"And the Determined Storyteller, knowing she would soon enter the chamber of lightening, cast forth an orb of light given her by the legends, and low the light covered her. A vision came to the DS and she knew she would emerge in the white garb of those who have been transformed. It would be only a little while before this would be reality."
We are nearing the end of this story my friends. The Determined Storyteller has made the leap of faith, fought and lost the battle to save her father, survived the battle against the monster that called itself Cancer (although the health system does not consider the battle over until the monster is vanquished for ten years). She will receive radiation treatments for six weeks and will go on with her life, I am sure to be called upon again for the strength and courage she has in apparent abundance.
When all of this began on January 29, 2010, neither the writer of this tale or the character of the DS, knew if she would find what was needed to move through and beyond this ordeal. It has been the journey of a lifetime and it is hoped the last of its kind.
This journey has followed the Hero's Journey format of reluctance and self-doubt on the part of the unwilling hero, the introduction of a problem and a villain, acceptance of the task along with finding the mentor and magic tools required to survive. The hero has met with set-backs and has been side-tracked on more than one occasion. When the hero emerges from this kind of experience the hero can not help but be changed in very real ways, but it can take years to fully realize and understand those changes. Unlike some hero's journey stories, the DS did not need to travel alone. She was well attended by a legend of friends and angels who cheered her on and lent their constant support and love. So in a very real way, this journey has been the journey of many. This is why I began writing about this experience.
I hope that you have found hope in this and that if ever you should face what seems an insurmountable task, this tale of this journey will give you the hope and courage you need to do what must be done. Watch in the weeks ahead for one last post to complete this tale.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Mapping for Radiation Therapy
Getting mapped was like being kidnapped by space aliens. They put me on a table. Three of four milled about here and there adjusting this and that, writing on my chest, measuring, talking and calling out numbers. They adjusted a video over my face so I could take deep breaths to keep my heart from my chest, the video was my visual cue. Into the cat scan, whirring whirring, voices in the head and two teenie tattoos. Then they brought me back to my planet. Nanoo nanoo.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Aftermath, Part IV: An Epic Hero's Journey: The Determined Storyteller in the Battle against the Cave Monster
The Determined Storyteller met with the Shah of Lightening and Levine of the Fire at Edge the Healer’s request. It has been a long hard journey for our literary heroine, from January 29 when she first leap from the ledge and discovered the dark cave to a time of defending her father against the forces of evil and darkness, to his death and her own great battle against the monster in the cave that called itself "Cancer."
With scores of friends who joined her army and supplied her with armor and weapons, love and support, and armies of angels, she succeeded in slaying the creature and was healed. The Edge warned her that the monster may have sent his seed further into the cave and that she may yet need to endure fire and lightening to rid herself of them for good.
Now the DS stands with head bowed, a decision of great weight upon her brow and a road as long before her as that which she has already traveled, just less rough and less dark because of all who have carried her along the way. What choices will she make?
To endure fire, as it turns out, meant for the DS to take that fire into her own body and to lose much in doing so with little to gain as a result. Her hair, her blood cells, her memory, all for a 2-3% benefit. To endure the lightening, the DS would lay prone in a chamber for 40 minutes per day for five days per week for six weeks and perhaps she would lose part of her heart to this lightening. The Shah of Lightening assured her that he would protect her heart with all his ability, and the Shah is a mighty warrior himself.
Thus knowing all of this, the Determined Storyteller chose to forgo the fire and will enter the Chamber of Lightening but first the Shah will make a map to show her the way.
When next we meet the Determined Storyteller, she will enter the Chamber of Lightening and grow nearer the end of this long long journey.
With scores of friends who joined her army and supplied her with armor and weapons, love and support, and armies of angels, she succeeded in slaying the creature and was healed. The Edge warned her that the monster may have sent his seed further into the cave and that she may yet need to endure fire and lightening to rid herself of them for good.
Now the DS stands with head bowed, a decision of great weight upon her brow and a road as long before her as that which she has already traveled, just less rough and less dark because of all who have carried her along the way. What choices will she make?
To endure fire, as it turns out, meant for the DS to take that fire into her own body and to lose much in doing so with little to gain as a result. Her hair, her blood cells, her memory, all for a 2-3% benefit. To endure the lightening, the DS would lay prone in a chamber for 40 minutes per day for five days per week for six weeks and perhaps she would lose part of her heart to this lightening. The Shah of Lightening assured her that he would protect her heart with all his ability, and the Shah is a mighty warrior himself.
Thus knowing all of this, the Determined Storyteller chose to forgo the fire and will enter the Chamber of Lightening but first the Shah will make a map to show her the way.
When next we meet the Determined Storyteller, she will enter the Chamber of Lightening and grow nearer the end of this long long journey.
Monday, April 12, 2010
April 9, 2010, Burying Mom and Dad
After many days of warm sunny weather, this day had to be cold and breezy, just the kind of weather my parents didn’t like because it went right through them and Dad had difficulty both with breathing in the cold but also with Raynaud. Yet the ceremony was warm just the same.
Thomas and I arrived ahead of the funeral director who brought the urn and the flag. Once they arrived, we followed them up the hill to the Bath National Cemetery in Bath, NY.
The cemetery is situated up the hill behind the Veteran’s Hospital complex. The complex is lovely with many buildings serving a variety of purposes from dorms to crafts and chapels. It is wooded with the treed foothills as a backdrop.
My first thought of the cemetery is that it was peaceful and serene, secluded as it is but that its military uniformity didn’t really match my family. Dad and Mom were nothing like other parents and I really wish we could have placed them somewhere that we could have a unique stone. But Dad was proud of his military service, as he was of the country he served, and so are we. It was fitting that he be buried in the place he wanted since so much of his last few years caring for Mom were out of his control as were the last seven weeks of his life. Perhaps he got that control back in this way.
When our vehicle rounded the bend we were met with the sight of two military personnel, dressed in their dress uniforms standing at attention. When the car carrying the urn passed, they slowly raised their hands in salute. It gave me chills and stirred my emotions.
We parked behind them and waited silently as the soldiers refolded the flag. The rest of our family began to arrive but I really wanted to stay engaged in that peaceful beautiful moment. Thomas gave me his arm and escorted me to one of the six seats facing a table overlooking the cemetery’s main monument and flagpole. It was downhill from where we sat and took a few moments for me to realize, but the honor guard of three soldiers assembled below us at attention.
The urn carrying my parent’s was carried somberly by the color guard to be placed on the table with the American flag before it. Our minster began with an introduction. He backed away and Blam! One rifle sounded. I jumped because it was so sudden. Tears welled in my eyes as I realized my dad was getting a gun salute. Blam! Another and then a third rang out. A three gun salute. By now I was crying so hard I almost couldn’t see the honor guard and then I heard the piercing sound of a trumpet from behind us. It was Taps, one of the most hauntingly beautiful tunes ever written, in my opinion. There is something about Taps that reaches way down inside you, much the same feeling I get from bagpipes which we had at the memorial. I was so touched and so proud of my papa. It was just so beautiful.
Next the color guard took up the flag and in perfect unison they unfolded and refolded the flag once more. A slow precise salute and it was handed off to the female soldier who turn slowly and approached were I sat. She knelt and placed the flag in my lap. "Mam, the country is grateful for your father’s service. We are sorry for your loss." More tears and the brief thought that I hate being called Mam, except for now. Now it was a great honor. I said "My family thanks you."
Aware that my sister sat beside me and not wanting her to feel left out, I took her hand and placed it on top of the flag in my lap and held it as the minister led us through the religious rites.
Following the actual ceremony which took place in a small shelter, we had to wait 30 minutes for the urn to be buried. We returned later, my sister, her husband and son, Thomas and myself. Trying not to step in the mud we placed roses on the grave.
It is still so hard to think of my tiny dear mother and my big strong Daddy as ashes in the ground. But just today I had a sudden revelation, something I have really known all along but needed the reminder, they are still with us not as ashes in the ground but changed into another form. Their bodies are things we can no longer touch and that is part of my sadness. I took to kissing them both on the foreheads in the past year and Dad always gave me great big bear hugs at bedtime when we stayed over. I’ll never have that again, but I will always have his humor and his thoughtfulness and my mom’s generosity and sensitivity. They are nearby, I call on them everyday. They are nearby.
Thomas and I arrived ahead of the funeral director who brought the urn and the flag. Once they arrived, we followed them up the hill to the Bath National Cemetery in Bath, NY.
The cemetery is situated up the hill behind the Veteran’s Hospital complex. The complex is lovely with many buildings serving a variety of purposes from dorms to crafts and chapels. It is wooded with the treed foothills as a backdrop.
My first thought of the cemetery is that it was peaceful and serene, secluded as it is but that its military uniformity didn’t really match my family. Dad and Mom were nothing like other parents and I really wish we could have placed them somewhere that we could have a unique stone. But Dad was proud of his military service, as he was of the country he served, and so are we. It was fitting that he be buried in the place he wanted since so much of his last few years caring for Mom were out of his control as were the last seven weeks of his life. Perhaps he got that control back in this way.
When our vehicle rounded the bend we were met with the sight of two military personnel, dressed in their dress uniforms standing at attention. When the car carrying the urn passed, they slowly raised their hands in salute. It gave me chills and stirred my emotions.
We parked behind them and waited silently as the soldiers refolded the flag. The rest of our family began to arrive but I really wanted to stay engaged in that peaceful beautiful moment. Thomas gave me his arm and escorted me to one of the six seats facing a table overlooking the cemetery’s main monument and flagpole. It was downhill from where we sat and took a few moments for me to realize, but the honor guard of three soldiers assembled below us at attention.
The urn carrying my parent’s was carried somberly by the color guard to be placed on the table with the American flag before it. Our minster began with an introduction. He backed away and Blam! One rifle sounded. I jumped because it was so sudden. Tears welled in my eyes as I realized my dad was getting a gun salute. Blam! Another and then a third rang out. A three gun salute. By now I was crying so hard I almost couldn’t see the honor guard and then I heard the piercing sound of a trumpet from behind us. It was Taps, one of the most hauntingly beautiful tunes ever written, in my opinion. There is something about Taps that reaches way down inside you, much the same feeling I get from bagpipes which we had at the memorial. I was so touched and so proud of my papa. It was just so beautiful.
Next the color guard took up the flag and in perfect unison they unfolded and refolded the flag once more. A slow precise salute and it was handed off to the female soldier who turn slowly and approached were I sat. She knelt and placed the flag in my lap. "Mam, the country is grateful for your father’s service. We are sorry for your loss." More tears and the brief thought that I hate being called Mam, except for now. Now it was a great honor. I said "My family thanks you."
Aware that my sister sat beside me and not wanting her to feel left out, I took her hand and placed it on top of the flag in my lap and held it as the minister led us through the religious rites.
Following the actual ceremony which took place in a small shelter, we had to wait 30 minutes for the urn to be buried. We returned later, my sister, her husband and son, Thomas and myself. Trying not to step in the mud we placed roses on the grave.
It is still so hard to think of my tiny dear mother and my big strong Daddy as ashes in the ground. But just today I had a sudden revelation, something I have really known all along but needed the reminder, they are still with us not as ashes in the ground but changed into another form. Their bodies are things we can no longer touch and that is part of my sadness. I took to kissing them both on the foreheads in the past year and Dad always gave me great big bear hugs at bedtime when we stayed over. I’ll never have that again, but I will always have his humor and his thoughtfulness and my mom’s generosity and sensitivity. They are nearby, I call on them everyday. They are nearby.
Aftermath, Part III: An Epic Hero's Journey: The Determined Storyteller in the Battle against the Cave Monster
When last we saw the Determined Storyteller, she stood beside the healing pool with the great healer, The Edge. He revealed that she must yet pass a trial before she could be rid of the monster that lurked in the cave. She must traverse fire and lightening, but had a choice of whether the trial by fire was needed - a choice that many never receive, both a curse and a blessing.
Traveling a short distance to the tent of the Shah of Lightening, the DS learned from him what would take place in the cavern of lightening and that she would endure it five days a week for seven weeks. There would be no pain but probable serious risks and discomfort. Next she will visit the Levine of Fire. Always courageous but uncertain of her own strength, the Determined Storyteller entered Levine's hut, her faithful Angel Thomas by her side.
Will the DS endure fire or enter the cavern of lightening? Watch for the next installment of The Determined Storyteller, the Aftermath.
Traveling a short distance to the tent of the Shah of Lightening, the DS learned from him what would take place in the cavern of lightening and that she would endure it five days a week for seven weeks. There would be no pain but probable serious risks and discomfort. Next she will visit the Levine of Fire. Always courageous but uncertain of her own strength, the Determined Storyteller entered Levine's hut, her faithful Angel Thomas by her side.
Will the DS endure fire or enter the cavern of lightening? Watch for the next installment of The Determined Storyteller, the Aftermath.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Dad's Crows
Fed the basement fish which will soon be outside again, the pond fish and the birds. Heard some crows cawing and thought of my dad.
He was never much on pets, not the way I am. He had some when he was a boy but they were outside dogs and cats and we had a family dog until I was eighteen when she was hit by a semi truck. She was allowed to roam the neighborhood and even when she slept indoors, and although she barked at my mom when mom sat on Dad’s lap, I never sensed a deep affection for the dog from my dad.
Dad loved wildlife animal shows on TV and in his last months, took up a profound friendship with two crows frequenting his yard. This struck me as odd because he never expressed that much interest in birds as such, that I recall.
He told me all about the crows’ antics and he was amazed by their intelligence. And what really surprised me was that Dad even saved scraps of bread and meat from his table to feed them, which he did every time he saw them.
Crows and ravens, as you may know, are harbingers of death. I guess I just find it ironic that my dad befriended them just before my mom passed and the last time I saw him before his hospital admission he was talking about how much he appreciated them.
Maybe there was a message in that for us. Death is a natural part of life and we can be appreciative of it. It doesn’t lessen the pain of losing our parents but it does remind us of the fact that we are all on a path toward death, so the journey really needs to be special.
The love Mom and Dad had for each other was very special. They almost made their 52nd anniversary. They are together, commingled in the urn now, for all time.
I wonder what the crows might think of that.
He was never much on pets, not the way I am. He had some when he was a boy but they were outside dogs and cats and we had a family dog until I was eighteen when she was hit by a semi truck. She was allowed to roam the neighborhood and even when she slept indoors, and although she barked at my mom when mom sat on Dad’s lap, I never sensed a deep affection for the dog from my dad.
Dad loved wildlife animal shows on TV and in his last months, took up a profound friendship with two crows frequenting his yard. This struck me as odd because he never expressed that much interest in birds as such, that I recall.
He told me all about the crows’ antics and he was amazed by their intelligence. And what really surprised me was that Dad even saved scraps of bread and meat from his table to feed them, which he did every time he saw them.
Crows and ravens, as you may know, are harbingers of death. I guess I just find it ironic that my dad befriended them just before my mom passed and the last time I saw him before his hospital admission he was talking about how much he appreciated them.
Maybe there was a message in that for us. Death is a natural part of life and we can be appreciative of it. It doesn’t lessen the pain of losing our parents but it does remind us of the fact that we are all on a path toward death, so the journey really needs to be special.
The love Mom and Dad had for each other was very special. They almost made their 52nd anniversary. They are together, commingled in the urn now, for all time.
I wonder what the crows might think of that.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
How does Audience Affect Story?
Every now and then I receive email from students doing papers on storytelling. I recently received one with the following question. My reply is below.
I was wondering if I could ask you, as an award-winning storyteller, how different audiences affect and change your delivery of a story? Does it depend on who your audience is?
Live audience is everything. Try to imagine a written story without a live audience as existing on a single plane. Then take that same story and speak it out loud, still without an audience. It now has a second dimension but it lacks the luster that only a live audience can contribute. In going from print to spoken, the story has taken on some of the characteristics of the storyteller. There is no way to tell without those characteristics and they do change with each telling, just as the teller is not approaching the story from the same place each time. Both teller and story have a symbiotic relationship that morph with environmental, emotional, and experiential changes.
Now add the live audience to that same scenario. You have now added that third dimension that brings the story into full shape and off the page, just as seeing a movie in 3D. The story will take on the characteristics of the teller and both teller and story now use the audience. Likewise, the audience cannot help but be transformed by story and tellers so a new symbiotic relationship is formed. And, if I can add one more thing to think about, this power to transform story, teller, and listener is both creative and dangerous. It is why some people, Hitler for example, have been able to manipulate millions with a spoken word.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
A Elegy for Dad
I have a special journal I call my Book of Everyday Wonders. It is reserved for special shining moments in everyday life.
I never expected to write in it about death, and in fact I didn’t. I wrote about my mom when she passed December 12, 2009 and now about my dad who passed March 13, 2010, but these entries are about wonderful lives, not deaths. They belong in this book because Mom and Dad were beautiful shining moments in my life.
I never expected to write in it about death, and in fact I didn’t. I wrote about my mom when she passed December 12, 2009 and now about my dad who passed March 13, 2010, but these entries are about wonderful lives, not deaths. They belong in this book because Mom and Dad were beautiful shining moments in my life.
It is impossible to sum up 76 years in a short time, so I didn’t try. Instead I decided to share some highlights.
Mom and Dad were the constants in our lives. Friends, boyfriends, husbands, homes, and jobs changed, but Mom and Dad were always there, to love, to support, to advise, to cheer and to dry a tear.
From Dad, we got solid discipline. We learned to watch our money and to question those things that seemed like givens to everybody else, to be sure it was just right for us. Just because everybody else did it, didn’t mean it was the best decision or in our best interest. He taught us to stand on our own two feet.
From Dad, we learned about hard honest work and to be sure we knew what we were doing. He told us not to sign anything unless we read it. He once told me "Never make a bet you know you can’t win or a promise you can’t keep." You see, Mom and Dad both enjoyed games of chance but Dad also knew that he could only win at those things when he could use his skills. Who would place a bet if he knew he would lose? Not me. Dad taught me better.
Dad taught us the difference between a want and a need. Many times I said "Dad, I need it." If I said I needed a bike, Dad replied "You don’t need a bike, you need transportation. You want a bike." Knowing the difference between a want and a need helps us to be satisfied with what we have. Sometimes he drove us crazy, but it made us better people and more self-reliant.
And Dad was funny. Oh he could annoy us with his slow decision making but he delighted us with his humor, even when we were embarrassed by it.
He’d walk into a store and looking for the security camera, acting like a camera hound, all scrunched down and excited he’d say "Where’s the camera, where’s the camera." We begged him to stop but missed it when he didn’t do it.
Many times, I heard Dad ask a waitress if she had frog legs or chicken wings, then tell her to hop or fly and get him a drink of water. They always smiled at him, he was a charmer with his twinkling blue grey eyes. The server might ask "How was everything?" We all knew his reply before he spoke a word, "I don’t know. I didn’t have everything."
He even shared with me how when he was younger he’d bet the girls a nickle he could kiss them without touching them. Dad always carried a pocket full of quarters. I guess that was an exception to his betting rule.
He played lots of tricks and jokes on us. Every April Fools Day he woke us with the same joke "It’s snowing outside!" We were April Fools, we always fell for it. There was the bloody finger in the box and so many others.
Dad was my BFF, best friend forever, my dance partner, my favorite teacher. He taught me to ride my bike, pulled slivers from my fingers and dug cinders from my knees. He built a life for us that we are proud of, and he was proud of us.
In the end, it was us who worked for him, trying desperately to get him home. But he was in the hands of a higher power. God had a different home in mind for him and he’s there now, with Mom.
When I was four years old, I asked Mom for a new dad. She was divorced and dating. They married on my birthday. He was my best gift ever and I am grateful for the 52 years we had and for everything he gave me.
Dad, you are already missed and I will love you forever.
Scotland the Brave
Hark when the night is fallingHear!
Hear the pipes are calling,
Loudly and proudly calling,
Down thro' the glen.
There where the hills are sleeping,
Now feel the blood a-leaping,
High as the spirits of the old Highland men.
Towering in gallant fame,
Scotland my mountain hame,
High may your proud standards gloriously wave,
Land of my high endeavour,
Land of the shining river,
Land of my heart for ever,
Scotland the brave.
High in the misty Highlands,
Out by the purple islands,
Brave are the hearts that beat Beneath Scottish skies.
Wild are the winds to meet you,
Staunch are the friends that greet you,
Kind as the love that shines from fair maiden's eyes.
Far off in sunlit places,
Sad are the Scottish faces,
Yearning to feel the kiss Of sweet Scottish rain.
Where tropic skies are beaming,
Love sets the heart a-dreaming,
Longing and dreaming for the homeland again.
Clan Ranald: My Hope is Constant in Thee
Long Live MacDonald!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Life is a Song
Woke up this morning with family stuff in my head but when I got to the bathroom, which has a window overlooking our beautiful yard, I heard a sound. I opened the window and stood as a robin on the garage roof serenaded me. And the whole world was filled with song. Life is a song you know, and we can either turn it off or learn to dance. I prefer dancing.
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