When I tell stories to older kids, I often start with a jump tale. You know, the kind of story where there is a sudden bit that makes the listeners jump. Afterwards, the kids usually turn to each other to laugh and talk about the jump. In order to bring them back to a place where they can listen, I give advice on how to tell these stories. Here's a clip from a show at a school in Quito, Ecuador last month, thanks to videographer Sandro Rota.
I love performance tours. I am deeply thankful to do this work and for the privilege of traveling to do it (thanks, DreamOn Productions!). I'm writing from Costa Rica, where I'm telling stories for a week. Last week I was performing in Ecuador. (I promise to post pictures soon.)
Alas, I have a headcold. I work hard to stay healthy, especially on international tours, but sometimes I succumb to germs.
A couple of weeks before I leave for an overseas trip, I start taking echinacea and goldenseal, to boost my immune system. I also take Vitamin D. I pack these, along with multivitamins, ibuprofen, Pepto-Bismol, anti-diarrheal pills, night-time and day-time cold medicine, sinus rinse packs and my neti pot, bandaids, antibiotic ointment, tweezers, Tiger balm and zinc lozenges.
On top of this pharmacopeia, I drink lots of water. Lots of water. This is the best way to keep my voice in shape, along with vocal warm-up exercises before performances. If I feel throat irritation, I buy lozenges at local pharmacies and health food stores. I'm partial to those made with propolis and honey. I also buy ginger, lemon and honey, which I simmer to make a soothing drink. It's good hot or cold. I find out if the country I'm going to has safe water. If not, I drink bottled or boiled water only. Yes, I have Pepto-bismol, but if I'm careful, I may not need it.
I try to wash my hands frequently. I tend to forget hand sanitizer, maybe because I don't like the way it feels. Maybe if I'd used it, I wouldn't have gotten this particular cold. Then again, it wouldn't have stopped the person sneezing and coughing on me on the airplane on the way to Costa Rica.
At the first sign of a cold, I take zinc lozenges. Sometimes they can keep a cold at bay. Or at least that's what I tell myself. Warning: don't take them on an empty stomach. They can make you feel nauseous. I do that revolting sinus rinse a couple of times a day so a simple cold doesn't turn into a sinus infection. I've been lucky not to lose my voice on these tours--the only thing you can do in that case is not talk. Yikes!
After a day of work, usually four performances, I take a nap. I like to get a walk in at some point. I also go to bed early--it's important to save my energy for the school sessions.
Oh, yes, and that's sunscreen in the picture. In Ecuador especially the sun is strong. Sunscreen is essential. Wear it.
Confession time: my storytelling library was a blot on the escutcheon of librarians everywhere for the last year and a half. My books were not in any order. The house needed so much work, I just plunked my work books on shelves willy-nilly. This is what about half of them looked like:
Oh, they looked nice. Those homemade bookshelves garnered attention when I posted this picture on Facebook. But, sheesh, when I needed to find a particular book, I spent way too much time searching. Can you see that there's a collection of cat stories right next to a big book of world tales? Sacred Stories is right next to a collection of Scottish folktales, which is next to French stories.
I know better. My first professional job was as a Slavic cataloger. It's important to have a system, in order to find materials easily.
Last week, I organized my books. Not exactly Dewey Decimal, but close.
Here's the order I use:
- General reference
- Books on creativity, including writing books
- Reference books relating to folklore and storytelling
- How-to books on storytelling
- Collections of world folktales
- Story collections by topic (e.g. folktales of cats)
- Story collections by geographic area (e.g. folktales from France)
- Literary (that is, not folktale) collections by author
It's not exact. Some areas are a little slushy. Eagle-eyed readers will see that stories from Shakespeare are tucked into the English folktale collections--that's mostly because the literary tales are on a shelf that's harder to reach, and because I have a program of folktales related to Shakespeare's plays. No, I don't have a card catalog (though I was lusting after a small one at Habitat Restore last week). Still, it's a great improvement.
I think I'll go browse my collection for a bit.
I know it's a cliche but it's true: people live on through the stories we tell about them. I'm writing this two days before my mother's funeral.
My mother, Carol Edgelow Howe, grew up in Springfield, Massachusetts. She and her three sisters often visited their grandparents in Westmount, Quebec. One Christmas, when she was about three, she was put to bed while her parents and grandparents ate supper. Little Carol was certain that Santa Claus was down the street by the corner. She got out of bed and left the house alone on that snowy night. The family dog, a Newfoundland named Caesar, followed, then got in front of her. He pushed her back up the steps of the house. She was furious with him! How dare he keep her from Santa Claus!
Mom had a powerful imagination, a lively mind and a wicked sense of humor. She graduated from Wellesley College in 1945, though the story is that the Dean had to call her father to discuss my mother's errant ways--reading novels rather than her assignments and dating boys. She was a looker!
I suspect she was a big daydreamer. In her later years, after my father died, we discovered that it was also Mom who was the dawdler. When I was in school, she was insistent that we not be late. I found some of her grammar school report cards and discovered that in fourth grade, she was late dozens of times!
After working at a florist shop and a nursery, as well as a lifetime of gardening and raising houseplants (her Cattleya orchids were always in bloom), Mom wrote garden columns for newspapers for forty years. Her last column was in September 2016 at age 93. Whenever I asked her for gardening advice, she always gave the same answer: "Why don't you call your Extension Agent?"
Mom was deeply invested in her church, St. Columba's in Boothbay Harbor, Maine and involved in the church's mission in Belém, Brazil. Not surprising, as my father was an Episcopal priest.
Mom was concerned with issues of hunger and poverty. When she went to church, she always brought at least one can of food for the pantry. In her gardening articles, she suggested people "plant a row for the hungry," an initiative of the Garden Writers of America. Mom loved to spend time outdoors, to sing, to read--she belonged to two book clubs in Maine, where she spent the last thirty years of her life, until last October when we moved her to Kansas to be near three of her seven children.
We moved Mom to Lawrence, Kansas because none of us was close enough to Maine to help in an emergency. This proved to be prescient. In late February, she had a stroke. She'd been in assisted living, but moved into long-term care with hospice. All of her children were able to come to Kansas to say goodbye. We had the luxury of nine weeks with her after her stroke. My in-town siblings, Mary and Thomas, their spouses, and I spent time with her every day. She loved visits from my siblings' dogs, too.
The stroke took a bit of her short-term memory and her ability to process writing, but Mom did not have dementia. She was aware and coherent for the few hours each day she was awake. She loved hearing e-mails and cards from family and friends. We read to her, brought her flowers from our gardens, fed her and advocated for her. We even had cocktail hour with her a few times. After the first one she told the nurse that she'd had almost a whole beer. Well, actually, she had three small sips and a couple of goldfish crackers.
In March, I wrote a blog post about storytelling as a respite. Now you know why.
Mom died with a slight smile on her lips on Sunday, April 30, 2017 at 11:50 a.m. My sister Mary and I were at her side.
RIP Carol Edgelow Howe, 1923-2017.
If you feel so inclined, plant a row for the hungry or take some nonperishables to your local food pantry in her honor.
Baby came to me from Molly, who beginning at the tender age of three was a fan of my puppet Trixie. Once she invited Trixie over for a sleepover. I was not invited. When Trixie hesitated, Molly suggested maybe just a playdate. When Molly was about ten, she got her own puppet, Baby. Alas, Baby wasn't as engaging as Trixie. Molly's mother Stacey called me to say that Molly would like to give me a present.
As soon as I put Baby on my hand, I knew we were a good match. The combination of the old-man look, the wide blue eyes and the binky (a.k.a. pacifier, a.k.a. dummy, a.k.a. passy) are irresistible.
The binky is what pulls most listeners in. Baby pops it out, even when she says she won't. Usually it's a resounding "pop!" but sometimes it's more like a raspberry. Even after I put her back in the bag, after she has vanished from sight, the listeners hear the passy pop.
Baby doesn't have another name. She's content to be like Cher or Madonna. Baby. She has many activities in the puppet bag: playing poker, making up ridiculous songs, eating tuna fish sandwiches. She prefers that Trixie not sit on her head, as that is not a good way to babysit.
Oh, and Baby has a new binky as of last summer. It is, as she says, "Only for special, not for every day."
Baby keeps this special pacifier in the pocket of the puppet bag. It's her Super Mario binky or her Groucho binky, and when it's upside down, it's a soul patch. It pops out of her mouth just as well as the regular binky.
Thanks, Molly, for this amazing character!
...is not easy. I think it was Elizabeth Ellis who said, "If anything can keep you from being a full-time storyteller, let it." If nothing can keep you from this work, then and only then, should you take it on as a full-time job. So that's where I am, where I've been since 1993, wanting only to tell stories, play with puppets, teach workshops, coach other storytellers.
I love storytelling. It's massively fun. It is also my business, make no mistake. I market my work, write contracts and invoices, track income and expenses, record mileage, file taxes (done, whew!) and all the rest of what it takes to keep a business going.
Sometimes I need help. I'm fortunate to have been a participant last year and now a peer facilitator in ArtistInc, a rigorous program that trains artists and performers to be entrepreneurs. I've taken other classes like this in the past, such as Sean Buvala's Storytelling Bootcamp, but this is right here in my town. We meet for eight weeks to work on our arts businesses, and in the process, create a core group of artists in many disciplines with whom to work. We've maintained many of the friendships we made in last year's group.
In ArtistInc, we set goals and rely on each other for accountability. We've had sessions on budgets, taxes, writing about our work, legal issues and more. Our homework assignments are practical. This week, we're reviewing artist statements. Here's my latest artist statement:
I live in my head. A lot. I make stuff up, I borrow from old tales, I reinterpret new stories. As a storyteller, I’m a tour guide to that space in my brain. I work without a script, without costumes, without props. When I’m doing it right, listeners laugh, smile, sigh and breathe together, connected in the space of stories. I perform at schools, libraries, festivals, special events, and in my own backyard, literally. My mouthy hand puppets come along to shows for kids. I tell more grownup stories to, well, grownups and older kids. We play together. Apart from being the oldest educational method in the world, storytelling is just plain fun.
The final session is a Pecha Kucha style Powerpoint presentation, using a set of slides that advance automatically every 20 seconds. My work is usually live, so last year was the first time I ever used Powerpoint. I'm redoing my presentation for this year. When I get it finished, I'll post it here.
Soon I'm going to roll out a new business project, one that ArtistInc has helped me refine. Watch this space!
Storytelling is my profession, my passion, my vocation. It is also my respite from cares of the world.
You may have heard about "the healing power of storytelling." By this, people usually mean that the listeners are healed. I know that stories can be healing but--and this is vital to understand--I am not in charge of this. I can choose stories with powerful themes to tell at times when they may be needed, but it would be sheer hubris to say that I heal others with my stories.
At the same time, telling stories is a way I find solace in times of sorrow. Sometimes it is the story itself that helps me, sometimes just the act of telling stories; sometimes it is eliciting laughter or contemplation in the listeners that brings me to an easier place.
When I'm feeling low during slow seasons, I invite myself to a preschool or two to tell stories. It works like a charm.
When my father died ten years ago, I was performing in Belgium. At the moment he died, I was telling one of his favorite stories, "The Twist-Mouth Family". I often tell that story in his memory now.
What stories have you told that offer respite? What stories have you heard that bring you solace?
The first time I told stories to adults in a performance in 1989, I was wearing silk parachute pants. I was nervous. My knees shook and my trousers shimmied. My palms were sweaty. Still, I kept the story strong in my mind and in my voice. The story I told then is one I still tell.
I grew to love performing for grownups. I mix it up, telling personal stories (often personal fiction), folktales and stories from books. My puppets stay home. I seek to connect emotionally, of course, but also to surprise the listeners, open a door to other points of view, offer shelter. I hope to delight. Often, listeners are surprised at how much they enjoy stories.
I gave a house concert not long after 9/11. One of the audience members said, "Thank you. For two hours, I wasn't thinking about world events." Often adults take stories in without showing emotion. For many performances, I thought one of my regular listeners was bored because of the way she sat, face static and arms crossed. At the end, she would come up to say, "That was great!" I now watch for this listening stillness. If the listeners are fidgeting, I consider why I'm not connecting. Maybe my story needs tightening, maybe I have left out a crucial piece of information that seemed obvious to me, maybe there's a problem with the venue.
With the advent of storytelling events such as the Moth, the general public is getting used to hearing stories for adults, specifically personal stories. Some of these are excellent, some are deadly therapy on stage. The best take a personal event and make it universal. To those who have just discovered personal storytelling, it's new. To the rest of us, it's as old as the hills.
On Tuesday, Valentine's Day 2/14/17), I'll tell true, slightly true and absolutely false stories to grownups, in a performance called "And they lived happily ever after...Or did they?" here in Lawrence, Kansas at the Union Pacific Depot at 8:00 p.m. Admission is a love offering,of course (passing the hat). Come see what I mean by stories for grownups.
My friend Kareen King prompted me to choose a theme for the year, a word to focus on. Almost immediately, it came to me: "community." In truth, I've been thinking about this word for a little over a year, since I moved back from KC to Lawrence. I moved back mostly because I missed my community. I live on the same street I moved from in 2010, just a half block east. I'm close enough to downtown that I can walk and often when I do, I run into friends.
How can my storytelling add to this community? One way is through the Story Nights I do in the backyard. I had five last summer and will do more this next year.
I'm also thinking about how the stories we tell can build up or tear down a community. I want to tell the stories that build up community. Sometimes that's through shared laughter, sometimes it's through specific ideas the listeners get from the stories. Last week I told Grandmother Bear and the Hurtful Words to a group of 2nd graders. We talked about what one might say after using hurtful words. I explained that "just kidding" isn't kind. One little girl raised her hand and said, "But what if you were really just kidding." That gave me pause. I suggested that it might not be a good way to kid, because it could truly hurt somebody's feelings. Sometimes the stories we tell can encourage kindness in a world that doesn't always feel kind.
I'm going to veer off topic from storytelling but still on the topic of community. I've been the recipient of great kindness from friends and family, that is, from my community, in working on my house. Some has been moral support, some financial, much has been actual hands-on-let's-make-this-place-livable work. I'm deeply grateful. Here are a few pictures of the results:
I had immeasurable help also from Mary, Rick, Mary W., Andy, Jeanette, Mike, Bob, Kareen, Tzveta, Marie G., Joanna-banana, Dave, Steve, Tom O., Sarah, Joyce and all of you who listened to me drone on and on about the house. I hope I haven't left anyone out.* Thank you all. You matter. WE matter. Community matters.
*I also had professional help from Earl Moise of Rising Son Plumbing, Jeff Hardie of Electric Plus, Andy Martin of Martin Hardwood Floors and Tony Backus. They all did a great job!
I had a great time telling stories in China. Most of the performances were tremendous fun. Generally, the level of English was quite good and the students were engaged. The teachers and administrators were easy to work with, often going out of their way to make sure I was comfortable. I love these tours, even with the intense schedule of 64 performances in four weeks (four per day, four days a week). I was in eight schools in five cities: Beijing, Shanghai, Suzhou, Wuxi and Ningbo.
Enough statistics. Here are pictures from the schools:
I had to see the Great Wall. I was in Beijing, so really, I had to. My tour manager Alberto and I decided to visit the lesser-known Huanghuacheng Section, known to those of us who speak no Chinese as "Lakeside Great Wall." We hired a car and driver to take us out of Beijing on one of the bad pollution days.
It took about an hour and a half to get there. We left the driver and walked first through a small village to get to the entrance of the park. As with most tourist sites, there were vendors lining the way.
There were large groups of students touring the site. Just inside the entrance, they were having activities.
Time to ascend the wall. This site is by a reservoir, so first we had to cross a bridge. The willows reminded me of the willow pattern plates we had when I was a child.
It was a beautiful day, with wonderful views. It's amazing to think that we were standing on the longest wall in the world, first built around 2300 years ago. This is not the original wall, clearly, but a reconstruction. We did see ruins in the distance, though.
I love how it snakes through the hills. You can see the reservoir down below. We walked down to it, had a snack and took a boat across.
To get back to the entrance, we walked under the dam.
We worked up an appetite so on our way back to the car, we stopped at a little restaurant. We chose it because it had such lovely flowers.
Alberto speaks some Chinese. He ordered chicken and something else--he wasn't certain what, but he thought duck.
The chicken arrived and was not very good. Feet, beak, skin, grease. Nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, so we wondered if we had possibly not ordered another dish. We stood up to ask for the check. Some women working at a table nearby motioned for us to wait. One of them rushed outside to get the man who took our order. He came back in a few minutes with the most delicious herb-encrusted fish I have ever eaten. It was so tasty I didn't even think of taking a picture. He had probably told us that it was the specialty of the house. He grilled it just outside the restaurant, on the street.
All in all, with the exception of the chicken, it was a delightful day.
One of the things I love about travel is the unexpected encounters with people. Today I had a day off in the city of Ningbo. My substitute tour manager Fiona and I were strolling through a garden after lunch when we heard music. Turned out to be a group of older folks singing in a pagoda. We peeked in.
They were startled and pleased to see a, gasp, foreigner enjoying their tunes. I asked Fiona to ask if I could take pictures. Of course! And they wanted pictures with me as well. We took several, inside and outside the pagoda. There was a lot of interested chatter as Fiona told them where I was from. They smiled and patted me, making sure I was right in the middle of the pictures.
I think we all found this encounter highly entertaining and satisfying.
I had another good one on Monday, in the train station in Wuxi on the way back to Shanghai.
It's all about connection, isn't it?
I'm three weeks into the China tour, so maybe it's time to write about the schools. I've been having a fantastic time at all of them!
First, let me answer two questions I am often asked: what language am I using? Do I have an interpreter? I am telling stories in English. The tours with DreamOn are focused on telling stories to students who are learning English as a second language and ex-pat kids. I do not have an interpreter, though I have a tour manager to help me outside of the shows (and sometimes during them). I perform for everybody from preschool to high school.
Like at home, when I perform for preschoolers and elementary school children, I use my puppets. They are essential when the students understand less English. Everybody understands when Trixie brushes her hair with her toothbrush. Everybody understands when the baby pops her binky out of her mouth. It's more of a challenge when the students are in middle school but have limited English.
I've been at four schools so far: two in Beijing, one in Shanghai and one in Suzhou. The performances have been in the library and in the auditorium.
Given my druthers, I prefer the library. In Shanghai, though, Shanghai United International School had a new auditorium. I was the first performer there, so the kids were hugely excited to be in the hall.
I had some challenges here. The little children were really too small for the seats, and trickier still, the armrests held desks. Alberto made a genius suggestion, which was to ask the kids to take those desks out at the very beginning of each program, then put them away and NEVER TOUCH THEM AGAIN. This worked. Children are naturally curious, so this was a way to satisfy their curiosity without it being a big deal. I also have to show kids my crooked little fingers before I begin, for the same reason. If I don't they get distracted by my hands and forget to listen to the stories.
For the most part, the audiences have been wonderful. They've joined in nicely and at the end have asked good questions. The teachers and librarians have been welcoming. I've felt that many of them would go out for coffee with me if we lived near each other.
I have a week left, with a tough schedule: four days of work in four schools, each in a different city. No complaints, though. I signed up for this adventure and am eating it up with a spoon! The Chinese kind of spoon, as in the next picture.
My school work didn't begin until Tuesday of my first week in China. On Monday, Alberto and I went to a Beijing "snack street," to check out some delicacies.
Oddly enough, I didn't take pictures of the delicious fried dumplings and the sesame brittle I ate. I wasn't terribly adventurous on snack street, though I was completely fascinated by the selection.
My apologies for the slow bloggage. There are two good reasons: the Internet connection here in China is iffy at times and I'm pouring my energy into the performances (twenty last week at one school, an exception from the usual 16 per week).
I was lucky when I arrived in Beijing. The weather was good and pollution was low. As the week went on, the pollution got worse. I'm so glad I got to visit the Forbidden City when it was a good day. Here are some pics from that beautiful site.
My first full day in China was fascinating. After we toured the Forbidden City, we wandered through a nearby neighborhood, stopping for some dumplings. Then on by subway to a proper lunch at a restaurant.
From there, we went to Walmart (yikes!) to pick up a few things. It had some items I've never seen in a US Walmart.
More blog posts on the way, Internet connection allowing.
The school work began successfully on Tuesday. We took a taxi and despite traffic and pollution, we arrived on time. On Wednesday, we were going to another school, one closer to the hotel. Because there's a small window for getting through rush hour, we had trouble getting a cab. Yikes! What to do? Take a tuktuk! I didn't get a picture of the one we were riding in, but I did get views during the ride. Yes, we were facing backwards.
We arrived at the school on time. Being in the tuktuk meant that we could zip in and out of traffic, rather than getting stuck in it in a taxicab.
I'm here in Beijing, sitting on my bed in the hotel room, one day before the storytelling begins. I arrived on Saturday, after a 12-hour flight from Chicago. Did you know that the airplane goes north and then west to get here? Here's a view of the horizon, from the plane.
Alberto, my friend and tour manager, was waiting for me at the airport, to my great relief. We had a Plan B, which involved me getting a taxi by myself to get to the hotel. I'm glad we didn't need to use that plan.
The hotel is in a non-touristy part of Beijing, just around the corner from where Alberto is staying. It's quiet and clean, with a giant buffet breakfast. Today, for example, I had watermelon, dragon fruit, garlicky noodles, sauteed tofu, snow peas and black mushrooms, scrambled eggs with peppers and tomatoes and cantaloupe. They don't serve coffee or tea here.
So far, it's very comfortable.
Yesterday, we went to the Forbidden City. I'll show pictures of that next. Right now, though, I'm heading downstairs to meet Alberto for coffee.
I've been transferring posts from 2012 to 2015 to this blog, as I upgrade my website. In the process, I've dipped into my old blogspot site, Storytelling Notes. I began blogging in 2004 and had some prolific years. In 2009, for example, I wrote 71 posts and in 2008, I wrote 163. Holy cow! I'm going to have to up my game.
Here's one from 2009, with updated photo and video.
Night has fallen. The campfire flickers and pops, coals glow, listeners creep closer to the fire and the storyteller. It’s time for scary stories. But wait…some of the listeners are too small for the stories of La Llorona or hookman. It’s time for a funny-scary campfire story, just enough for shivers, not enough for nightmares. As many of you know, I’m best known for telling The Ghost With the One Black Eye, and many other classic funny-scary campfire stories. Here are a few tips for effective campfire storytelling for the youngest listeners.
1. Notice the body language of the listeners as you introduce the story. Suggest that the smallest children sit with an older sibling or adult. Some small children like very scary stories, but it’s kinder to the adults who have to be with the child later on to tell gentler stories to young children.
2. Let the listeners know right away that this will be a funny-scary story, not a scary-scary story.
3. Choose a story with a joke ending. You can find a few of these in Alvin Schwartz’ Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark series, in Simon Bronner’s American Children’s Folklore, or ask a ten-year-old who has been to camp.
4. Err on the side of goofy characters, not scary, for young listeners. Build in a hand movement or repetitive phrase so the audience can join in.
5. Sometimes even a funny story can scare a small child. Reassure the individual child that it will all be fine in the end.
6. For a little shiver, pause just before the punchline. This builds suspense and creates an even bigger laugh at the funny ending.
7. Don’t be surprised if children say “That wasn’t scary!” at the end. This is most likely not a true critique, just an observation--and sometimes a way a slightly scared child has of finding courage.
Once the little ones have gone off to bed, and you’re sure that those who are still around the fire can handle it, if you have time and inclination, then tell the truly scary stories.
Name: Trixie Decaphobia, commonly called Trixie. Some children occasionally call her Triskie.
Age: 111 (the next picture has an egregious typo).
Creator: Folkmanis. She is no longer being manufactured. She came with a black pointy hat but she is not one of THOSE, despite her greenish tint. She changes hats from time to time. She currently sports a leopard spot beret, to match the puppet bag.
Disposition: Variable. Mostly she's a bit crabby, sometimes forgetful, often silly. She suggests stories for me to tell, then falls asleep during the telling.
Favorite food: Candy corn and if the next picture is to be believed, rocks.
She has an oversized toothbrush in her bag. She is likely to brush her teeth in the middle of a performance and then, horror of horrors, she brushes her hair with her toothbrush. Will she ever learn?
If I leave her mouth open a little, she looks much friendlier, not quite so scary. Or maybe she's not so scary because she tends to put her foot in her mouth. Literally.
She gets along with the baby, but there's a problem: she thinks babysitting is sitting on the baby. On her head. Squish.
I found Trixie at the Raven Book Store in Lawrence in 1994. She has accompanied me on most performances for younger children since then. Truth to tell, I've had to replace her several times (I find her on Ebay).
Because she's constructed so I put one hand in her head and one in her hand, she's versatile. She can rub her eyes (allergies), scratch (fleas), lift up her skirt (show of her kicks, as she was once a Rockette). On long drives, I sometimes put her on and slow down so cars will pass us. She waves.
Trixie also has her own Facebook page! She doesn't post often, but it's worth checking out.
I've been fortunate to have found the work I love. I have stories I tell over and over and they never get old. I learn more about the stories, about audiences, about myself as I perform.
And then there are times to take risks, to say yes to new projects. In the winter, I was approached by the Flint Hills Discovery Center in Manhattan, KS about doing a show for their Kids' Dinner Theater. What? Dinner theater for kids?! This would be their third event, they said. Oh, and could I do something about dinosaurs or prairie ecosystems? There would be a special dinosaur exhibit.
No. I don't have dinosaur stories or prairie stories. But wait, what about taking familiar stories and making them dino tales, with the help of the kids, who would surely know more about dinosaurs than I do? I agreed to do it.
I spent time reading about dinosaurs, working out which stories I could fit them into. I also took the opportunity to, ahem, buy a new puppet for the occasion.
I found Triso on Ebay. Wish I knew who built him. He was made of foam, shaped with a Dremel tool. He has a deep goofy voice and I discovered that his horns are ticklish.
When I arrived at the museum early, after a fun show at the public library in the morning, I first toured the special exhibit. Dinosaurs are so dramatic, especially when you can press a button to hear them roar. I was happy to see that the museum has a collection of puppets and a puppet stage for kids to use in the hands-on gallery.
First the kids had supper, a buffet of veggies, cheese slices, goldfish crackers, chicken legs and fruit. Only a few parents were there, those who had 4 and 5 year-olds. The crowd was made up mostly of boys age 4-10, with a few girls. Two of the boys had a duel with chicken legs at supper, tapping each other on the head with them. I took a deep breath before the performance, ready for a boisterous audience. One young sir fell off his chair twice, or rather, fell and then the chair tipped over on top of him, during the stories. It didn't faze anybody.
The show went okay, especially for a first time. We made up some stories using dino facts the kids already knew, we plunked dinosaurs into Goldilocks, we sang some ridiculous songs. The children seemed to enjoy it.
Then it was time for the crafts. At my station, we were making glove puppets. Here are some:
The kids crawled under the table I'd draped for a stage and put on show after show.
Here's my favorite picture of the evening:
Was it a perfect show? No. Was it fun? Yes. Did the kids enjoy themselves? Yes. Did the parents have a good time? Yes.
Sometimes it's worth obeying the first rule of improvisation: say yes, even if it's something you haven't ever done before or maybe especially in that case. You never know what will happen, and there's a good chance it will work out.