Happy Birthday Loretta

Happy Birthday to Jim's Mother.

Loretta Shea Schoettler - born in Beverly, MA 100 years ago today.

She was a tiny bit of a woman who left a big legacy in her large family.

We all miss her.

Gallery 10 in Italy and a Rant

Gallery 10 artists have a group show in Florence. The art work was sent several weeks ago.








As much as Jim and I love Italy we were sorry not to make the trip. I sent Standing Out 2 as part of the show.





I can't believe it. It is my turn to gallery sit and I am facing these steps again today. 75 steps.

I can't believe this either.

When I went down to feed the meter for my car I stopped in Kramer Books to look around. I love books and the possibilites that lurk inside their covers. Book store browsing - one of my favorite ways to while away time.

I was checking out a stack of books, lifting one and then another, reading the blurbs on the back cover when I felt the woman come close to me. And then closer and closer. It was like a car on the highway nudging you from the fast lane into the middle lane. She was sidling me right out of her way.

Talk about stepping into your space. She not only stepped into my space, she shoved me out of it - so that she could stand where I was browsing. And did she have a desperate yen to see the books I was looking at. I don't think so. She was not there more than thirty-seconds. Nothing was calling to her. This woman just wanted me out of the way. I started to say something - then thought "why bother."

Why bother.

I will just send out an all points bulletin.

Today at 1:24 pm a short, plump woman with black hair, wearing blue slacks and a white blouse elbowed me away from the book counter at Kramer Books. Beware!

I wish I had taken her picture,

Learning Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves

I am working on learning Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves so that I can tell it.
It has a lot more that is gory in it than I remembered - but no worse than anything you see on TV.

When Daddy was sent overseas during World War II Mama sent my sister Lynda and me to boarding school at Sacred Heart Academy in Belmont, NC. We were assigned to Sister Mary Loyola with the rest of the younger children.


Ali Baba was the first story I remember hearing Sister Loyola read to us.

Every afternoon before dinner the kids had a playtime. In good weather we played outside. Dodge Ball was a favorite - or red rover, red rover. On rainy days we went downstairs to a recreation room which was underground with high windows at ground level. Because of those small high windows it was dim and dreary and need I tell you - noisy when all the kids were in there. Sister Loyola had the difficult job of keeping all the younger kids entertained.

One afternoon she brought out a stack of books and the first story she read was Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves.
I don't remember the gory parts -I do remember Open Sesame to get into the cave - and all the gold. That made a big impression. I remember being enthralled by the story. That memory brings me back to Ali Baba today.

And how delicious to discover that a shrewd woman saves them all by her wits and courage.

Yes! My kind of story.

Good-bye Bo Diddley

Bo Diddley died yesterday at 79 years of age. Born in Mississippi he lived in Chicago, Washington and other places - carryng his new beat with him. Today the Washington Post Style Section front page has a large photo of Bod Diddley box looking his square guitar.

He changed music. He was "The Originator" of the new primal beat before Little Richard, before Elvis. He had a beat that stays with you and all the musicians borrowed it - for example Buddy Holly and Mick Jaeger.

I knew none of his particulars. And I didn't need to - I love his music. The beat starts my foot tapping or my hips swinging. It gets into your blood, beating with your heart.

Only the special, the unique arist could change an art form the way he did.

Thanks!

Washington Folk Festival - June 1 2008

The 28th Annual Washington Folk Festival - produced by the Washington Folklore Society - was held May 31 and June 1 at Glen Echo Park. I was telling a half hour of stories at 5 PM on Sunday.

Jim and I had business to do over the week-end so we did not get to the park until 2:30 pm Sunday. We went early especially to catch our friend Diane Macklin's 3 pm performance. So we were delighted to run into her in the parking lot and ride the performers' shuttle bus over with her. Diane has recently moved to Baltimore so we had lots of catching up to do.







Diane still has a lot of storytelling business in the DC - Maryland - Va area. Including a new gig. This summer she will be telling two programs a month at the African Museum on the Mall. If you are in the area, check the Smithsonian Program calendar . Diane is a terrific teller.


The storytelling sets were held in an annex of the old Spanish Ballroom. On a hot Sunday afternoon the air condition auditorium was comfortable and a good setting for stories. Storyteller Jane Dorfman ( in the photo) organizes the two day storytelling schedule. She was smiling as we walked up, saying that the two day event had run smoothly with a steady stream of adults and children forming good-sized and attentive audiences.

A group of youth tellers, The Twinbrook Tellers, had just completed their set when we arrived inside. I was glad to hear this young man.

Justin Burton-Metcalfe is a former teller with Twinbrook Tellers who is now performing alone. Justin is 16 years old - and a very polished and poised performer. He told three stories featuring dragons. The tales were complex and unusual and he told them well.

Diane followed Justin with two stories from Africa - stories from the Bontu people.

She opens with a kalimba in her hands and her long, slender and nimble fingers create da range of soothing sounds which are a wonderful bridge to her stories.

In both her stories her voice and gestures drew the audience into the story. She is a master at involving the listeners in a range of participation from words, sounds to hand movements. Children watched and listened wide-eyed as she told!

Barbara Efron accompanies her strong voice with the guitar and very effectively includes rhymes and songs in her stories. I really appreiciated one of her stories - in a very clever adaptation of the folktale, The Thrifty Tailor, she tells a story from her family history.

At 5 o'clock I took the stage with two stories, Rooster Calls the Sun,
one of my favorites, which has plenty of audience participation and

The Queen Bee, a Grimm's fairytale I have adapted as a southern story with an environmental twist.

Walking around the Festival area is always fun. Music is in the air, some on the stages and some from impromptu jam sessions among the picnic-ers. There are craft booths, food sellers, an old-fashioned carrousel which is a permanent fixture at Glen Echo, and dance groups in the Spanish ballroom.

Its a great event for families and there were many in evidence.

All made even better by a sunny day!

Happy Birthday Granny

Ellie Hall Keasler Baer was born in Mint Hill, NC June 1, 1888.

She was christened at the Philadeplphia Presbytrian Church in Mint Hill in 1892.

She died in Charlotte, NC December 15, 1966.
She is buried at Elmwood Cemetary in Charlotte.
(Last week I wrote about her parents, Thomas and Alice Hall who are buried at the Philadeplphia Pres. Church graveyard in Mint Hill.)

Granny would be 120 years old today. She has been gone 42 years but she is still very much alive to me and my sisters Lynda and Kathy. And especially for Mama.


When Granny was 12 years old her family sold their farm in Mint Hill, NC and moved to Charlotte hoping for better financial oppostunities than the living they had on what Granny called a "rock poor" farm. When young Ellie went to school wearing her "country clothes", homemade dresses with high top shoes and heavy black cotton stockings, she was embarrassed. You can imagine the "city girls" probably made fun of their "country" classmate. She never forgot it.

Granny loved good, stylish clothes and she prized them. I remember the dress she is wearing in this picture. She kept it in a special bag in her closet to protect it and she only wore it on the most special occasions. It probably cost what she would call a "pretty penny."

Even so - I wore it one time.

When I was in the ninth grade at Piedmont Junior High School I was selected to play a leading part in the Spring Operetta, Chonita. Judy, the pretty blonde who had the best voice, was tapped to play the romantic lead. I was selected to play her old gypsy grandmother. Right there you can get the plot. I had two solo songs - one a rousing "gypsy" song of the road and,my second song, in the last act, was a sad lament.

Mama made my costume for the first act - a colorful gathered skirt - by cutting apart a flowered housecoat which had yards and yards of fabric and gathering it to a waistband. I loved the feel of that skirt swirling around my legs as I walked. She bought me a white peasant blouse to complete the costume and transformed me into my character.

I had to have another dress to wear for the second act "lamenting" song but Mama wanted to get the skirt out of the way first because she knew the hemming would take a lot of time. She was racing against her own deadline. She was pregnant and the baby was expected in mid-May - just about the same time Chonita would be on the stage at Piedmont Junior High School.

The night Mama was mid-way through hemming the skirt her labor started. She sat up timing her pains and stitching in that hem. I was asleep, so I did not know about the race to finish the skirt.

Daddy woke me to tell me he was taking Mama to the hospital. When I got up later I found the skirt folded on the couch in the living room - ready for the stage.

My brother Robert was born that day.

But I still needed a costume for the second act.

Mama talked to Granny. Did she have a black dress?

Granny brought the special bag from her closet and laid it on her bed. She held the dress up to me. I tried it on. Yes, it would work! When I saw myself in the mirror wearing her floor length black crepe dress, I felt quite elegant. Without batting an eye, Granny put the dress back in the bag and handed it to me - and that's what I wore for the second act in Chonita.

Mama did not get to see me wear the skirt she made because she was just home from the hospital with Robert and could not come.

Granny and Dad Jack came. From the stage I could see them in the third row of the auditorium smiling all during the show. Granny said afterwards that she thought I did a good job with my part - and that her dress looked "just right."

I brought it back to her in its special bag and she hung it back in the closet. I doubt she ever could ever weear it again - the hem was pretty bedraggled from where it had dragged across the wooden floor as I walked across the stage. But she never said a word about that - the only thing I ever heard from her was how pretty I looked wearing her dress.

Any wonder we love her.

Joke to Art - the Real Story

Necessity is a great mother for invention.


I needed a new small sculpture to deliver to Gallery 10 tomorrow.


Yesterday I walked into my studio and began looking around. I had been thinking that I wanted to experiment with an "assemblage" - you know - a little of this, a little of that - like the ham salad the other night.

I gathered some layers: a wide frame for a base, a small unfinished canvas, and a smaller scrap from a frame. I kept looking around, poking my nose in here and there and then - - I saw it at the back of a shelf. I saw the hand made wooden bull-shit grinder my father gave me in the 1970s as a joke-gift - teasing me for working as a lobbyist for equal rights for women artists.

The grinder was perfect. It is a compact square - it just fit in the empty hole of the smallest frame and the grinding lever added a new dimension - it made the piece interactive. People could move the lever and actually grind. I could see these pieces fitting together. It would work.

Voila - all that was left to do was some hot glue gun action and I was home free.

Laughing, sometimes giggling, I glued the construction together.

Perhaps someday I will write an artist statement, you know bloated art talk, saying the piece was a social statement. I could say that it was inspired by these recent months and months of Presidential Primaries and all their campaign rhetoric -
and influenced by the art work of Robert Rauschenberg.

That's how art stories evolve - how myths are formed.

Today we know - the real story - about this art work.


I am sure Daddy would like the piece - the re-invention of his bull-shit grinder from a joke to art.

Its a Robert Diggle kind of joke.

Today, however, I get the last word -
my title for the art work:
Homage to My Father: A Great American Bull Shit Artist

from his loving daughter.

Washington Folk Festival May 31 and June 1

Great day at Glen Echo Park in Glen Echo, MD.

Family Fun, Music, Food and Storytellers Galore.

Noon to 7 pm both days - Rain or Shine.

I am looking forward to hearing all the tellers I can and telling myself at 5 PM on Sunday.

http://fsgw.org/wff/year2008/sunsched.htm

Left-overs and a Masai Movie

Left-overs:
CNN and our bank account agree on the rising cost of food. Fortunately my interest in cooking has perked up lately, right when I need to call up my money-saving recipes and tricks. I am working up "refrigerator surprise" dinners- you know, what you have is what you get.

Cooking with left-overs is a challenge. Unpredictable. Kind of like my art work - a little of this and a little of that.


This afternoon I looked at the bit of baked ham left over from the family dinner the other night and thought ham salad would taste good. Even though it meant hunting up the food processor. I had not used that thing in so long I was not sure just where it was. Fortunately it was a short hunt and all the pieces were together.

Ham Salad
I ground the ham and transferred it to a bowl. Then chopped the half of a red onion left from a green salad and some celery. Mixed that all together in the bowl.
Hand chopped two hard-boiled eggs I remembered were in the refrigerator and added them to the ham mixture.
Shook on salt and pepper.
Mixed it all together with "real" mayonnaise. I like the taste of mayonnaise so maybe added three tablespoons.

Cole Slaw.
Since the food processor was found and set up I decided to make slaw with half the head of cabbage I noticed in the crisper.
Then chopped a yellow onion and some celery. Mixed it all together in a blue bowl. Splashed in some apple cider vinegar, shook in salt and pepper, and then added the mayonnaise. Mixed it all together and tasted what I had. Oops, a little too much vinegar taste. So I chopped half a yellow bell pepper for some more sweetness and mixed that in. Voila - a good tasting slaw.

I served the ham salad on a bed of sliced iceberg lettuce. For side dishes I added boiled sliced red-skin potatoes (which Jim loves), and the slaw along with toasted garlic bread and Arnold Palmer's to drink- that's one-half iced tea and one half lemonade.

A good warm evening supper.

Touching Base with Africa:
Once my supper was fixed and waiting I sat down to watch the Netflix movie I ordered the other day after Elizabeth Wallace recommended it as an excellent dramatization of a folktale and a good research tool for the African story I am working on.

Masai: The Rain Warriors
This is an intriguing movie adaptation of a Kenyan folktale - filmed in Kenya with Masai tribesmen acting out the story. The hunt for a mystical lion takes place on the golden plains under the limitless African sky. Well done movie. Interesting story.

Watching the movie was very special to me.
In 1985 I went to Kenya and my memories of the trip and the experiences are still vivid. This beautiful film intensified and adds to my memories. I am grateful for the images of snow-capped Mount Kilamanjaro, golden tall grasses, and majestic Masai warriors wrapped in red cloth.













It was far, far from home.

I tell a long story, 10,000 Miles TO Home, about the mis-adventures of that three week adventure during the 1985 United Nations Conference on Women in Nairobi, Kenya. My friend Josephine called it a transformation story when I told it to her Women's Studies Class at the University of Maryland. I know being tested by being so far out of my comfort zone on so many levels did change me. And I was gifted with a spiritual awakening in the vast Genesis-like plains when we made our game drives. Everything about the trip was unforgettable.

Masai Movie and Saladds

Three Beautiful Things

My heart is heavy right now with Mama's continuing decline so focusing on calling to mind three beautiful things is a helpful exercise for me.

1. Telling my program Patchwork: It's in the Stitches at Quince Orchard Library today and discovering that one of the women in the audience is also from Charlotte. Not just that. She graduated from Central High School
in the same class with my sister Lynda and they know each other. How's that for small world?

2.
Celebrating Mama by telling Handmade, a story about her and some memorable outfits she made for Kathy, Lynda and me. Feeling her presence in the story is comforting. Thank God for the blessings of storytelling.

3. Our son-in-law Brad flew in from California on business and stopped for dinner with the family that lives here before he started work. Enjoying listening to the family catching-up. Seeing their faces around the table was a beautiful sight.

More on the NC trip.

Because of the week-end Race traffic my cousin suggested we take Hwy #51 to Hwy #601 so we would avoid the Interstate and the traffic congestion. This route took us right through the towns of Matthews and Mint Hill. Home country for my mother's long ago family.

Tunis Hood came to Mecklenburg County in the 1760s. He settled and sired a passle of kids who married and populated the area for generations. My mother descends from Tunis Hood. The only obvious remnants of his presence are street names and a sign on a small shopping area. But I feel good riding through the area recognizing names I have seen on census records and land documents. Names like Clear Creek, Morning Star, and Rocky River.

Gated housing communities with imposing titles on the rock walls dot Hwy #51 like some big giant had planted them along the road. Shopping centers with names like Arboreteum and Sycamore Commons have sprung up taking over acres of trees and farm lands. The road reeks of progress and expansion.




Mama says she first drove a car by herself down to Mint Hill and back because there were no cars on the road and Mint Hill was a "wide place in the road" where she could turn the car around. Today its much more than than - four lanes run through downtown and I saw new shops and we passed a couple of shopping centers on either side of town. Its a large suburb of Charlotte.




















Wonder what this sign means?

Money probably.

I remember some years ago telling a friend of mine in Charlotte that Mama's family sold their "rock poor" farm in Mint Hill in 1889 so they could move to town for better opportunities. He laughed and shook his head, " too bad - your family sold too soon, Ellouise. Now is the time to make money on that land."

Today we sell the land and buy our food overseas.

Memorial Day - Another Old Soldier

My mother's maternal grandparents and many of her long ago people are buried in this old graveyard at the Philadelphia Presbyterian Church in Mint Hill, NC. My genealogy research first brought me here twenty years ago and I have come many times since then.

Its been a few years since I have been in this "neck of the woods" and I have been worried about the HALL plot. My mother's cousin Buck Hall used to send a man out to trim the large hedges but Buck died about five years ago. I was pretty sure no one had been tending to the trimming since then. And I was right. I knew exactly where to find Thomas Milton Hall and is wife Alice Shaffer Hall but you could never have found them if you hadn't known where to look.









Jim picked up some clippers and heavy gloves to deal with the long,vicious thorns on one to the volunteer wild rose bushes.

And filled large black plastic bags with cuttings.


At least now you can find them.












Remembering an Old Soldier.

On July 23,1863 Thomas Milton Hall was eighteen years old when he enlisted in the Confederate Army. He was a member of Company H, the 35th Regiment of the NC Infantry - known as the "Mecklenburg Farmers". They were all local boys and men from the Mint Hill area of Mecklenburg County. He was injured at the Battle of Petersburg, captured by the Union Troops and held prisoner at Point Lookout, Maryland. He was mustered out on June 6,1865. He walked home.

In case you are wondering - its 423 miles from Point Look Out Fort to Mint Hill, NC.

It's Our Irish Coming Out

Had not thought of Cheerwine in years until I saw the truck. Its a NC soft drink. A fizzy cherry flavored drink in a red and white can with a red pull tab. Can't buy it where I live. So I bought a bunch of cases. I know I will enjoy sipping the memory.

Memorial Day week-end is Race Week-end in the Concord- Charlotte area. Hotels are booked solid. I was nervous about waiting any longer to come down again to see Mama so my cousin Jimmy and his wife Pam took us in. Its always a pleasure to be with them and even though our major focus had to be spending time with my mother we did have a chance for some short visits.

We were sitting in their living room talking over the day and my cousin said, "Ellouise you make a story out of anything that happens."

"Yes, I guess I do. If you live it it should be worth telling about it."

Pam jumped in. "Jimmy, that's what you do. Ellouise, he takes forever to answer a question because it comes out a story."

It hit me. Clear as a bell. "That's what "they" did - our parents, his mother and my dad and thier siblings, the aunts and uncles we grew up with. We come by it honestly. And I know why.

Recently someone, maybe it was Kate last week end, told me that they had loved their trip to Ireland except - whenever that they asked a question they had to wait through the story to get to the answer, even if it was just asking for directions.

"Jimmy - I've got it. We can't help it. It's our Irish coming out!"

Frustrating or not, I am delighted for the evidence the connection to those roots is alive and well.

Pattern of love

Sitting with Mama while she was sleeping I was so aware of how she lives surrounded by the ones she loves.
The pictures make a pattern on the wall of her life and her dreams.
It reminded me of a Vuillard painting.

Last week Mama told me "they keep moving me around but I want to be with my family." It took me a bit to realize she was telling me that she wants to stay in her room - that's where her family is.

Makes sense to me.

Back to North Carolina - Being with Mama

Jim and I drove down today to spend time with Mama. No pressure, no stress. Just taking it easy and "being" here. Lovely.

These times are prescious.

My Knees, My Knees

These stairs are daunting.

It was my turn to gallery sit at Gallery 10 today. As I drove downtown I began to dread these steps. I call them an alp.

Fortunately I found a two hour parking meter on Connecticutt Avenue so I only had to walk up these stairs three times. That's 75 steps - yes, I count them - straight and steep - up.

I remember when Jim and I went to Switzerland about 20 years ago. At a charity silent auction we bid on a few days stay in a colleague's chalet in Verbier, the fabled ski resort. We were delighted when we took the bid. It was for September. Off-season. No skiing. Fine by me.

Well Jim and I trained for weeks by walking every day in our neighborhood where there are some really breath-snatching hills that make your calves burn. By September I was in top form. Ready.

We flew into Geneva and then rode progressively smaller gauge trains to reach Verbier. When the trains ran out we boarded a bus and watched through panoramic windows as the vista became wider and wider below us. Said bus dropped us in the center of the village.

A friendly soul pointed up toward a group of houses.

Forget all my training or my being in top form. Steep is daunting and this was the steepest hill I had ever encountered. As we struggled toward the houses locals headed toward the same place trotted past us. I was amazed they were walking, talking and laughing at the same time while I hoped I could keep breathing.

Four days we stayed there. Walking down at a fast clip with me dragging in the rear on the return trip.

I feel the same when I stand at the bottom of these steps - - wishing for a lift.

Keeping Track - Be Prepared

Three Beautiful Things:
1. Its back!
I called my TV producer first thing this morning and left a heart wrenching message saying I hoped my calendar was somewhere in her studio. She called a couple of hours later to tell me she found it on the floor, under a chair, safe and sound. I thanked her profusely, feeling very relieved not to have to track down all my gigs and appointments for the next few months by making embarrassed phone calls.

So here it is - safely back in my hands. Feels good to know where I have said I will be and when I said I would be there.

Just in case - - I sat down and made two copies of the the calendar. You know - Be Prepared.

And - - remember to enter each new appointment three times.









2. My new blue bottle. On my recent road trip with Kate Dudding we must have been talking about blue bottle trees at one point because Kate told me that it would be easier to gather blue bottles in her area. Saratoga Springs water is sold in blue bottles. Imagine that! Secretly I wondered how I could raid a few dumpsters but there was no opportunity. Perhaps Kate read my mind.


Before we left her house Kate gave me this saratoga Springs water bottle which I stowed safely in my suitcase. One bottle closer to my own blue bottle tree.
















3. A sprig or two of parsley.
These are the two kinds of green parsley growing in a pot on our deck. For those who have vegetable gardens and plots to grow things that thrive under their green thumbs this may not look like much. But it's big for me - something I have grown that we can eat.



This is one teeny tiny step celebrating those people who are self-sustainable -

My friend Granny Sue writes about her life on a farm on a ridge in West Virginia where she and her husband Larry grow what they need to eat and raise the rest on four legs or in hen houses and pens.
They are self-sustainable.
On her blog Granny Sue shares the richness of her way of living. I admire and envy her independence and her closeness with nature.

For me, a sedentary city dweller, Safeway is my best hope for the makings of our next meal and I drive my car to get them and then carry them home in a brown paper sack.

This pot of parsley is my salute to Granny Sue and all of you who bring food forth from your own earth.

Oops - I left my calendar somewhere

After dumping everything out of my purse and ransacking the car I have to admit it. I have lost my calendar - not just a calendar - my appointment book. I can't believe I have let the long, slim, hot pink book slip through my fingers.

I know exactly where I wrote in it last today - and so I have my fingers crossed that it is on the desk at Montgomery Municipal Cable. After I finished taping my latest story Melissa and I agreed on another taping date and I took out my calendar and wrote it down.

If this seems like a lot of space yacking about a calendar - think about it. After tomorrow I don't know where I am promised to be for storytelling. Man, that's trouble. Trouble for me and whoever might be expecting me.

I am hoping its a simple fix tomorrow.



Three beautiful things today:
1. When I came to tell stories today at the Audubon Pre-school 20 kids ran up to me smiling and calling my name. ready for stories. I was wearing a jacket that has a bit of bright braid and sequins. One five year old stopped beside me, " you look like a rock star, Ellouise." I love it.

2. Stopping by the library and finding The Mistress of Spices, a book Elizabeth Ellis recommended. No wait. It was waiting on the shelf. I sat down and dipped into it immediately. The language is beautiful and the intriguing beginning on page one caught my attention right away. " But the spices are my love. I know their origins and what their colors signify, and their smells. I can call each of them by the true-name it was given at the first, when earth split like a skin and offered it up to the sky. Their heat runs in my blood. From amchur to zafran, they bow to my commands. At a whisper they yield up to me their hidden properties, their magic powers."

I am always glad to start a new book - hoping to meet characters that will capture my imagination and carry me into their world. While I was waiting for assistance I heard the woman in front of me tell the Librarian, " I am coming in more often so that I can cut back on how much I spend buying books." Yes! And aren't we the luckiest folks to have libraries open and inviting us in?

3. Being home with Jim.

Home Again, Home Again

We crossed the Mohawk River when Kate drove me to the airport bright and early on this sunny morning. After four such good days I hated to hug Kate good-bye but it was time to go home.

I had time to lollygag in the airport - look at the art on the walls, make phone calls, and peruse all the books in the shop. Nice, slow time to transition from the heady storytelling work-shop week-end back to "real life"

The flight with Southwest Air Lines
from Albany to Baltimore was quick, one hour, and smooth except for a few bumps on landing. Jim was waiting at baggage - hugs and smiles. He was holding a tall, iced diet coke from the near-by sandwich bar. Sunshine all around.

Until -

On the tall escalator up to the parking deck Jim, just ahead of me, tripped on a suitcase and toppled over, flat on this face on the moving staircase. A startling sight. I reached to grap hold of him but he was out of reach. He grabbed the hand rail to pull himself back up, instead the next thing I saw it looked as though he had flipped feet over his head - trying to regain standing. Two men behind me pushed past me and rushed forward to assist him. By this time they had all reached the top of the escaltor and Jim landed in a sitting position on the floor.

"Jim, Jim, are you all right?" I called out. Trying to keep my own balance, I walked up toward him. "Yes," He reached for his head - and then we all saw the blood staining his white hair bright red. The men, Southwest Air Lines folks, called for back up and paramedics. Someone handed Jim paper towels which he held to his head as a compresion bandage. I lifted the towel and moved his hair aside - a clean, deep cut, like a knife slice, where the razor sharp teeth on the edge of the escalator stair had clipped his head.

No other wounds. No torn clothing. No choking. None of the other horror stories you hear about such accidents.

Within ten minutes Jim was surrounded by efficient, friendly, and concerned policemen, Fire department paramedics and security guards. The paramedics applied a pressure bandage and an ice pack and wrapped it all together like a gauzy turban..

The decision was for me to find the car - remember I had not parked here - and take him to Surburban Hospital near our house - for stitches and a tetanus shot.

By the time I found the car and circled back there had been lots of male bonding and conversation and Jim and all were laughing like old friends. I can't say enough about the response and attention Jim received. Quite a homecoming. Not at all what we expected.

After a half hour ride Jim was checked in at the Emergency Room. Head injuries are "fast tracked" so in short order he was on his way for a head scan and then a very competent woman, the physician's assistant on duty, stapled him back together.


Feeling grateful, we drove home, unloaded the car and to tell you the truth, took a nap.

From Albany to Baltimore to home - - not eactly the story I expected to tell - but one with a happy ending.

Stories in South Duxbury

Three beautiful things:
1. I walked down the road to the near-by cove beach. The tide was beginning to run out-bound, retreating with soft lapping sounds.
Late afternoon light softened all the surroundings. I loved hearing the calls of the water birds and the familiar smell of the grey mucky Atlantic mud.

2. Stories all day. Wonderful storytelling followed by Elizabeth Ellis' wise coaching. Listening, learning, filling up with stories. Knowing each other better.

3. This must be prom night. I looked out the window and saw a group of young couples walking down the road toward their parked cars, girls in short evening dresses wearing fresh corsages, and the young me in tuxes. When they came to a wide grassy area one of the young men, a tall, husky, football player -type wearing a white tux, reached down and picked up his date and carried her across the wet grass to his car. Now that's a memory. Who says chivalry is dead?

Getting Out of Town

This morning we are in Boston. Storyteller, Kate Dudding and I are on a "road trip" wending our way to a workshop with Elizabeth Ellis this week-end. I would have written last night except the computer hook-up was slow and to tell you the truth I was tired - having been up before dawn to catch a plane in Baltimore and then the excitement of new places.

There are stories to tell - and isn't that what happens when you "get out of town".

Three beautiful things today:

1. With only half a day in Boston we decided to concentrate on the Boston Museum of Fine Art where there is a special exhibit, El Greco - Velasquez in the time of Phillip III.
Turned out to be a very good choice. The audio tour is so well done with explanations of the paintings and the period, including stories and music that it becomes a very rich experience. I loved seeing a large El Greco painting and a beautiful Still Like by Cotan (on loan from the National Gallery). Felt like the surprise of bumping into old friends when you are away from home.

2. Kate is filled with stories and information about the Impressionist painters and paintings and about John Singer Sargent. In fact she has several storytelling programs about their lives and works. It was fun to watch Kate spontaneously engage people in the museum galleries by asking, " would you like to hear a story about that painting?"
and then delight them with her stories. "I like to tell in museums." she says. A treat!


3. Seeing Trinity Church
in downtown Boston brought back memories of a delightful and special week-end Jim and I spent in Boston with my aunt and uncle in the 1960s. When all our kids were at summer camp at the same time we jumped the fence for a parents' get-away.




In the evening the group of storytellers assembled for the workshop in South Duxsbury, MA


We are meeting at Saint Margaret's, a rambling former convent for Episcopal nuns, that has plenty of room and a warm and inviting atmosphere. You feel the positive energy when you walk through the front door into the book lined foyer. Elizabeth told us we have come to form an artistic community where we will work on our art and you can feel it happening. There are 11 of us - 9 women and two men - a diverse group of ages and outlooks brought together to support one another as we work - - an artists community. WOW! Talk about a gift!

I will add three beautiful things for yesterday - Thursday, May 15:
1. Talking, talking, talking with Kate from stories to the world.
2. Kate had said she wanted to show me the The Clark Museum, in Willliamstown - and it was a treat. Smallish with a grand collection - Constable, Corot, the Impressionists, Sargents, a surprising painting by Mary Cassett that is not a mother and child.
There is always one painting that remains in your mind's eys -- and for me - its the gorgeous Smoke of Amberis by John Singer Sargent - the image, the composition and the mastereful paint handling.
3. Kate said, "are you a knitter?" Indeed. 'Then let's stop at Webb's on our way to Boston. That's Webb's " America's Yarn Store"
in Northhampton, MA - - known throughout New England.
It did not disappoint. Aisles and shelves of wonderful colors and textures - all possibilities. I came away with some great yarn - on sale, ofcourse - and Kate has a bevy of gorgeous socks in her future.

A Day of Three Beautiful Things

1. Sunshine, glorious sunshine early this morning and after the heavy rains everything is lush and green and blooming.
2. After a tense ten minute wait, the technician handed me a report, " we are glad to tell you your mammorgram is negative." Breathing again and promising myself that I will be back on time next year for the annual screening- I left the radiology department smiling.
3. Trying out the new story today when I taped my TV show - and it worked.

Tomorrow I am off to a three day storytelling workshop so it may not be possible to post until Monday. I am looking forward to new sights and people and good stories.

Ciao.