Archives for category: Personal narratives
Cathryn playing ukelin

Cathryn with ukelin, instrument from the thirties

There was a time when my ex and I took the stage as part of the cowboy poetry scene. For him, it was a dream come true. For me, it was fingernails on a blackboard. Not for the other poets we listened to, whose work came from a deep place, but for me. I was always a reluctant farmer and rancher. The inequity between outflow and inflow of cash gave me high blood pressure for the first time in my life.

Our colleagues on the circuit were completely smitten by the life. I was a reluctant participant.

Even a reluctant rancher cannot help but understand the role of cowboy poetry. The poems are stories of the land, of the life, of tragedy and joy, of comedy and pain, and, ultimately, of the meaning of life. On the British Columbia circuit, rhyming was preferred but not required. Cattle and horses were royal subjects. Sheep were an embarrassment.

Prince George cowboy poetry festival

Some of the "real" cowboy poets at the Prince George, BC, festival

I had always been in the camp that derided country music and cowboy poetry. I believed the mockery that if you played country music (and, for me, cowboy poetry) backward you got your wife back, your truck back, your dog back, etc.

My brief experience on the cowboy poetry circuit taught me how wrong I was. There was nothing cynical or shallow about the poems I heard. There was celebration of the land, the people, the animals. There was agony over weather, death, injury, illness, and financial losses.

The poems were stories. They were literate, elegiac, funny, mournful, celebratory. They were stories of a way of life that works its way deep into the soul.

Pioneer Ranch

Pioneer Ranch, my home for nine years

My ex and I had both sheep and cattle. I never bonded with the cows. I adored the sheep. Still, I’m grateful for all of it—the times when all plans were halted because we had to tend to a cow, sheep or pig in difficult labour, the hours spent stretching wire for new fences, the endless rounds on a tractor as we cut, baled, and brought in the hay, the magic of Northern Lights, the wary trust of wildlife.

So in that spirit, I share with you a song we recorded on “The Bull Rider’s Wife”, with thanks to talented lyricist Fred J. Eaglesmith. The song is a story, and the story still squeezes my heart.

13 Summerlea

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Karen Pierce Gonzalez is a talented and creative writer and publisher. Her Folkheart Press has released two books about writing family folktales and another about the cuisine of Catalonia.

Her Web site and blog are delicious fare. There are entries about the lore of pomegranates, the pain of poverty, and the unanticipated gold mine of a new friendship . I had the chance to contribute a story about one of Canada’s folk heroines, Laura Ingersoll Secord.

Karen’s talents don’t stop there. She is also an experienced insider in the world of journalism. That makes her particularly adept at assisting clients with their marketing needs through Karen Pierce Gonzalez Public Relations.

The company’s tag line says a lot about this generous and talented woman: “Our goal is to shed media light on the good work of others.”

Raphael Pizante, the author's grandfather

Raphael Pizante, the author's grandfather

From Rhodes to Ellis Island

My grandfather, Raphael Pizante, came to Ellis Island in 1907 from the Jewish quarters of Rhodes. He earned his boat passage by selling cigarettes to miners in Turkey. Once here it did not take this small framed man with blond hair and blue eyes long to locate the nearest synagogue. This is something Jews had been doing for a very long time; especially the Spanish Jews of his ancestry. The Sephardim left Spain during the Spanish Inquisition some 400 years earlier. And before that, there are countless stories about the Jewish Disapora; Jews seeking shelter among other Jews. In some cases those shelters became ghettos like the one my grandfather left behind.

In New York, which is one of four major cities in America where Sephardic Jews congregate, he quickly made friends. Speaking Hebrew, Ladino and some English he made his way across the country to San Francisco traveling from synagogue to synagogue washing dishes for food and housing along the way.

Setting up shop in San Francisco

A member of the merchant class, my grandfather set up shop, so to speak, just north of San Francisco. He settled in Vallejo which was the North Bay’s point of entry for ferries and cargo-bearing ships from San Francisco. As this was before the Golden Gate Bridge was built, it was an ideal location for businessmen like him who purchased items to be resold in his market.

A quiet man, he kept his nose to the grindstone and worked enough long, hard hours to purchase his store. He slept in the back and rented out the rooms above the store to what he later referred to as ‘working girls’. Situated pretty close to Mare Island Naval Shipyard, rumor has it that those girls were kept quite busy during the 1930 and 1940’s.

The family man

Raphael was a conservative Jew who observed the Sabbath and kept kosher. He provided shelter for the many brothers and friends who followed him. In all cases, he also provided financial support until they could go out on their own.

At 30 my grandfather married my grandmother Fortunee Abouaf who also came from Rhodes (arranged marriage). She arrived by train just three days before the Jewish holiday of Purim. Nearly strangers, they had to marry quickly. Years later they became the family hub and would be instrumental in establishing Vallejo’s one and only synagogue.

Getting started with family folktales

This is only one of many stories about my ancestors. While I did know my grandfather, there were countless others I never met except through folktales like this one.

This is true for many people; especially the writers who’ve attended my writing workshops wanting to chronicle the lives of people they knew. These people were beloved, accomplished, notorious or all of the above.

The writers just didn’t know where to start.

Folktale motifs as springboards

After hearing writers concerns about the amount of time and effort that would go into writing a biography and worries about whether or not they had the facts right, I realized that the process of writing about someone, a special time, or place needed to be as simple as the process of writing a piece of fiction. In other words, it had to be something that could be done in stages that were easy to manage.

And what better management tool than folktale motifs? Drawing upon my own understanding and experience with folktales, I discovered that similar to the vignette writing exercises I provided as springboards for writing topics, folktale motifs (categories of character and themes, such as the trickster who stole fire or the hero who made a special birthday gift) naturally lent themselves to this writing process as well.

In fact, they often opened up unexpected doors of creativity for writers of all levels.

Reliving memorable moments

Folktales are generally shorter pieces of writing that express a unique or personalized version of a universal theme. For example, consider the universal theme of the pioneer. Early American homesteaders fit well into this category, so do contemporary natives of Punjab, India who have pulled up roots and relocated to Australia in search of new opportunities.

In no time at all the writers were creating original folktales about the very people, places, and things whose memories they wanted to preserve for future generations.

Karen Pierce Gonzalez

Karen Pierce Gonzalez

What makes folktales so perfect is that they can highlight only a specific period of time, as opposed to an entire lifetime. It is not essential that every aspect, every detail be included in the story because folktales are not bound to the rigid guidelines a genealogical accounting can require.

As a result, writers experienced great freedom and greater joy. They not only relived memorable moments, they captured them in an easy to manage format that was based upon personal interpretation and expression.

When it comes to folktales, writing doesn’t get any better than that!

Karen Pierce Gonzalez is the author of the newly released Family Folktales: Write Your Own Family Stories workbook. An award winning writer with degrees in Anthropology/Folklore and Creative Writing she belongs to the Western States Folklore Society. Her writing credits include Family Folktales: What Are Yours? and she is currently writing “Folktales You Can Eat.” For more information visit Folkheart Press or the Folkheart Press blog.

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As long as we look out at each other only through the masks of our composure, we are looking through hard eyes. But as the masks drop and we see the suffering and courage and brokenness and deeper dignity underneath, we truly start to respect each other as fellow human beings. ~ F. Scott Peck, The Different Drum


A young Cowichan woman was among the people who signed up for the first storytelling class I taught after moving to Vancouver Island. The class was being held on her people’s traditional territory, long ago lost to colonizers.

For the first three sessions she sat quietly. Although she participated in the exercises and group work, she did so hesitantly. Still, she kept coming back.

Dandelion

Our stories are like the florets that make up a dandelion's sunny head; each contributes to the beauty of the whole.

Not until the fourth session did she muster the courage to share her story. Through her eyes we saw the stern man who bullied her family into letting her go. We saw her family’s tear-streaked faces. We wept for her homesickness as she lay on a cot in a drab dormitory room. We ached as she was punished for speaking her language.

As she quietly but confidently told her story, she changed for us. She was no longer the nearly invisible young woman on the edge of the group. The gift of her story, painful though it was, was like opening a box. Suddenly we saw the treasure that lay within.

Her story was both personal and universal.

In the years since then, I have heard many more stories of the residential school system whose agenda was bluntly articulated by Sir Duncan Campbell Scott: “Our objective is to continue until there is not a single Indian in Canada that has not been absorbed into the body politic, and there is no Indian problem.”

At the time the system was developed, Scott was head of the Department of Indian Affairs. He is often quoted as saying the purpose of the schools was “to take the Indian out of the Indian.”

The wounds from this government-supported initiative to erase cultures, languages, and the very essence of identity run deep. Canada is not alone in being slow and inadequate in understanding why such awful wounding is not something people can simply “get over and move on”.

The young Cowichan woman’s story was an important part of the education of a small group of storytelling students. It’s harder to hang onto the sense of Otherness that divides us when we listen to each others’ stories with an open heart.

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Artist Isa D’Arleans is originally from France but has made her home in Seattle for many years. I met her when visiting a friend there. She is vivacious, talented, and a deep pool of thought.

Recently, she started a blog, Live In Colors that explores what it means to be fully alive. She is also refreshingly candid. Recently she was interviewed by King5 TV in Seattle and spoke of a long, dry spell—how she endured it, what it meant, how she is emerging.

So when Isa asked me to write a guest post for Live In Colors, I thought about what colors meant in terms of my own storytelling and what storytelling means in terms of living fully, vibrantly, joyously.

Here’s a brief excerpt from “Stories color our lives”:

Paint Dripping

What color are your stories? (Paint Dripping, courtesy of Photos8.com)

When I’m feeling blue, I tell stories about sad times, poignant times, bring-on-a-tear times. When I’m happy I spin sunny-yellow stories about successful times, joyous times, life’s-a-bowl-of-cherries times. If I see red, I tell stories of anger, of betrayal, of how-could-you-do-it-to-me disappointment.

We all do that because storytelling is in our bones, our breath, our DNA. We are story-making animals. We figure a child has acquired language when she can string together sentences in a rudimentary narrative with a beginning, a middle, and an end.

The rest of the post can be found here.

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During the last few years I’ve had the good fortune to get to know several boys with Aspberger’s syndrome. They are bright and inquisitive. They have a strong sense of social justice. They are interesting people to be around.

It is neither because of nor in spite of their Aspberger’s that I like them. I just like them. A lot.

I admire their intelligence. I am fascinated by the way their minds work. They make my life richer.

They have parents like the mother in this animated video. Joshua Littman is 12. In this StoryCorps video, he interviews his mother, Sarah.

The questions are honest and probing. They are the kinds of questions I would expect from my young friends. The answers are equally honest and so loving they bring tears to my eyes.

This isn’t a story in the sense of beginning, middle, and end. But it is a good example of the beauty of StoryCorps, whose “mission is to provide Americans of all backgrounds and beliefs with the opportunity to record, share, and preserve the stories of our lives.” Every country should have a StoryCorps.

And it is a good example of the power of love. Joshua asks his mother, “Did I turn out to be the son you wanted when I was born? Did I meet your expectations?”

His mother replies, “You’ve exceeded my expectations, Sweetie. …Because you think differently from what they tell you in the parenting books, I really had to learn to think out of the box with you. And it’s made me much more creative as a parent and a person. And I’ll always thank you for that.”

Opening our hearts to the stories of each others’ differences makes us better people. I’m grateful to the young boys who are teaching me what it is like to live with Aspberger’s. And I am grateful to their parents, who are teaching me what it is like to love without boundaries.

Q&A from StoryCorps on Vimeo.

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Nearly a million linguaphiles subscribe to A.Word.A.Day Today’s word came with an apt quote on storytelling.

When my daughter was little and scraped a knee, what brought the swiftest diversion wasn’t candies or toys, but stories. Stories soothe us, teach us, take us to other worlds. Even when we grow up, our hunger for stories remains. ~Anu Garg, A.Word.A.Day

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Google is always thinking up some new way to keep people coming back to its search engine. Frankly, they’re pretty brilliant.

One of Google’s latest brilliant ideas is Google Search Stories. You’ve probably seen the one about the American finding love in Paris.

Now they’ve made it easy for anyone to create a search story. So I decided to tell the wandering path of my professional career in the seven steps allowed. (You can create your own, with infinite steps, but on Google Search Stories you have to pare it to seven.)

Here it is: my life in searches.

Come to think of it, I may never forgive the financial advisor who persuaded me not to invest in Google when they went public.

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Mural of John the Baptist, Antim Monastery, Bucharest, Romania, from Flickr Creative Commons

In yesterday’s entry in A Storied Career, blogger Kathy Johnson put a link to Jonathan Odell’s article in Commonweal, “Coming Home: A Gay Christian Speaks to Fundamentalists“. It is the story of Odell’s invitation to speak to “a Midwestern seminary with a reputation for its ‘take no prisoners’ conservative theology. It is an example of both first-rate story writing and the power of stories.

Although Odell told the caller he would consider the invitation, he had no desire to be paraded as the “for” side in a debate about homosexuality. He writes, “I saw absolutely nothing redemptive in it for me. I’ve been involved in public debates about gay rights and gay marriage in which I actually got the better of my opponent. But once the exchange was over, I came to realize few minds had been changed, and that some hearts had actually hardened.”

He reluctantly agreed to speak when a Google search turned up a despairing gay student at that same seminary, a young man who felt terrifyingly alone and vulnerable. So Odell gave the talk, anticipating the worst.

Instead, as he spoke about the scared young man, who might very well have been in the audience, and of his own journey as a gay Christian, he felt the students open to him. Fifty minutes later, they gave him a standing ovation.

Questions afterward were respectful and intelligent. Then students began telling their own stories, of brothers and sisters and friends, of their confusion about doctrine that conflicted with their own experience.

He writes, “I understood the dynamic—how story elicits story—but I had not anticipated the commonality of the stories told that evening. They were sharing with me how they had also been wounded by their religion’s intolerance toward homosexuals. Caring and idealistic, these young people still believed that love has the power to remake the world. It hurt them to be asked to mistrust their deepest instincts, the ones that had led them to ministry.”

There were repercussions, of course. Some professors complained. When a group of students decided to push for a support group for friends of the GLBT community, the dean ordered a committee to draw up a list of faculty and students who questioned the seminary’s stand on homosexuality.

Still, Odell feels he made the right decision, speaking truth to the seminarians. He writes, “But it was worth it for me as a Christian. In the most unlikely of places, I had experienced a coming home. Such a coming home is not a matter of conquest or retribution, of finally getting the love, respect, or apologies that are your due. Rather, simply by telling your story, your truth, without the expectation of gain or the dread of loss, a person is set free. I came away with a new understanding of the very old saying that while facts can help explain us, only stories can save us—and, I hope, others.”

Set us free…yes, that’s what telling our stories can do. Odell’s story illustrates this far more powerfully than this brief summary. You can read it on Commonweal’s Web site.

©2010 Cathryn Wellner

[The photograph is part of a set from the Antim Monastery.]

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In this extraordinary talk for TED [Technology, Entertainment, Design: Ideas worth spreading], Nigerian storyteller and writer Chimamanda Adichie begins: “I’m a storyteller. And I would like to tell you a few personal stories about what I like to call ‘the danger of a single story’.”

Though most of the faces around her childhood home matched her own, the characters in the books she wrote and the stories she wrote were white and blue-eyed and lived in cultures she had never experienced. When she went to the U.S. as a university student, she learned that her roommate had a single story about Africa, a tribal story that had nothing to do with Adichie’s middle-class upbringing.

She says, “Power is the ability not just to tell the story of another person, but to make it the definitive story of that person.”

This is an important and thought-provoking talk. Take twenty minutes to watch it.

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A big vote of thanks to Publicity Hound’s Joan Stewart for linking the video below to her latest newsletter. What a beautiful story to end the year.

Ricochet failed the training to become a service dog. Bird chasing was just too instinctual to his joyous nature. So the woman who worked with him looked for other strengths and found them. This little video tells a beautiful story that brought tears to my eyes. Let me know what you think of it.

And for those wanting some great “tips, tricks and tools for free publicity”, check out The Publicity Hound.

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