Your wit is aging well. Thank you for sharing your gift. Although I have been to several live performances and never nodded off, I would be interested to hear more stories you thought you could not tell your audience for fear of violating expectations. I would write more here, but it is off to the salt mines and I am rather dull -- semi-retired and so looking forward to being a full time loafer, that and Medicare eligibility. ; )
A great deal is untouchable for me –– I'd be ashamed of exploiting an audience to confess my sins to and of course I respect my wife's privacy and I'm not in the suffering business ––– I love the architecture of stories, the filigree, the corridors, the way in which any three stories, no matter how dissimilar, can be joined together. The beauty of fiction, the display of language.
Wonderful! You really are a first-rate writer! When I came to that sentence about the architecture of stories, suddenly I was on an APHC cruise in Spain. We were wandering the corridors of some monastery. "The filigree, the corridors," YES! It brought the concept vividly to life for me!
I'm trying my hand at writing, but I've never thought of it in that architectual sense! Here I am, almost eighty, and suddenly a new set of corridors opens up before me! Muchisimas Gracias! Many Thanks!
Today's "750 words" reminded me of the monologue about Susan B. Anthony's running off with George Eastman that you gave during a performance in Rochester NY many years ago. I've often wished there were a recording of it somewhere. And your accompanist played pieces that were linked to each stop on the journey. It was great!
Ah! The joys of being almost eighty! There are so many neural pathways in our heads by now, that sometimes when some friend or family member says "Remember when..." our minds are so completely out of the habit of going down that particular pathway that we stare blankly, and think "Are you sure you're not thinking about someone else?"
I notice it sometimes when I'm reminiscing with my daughters. Something they did made a deep impression on me, but was so habitual, so commonplace to them, that they've totally forgotten the incident. One in particular stands out in my mind.
We were at my parent's vacation home in the woods on Christmas Eve. A deer poked it's head close to the window and startled my younger daughter. "It's Rudolph," my mother said, to calm her fears. For years after that, my daughter believed in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the reality of dragons, and so forth. Other children would mock her, but she'd reply "But I've SEEN Rudolph!" Once when I was visiting her, we were chatting as we washed the dishes. I reminisced about the Rudolph incident. She had so completely forgotten about it, that she thought I was confusing her for her older sister. Who knows? Maybe I was making that mistake!
what ?? 370 db ?? that’s enough to break all the windows in your house / isn’t standing next to a jet engine like 150 db ?? other than that it’s a perfect limerick / except for e b white / i didn’t get the e b white thing
You've managed to encapsulate your entire show in this one piece. Entire audiences are induced into a somnambulistic haze, albeit with smiles on their faces, resulting in a weird form of addiction, which has been shown to have nothing but beneficial effects. I've been wanting to use the word "somnambulistic" in a sentence, and now I have.
This was a very very (not sure if two adverbs in row is ok, so sorry) good and fun post. Thanks. No politics or controversy just thoughtful fun. Thanks.
Your 15-minute monologues are genus. I would imagine they're derived for actual memories but then adulterated with satire and comedy of everyday living. Bravo. The characters of your stories are the most intriguing and coming from the mid-west a lot of how they are described and their dialog rings so true. What a wonderful ear for the conversation you have. God bless you and sleep easy.
Thanks for writing about what might be a "Fundamental" problem for many children who grew up in Fundamentalist sects.
When I retired and moved in with my father, I began going to a Fundamentalist Ukrainian church. Basically they seemed to need an American who knew Russian and could help them navigate in their new surroundings. "Need help preparing for US Citizenship? Get Sister Susanna to tutor you." "Need help with the town zoning officer? Send Sister Susanna over to represent you." So I'd coach folks on Legislative, Executive and Judicial - and they were 30 for 30 in passing the exams in Buffalo. Remodeling the one-time restaurant into a church building? "Plant an evergreen tree, it's in the zoning code." Done.
I had a new group of people for to be a part of. They had an American who would sometimes speak out in Saturday night meetings. I was vocal about how the women in our church felt, and that worked out reasonably well.
But then there were the sermons. Our deacons took turns with our minister in speaking from the pulpit. One deacon in particular was of the old-fashioned "Hell-Fire-And-Damnation!" variety. I wouldn't be surprised if at least half the kids I knew in that congregation grew up with very similar sleep disorders to your own!
What was the purpose of all those scare tactics? God was generally presented as a Loving Father. Why should He suddenly become someone like Teddy Roosevelt: " Walk Softly and Carry a Big Stick?" It seems to me that, far from being a monolithic structure, "Christianity" has at least as many shades as the rainbow! And some of those shades are far harder to deal with than others!
Your wit is aging well. Thank you for sharing your gift. Although I have been to several live performances and never nodded off, I would be interested to hear more stories you thought you could not tell your audience for fear of violating expectations. I would write more here, but it is off to the salt mines and I am rather dull -- semi-retired and so looking forward to being a full time loafer, that and Medicare eligibility. ; )
A great deal is untouchable for me –– I'd be ashamed of exploiting an audience to confess my sins to and of course I respect my wife's privacy and I'm not in the suffering business ––– I love the architecture of stories, the filigree, the corridors, the way in which any three stories, no matter how dissimilar, can be joined together. The beauty of fiction, the display of language.
Wonderful! You really are a first-rate writer! When I came to that sentence about the architecture of stories, suddenly I was on an APHC cruise in Spain. We were wandering the corridors of some monastery. "The filigree, the corridors," YES! It brought the concept vividly to life for me!
I'm trying my hand at writing, but I've never thought of it in that architectual sense! Here I am, almost eighty, and suddenly a new set of corridors opens up before me! Muchisimas Gracias! Many Thanks!
Today's "750 words" reminded me of the monologue about Susan B. Anthony's running off with George Eastman that you gave during a performance in Rochester NY many years ago. I've often wished there were a recording of it somewhere. And your accompanist played pieces that were linked to each stop on the journey. It was great!
Thanks. That monologue is a complete blank.
Ah! The joys of being almost eighty! There are so many neural pathways in our heads by now, that sometimes when some friend or family member says "Remember when..." our minds are so completely out of the habit of going down that particular pathway that we stare blankly, and think "Are you sure you're not thinking about someone else?"
I notice it sometimes when I'm reminiscing with my daughters. Something they did made a deep impression on me, but was so habitual, so commonplace to them, that they've totally forgotten the incident. One in particular stands out in my mind.
We were at my parent's vacation home in the woods on Christmas Eve. A deer poked it's head close to the window and startled my younger daughter. "It's Rudolph," my mother said, to calm her fears. For years after that, my daughter believed in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the reality of dragons, and so forth. Other children would mock her, but she'd reply "But I've SEEN Rudolph!" Once when I was visiting her, we were chatting as we washed the dishes. I reminisced about the Rudolph incident. She had so completely forgotten about it, that she thought I was confusing her for her older sister. Who knows? Maybe I was making that mistake!
On the other hand, selective memory happens!
This made me laugh out loud! Thanks for making my day!
what ?? 370 db ?? that’s enough to break all the windows in your house / isn’t standing next to a jet engine like 150 db ?? other than that it’s a perfect limerick / except for e b white / i didn’t get the e b white thing
The author, Elwyn Brooks White.
You've managed to encapsulate your entire show in this one piece. Entire audiences are induced into a somnambulistic haze, albeit with smiles on their faces, resulting in a weird form of addiction, which has been shown to have nothing but beneficial effects. I've been wanting to use the word "somnambulistic" in a sentence, and now I have.
You're welcome.
This was a very very (not sure if two adverbs in row is ok, so sorry) good and fun post. Thanks. No politics or controversy just thoughtful fun. Thanks.
Your 15-minute monologues are genus. I would imagine they're derived for actual memories but then adulterated with satire and comedy of everyday living. Bravo. The characters of your stories are the most intriguing and coming from the mid-west a lot of how they are described and their dialog rings so true. What a wonderful ear for the conversation you have. God bless you and sleep easy.
Thanks for writing about what might be a "Fundamental" problem for many children who grew up in Fundamentalist sects.
When I retired and moved in with my father, I began going to a Fundamentalist Ukrainian church. Basically they seemed to need an American who knew Russian and could help them navigate in their new surroundings. "Need help preparing for US Citizenship? Get Sister Susanna to tutor you." "Need help with the town zoning officer? Send Sister Susanna over to represent you." So I'd coach folks on Legislative, Executive and Judicial - and they were 30 for 30 in passing the exams in Buffalo. Remodeling the one-time restaurant into a church building? "Plant an evergreen tree, it's in the zoning code." Done.
I had a new group of people for to be a part of. They had an American who would sometimes speak out in Saturday night meetings. I was vocal about how the women in our church felt, and that worked out reasonably well.
But then there were the sermons. Our deacons took turns with our minister in speaking from the pulpit. One deacon in particular was of the old-fashioned "Hell-Fire-And-Damnation!" variety. I wouldn't be surprised if at least half the kids I knew in that congregation grew up with very similar sleep disorders to your own!
What was the purpose of all those scare tactics? God was generally presented as a Loving Father. Why should He suddenly become someone like Teddy Roosevelt: " Walk Softly and Carry a Big Stick?" It seems to me that, far from being a monolithic structure, "Christianity" has at least as many shades as the rainbow! And some of those shades are far harder to deal with than others!
Your limerick is better than perfect … it’s brilliant!