Storytelling Class

As something fun to do, I took an on-line storytelling class. My neighbor and mother of a friend of my boys, Noa Baum, is a professional storyteller. As the live entertainment world disappeared, she has moved things online. When an email came around about a four-week class in August, it seemed like a fun way to spend a few hours.

It turned out to be great! There were slightly over a dozen of us, from all around the world. Israel, India, Lebanon, Singapore, west coast, east coast, and Kenya. (One of the participants was my boat partner's husband, a retired teacher and current historical novelist who jumped on this when I mentioned it.) Amazing to me, when I think about it, the ability to have such an interactive experience with such a wide-ranging group. Noa used Zoom really effectively - we alternated between all together (and on the computer, I could see everyone at once without scrolling), and then breakouts, usually with two of us, switching up the pairs each time. Noa actually had an assistant in Singapore who joined us and handled a lot of the tech real time for her, so she could focus on talking or listening. For a shy introvert like me, this structure worked really well and there were minimal technical glitches.

We started off the first class with specific prompts to spend a minute visualizing (e., g. a favorite place, a pivotal moment, a special gift), and then broke off into our pairs to describe them (not a story, not yet). Noa led us through some exercises, and talked about what makes telling a story different from an anecdote, and different from written stories. We were sent off after the first class with homework - pick one of the prompts (or something else) to be the germ of your story. Then free write about it, and tell it to actual people. As story is only a story if it is told. DO NOT WRITE IT OUT WORD FOR WORD.

Each week, we worked on our stories in and between classes. Class continued to split into pairs for the telling and for the structured feedback. We focused at different times at adding color, context, change, closure, action, visuals, meaning. 

I consciously chose to not tell a story that would drive deep emotions for me. The last time I did that, at my mother's funeral, it didn't go well. I had done a fair amount of public speaking in my job, and I wrote out notes, but when I started to talk, I choked. I got through the eulogy, but with sobs and I was surprised how hard it was. And so my story for the class started fairly trivially, with a joke. But as we worked through specific areas of what makes a story a story, I saw dimensions in it and it grew in different and surprising ways each time I told it. It wasn't raw, the way some aspects of grief are, but it is true, and it resonates emotionally for me.

The last class, most of us told our stories, limited to 5 minutes each (with 5 minutes of Noa's feedback and group feedback in the zoom chat). I wasn't sure if I was going to tell my story. It seemed trivial still to me, as many of the folks were choosing really profound and pivotal moments in their lives. But finally I opted in, and I think it went well. The adrenaline caused me to go fast, and is always good, I kept in mind where I wanted to end, and left out much more than I put it along the way. 

So here is my story, more or less as I actually told it. It was surprisingly difficult not to let myself edit and re-write and edit some more as I captured it here, but I wanted to be as faithful as possible to that telling. If I ever tell this story out loud again, it will change again, because, as Noa always says, that is the nature of storytelling. 

My Story

Like many kids, my thirteenth year was miserable. We were living in Michigan that year, in the middle of a multi-country, multi-state, odyssey. My father was a rising research scientist, and as the war on cancer spooled up, he was in great demand. To me, that meant every year a new school. I had no friends, I was sad, it seemed all I did was stay home and read books.

Never-the-less, I woke the morning of my thirteenth birthday with a sense of anticipation: I knew my family would take care of me. After breakfast, we all trooped into the living room – my father, the only man in American wearing bow ties that year, my mother, dressed in her new professional work clothes for her new job, my big brother, on every sports team, and my baby sister, cute and with an English accent lingering from the year before. There was a small heap of presents on the fireplace mantel. I opened the first, and I thought it was a leather belt, but then I figured out it was a dog leash! The second one I opened was a dog collar! I lifted the third box, small, square, rattling when I shook it, and said to my parents, “there has to be a puppy in here!”

My mother soon explained: she had been to the dentist that week, and while lying back in her chair with the dentist’s hands in her mouth she had agreed to take one of his puppies. It seems the dentist’s champion golden retriever had given birth to 8 black puppies, due to a champion fence-jumping black Labrador next door. He was successfully pawning off puppies on his vulnerable patients.

That weekend, we picked up the tiny, squirmy, wiggly puppy with the non-stop little stump of a wagging tail. We named her “Worry”, inappropriately, because this dog was the biggest optimist in the world! Everything was wonderful! Everything was exciting! Something good was always happening! Everyone in the family wanted to play with the cute puppy, but she was MINE! My mother told me, whoever feeds the puppy is who she will love best, so I stepped up and took over the dog’s care.

Now, instead of wandering home alone from school to sit with my books, every day I clipped on the leash and took the dog for a walk. At first, her little stumpy legs would only take her to the end of the block, but as she grew, we ventured further and further. And as we walked through the flat, square suburban blocks of our Midwestern college town, I began to see the world through my dog’s eyes. Everything was new! Everything was exciting! Something good was bound to happen, maybe just around that next corner!

During that summer, we learned we were moving again, this time to a small town out east on Long Island. So we packed up everything, and did a long family drive, on the Ohio Turnpike, the Pennsylvania Turnpike, the New Jersey Turnpike, and finally, past New York City, another couple of hours to Bellport. We passed white picket fences, and pulled up to our big cedar shingle house on the main road.

As soon as we arrived, I clipped on my dog’s leash, and the two of us headed out to explore. Just a little way down the road next to our house, we came to the water. This was salt water, but not the ocean, instead the protected bay that shelters the south shore of Long Island. I looked out at the water, at the boats bobbing on moorings there, and I knew I could get in a boat and go anywhere in the world. But then my dog picked up a piece of driftwood and dropped it at my feet. I tossed it in the water, she swam out and wrestled it back, dropped it again, shook all over, and asked me to do it again. Over and over I threw the stick, and over and over she asked me to do it again. I watched the boats, the water, and my dog, and I knew it would be ok. I knew I was home, and something good was bound to happen.

Peachy

One time on a road trip when the kids were smallish but not babies, my sister started a conversation with "If you could have only one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?"  She started with Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookies. The kids followed her lead, with sweets. I went last, so I'd had time to think it through. I said "real Long Island church fundraiser strawberry shortcake with local strawberries, not-too-sweet volunteer-baked shortcakes (no store-bought sponge cake!) and oodles of whipped cream not from a can".* A chorus of protests claimed that was actually three foods, not one. My next offering was "a perfectly ripe peach".

It's peach season here! I made it to the farmer's market last week and bought two bags of peaches- one of white and one of yellow. At the market, we can't handle fruit and pick them out ourselves, they have to hand them to us. I couldn't wait to get home and have a real peach, but I was very sad to realize they were just a tad short of ripe. I left them out in a bowl, and sniffed them closely every few hours. A ripe peach smells peachy. A day and a half later, they started to be where where I needed them. As peaches remain perfectly ripe for approximately twelve hours each, I've been peaching out all week.

My mother used to make peach cobbler, but I reviewed recipes and didn't think they were what I was looking for. A few months ago, my friend and daily blogger Alice posted her very-low sugar apple cake. I've made it several times, feeling not too bad about eating it because it is so good and mostly fruit. As the wave of ripening peaches threatened to overwhelm my ability to eat them out of hand, I made a peach cake!

I'm not a bold baker, and this was one of my first adventures going off-script. The fact that Alice had already modified the recipe from its published form probably gave me the gumption to just try. It was fabulous!

Adaptations I made: peaches are both sweeter and juicier than apples. I cut the sugar even more, to just a single tablespoon! I cut back on the cinnamon and nutmeg amounts, because I think the peach flavor could carry itself better, wouldn't meld as well with the spices. The recipe called for a cup of flour, and I used a half cup of whole wheat and a half cup of all purpose, because that's what I usually do. I thought it was too wet, so I added another half cup of flour - but that one was almond flour. So it kept the carb content from flour low. But then, I was concerned about just the one tablespoon of white sugar, so I sprinkled a little bit of brown sugar over the top.

I baked the cake in a loaf pan for the recommended 45 minutes. I ended up having a third of it for dinner that night, still warm, with a little mascarpone and a few choppped pecans to give me more protein (since it was dinner)! Thick slices were refrigerated, and one slice a day carried me through the week, cutting back my chocolate.

I still had fresh peaches for breakfast. I find I like them with something savory, so I actually had a breakfast sausage and fresh peach breakfast one day.

Time to bake another peach cake! I have some crystalized ginger, and I may chop that up and add it to the mix.

*BTW, yes, there is a very specific time I had what may be the single best food dish I have ever eaten in my life (so far).

Walking

I’ve said it before and it’s still true: walking could easily be my religion. I’ve walked myself out of funks both big and small. It’s easy to just step out the door, and almost always it makes me feel better.  And it’s also very easy to ramp up the “fun” component, by listening to something good or by going someplace different, or both. Unlike losing weight, walking is very much under my direct and conscious control, with no mysterious “metabolism” effects impacting results. So immediate rewards seen on my scorecard!

I’ve been moving up my daily steps, almost daily setting out on deliberate walks of a mile and a half or more. I’ve also increased my incidental steps, taking the dog to the corner or around the block, or bouncing for a few minutes on my little trampoline. I’ve been doing this consistently enough I’m starting to feel the effects, feeling my legs and my stamina increasing.

For the second Sunday in a row, I got up before sunrise and headed to a great walking spot - in this case, Hain’s Point in D.C., near the mall and monuments but surrounded by water. For the first half of the walk I saw a total of three others on foot, and maybe a half dozen bicyclists. Very easy to keep distance. The road was closed to cars. It got more crowded towards the end, and the place I parked was thronged when I got back to my car. But it was so terrific to hear the water lapping, to feel the wind off the river, and enjoy solitude in a different place - one I hadn’t walked in more than a dozen years. And it’s totally flat! If I get on the bike, I’ll strongly consider coming back.

I saw two hammocks slung between trees with people in them, and I grinned when I saw two Vespa-style scooters, laden with backpacks, parked with them. Explorers? Had they been there all night?

When the alarm went off, I rolled over to sleep more, but then I smelled the coffee I had set up the night before and got myself going. I hope I keep this weekend trend!

Mid-Year Report Card

With my ambitions centered firmly on me for the next few months, it's time to check in on how I've been doing so far this year. The news is not great. First, the visual:

How to read this: Each green row is darker in the spots where it is "better".
For the red columns, I compare this year's average to last year's, red is "bad".

It may be a pretty picture, but it's a sad story.

I have been less active this year than last year by every single measure I use. I walk less, I'm not running or biking at all, and my gym workouts plummeted when the gym closed, even though I've got a terrific home gym and I continue to pay my trainer to send me workouts to do. I'm not even walking much. Our friend Chris would be severely disappointed in me.

My explanations and rationales are plentiful. "It's too [insert: cold, hot, wet, windy]. My dog can barely stumble around the block. I don't feel good. I don't want to get dressed. I don't feel like wearing a mask." 

This is entirely under my control, and I resolve to do better. The walking has already picked up. I'm doing a couple of things to motivate myself, including getting up early, indulging myself on fun things to listen to, and doing a virtual trip of the Camino de Santiago.

My weight is very slightly better than the end of the year, but the sad truth is I put on ten pounds after my mother died and I wallowed in self-pity. I am focused on my eating, and I'm not just tracking my food, but planning each day's food each morning. It definitely helps to not walk into the kitchen and ask myself "what am I in the mood for?". Instead, since I don't need to accommodate anyone else's schedule, instead I ask myself, "am I actually hungry? Is it time to eat?". The question of what I might eat is not on the table. This works for me almost every day. But evenings remain a vulnerable point for me, though I'm making some slow progress at self talk to convince myself otherwise.

The next group of measures in the report I think of as my mental group: meditation, migraine, sleep and heart-rate. These are tied together. Sleep hours are up, and resting heart-rate is down, but migraines have been a big issue and I haven't made meditation a priority.

The next group is entertainment: books, blogging, trips downtown, and days at the boat. I'm certainly reading an enormous amount, and I've taken the time to blog both here and on the garden blog. But I've cut back local travel, for obvious reasons. I don't go into town to meet folks for lunch, for example. I am, however, starting to get more sailing in. The previous restrictions have loosened, and my boat partner and I both see this as our preferred quarantine escape. So three Saturdays in a row! (We won't do any overnights where we share a cabin, just day sails for now.)

The last group, spending on certain things, is actually the area I considered hiding my numbers because I'm embarrassed they are as high as they are. The good news is I'm spending much less on food (not unexpectedly, since last year included work lunches out and hosting family for several days). Planning my daily meals in advance means I'm much better at using up my food - I'm wasting much less. I minimize trips to the supermarket - about every two weeks - and get restaurant takeout once or twice a week, usually enough for two or more meals when I place the order. Restaurants are expensive, and normally I would only go out with other people. Now, I rationalize how I have to support local restaurants, but the truth is I just get tired of my own cooking. I wonder how I'll feel about solo takeout once socializing resumes?

I was surprised to see my monthly average spending on clothes is about even with last year. My thinking behind why is tied to my weight gain - I decided I needed some clothes that make me comfortable now rather than counting on losing enough weight to fit. And my trips - the Utah trip in February and the cancelled Iceland one - tipped me into buying some cool weather active outdoor clothes that I wanted but really didn't need. They were expensive but I love them! I am ruthless these days about returning anything I don't like, but I should stick to what I have now and force myself to shop my closet for play clothes. I also have a lot of very nice work clothes and no place to wear them. I told myself to wait a year before purging. Since this year is so unusual, and I have hopes of getting my weight back down to where those clothes fit, I'm going to wait a while longer before figuring out which few nice things truly spark joy.

So there is my sad story. I an optimistic take on it: with such low scores in the beginning of the year, I should have a good shot at the "most improved" award at the end of the year! Parents: how would you react to such a spin on the dismal tally?

OK, So We're Doing This

Summer at home, that is. With my hopes for this year's exotic adventure gone, it's finally time to buckle down and have a summer. I need projects, and I have many ideas. But in the meantime, "me" is always a good project. I had big regrets about being in such bad shape physically before my now-cancelled trip. Time to go ahead and do something about that. Also, time to get out of the house more.

I was up at 5 am today, by design, and downtown as the sun came up. I have lived and worked in one of the most scenic spots in the world for more than 20 years - it's time to continue to appreciate it. So, just a little walk around the sights, as the crews cleaned up from the totally irresponsible "celebration" held down on the Mall last night. We're in the middle of a stretch of hot and humid weather, and I decided dawn was the time to be cool and also, to be mostly alone.

Morning adventures these days are limited by my bladder. So three miles was the plan, and three miles got done, at a leisurely pace as I enjoyed the views. There were runners and tourists around, but it was easy to keep distance. That is good, because most people were only wearing masks when passing closely was inevitable. Me too. I was reminded how much I like early mornings. 

I stopped at the grocery store on the way home, and now I feel like my day has not been totally wasted. Walk and chores, both. Maybe I'll do something else, or maybe I'll just binge Star Wars on my girl's new Disney+ subscription.




Also, expect quotes from Hamilton to crop up any place I can possibly use them. Such as this post's title.

Iceland doesn’t want me

Ok, no surprise, but they don’t want any Americans right now, like the rest of Europe. I can’t blame them. They did have a small outbreak from a couple of tourists.

Now to the task of deciding what to do with my July. And seeing what of this trip is refundable, or recoverable through travel insurance.

Still Maybe

The Iceland trip has approached and receded.

Can I go?

Do I want to go?

The answers to these questions are still up in the air.

First, the NY Times reported that the EU will likely exclude the U.S. from ordinary travel when they further open their borders on July 1. This puts us in the same category as Brazil, which is only fair. It's based on the numbers. But, "likely" is the operative term there. Nothing has been finalized. And, Iceland is not a member of the EU , but is part of the Schengen travel area. Iceland might decide to go their own way. Again, there is nothing official from the government of Iceland. Just a news article saying that the EU is mighty mad at little Iceland for even considering such a thing. And quoting a minister in Iceland saying "we had hoped" to both open to Iceland and have the U.S. open to them, and they are very sad the U.S. wasn't letting Icelanders in. This was in an English language paper produced in Iceland. How much does one read into the exact wording, by non-native speakers of English? Is it a done deal? Earlier press reports had said to expect further news on plans for July and beyond by June 26, but that has come and gone with no news.

Meanwhile, my rescheduled lovely non-stops from here to Iceland have been cancelled. All of them, from anywhere in the U.S. to Iceland, for weeks, are cancelled. Icelandair is in financial trouble, and a significant amount of their business is actually from the U.S. to Europe, with or without an actual visit to Iceland in the middle. So if Europe nixes us, even if Iceland itself is open to us, they may not be able to make enough money to carry on. They are offering refunds, which I've applied for, but if they go under I'll be out of luck (see Wow Air).

So back on the internet. Canada is on the "ok" list for Europe (which can be considered the provisional list for Iceland). So I could book flights, 20 hours each way, from DC to Montreal to Frankfurt to Reykjavik and back again. Four airports versus two, and unknown exposure on each of six flights total. Multiplies the risk significantly, yes? What's the point of booking if I won't be allowed in, anyway?

I have not yet reached out to the sailboat people. I'm hanging here, waiting to see what is the official word from the government of Iceland, which removes all choice. But I'm not at all sure I want to pay a third time for flights that will be uncomfortable and put me at risk.

I've got a couple of days of full-time work Monday and Tuesday, the "outside expert panel" I'm serving on related to my former employment. That'll keep me busy and not thinking so much about this. By Wednesday, July 1, I'll either be told I can't or I'll have to choose for myself. Stay tuned.