Back to basics

I'm making bread today. I've been baking bread since I was nine years old. I began with the basic white bread recipe from the Women's Day Encyclopedia of Cookery (volume Bea-Cas). I followed that recipe for six or seven years before I started improvising. That's a long time for me, as I view all recipes as mere guidelines. I started experimenting, throwing in a handful of cornmeal or adding oatmeal, substituting olive oil for butter, trying maple syrup instead of sugar, learning that with whole wheat you have to knead the dough longer. Usually it was pretty good.

Lately, I've been tossing in flax seed and oatmeal and sesame seed, sweetening with molasses, measuring by feel and taste. For the first time in ages, I haven't been satisfied with the end result. I've decided to get back to basics.  Several years ago, I found that one volume of the cookbook at a book sale, sitting alone on a shelf, so I took it home. Today I followed the bread recipe exactly, and as I did, I was taken back to being a beginner, to the smell and feel of the dough.  

It's good to get back to the basics. I can, and will, branch out again, but right now I need to use the simple recipe. I feel that way about how I get storytelling work. In 2010, as some of you know, I moved from Lawrence to Kansas City. I'd been a full-time storyteller in Lawrence for 17 years and had built up my name and reputation in Lawrence. It isn't that I didn't have to promote my work, but that the pool of people who knew my storytelling was large. Maybe I was a little complacent.

In KC, not as many people know me. I find that I have to get back to basics, to what I did in the beginning: I networked, gave out my business card, talked about the art of storytelling, introduced myself to people who might have an interest in my work, showcased, sent out targeted mailings, listed myself in directories, made as many connections as I could. I'm doing that again (and it's easier in some ways, thanks to the Internet). 

Think of how some kids approach the world (before they're taught to be scared), with an openess and willingness to experiment. If they have the basics, they can create something amazing. That's the kind of beginner's mind I'm looking for. I'm going back to what I did in the beginning, as I'm doing with the bread, and from that place of openness and wonder, my work can open up. 

I've had fewer school gigs as teachers struggle to prepare students for testing and budgets are cut. In thinking like a beginner, instead of continuing the strategies that are not working, I start wondering how else I can use my gifts. I have to be nimble, as I think about other applications for storytelling, such as Skypetelling, or telling stories at weddings, or preparing a program specifically for kids who are learning English as a second language. 

I have to think creatively about how to make my living in a creative field. Part of that is cultivating beginner's mind.

Time to go check on that bread. 

Tasty!

Skype-telling

It worked! Last year I wrote about considering telling stories remotely, using Skype. I once did a puppet workshop for a classroom on Skype and didn't like it much. I couldn't see the kids very well. I've also coached storytellers on Skype, which is much better. My friend Carol asked me (again) if I would tell stories to her niece and nephew who live in Massachusetts. Carol lives abroad and has introduced the children to me via CDs.

Yesterday, I met the children not in person, but through our computers. I spent about 35-45 minutes with them, telling five stories and one song, with three puppets. Rachel (age 5) and Gabriel (age 7) were excellent listeners. They—through their mother—sent me an e-mail afterwards saying, "I liked skyping with you and I would like you to do it again sometime :) It was fun! The baby was hilarious. Please bring out the puppets again" and "It was really fun skyping and I hope to do it again soon. The baby was funny! Next time, please bring the puppets again."

Here are some thoughts on the experience:

I spent time setting up the environment. First, I moved from my office, which has blood-red walls, to the dining room. I set myself up with the neutral backdrop of the curtains on the puppet room. I wore a green sweater and turtleneck that contrasted with the curtains as well as with the puppets.

It was a sunny day, so I closed the blinds and turned on the overhead light to avoid my face having a vampiric shade. In order to minimize the number of chins I appear to have when the camera looks up at me, I raised the laptop, using thick books.

A few days before the call, I tested the setup with my sister. The day before, I made sure I had added Carol and her sister to my contact list. I didn't want to be messing around with that on the day. I subscribed to Skype Premium so I can have more than one other video up on the screen during a call. On the day itself, I turned off all other computer programs and shut down some of the services running in the background. 

Because I wanted to introduce the children to a few of my puppets, I had the puppets out of their bag and ready on the table. I also had a glass of water. I should have put the cat outside, but alas, I had to do that in the middle of the session. Nobody seemed to mind. 

Unlike real life, the kids could only see my head and a bit of my upper body. I made gestures higher than I normally would, so my hands would be in the frame. I also slowed the gestures down, as going too fast makes the image blurry. 

I was worried about the connection. On Christmas day, my family tried a five-way Skype call and found it frustrating. The audio was garbled and the video didn't work for one brother. Fortunately, the Skype-telling on Friday was clear, with only a few odd voice distortions from time to time. The video was good for the kids and mostly for Carol, but the video of the kids that I saw froze for about the last ten minutes of the 35-minute call. 

I wonder if Google+ Hangouts would be better. My sister and I played with that after the Skype call on Christmas. The video was so-so, but the sound was better. 

What do I charge for this Skype-telling, you ask? It's for families, not for birthday parties or for schools, and I'm offering it at a low introductory price of $30 for half an hour. Feel free to spread this around—I'd love to do more of it!

Comments? Questions? 

Short Bulgarian cartoons

I came across some wonderful films by Bulgarian animator Donyo Donev today. They're great illustrations of story structure and also of the stock characters of wise (or not so wise) fools in folklore. 

This one shows a circular story, called "Intelligent Village."

I thought it was going to be the Bulgarian story of "The Village of No Cats," in which Clever Peter tricks a village overrun by mice into paying him to bring in stray cats. It starts that way, but turns instead into a circular story. It also illustrates one of my favorite story structures:

Somebody wanted ___________,

But__________,

So__________.

Donev did a series of films about three fools. This one is called "The Three Fools Pedagogues." 

Somebody wanted? Among other things, the three fools wanted to teach the baby music. 

But? But the baby was really too little for the music lesson.

So? They moved on to the dancing lesson. 

And much more. 

I came across these videos by following a link on the Facebook page of the House of Humor and Satire, which is in Gabrovo, Bulgaria. I'm hoping to get back there someday! 

Art for art's sake

Rant alert. Don't worry, it doesn't last long.

I've found myself tired lately. Not physically tired. I'm tired of justifying the arts. I know, I know, I posted that lovely list of ten lessons the arts teach, and I'm clear that storytelling enhances reading skills, problem solving, empathy, blablabla. I get that the arts can fit into the curriculum in myriad ways. 

I'm just tired of having to tell people why storytelling is important. I'm tired of trying to convince anyone that the arts are worth funding. I want to remind people of the bumper sticker that says "The Earth without Art is just...Eh" 

I long for art for art's sake. I long for the end of standardized tests that test how well kids can answer test questions and that leave students and teachers stressed, anxious. I long to live in a world where I never again have to say how I will measure the effect of my storytelling on the listeners, as if my impact on an audience could be quantified. I long to tell stories that don't have to fit into a curriculum or connect with awkward standards, stories that matter on their own. I long to live in a culture that recognizes the intrinsic value of the arts. 

As part of this, I also long for education reform. The current system doesn't allow kids to be divergent thinkers, to be their true creative selves. Today I came across the ideas of Sir Ken Robinson. Here's his TED talk, "Do schools kill creativity?"

Valuing the arts

Last week I went to a talk given by Nnenna Freelon at the Lied Center of Kansason the importance of arts in education. I'm already a convert, but there was a moment in the Q and A that I loved. One of our local politicians who has always been a strong backer of the arts asked the loaded question: "Should government support the arts?"

Photo by Ann Dean. For those of you not in Kansas, this cardboard cutout is a take on the mural of John Brown in the Kansas Capitol painted by John Steuart Curry. It was seen at a demonstration for arts funding in 2011, when our governor defunded the Kansas Arts Commission.

The audience, knowing the situation in Kansas and knowing this particular senator, laughed a little. Nnenna's response was great. Instead of the expected "Of course!" she took a long pause and said, "That's not the question. The real question is, who do we want to be?" 

She's right. Who do we want to be?  I want us to have the possibility of being interesting, creative, funny, engaged, connected problem-solvers, with a wide emotional vocabulary. Will everyone be that? No, certainly not, but I want the possibility, and I believe the arts can allow that possibility. 

I recently came across this fabulous list, Ten Lessons the Arts Teach, by Eliot Eisner: 

1. The arts teach children to make good judgments about qualitative relationships. Unlike much of the curriculum in which correct answers and rules prevail, in the arts, it is judgment rather than rules that prevail.

2. The arts teach children that problems can have more than one solution and that questions can have more than one answer.

3. The arts celebrate multiple perspectives. One of their large lessons is that there are many ways to see and interpret the world.

4. The arts teach children that in complex forms of problem solving purposes are seldom fixed, but change with circumstance and opportunity. Learning in the arts requires the ability and a willingness to surrender to the unanticipated possibilities of the work as it unfolds.

5. The arts make vivid the fact that neither words in their literal form nor numbers exhaust what we can know. The limits of our language do not define the limits of our cognition.

6. The arts teach students that small differences can have large effects. The arts traffic in subtleties.

7. The arts teach students to think through and within a material. All art forms employ some means through which images become real.

8. The arts help children learn to say what cannot be said. When children are invited to disclose what a work of art helps them feel, they must reach into their poetic capacities to find the words that will do the job.

9. The arts enable us to have experience we can have from no other source and through such experience to discover the range and variety of what we are capable of feeling.

10. The arts' position in the school curriculum symbolizes to the young what adults believe is important.

SOURCE: Eisner, E. (2002). The Arts and the Creation of Mind, In Chapter 4, What the Arts Teach and How It Shows. (pp. 70-92). Yale University Press. Available from NAEA Publications. NAEA grants reprint permission for this excerpt from Ten Lessons with proper acknowledgment of its source and NAEA. A .pdf of this list, in pretty form, is found on the NAEA site. 

Your comments? 

Nasruddin and the sheep's head

Here's another story about the trickster Nasruddin Hodja. Or Nasreddin. Or Nastradin Odzha. Or Saradin. Or Hoca Nasrudin. Or Mullah Nasredin. Or Juha. There are lots of variations on the name, as well as lots of variations on the stories. Try putting the stress on the -din, not on on the -ru-. This one is from Croatia.

Nasruddin and the sheep's head 

When he was a little boy, Nasrudin's father gave him some money to buy a roast sheep's head.  On his way home, Nasrudin ate the whole thing.  He arrived with just the skullbone.
"What is that head, my son?"
"It's a sheep's head."
"Where are the ears, then?"
"The poor thing, it was deaf."
"Where are its eyes?"
"Unfortunately, it was blind."
"Where is the tongue?"
"The miserable animal had none."
"There's no meat on its face."
"It was very skinny, had the mange."
"Well, why on earth did you buy it?"
"It has good teeth."
"And so do you!" said his father.

Western Kansas views--and pie

Last week, I drove almost seven hours to Western Kansas to tell stories. First I was at the Scott County Public Library for a Young Author Celebration on Sunday. What a fun group made up primarily of Mennonite families! I'd thought that the kids would see me in the next couple of days at the Scott City Elementary School, but it turned out that they were mostly from the Mennonite school. (Don't worry, I'll get to the pie soon. I will say, though,  that I've had excellent pie made by Mennonites at Iris' Cafe near Ulysses, KS many years ago.)

On Monday and Tuesday I told stories to kindergartners through fourth graders (ages 5-10), in small groups in the library. It's a treat for me to tell in the school library instead of in a cavernous gym or cafeteria. It makes so much sense to have the storytelling in the library. Even though it was only the first full week of school, the kids were wonderful listeners. At this time of year, the kindergartners are still really preschoolers, the first graders are still really kindergartners, and so on. The librarian and music teacher were my gracious hosts at the school. 

On Monday afternoon, I decided to go sightseeing. I'd never been to Monument Rocks, strange white rock structures about 18 miles northeast of Scott City. They're also called chalk pyramids. Here's the view from the distance, with the flat, flat land all around. (Flat like the top of a pie, not the lattice kind though.)

Getting closer...

This is called the keyhole. (Nothing to do with Key Lime Pie. Hold your horses about the pie.)

And there's another clump of rock formations across the road.

Across Kansas, there are abandoned houses and barns. I put a picture of one up a couple of years ago, in fact the last time I was in Scott City (working with junior high school kids that time). Here's one I saw on the way back to the motel in Scott City on this trip. (I didn't actually have pie in Scott City, but I had a nice chile relleno. The pie story is coming.)

The land out here is fenced in, sometimes with wood posts often made of hedge, a.k.a. Osage orange, wood that is resistant to insects and rot. It also burns hotter than any other wood, but has to be in a wood stove because it sparks like crazy. I used to burn it in my stove in Lawrence. (Not the oven, which I had to clean well when I moved as cherry juice had spilled over when I made a pie.)

When the white settlers came, there weren't lots of trees, but there was plenty of limestone. (I think they also made good pies after they'd planted fruit trees.) Post rocks can still be found around Western Kansas. Here's an example, with more in the background (from the rest area somewhere outside Great Bend).

Some of the most impressive buildings in Kansas were built of this limestone. This is the Kansas Mercantile, in the Old Ness County Bank Building, also called the Skyscraper of the Plains in Ness City. (Almost there.)

Okay, about pie. Many years ago (maybe 11?) I was telling stories in southwestern Kansas libraries for a week. I do love a good piece of pie and am usually on the lookout when I'm on the road. After the performance in Ness City, I stopped by at the Kansas Mercantile. On the door was a handwritten sign, "Thursday special, pie and coffee." I paused. What day was it? Yes! Thursday! 

About six or seven people sat around a table, relaxing as I wandered around the gift shop. One volunteer asked if she could help me. I didn't get to the point (of the pie) yet, but asked about the building. I had recently bought my old house in Lawrence, which was built in 1882. She took me on a tour, even up to the unfurnished top floor. On the way down, I asked about the pie. 

She was happy to cut me a piece of cherry pie. It was magnificent, one of the best in my quest for restaurant pie. Homemade, with a pit or two that snuck in to tell me it was made with fresh cherries. The woman who made it stopped by while I was eating. As I ate, I sat with the crowd at the table. They asked me where I was from and what I was doing in Ness City. One older gent had a harmonica in front of him. "Are you going to play that?" I asked. He had only been waiting to be asked. He had mild dementia, but retained his love of music. The others around the table sang along with the old tunes he played. 

I got back on the road that day headed down to Dodge City, with the sound of How much is that doggie in the window and Daisy, Daisy in my ears and the taste of excellent cherry pie in my mouth. 

How many donkeys?

Many years ago, I translated stories I'd found about Nasruddin Hodja, the Turkish trickster, from Bulgarian, Russian, Serbian, Croatian and French sources. I've begun playing with these folktales again, reworking them for performance. My idea is to put one up here on the blog every now and then.  I've only done one all-Hodja show but I'm considering doing more. If you tell them, it would be great if you give credit.

This one is from Bulgaria, the home of Clever Peter (Khitur Petur), who is the wise fool of that country. I especially like the stories in which the two tricksters appear together. Because the Ottoman Empire ruled in Bulgaria for 500 years, it's understandable that Clever Peter always gets the better of Nasruddin Hodja.  I've heard this story in other versions; this one was retold by Angel Karaliichev. Here's my take on it:

How many donkeys?

The Hodja was taking his five donkeys to market. He counted them to make sure he had them all. Good, five. He got tired of walking and climbed up to ride on one. After a bit he counted them again. Only four! He must have lost one. He got off the one he was riding, looked on the side of the road, in the ditches, in the trees, then looked back and counted once 

more. Whew! Five. After a while, he got tired again and rode for a while. When he counted, he only found four again. He got down, looked around, counted and found all five. This happened over and over.

His friend Clever Peter came along. "Clever Peter, can you help me? I keep losing one of my donkeys. When I'm riding, I have four, when get down and look back, I have all five. Would you count my donkeys?" Clever Peter counted, "One, two, three, four, five...six! One of them has only two legs."