might be disgruntled will be satisfied too.  After all, this is a celebration!

What is brisket?

According to  About Food :
Brisket is a beef cut taken from the breast section beneath the first five ribs, behind the foreshank.
Fresh brisket is an inexpensive boneless cut that requires long, slow cooking to break down the collagen in the connective muscle tissues achieve tenderness. The long piece is cut in half for marketing. You'll find it sold as a flat cut or a point cut. The flat cut is leaner, but the point cut has more flavor due to a bit of extra fat (called the deckel.)
Brisket is one of the least tender cuts of beef, but it can be made tender and the flavor is tough to beat.

A my name is Alice and my husband's name is Al - the children's lament

Day 1 of the A-Z Challenge

“A my name is Alice and my husband’s name is Al.

We come from Arizona and we sell apples.”

When I was a kid, that song was a favorite of mine. I loved singing the alphabet, I loved filling in the banks, I loved skipping rope as I tried to remember what names began with what letters and what places I could come from and what I could sell. 

Childhood brain teasers. 

I always used my friends' names (A my name is Adrienne) and they loved it! But when your name starts with an “R”, no one ever gets a chance to say Robin.  No one ever sings the song for that much time.  No one can skip rope until the “R’s” come around. There is no “R my name is Robin…”  Never happens.

Finally, as an an adult, I realized that if I was going to wait for my name to be called, it was a set-up for disappointment, an exercise in futility. Each time we set up a jump rope game, every time I pulled out my own rope, I could hope we would go long enough to make it through the alphabet – or at least to my own letter. But no, I never did. We never did. My patience was useless.

So, if your name is Alice, or Ann or Andy or Annette, you are the lucky ones.  Or David or Elise or even Karen.  Pity us poor end-of-the-alphabet named children.  We are still waiting for our turn.

Which leaves us with the real truth of the truth, with the only way to go - why not play the game for the fun of it? Why not sing the song for the sheer enjoyment?  And that of course is what I did, what we all did. What we do.

"R my name is Robin, and my husband's name is Roy, and we come from Richmond and we sell radishes."