UPCOMING PERFORMANCES

The following list includes my public performances only. No school or private performances are listed here. Things change from time to time, so do be sure to check the schedule.


January 2010:
1/28: Kearny Library, Kearny, NJ: 6:30PM

February 2010:
2/2:Grounds for Sculpture, Hamilton, NJ: 10:15AM, 11:15AM
2/3: West Orange Library, West Orange, NJ: 7PM
2/15: State Theatre, New Brunswick, NJ TBA
2/17: Hoboken Library, NJ 3:15PM

March 2010:
3/13: Brooklyn Public Library, Kings Bay Branch 2PM
3/14: County College of Morris Storytelling Festival: 1PM, 2PM
3/20: Brooklyn Public Library, Central Branch 2PM

May 2010:
5/19:Brooklyn Public Library, Macon Branch 4PM

June 2010:
6/29: Little Egg Harbor Branch, 2PM

UPCOMING PERFORMANCES

December 2009:
12/12: Community Diversity Council, Glen Gardner, NJ time: TBA
12/19: Glen Ridge Country Club, NJ 1PM
12/20: Glen Ridge Country Club, NJ 6:15PM

January 2009:
1/28: Kearny Library, Kearny, NJ: 6:30PM

February 2010:
2/2:Grounds for Sculpture, Hamilton, NJ: 10:15AM, 11:15AM
2/3: West Orange Library, West Orange, NJ: 7PM
2/17: Hoboken Library, NJ 3:15PM

March 2010:
3/14: County College of Morris Storytelling Festival: 1PM, 2PM

Notes from the Field XIX

A September (and early October) to Remember

While I normally reserve this section for my adventures as a storyteller, I have lately come to recognize that to restrict my musings here to just that part of my life, I’m really not telling the whole story. My life, like most people’s, I suppose, is made up of a web of many different strands. My work as a dancer, clown, storyteller, and yoga teacher weave in and around each other constantly. Each one colors, informs, and enriches the other individual pieces, and creates the whole tapestry that is my life. In just sticking to writing about storytelling here, I would, in effect, be presenting just one ball of yarn, instead of a fully woven piece, ready to be viewed.

So, from now on, my “Notes from the Field” will be notes from the whole nine yards of my field, because life, like all good stories, has many layers. And so on that note…

I am writing this while sitting at the Shanghai airport – yes, that’s right – CHINA!!!!! Crazy, right? And, while in a normal month, or even a regular old six months, this would have been BIG, HUGE news – this time, it is only one part of a truly amazing period in my life.

Around the third week of July, I received a phone call from the head of the volunteer department at Harlem Hospital. Because of my work for the Big Apple Circus, performing there, they have always considered me part of the family. Through the years I have volunteered my time to clown “off hours” at hospital events, walked as part of the Harlem Hospital Center team in various fundraising walks, and pretty much anything else these great folks have asked me to do. I thought they might need me for an upcoming back to school event when Ms. Harewood called. Instead, the conversation went something like this.

“Julie, this year during the 9/11 commemeration ceremony, all the city hospitals are being asked to select two volunteers to read the names of the victims alongside a victim’s family member. We’d like you to represent Harlem Hospital. Would you …”
“YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
“You’d have to…”
“YES!!!!!!!!!!”
“There would be..,”
“YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

How could I not? How could I not accept this tremendous honor, and pay homage to the people, who, unlike myself, weren’t lucky enough to have already exited the World Trade Center that day fifteen minutes before the first plane hit as I had. Those folks like Stewart Meltzer, whose sister-in-law, Rachel, was my partner for the ceremony, and had only worked for Cantor Fitzgerald for three months, had two small children, and enough internal calm to call his wife as the building was being consumed by fire, to tell her that he loved her.

Like all New Yorkers, and many others, 9/11 always had a “face” on it for me. It was never an abstract disaster, a far off catastrophe that had happened to “somebody else”. I saw with my own eyes that billow of smoke dust and ash that ballooned into the beautiful September sky. But this year, as I sat in a cold, wind and rain soaked tent, besides Rachel, and she told me the story of her family’s deepest sorrow – the massive loss of the day became emblazoned in my soul. As I looked around the waiting room before Rachel, and I took the stage, it was sobering to know that every second person in there had lost a brother, sister, husband, wife, mother, father, or other part of their family.

I have never been so honored, moved, and nervous in all my life. I had studied the CD they provided with the correct pronunciation of all the names – loading it into my i-pod, so I could study as I worked out, and I prayed to any and every God I had ever heard of not to blow it. I knew there were people standing in the rain, waiting to hear the name of their loved one that had been ripped from them.

Rachel was a source of inspiration to me in two ways – she, and her husband’s devotion to helping raising Stew’s two children is a lesson in compassion and selflessness, and her dignity and grace as she sought to put words to her family’s feelings for Stew, blew me away. It was a day that made me remember, once again, the preciousness, and fragility of life. It was a day that I connected to Rachel, her family, and anyone who lost a loved one eight years ago. It was a day I was proud to be of service in any way I could, it was a day I’ll never forget.

And then, less than three weeks later, I was on a plane to China, to perform comic dances, and clown at a festival – SUREAL – but that’s my life!!

Here’s the scoop on that.
I, along with about 30 other performers were going to perform for a ten days during China’s National “Golden Week” – a country wide vacation time. Now, while I have travelled all over North American and Europe, China was a big departure from that! Not only wouldn’t I be able to speak the language, I wouldn’t even be able to make out any letters on the signs! And, more importantly – could I make these people laugh. I know I may not be what people think of when they say “All-American Girl”, but I am as American as apple pie (albeit one on the browner side). Would what’s funny in Harlem, NY go over in Hangzhou, China?

Short answer – yes! There is a universality in play, silliness, and fun – people like funny, people like to, want to, need to, laugh. And kids – they are the same EVERYWHERE. Of course, there are cultural differences – various histories and social set-ups – but, kids, as they say, are kids. And everyday – I got to look down into the ADORABLE faces of children who, most likely, had never seen a brown skinned American woman before, and have the privilege of bringing a smile to their faces.

And, I hope I’m not going to come off as sounding pretentious, or ridiculous, or both, but I think that with every laugh we performers got, with every little connection we made with a child, and their family – we spread a little peace. We all know how easy it is to make a villain of a faceless person or persons, but when “THOSE PEOPLE” become “that person with the great smile”, it’s a lot harder to demonize them. It’s a lot easier to hear their individual story, and even if it’s way different from yours – still respect, and honor it.

I’m airborne now – the screen on the seat in front of me says I’m somewhere over the Bering Sea – I don’t know that I have a tidy little paragraph to sum up this essay. An ending that will sum up my experiences of September 2009 in an articulate and thought provoking way. I have a feeling that what I have seen, heard, smelt, touched, and felt these last few weeks, will take me a long time to process, and will resonate in my life for many years to come – weaving its way through my storytelling, clowning, dancing, yoga, writing, and life – at least, that’s what I hope.

UPCOMING PERFORMANCES

The following list includes my public performances only. No school or private performances are listed here. Things change from time to time, so do be sure to check the schedule.

October 2009:
10/18: New Jersey Storytelling Festival 2PM

November 2009:
11/21: Afro-American Historical Society Museum, Jersey City, NJ 12PM

December 2009:
12/12: Community Diversity Council, Glen Gardner, NJ time: TBA
12/19: Glen Ridge Country Club, NJ 1PM
12/20: Glen Ridge Country Club, NJ 6:15PM

February 2010:
2/2:Grounds for Sculpture, Hamilton, NJ: 10:15AM, 11:15AM
2/3: West Orange Library, West Orange, NJ: 7PM
2/17: Hoboken Library, NJ 3:15PM

March 2010:
3/14: County College of Morris Storytelling Festival: 1PM, 2PM

UPCOMING PERFORMANCES

The following list includes my public performances only. No school or private performances are listed here. Things change from time to time, so do be sure to check the schedule.

December 2009:
12/20: Glen Ridge Country Club, NJ 6:15PM

February 2010:
2/17: Hoboken Library, NJ 3:15PM

Notes from the Field (XVIII)

THE TRUE STORY

QUESTION: “So, how is it you got into storytelling?”

ANSWER: “After many years of dancing in musical theater tours, I was seeking a performance outlet that I could control. One where, I would be my own boss, create my own work that would encompass my dance, acting, clown, and maybe even my American Sign Language and stilt walking. Something where I wouldn’t have to spend soooo much time on the road, away from the guy I loved. And, one day, I went to something called a storytelling festival. I watched a woman named Carmen Deedy hold an audience spellbound for an hour, and just like that, I knew I had found what I was looking for.”

While the information above is absolutely, positively, 100% true – it is not, as so often is the case, the whole story. It is more like the little paragraph on the back of a book jacket, the quick, polite response given to a stranger at a party; an outline I might use before I flesh out a folktale, turning it from a five second anecdote to a ten minute story. All those elements were there, all the facts correct, but there was one other thing that powered my transformation from musical theater gypsy to storyteller. It is the little bump on my right vocal cord.

Looking back, the first indicator that my vocal cords weren’t the strongest part of my anatomy was when, just before my grammar school choir’s Christmas concert, half the seventh grade got sick. Where upon most of my classmates were still able to sing – I lost my voice completely, and stood standing amongst them, in my white turtle neck, and black pants, just mouthing the words.

Fast forward five years, when during my first professional summer stock job, I discovered that I would have to sing, as well as dance. While I knew I could carry a tune, I didn’t know anything about vocal technique, or how to hold onto my harmony line, while being surrounded by others singing different parts – and dancing. After a few days of rigorous rehearsals, I realized my voice felt, well – tired. It was to be the first of many times I would feel that way.

“Get some training, and you’ll be fine,” all the older and wiser performers told me. And so I did. I found a voice teacher, and did as I was told. Being a dancer, I was disciplined and used to hard work, so I learned to breathe with my belly, instead of just my chest. I stayed away from dairy, dust, smoke, and caffeine. No matter how little singing I had to do, I did my full warm-up. And my vocal abilities grew – I was able to sing, even getting solos from time to time. But the “tiredness” always came, sooner or later. There would always come a day, when my voice wouldn’t do what I asked of it. From time to time, my speaking voice would grow a little raspy, but it never deserted me the way my singing voice would. It would simply disappear. Normally, staying quiet would bring it back, but one winter, no amount of rest seemed to help.

As usual, my speaking voice was fine the day I walked into the throat doctor’s office that very first time, so he seemed puzzled to see me. It was only after he stuck a long strobe down my throat, while holding my tongue with a piece of gauze, that I saw IT, and heard him say, “Aha!”

I don’t know how many people have ever seen their vocal cords, but they are sort of alien looking, and if you have any mucous going on that particular day, it is just plain freaky! But, even in that realm of the odd, I was able to see something different about one of my vocal cords. On the right one, there was a ridge of sorts, right in the middle – right where the two cords meet. It was that day that I heard the words polyp, nodule, and node.

Apparently, if the vocal cords, or folds, as they are actually called, come together with too much force, they swell. If over time, the swelling isn’t brought down, a polyp is formed, and if that hardens, and calluses, it’s a nodule, or what singers refer to in frightened hushed tones – NODES!!! My swelling had progressed to the polyp state, so I was ordered to a week of silence, and given tiny white pills called prednisone – a steroid, whose anti-inflammatory skills are REALLY potent. That week was one of the longest of my life! This was before emailing, and texting, so I had to turn my back on everyone, and be deemed rude of not saying, “Sorry,” if I bumped into someone on the subway. There was a peace to it that I liked, though, and, being an avid reader and writer, I chewed through several books, and filled many a journal page.

Some people might have been scared hearing this diagnosis, but for me, it felt like the beginning of the end. I had seen what was wrong with me, I had MEDICINE, and when this week – just one measly week was over, I would be okay.

And I was – for a while, anyway. For though the swelling did go all the way down that time, it would resurface time and time again. I did speech therapy, warming up even to talk – even though my every day speech almost always sounded fine. When I was on the road with shows, I NEVER went out afterwards, always retreating to my room, and SILENCE. I watched with envy while others smoked, drank, yelled, but then had high, crystal clear voices at 8AM.

And I got by. The cord would swell, then go down, swell, and go down. It was a bit like Jekyll and Hyde. One day I had a pretty singing voice, on the next it was a growl – nothing I did seemed to be able to stop it. I cursed that tiny sack on my vocal cord, I cried, I prayed, I visualized, and I was silent – A LOT. But what I didn’t realize at the time, and only grudgingly admit to now, is that that little swelling was one of my greatest teachers.

Always creatively inquisitive, I used my “silent times” to explore other modes of expression. It was because my singing voice was gone, but I spoke just fine, that instead of going to a musical theater audition one day, I went to one for a production of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”, and got the role of Puck. When I heard of a way to dance and use movement that did not require me to sing, I found my way into the world of mask, mime, comedia, giant puppets, stilt walking, and clown. American Sign Language became a way for me to talk to people, without breaking my times in the “cone of silence”. That little bump on my vocal cord taught me when it was time for me to stop doing, and to just BE. Being blessed with abundant energy, I could power through aches, pains, colds, and heartaches physically – but when my cord was swollen, NOTHING, and I do mean NOTHING I could do, could make it move. It was only being quiet that could heal it. The bodily awareness I developed around what was happening in my throat, I have never been able to top – even now, as a yoga teacher!!

And it was this acute awareness that told me something was VERY, VERY wrong with my voice ten years ago. For one thing, I went hoarse in an instant, always before I could feel it tiring, and for a while compensate, to get through a show or an audition. But this time, I went from have to have not. Even my speaking voice, which was rarely affected, sounded as if it were “covered”, as if there were a giant piece of phlegm I couldn’t swallow, or cough away. Knowing I was in deep dodo I found my way to the office of THE BEST throat doctor in New York City. What I saw when he pulled my tongue out with gauze, and put that strobe down my throat, made me burst into tears. The swelling that I was prepared to see was there – bigger, and badder than ever, but this time it looked like a red tear drop hanging off the side of my right cord. I had hemorrhaged. Even now, that word makes my stomach ache. With even my speaking voice so impaired I thought it was the end of any sort of performing career for me. But then, Dr. Scott Kessler, the hero of this part of the story, pulled out a photograph of two vocal cords that were as red and chewed up as raw ground beef. “I fixed that,” he said, with a kind calmness I’ll never forget. “And I can fix you.” And he did.

It was during the time of silence that followed the surgery that Dr. Kessler performed on me, that I went to the New Victory Theatre, and watched Carmen Deedy stroll on the stage. It was then, when I was without a voice, that I found one, that I knew that I had found what I was looking for. Something that was creative, that would encompass all the skills: dance, clown, acting, even American Sign Language, into performances I could do for all ages. It was then, that I became a storyteller.

So, that is the FULL story of how I came to tell tales for a living. And like a lot of other stories – it goes on. That little bump is still there, much more manageable, but still there, still teaching me to listen to myself, to take care of myself, and that sometimes silence is REALLY, TRULY is golden.

Here's What Students Are Saying About Julie: Baker School

Please click on any of the pictures to see them in more detail!

Here's What Students Are Saying About Julie: HCCC

Please click on any of the images to read the text of the letters!

Notes from the Field (XVIII)

Connections

There’s a look the audience gets when they are really “into” a story. They could be sitting or standing, leaning in – back ramrod straight; or slumped, as if enveloped in an easy chair. The body positioning doesn’t matter – it’s in the eyes. Even if they are half closed, when a person is wholly, fully absorbed in the tale I am telling, their eyes are trained on me, practically beaming energy and light. As I watch them watching me, I can actually tell that they are seeing the story as I perform it. This look is more than amusement, or enjoyment – it is one of resonance, and human connection, and we all know how elusive and rare that can be. This month, not only was I privileged enough to see this look on more than one face, but I saw it in a place not usually associated with storytelling, or human connection of any kind, for that matter – a Youth Detention Center.

I can‘t say I was scared when I walked through the well guarded doors of the Mercer County Youth Detention Center – I had learned long ago that people were not the sum total of their actions, but I was definitely nervous! I know how the average sullen teenager reacts when they are being FORCED to watch something – eye rolling, teeth sucking, overly loud laughter, the occasional rude comment – but how would this group of young men, who were locked up for doing some very bad stuff – including murder, react?? I did what I always do, no matter the age or environment – I went straight for the funny bone. A well known mime teacher, Tony Montanaro, once said, “Don’t be afraid to make a fool of yourself for the right reason.” I think of that quote so often, I should have it tattooed to my face!! Because, like Tony, I know that nothing, NOTHING, and I do mean NOTHING works like humor. There are many feelings a person may not want to experience – fear, anger, even love – if one’s sick of having their heart broken, but the joyous bubble of emotion that laughing elicits – who doesn’t like that?

And laugh these guys did, first out of shock, I think, as I had my character walk in a loose limbed, wobbly stroll. But then, as they saw me acknowledge just how ridiculous I found myself, they truly laughed – and the first sliver of connection began. The real deal, the true resonance occurred during my second tale. It was a Jewish folktale about being judged by ones appearance, about assumptions – often erroneous, that people make about one another in a blink of an eye, about how nothing one can say or do can sway those impressions, that can be so very damaging and hurtful. It was during this story that I saw their eyes, some half closed, some trying to look away, but failing, take on that intense focus that told me, they were with me. Really, really, with me; reliving a cruel reality of life that everyone in that room had fallen victim to. And in that blessed moment, in a place of lock downs, pat downs, and guards, we connected.

UPCOMING PERFORMANCES

The following list includes my public performances only. No school or private performances are listed here. Things change from time to time, so do be sure to check the schedule.

May 2009
5/9: Battery Park Conservancy, NYC 11AM

June 2009
6/4: 125th Street Branch, New York Public Library (NYPL) 4PM
6/6: Westwood Library, NJ 11AM

July 2009
7/7: Allerton Branch, NYPL 4PM
7/8: Jersey City Library, Main Branch 11AM
7/8: Jersey City Library, Heights Branch1PM
7/8: Eastchester Branch, NYPL 3PM
7/9: Glen Rock Library, NJ 6:30PM, 7:30PM
7/10: Jersey City Library, Cunningham Branch 9:30AM
7/10: Jersey City Library, Greenville Branch 11:30AM
7/10: Jersey City Library, Miller Branch 1:30PM
7/10: Jersey City Library, Five Corners Branch 3:30PM

August 2009
8/11: Parkchester Branch, NYPL 3PM
8/12: Grand Concourse, NYPL 3PM
8/14: Bronx Library Center, NYPL 2PM
8/21: Mosholu Branch, NYPL 2PM

UPCOMING PERFORMANCES

The following list includes my public performances only. No school or private performances are listed here. Things change from time to time, so do be sure to check the schedule.

May 2009
5/9: Battery Park Conservancy, NYC 11AM

June 2009
6/4: 125th Street Branch, New York Public Library (NYPL) 4PM

July 2009
7/7: Allerton Branch, NYPL 4PM
7/8: Eastchester Branch, NYPL 3PM
7/9: Glen Rock Library, NJ 6:30PM, 7:30PM

August 2009
8/11: Parkchester Branch, NYPL 3PM
8/12: Grand Concourse, NYPL 3PM
8/14: Bronx Library Center, NYPL 2PM
8/21: Mosholu Branch, NYPL 2PM

Notes from the Field (XVII)

The Story of a Lifetime

After a decade of describing what my storytelling performances consist of, I have come up with this concise, chipper, and truthful one-liner. “I tell folktales, fairytales, and some original tales I’ve created myself”, I’ll say, the words rolling off my tongue, without my mind giving it a second thought. If pressed, I’ll elaborate, saying there might be a legend, or poem in there, now and again. And if it seems like I’m talking to someone who knows, and/or cares about stuff like this, I’ll include, “I use a wide range of story types – Porquoi Tales, Trickster Tales, and others.”

But nowhere, in any of my verbiage, would you hear the words Personal Story. It’s not because I don’t like them, it’s not because I don’t think others like them. No, I don’t perform Personal Stories – those tales based on ones real life experiences, because, frankly, I always thought they were too hard.

I mean, think about it. First of all, you have to have had something exciting, funny, or profound to have happened to you for material. My life, though not boring, has not been filled with even a drop of the drama I find in folktales. By the time Cinderella was my age, she had been orphaned, virtually enslaved, learned how to walk in glass heels, and married a prince! Thankfully, my parents are alive, and Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation. As for the rest, Payless Shoe Source makes fabulously faux, comfortable heels of all kinds, and the prince I married, grew up in New Jersey, not a castle. It’s a wonderful life, as they say, but a dull story.

And even if I had an exciting tale to tell, there’s the issue of how to structure it. It’s one thing to tell the little anecdote about how as a kid I ran away from sleep away camp (and my parent’s subsequent ire about it), to a bunch of friends at Starbucks, it’s a whole other thing to stand up in front of a paying audience, and talk about it – for an hour!! Personal Tales, when done well, have a through line – the good old, beginning, middle, and end. There’s detail, but not too much, characters, but not too many, and a satisfying conclusion. And most of all, at least to me, they are NOT someone ranting for an hour about not getting a certain toy for Christmas when they were five. They are A LOT OF WORK, and at the end of it, you can’t be sure that anyone’s going to find it interesting but you.

Yes, I was CERTAIN a Personal Story would never come out of my mouth – but you know what they say about God laughing when we mortals make plans…Not only have I created a tale from something that I have experienced, I have been moved to tell it again, and again – everywhere from libraries to Detention Centers, to six year olds, to senior citizens. One very long, cold, wondrous day has, I think, become a story of a life time for me.

This story began somewhere this past spring, when I went from thinking, “Barak Obama, huh? Well, he’s smart, I like what he’s saying – but is American ready to elect an African-American president – I don’t think so!” to “YES WE CAN!!!!!!” As I watched every news story, and read every article about the upcoming election, I told all those who would listen, and quite a few who didn’t, that if Barak Obama won, I would be amongst the expected millions lining the Washington Mall to witness the inauguration.

My willingness to squeeze my body in amongst the possibly millions of other Obama maniacs, was met with A LOT of skepticism.
“How will you get there?”
“Where will you stay?”
“What about the crowd?”

I, with the fervor of someone newly saved at a revival meeting swept away the questions with an eye roll, and a sigh, saying, “Jimmy (my husband) and I will drive. We’ll stay with my sister. I take the New York City subway everyday – believe me, I know from crowded!!”

But, in amongst my armor of Obama righteousness, I did have one concern – the cold. It would be January, and I might have to be outside for hours, and hours, and hours. For a person with even the normal level of body heat this would be tough, but for me Ms. “Our Lady of Perpetual Coldness”, this could be VERY BAD. I have been known to wear a heavy wool hat inside – in August!! Let’s just say that cold and I, are not on good terms. Yet, even cold could not deter me. Literally layer by layer, I amassed gear made of flannel, fleece, and wool. I gathered hand warmers, ski pants, and a marvelous thing called a “turtle fur” hood (note: no actual turtles were hurt in the making of this garment. I swear on my vegetarian soul). When I had enough warm clothes to fill two EXTREMELY large bags, I realized I still had a weakness – my toes. The digits that I had misshapen through years of dance, now threatened to unhinge my inauguration dreams.

As ALWAYS, it was Jimmy who came to my rescue, discovering a hunting and fishing supply store that we could stop at on our way to D.C. We figured if anyone knew about standing around for hours in the pre-dawn chill, it was those outdoorsy types. Strolling past a parking lot full of pick-up trucks driven by folks in camouflage, we entered the store, and went our separate ways. Jimmy went looking for boots, and I for SOCKS!!!!!!!!!!! While I already had six pairs of socks with me – what I craved was the ultimate sock, the sock that would protect my toes from frost bite as I witnessed history. I searched through mounds of silk, micro-fiber, and polar fleece, and then suddenly – THERE THEY WERE. Battery heated socks!!! Never in my life had three words seemed so wondrous and unbelievable at the same time. (okay, so the first time Jimmy said,”I love you.” was pretty AMAZING, too)

Here’s how they worked: STEP ONE: insert battery. STEP TWO: snap top closed. STEP THREE: wait for the battery to heat the wire connected to the heat panel under the toes. STEP FOUR: be very, very happy!!

So enamored was I by the notion of these foot coverings, that I, a woman who balks at paying over $20 for any article of clothing, joyously slapped down $23.95 for a pair, without a thought. I would have bought a pair for every day of the week, but Jimmy wrestled them from my trembling hands.

Socks in tow, we arrived at my sister’s home, or should I say, her “situation room”. If there is anything we Pasquals are, it is thorough, and my sister, being the eldest, seems to have inherited the strongest of my parent’s DNA, for she had cut out EVERY article concerning how to get to the inauguration, and had them plastered around her living room. Marching like a field general, she walked us through our three options with brisk efficiency – none were pretty, none were fool proof, but Jimmy and I chose the method that seemed closest to the one we use every day to navigate NYC – we chose the DC Metro System.

Normally, the Metro does not run trains at 4AM, but on inauguration morning, they were going to. We rose at 4AM, and after quick showers, Jimmy and I began to layer on all the clothes we had brought with us. Silks, thermals, shirts, tights, and last were our new BATTERY HEATED SOCKS!!! We decided not to put the batteries in right away, so they wouldn’t burn out, so we put our brand new D batteries in our pockets, and waddled to my sister’s car. We toppled over into the back seat, like 2 year olds in their first ski suits, unable to lower our arms, or really bend our knees. The sky was pitch black, and we saw our breath as my sister dropped us off at the train saying, “Have a great time. I’ll be watching at home – where there’s coffee, and HEAT!! My heart began to pound, as we made our way up to the train platform – images of thousands of layered Obama fans, waiting to cram into the train ran through my head. I couldn’t really move my fingers, under my two pairs of gloves, but I did an imitation of squeezing Jimmy’s hand as we moved closer to where the ‘Yellow Line” train would stop. I took a breath, and saw – NOBODY!!!!!!! Well, not nobody – about 6 or so people, but not the throng of humanity that I expected. The train came, and still, NO ONE. I felt, rather than saw Jimmy’s gaze, and I knew just what he was thinking, “I GOT OUT OF BED AT 4AM FOR NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I made little comments about what a clear sky it was, and how we would get to see stars that day, when the door opened at L’Enfant Plaza, where we were to get off. Now, I am a native New Yorker, and I take the subway just about everyday. I have been on trains so crowded, I thought I had grown a conjoined twin. But never, NEVER, NEVER, in my life, had I seen sooooooooo many people on one train platform. Seconds after exiting the train, and squeezing onto the platform, Jimmy and I became separated by at least, 15 people. “Wait for me at the top of the stairs”, I heard him say, as we moved as one giant blob of homo sapiens towards a set of stairs, that didn’t really look like it had it in it to hold us all up.

Smushed though we all were, I heard not one complaint, not one, “Do you mind???????” Everyone just sort of shuffled along, in their layers of clothing, smiling. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought we were all one big cult, drunk on some kind of cold repelling Kool-Aid. I reached the top first, and after 20 or so people passed by, Jimmy got spat out of the crowd. We did our waddle run up the steps, and stepped out onto the street. Some of the MANY Obama merchandise salesmen were already set up, ready to offer us their version of Obama-wear. But since, I already had, two Obama shirts, one Obama scarf, and several Obama light up pins, I was good to go. We bypassed the food as well, keeping to our pledge not to eat or drink, least we land up trying to find, and use a port-a-potty on the Washington Mall.

The ameba of men and women moved towards the Mall, all heading to one narrow entrance. I couldn’t see much, being 5’2” and all, but Jimmy spied above the crowd, what seemed to be an alley way of some kind. Trying to walk as nonchalantly as one can wearing 7 layers of clothing, we moved towards, and through the alley way, and found – MIRACLE OF MIRACLES, that it led right onto the Washington Mall!!!!!!!!! I wanted to do a victory dance, but since I couldn’t really move my appendages, I just let out a hoarse, “YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” We moved quickly to an area that was both by a jumbo tron, and also had a view of the Capital (it was far away, but we could see it), got a piece of cardboard, and settled in to wait for the big doings to start. It was 5:30AM!!

Unbelievably, the first couple of hours passed quickly, we met lots of people from everywhere, boy scouts gave out flags, and the whole time more and more people began to arrive. By 8AM or so, it was so crowded, not only were we standing, we were practically standing on each other. It was right about then, that my toes began to feel just a little cold, so smiling, rather smugly, I must say, Jimmy and I reached into our pockets, and snapped our D batteries into place. We knew it would be a few minutes before the heat would come, but it would be worth it – I knew by the time Barak Obama was being sworn in, my toes would be ensconced in a warmth only possible by my magical socks. The jumbotron showed the concert that had been a few days before, and as the crowd began to move as one large organism, I took stock of what I was feeling: heart pounding with excitement – check, eyes beginning to tear with emotion – check, toes toasty – NOT SO MUCH.

In a panic, I looked at Jimmy. “My socks aren’t working!!!”, I yelled, over the noise of the crowd that had just seen Beyonce on the big screen.
“Mine either !!!”

@*##&%#@@%#!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Visions of me happily handing over $22 for a pair of socks, merged with images of my toes being amputated, and I began to slam my feet into the ground to try and regain any sensation at all. The mammoth television screens began to show politicians arriving, and I was able to distract my mind from the idea that I might loss a toe in the frenzy of historical excitement, when Jimmy, sheepishly, looked down at me and said, in a voice at once insistent, and forlorn, “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

There wasn’t room for me to throw myself in his path, so I just yelled, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! There are a least five thousand people between us and the port-a-potties!!! You’ll never get there and back in time, you’ll never find me. You’ll be in a plastic bathroom when history is being made!!!”

But, my husband is a man of action and confidence, so looking at me like a war hero headed into battle, he grabbed my hands (at least, I think he did, I couldn’t really feel my fingers that well at that point either), and said, “I’ll find you!!” And he was gone. I went between looking at the screen, trying to move my toes, and looking out for Jimmy. But even the cold, and my momentary hatred of my husband’s bladder, could not temper the all out euphoria I felt, as I watched the Carters, and then the Clintons arrive. The swarm of humanity around me, all seemed to hold their breath in anticipation as the seconds ticked by. I was so overwhelmed by the events about to unfold, the numbness of my toes, and the GREAT DESIRE to have my husband by my side for all of it, I wanted to fall down on the ground like a woman at a revival meeting. And just as I was about to try to memorize everything I could, so I could tell Jimmy about it - if we ever found each other again, there, coming out of the crowd, like an action hero in a summer blockbuster, was Jimmy. He reached me, just as he said he would. And with his arms around me, I witnessed Barak Obama walk onto the Capital Steps.

I wish I could describe with as much eloquence as our new president has ,about what I felt, and experienced as I watched him take his oath, and give his speech – but I cannot. What I can tell you is that a sense of pride burned through me, like nothing I had ever felt before. “THIS,” I thought to myself. “THIS is who we – Americans are. We are a people who judge, as Martin Luther King Jr once dreamed, by content of character, not by skin color. We are committed to action with ethics. We do believe that dreams come true, and we do not shy away from difficult times. And most of all, we are a people of givers, who reach out to those in need, and help lift them up. THIS, is who we, Americans, are.”

As the crowd thinned, my eyes stayed glued to the gigantic screen, never wanting the images I had seen there to fade away. A feeling of blissful inspiration coursed through me, as Jimmy and I began to make our way off the Mall.

“Well, kiddo,” my partner in all things, even things as crazy as this, said, looking down at me. “Was it all worth it?”
“Yep!!”
“Wouldn’t change a thing, would you?”
“Oh, no –there’s definitely something I would change!”
Jimmy’s eyes were full of shock. “What?”
“I would not have bought a pair of socks for $22, THAT DO NOT WORK!!!!!!!!!!!!”

UPCOMING PERFORMANCES

The following list includes my public performances only. No school or private performances are listed here. Things change from time to time, so do be sure to check the schedule.

February 2009
2/3: Hillside Library, Hillside, NJ 4PM
2/7: Brick Library, NJ 11AM
2/13: NYPL Morrisania 3:30PM
2/18: NYPL South Beach 2PM
2/21: North Plainfield Library 11AM
2/24: Toms River Library, NJ 6:30PM
2/26: Irvington Library, NJ 5PM
2/27: Bridgewater Library, NJ 4:30PM

March 2009
3/7: Montclair Library, NJ 2PM
3/8: NYU Kimmel Center (Shoren Auditorium) 3PM

July 2009
7/9: Glen Rock Library, NJ 6:30PM, 7:30PM

Notes from the Field (XVI)

A Magic Moment

Haven’t we all had those “magic moments” in life? Seconds, minutes, hours, days, even, when everything has just come together totally, and completely. Where one is happy and peaceful, and magic is not only possible, it’s happening right then and there. I feel amazingly blessed, and humbled that I’ve had a hell of a lot of these amazing nuggets of time. Sometimes, they’ve been BIG LIFE EVENTS, like my wedding, or the first time I flew to Europe all by myself. But, just as often, they’ve been occurrences on a much smaller scale, things that, from the outside, don’t look especially noteworthy, but on the inside, filled me with that elusive thing known as JOY!!! One such time happened this month in the most unlikely of performance venues.

If you looked at my date book for December 20th, 2008, you’ll see I was scheduled to perform two shows, at two different Kwanzaa events. One was at a festival – a good one at that, filled with activities, and lectures for all ages. I’d performed there several times before, and knew that, logistically, it would be a big old piece of cake. The performance space would be a nice sized “black box” theatre – with floor seating for the kids, and comfy seats for the adults. I knew there would be a performer liaison to herd in the audience, deal with the whole NO pictures/cell phones/electronic devices during the show stuff, and basically trouble shoot, so that all I had to do was perform.

The other situation – well, let’s just say, I wasn’t so sure about. First of all, it was at a private home, always dicey – I mean, not to sound like the overly suspicious native New Yorker I am, but really – WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE????? Could they be luring me, the trusting storyteller into a trap, hold me for ransom, determined to get my thousands?? Rampant paranoia aside, I had realistic concerns: would there be space for me to move, without wrecking some family heirloom? The woman booking me mentioned they would be having a “feast” – and as I ALWAYS say (and wrote about a few essays back) NO ONE, NO ONE, and I do mean NO ONE, is good enough to compete with food, so would I find myself vying for attention against a pan full of macaroni and cheese?

And finally, there was the issue of who was going to be there. “All ages” is what the hostess of this Kwanzaa fest had said. “Babies, toddlers, school age children, and adults!!” OKAY! So, that means I’d have to perform material that won’t bore the older folk, while keeping the kids from flinging sweet potatoes at me. Things could get ugly really, really quickly!!

The day dawned clear and COLD. I knew, since I was quite early on in the Kwanzaa Festival, that my audience might be small. Turns out, I was wrong – it was MINISCULE. The beautiful space, and helpful liaison was there – but that was about all. Finally, a grandmother DRAGGED her tween-aged grandson in, a mother with an under two year old entered, and the liaison’s son sat down, and I began.

I won’t say it was a disaster – but, no one was really there to see me. They had all either come in to get warm, or were biding time until they could have their faces painted. The tween never looked up from his play station, the liaison’s son kept trying to crawl on his mom, and the 18 month old was, well, being an 18 month old!

As I walked head on into the OH MY GOD IS IT EVER CCCCOLD wind back to the PATH train, I repeated the mantra “Could’ve been worse. It was only an hour. Quit your whining, at least you have a job!!” I got home, put on the tea kettle, turned on some Christmas music, and started to feel a little less like a grumpy icicle when I remembered I wasn’t done for the day. In four hours, I would be walking into a complete and utter unknown.

My stomach was doing that little shimmy thing it always does when I’m nervous, and I had a hard time holding up my end of the conversation with my husband as we drove. (Yes, I asked him to come with me – let’s remember I’m a paranoid NYer!) When we turned onto the designated street, we both searched for the address – and just when we thought it actually didn’t exist, and was truly a hoax – I heard it.

Yes, I heard the house, before I saw it. Drumming – loud, fast, energetic, playful, jubilant drumming!! I kissed my husband, jumped out of the car, and as I watched him head for a Starbucks to wait for me, I felt my spirits rise.

The front door was festooned with balloons, and cracked open, letting Nordic air spill in – and I quickly saw why. Just beyond the pile of shoes in a hallway was a living room filled not just with drummers WAILING on their instruments – but people dancing, and I mean DANCING – getting down, up and sideways!! Arms flung open, feet stomping, hips wiggling. Kids, women and men – a few of which held smiling infants aloft in the air. The smell of food and sweat mingled in a delicious perfume that practically yelled out, “CELEBRATE!!!”

As I squooze my way over to the hostess to introduce myself, I realized that THIS, and not any kind of theatre, library, museum, or festival, no matter how nice, or well run, was not only a great place for storytelling – it was the PERFECT place for storytelling.

Long ago, before there were so many different kinds of entertainment, each more glitzy and splashy then the next, there were the arts that were communal, and spoke to all ages: music, dance, and storytelling. Roving storytellers, or people from right there in the community, would gather everyone, from toddler to elder to share a tale. I say share, because the truest experience of storytelling is when the audience is just as much in the story as the teller is. When the watchers and listeners chime in with a “Oh, oh!” or “Don’t do that”, or sing the song the performer is singing, or dance the tellers same dance.

And that night, I felt the collective love, and energy of everyone in that room, as they gazed first at me, then at each other, laughing or acknowledging a word, or sentence, or movement I had done. The children giggled, the adults did, too, and even a baby a few months old, was wide eyed, and involved.

At one point, half way through my performance, I closed my eyes for a second longer than I normally would have, because I wanted to really breathe it in. I needed to soak myself in that gathering of joy, and relish that incredibly magic moment!!

UPCOMING PERFORMANCES

The following list includes my public performances only. No school or private performances are listed here. Things change from time to time, so do be sure to check the schedule.

January 2009
1/7: New York Public Library (NYPL) St. George Branch 4PM
1/23: NYPL Jerome Park Branch 3:30PM
1/27: NYPL Dongan Hills 4PM

February 2009
2/3: Hillside Library, Hillside, NJ 4PM
2/7: Brick Library, NJ 11AM
2/13: NYPL Morrisania 3:30PM
2/18: NYPL South Beach 2PM
2/21: North Plainfield Library 11AM
2/24: Toms River Library, NJ 6:30PM

March 2009
3/8: NYU Kimmel Center (Shoren Auditorium) 3PM