tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58104113369981700892024-03-14T02:44:14.271-04:00Julie PasqualStorytelling For All AgesJulie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.comBlogger123125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-78996167161978295072017-01-17T14:02:00.000-05:002017-01-17T14:02:03.093-05:00You Just Never Know<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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You just never know. You never really do. That is what I have come to learn as a storyteller – and by that I mean that there is just no way of ever telling what stories hit the mark and resonate deeply with people, and which tales people forget as soon as they have heard it. For example….
In my life as a yoga teacher, my “dharma talks” – that first part of class where a little bit of yoga philosophy is mentioned for students to consider along with the physical practice, I often use parts of itti hastas – yogic stories, that are chock full of lessons and meaning. One student of mine, every time he sees me recalls how I told the story of a man who was taken to see both heaven and hell only to find they were much the same. Both places had opulence, and a fine feast adorned both tables, but in hell, the utensils were too long, so no could feed themselves, and thus were doomed to starve while beholding amazing foods, but in heaven, the man observes, the people don’t try to feed themselves, they use those long utensils to feed each other. It is a good story, and it makes an excellent point about selflessness versus selfishness – but so do others I have told – but to this one student, it has become almost a mantra. He says it to me each time he sees me, and he has even told me he has told it to any woman he has started dating.
A few months ago, I was telling stories in an international school in Shanghai. In my very first class were two eighth grade boys, who were clearly the class jokers. The word cocky doesn’t even begin to cut it with these two, but their beloved teacher had sanctioned this “storyteller lady” so they only smirked at me as I began, and held their tongues. As I often do for this age group, I told one of my very favorite stories – it is a Mexican folktale called “Godmother Death”, and it is a goody – has some creepiness to it and, a plot twist that lands up delivering an ending no one EVER expects. But while the actual story is a winner, what really sets it up, I think, is the personal tale about my grandmother “Nanny”. Telling the tale, I embody my childhood recollection of Nanny – a languid mover and speaker from the Caribbean – a place she called “The Islands” – I purse my lips, and hum the way I remember she did. This imitation always brings laughs, and it softens any resistance to storytelling, so I am able to begin the folktale with the audience quite clearly on my team. While I knew this combo of stories had done their job the day I faced those two young men, I had no idea, just how much it had impacted them until I saw them later in the week humming, and pursing their lips re-telling my story to themselves, and their classmates over and over. Passing me in the hallway of their school, we would silently purse lips and nod to each other as a secret signal, and as I turned off my phone to get on this plane, there was one last whatsapp message from the school I had been working at – two young male voices humming in the way of my grandmother, then saying they would always remember that story. Who knows why – and who even needs to – it is just another wonderful example of the magical nature of tales and the telling of them, and I am humbled to be it’s vessel.
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-20757327828876104012016-01-16T16:23:00.001-05:002016-01-16T16:23:19.753-05:00Making It Personal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When asked if I tell personal stories, my standard reply is: “NO! My life is REALLY not interesting enough for that!!” I usually accompany that with knocking on wood, for I find that stories, like movies based on real life, tend to lean towards the tragic, and, frankly, I want none of that.
Of course, I am joking a bit, as I do have some interesting misadventures, and the story of how I met my husband is a quite cute, and I do talk about my beloved Nanny – my grandmother on my mother’s side, as a preface to one story. But, generally, my thinking is – how could my life compare to the wonders found in folktales??? I mean, my getting a stranger to help me start my car in a not so great neighborhood in Newark, NJ, is not going to stack up besides the tale of a prince being born out of a rose, and then ending a war that had been fought so long no one even remembered what it was about!! So, no I say with conviction, I do NOT tell personal tales
So, imagine my surprise when, having been asked to speak to a group of high school students about what makes a story good to tell, the first thing that I thought of was – it’s got to be personal. Yes, soon after came the standard things one looks for in a tale – beginning, middle, and end, a nice balance of description and dialogue, and, for a new teller, not TOO long, or SO many characters. But, in my heart, I kept coming back to the personal connection to EVERY story – long, short, or in between, I have with the stories in my repertoire.
For me, picking which tale to work on is sort of like falling in love. Yes, there is the check list – narrative, length, appropriate for the audience and occasion I am catering to, but then, just like the way I found it so beguiling the way my husband walks down a hallway – there is something else. The spark, the hook, the thing that the story articulates that even if it is in no way even remotely associated with my life in this century – is the thing that feels the most “me”.
A lot of the times, it’s the mystery, it’s the thing that is not at all logical, practical, or every day, that most draws me to it – for, I have to admit, I LOVE the unknown, I ADORE that there are things I cannot understand or comprehend, and never, ever will. To quote an older woman I met once, “There are some things that aren’t ours to know!” LOVE THAT!!!!!
And, other times, it’s the underlying message in the tale that gets me – the principles I wish I could really LIVE, and not just admire, and hope for. Then there’s the MAGIC – big M magic – when things come to life or transform, wishes are granted, and our loved ones come back to us in some way. The world of elves, fairies, and wizards is a place I feel VERY at home at, and can be more real to me than a ride on the subway.
So, I guess what I have discovered is: do I tell tales about things that actually happened to me? No, I do not (and again, I will knock on that good wood). But, do I tell personal stories?? I would have to say, I do.
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-64814836551624589762015-07-01T09:59:00.000-04:002015-07-01T09:59:17.588-04:00Graduation Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Last week I said goodbye to a school I have had the priveledge of storytelling in on a regular basis for the last four years. I first met and worked with an AMAZING teacher named Marco Vargas, who's title might have said ELL teacher, and maybe Sciene teacher, but who's role to the children he served was more like mentor/life line/super hero. I watched as a group of middle schoolers tried to learn this insane language that is English,while in a school large enough to have it's own zip code, cling to him, like drowning people in a life raft. He wiling, cheerfully, took on not only the task of educating them in English and Spanish, but in life. He taught them how to ask for help, how to be respectful, and, when they weren't exactly angels, that actions have consequences.
Marco himself LOVED stories, and any I would tell, he would listen with rapt attention, smiling and nodding, and rushing in to fill in the words the children could not understand, with the enthusiasm of a six year old. My first years at the school were just with his class, and to work with him on his own storytelling, and right from the get go, it was clear that I was getting the better end of the deal. Watching Marco in that classroom taught me so very much about not just teaching, but compassion. Real compassion. For even when some of the kids were, well - kids, and disrepectful, he saw it for what it was - a reaction born from how they themselves were treated. He did not blame them, but he held them accountable, he lovingly gave them boundaries, and they, in turn, gave him the hardest thing to get from kids that age when you are an adult - their trust!
I then also worked with a woman who stole my heart the second I met her, Brittany Spatz. If she was another type of person, she would have used her physical beauty to be a model or an actress, but instead teaching is what drew her in. I knew I would walk through fire for her, when at our first meeting she said, "I want you to help me to teach these kids empathy. I can use anything to teach them to read and write!" WOW, right? And so through a combination of yoga - a passion of both Brittany's and mine, and storytelling, I tried to aid this remarkable young teacher in her quest to REALLY educate 7th and 8th graders. I watched her show them so much love, that she planned her wedding so as not to miss much time with them. My second year with her, she taught computer skills - at least that's what her title was, but her mission was the same - teach them to care, and the rest would follow. This past year she had some of the most apathetic middle schoolers I have ever seen! Their world revolved around them, and them alone. But, I watched as the power of her energy and love melted their hearts, and in the end they listened not just to my stories, but to details of people's lives who varied greatly from theirs with attention and interest.
And, finally, I also worked with Virginia Rodreguez. New to the school she was given a HUGE class of children who not only couldn't speak English, but because of immigration problems, didn't speak Spanish well, either, becuase they hadn't had any schooling, sometimes for years. With a young child at home, I watched her scrap her lessons plans, and try to find a way to bring the kids up to their reading level in at least one of the languages. It was in Virginia's classroom that I really understood what life must be like for an ELL student. All the things you can't understand, perhaps homesick for where you have left, and very often the traslator for the adults in your home. Virginia's battle moved me, and motivated to try to do my part to make this world a bit more understandable for these kids.
And so, last week, I said goodbye to all those kids, and to those three amazing teachers. I leave this residency a much more informed, and I hope better storyteller, and teaching artist. Since most of my life I have been a performer, I have no trouble being "entertaining" in front of students - but being an educator - ahh, that is a different thing all together, and my four years at Frelinghuysen Middle School has certainly taught me much. I was teary eyed those last days, and I'm sure my car will try to take me there in the fall, since it knows the way so well. But, though I will not be back, the lessons I have learned from Marco, Virginia, Brittany, and all their students will stay with me forever. My "graduation" from this project leaves me ready to take the skills I have learned, and try to use them in the work to come. I am humbled, and honored to have been a part of the lives of those kids and those teachers - they have taught me far more than I ever could have taught them.
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-67269765261289914082015-05-05T08:25:00.001-04:002015-05-05T08:25:54.759-04:00 NOTES FROM THE FIELD: Behind the Mask<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There are all kinds of masks - tribal, ceremonial, funny, scary, theatrical - but none more interesting to me, than those worn by some tween and teenagers. Perhaps you know this mask - sullen, withdrawn, almost a dare, really. A "so you think you know what I'm going through, do you? Well, you don't!!!" look, that is as hard as stone, and more difficult to read than a heady scientific text written in German.
It's faces like these that we - myself, and the four other storytellers working in the Morristown Youth Detention Center, have been encountering recently. While sometimes this facility has given me some of THE MOST attentive audiences EVER, where 20 minute stories and deep discussion are welcome, lately the group of young people in this facility have more often than not seemed distance, bored, depressed, and angry and have hidden themselves behind an emotionless facial affect, or a sweat shirt pulled up over their heads. It's easy for me, when faced with those closed off faces to make it all about me "Why aren't they responding? Aren't I at least better than sitting in a cell? I'm being respectful. I'm trying to "keep it real". People at least usually think I'm funny."
But that type of thinking was clearly getting me nowhere - in the same way dogs and small children know precisely who it is that fear them, in a solo session (sometimes there are two storytellers at a time) I had with these students before my recent trip to China, from the moment I entered, they could feel my anxiety. Those masks were pulled down tight, and the more I tried to "win them over" by my telling, and the activities I had brought and planned for follow up, the more they withdrew. I left feeling like a team that was "supposed" to win the big game, and had one of those games where EVERYTHING went wrong from the second they hit the field.
So, just like a coach would do after his players had gotten their butts kicked, I took a good hard look at the "game film", and studied what went wrong. Externally, the plan was sound. I had a good story, that I had told several times before, it fit into the theme the other storytellers had been working with, and I was granted permission to show a clip from Youtube to accompany it, as well as several photo books with wonderful pictures. I even had - what always has worked as a follow up at this facility - an art project.
THUD!!! That would be the sound of my session hitting the floor like the hugest weight at my gym flying out of the hands of the 80 pound weakling. I remember walking to my car feeling that numb feeling I get when I am upset - I have learned that is the sensation of my "reptilian brain" - the most primitive part of my consciousness shutting down to protect me from the wound. I had a yoga class to teach afterwards, otherwise I would have done what I usually do when that icy numbness takes over my body - crawl under a blanket on my couch, and search for a "Law and Order" rerun on TV (there is such a bizarre comfort in watching that show for me) But, luckily, instead of watching the solving of a crime in a mere 60 minutes or less, I had to teach a mind/body discipline, and as it so often does - it saved me, by making me look at things another way.
The truth is, in my wanting so badly to be "liked" and to "do well", and have a "successful performance" - I was forgetting the most crucial thing. I AM THERE FOR THEM!!!! They aren't there for me. These kids, and they are kids, no matter how they scowl and posture, have been hurt - badly. They have been mistreated, cast off, probably abused in multiple ways, and THAT'S WHY THEY ARE THERE! God knows what they have endured before they made the mistakes that put them in this place. Everything about their lives is out of control - and now here comes me, wanting them to dance to my tune of storytelling, when what I really should have been doing is, in some way or another saying, "What can I do for you? How can I serve this situation? How might I bring what I have to these guys, so it might help ease the sting of this situation, and maybe give them something to think about that might help them down the road." In another words - it wasn't about ME!
And so, I changed course. Externally, things looked similar. I had a deep story and follow up activities, but what was different was my intention. I tried with all my might to squelch my performer ego, and not go for applause, but instead think "how can I be of service to these kids in this moment". The theme this month had been masks, so I worked on seeing beyond their masks - peeking behind the blank, almost hostile glares to what might be behind, and at the same time, I lowered my own mask. The "I'm the grown up professional in the room that knows exactly what's supposed to be going on here". With that new insight, I was able to keep asking myself silently "how can I be of help? What can I bring to this table?"
And things went MUCH better, they listened, they interacted, they even smiled! Now, to be perfectly honest, the young man who had consistently worn the most blank of all "the masks" was not in the room that day, so I will say that I was "cut a break" - but I do believe in my heart of hearts that that shift in my perspective made a huge impact. That in trying to see beyond their masks, and lowering my own, enabled a better flow of communication between this teller and that particular audience. And even if it didn't, the reminder that in EVERY situation it's always best to think, not what can it do for me, but how can I help, is ALWAYS the best way to go!!
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-77014016779461932932015-03-20T06:15:00.001-04:002015-03-20T06:15:09.118-04:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD: GOOD-BYE CHINA!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It never fails to amaze me how one can feel like a period of time has at once been long, AND gone by in the blink of an eye, and so it is for my time in China. I can barely believe that tomorrow, I will begin the journey back to the States - how could three weeks go by so very quickly, and, at the same time, feel like I have been away from my "regular life" for so long. I always say when I come home from any trip that it's good to go and good to come, and I am so fortunate to have a life that I want to go back , AND, equally lucky that trips like these are part of my life.
I think that any travel is good for a person, the opportunity to go outside ones norm can only lead to growth, and awareness, so that sometimes the distance most traveled is the trip one makes looking inward, rather than any geographical distance. On the trip, I will quite simply say, that I fell in love with storytelling all over again. To spend this much time telling, talking about stories, watching the effects on both students and teachers, has made me even more committed to this art. In my "normal life" storytelling has to share the stage with my clowning, and my yoga teaching, both of which I LOVE, and both of which I feel only add to my work (if not also make my life a little nutty schedule wise sometimes), but here, it's all about the telling. And when one turns a microscope on something in this way, one sees more deeply.
I was able to see how "letting go" of a story - and by that I mean, leaving room for the audience to supply some of the details, to guess at outcome, to figure out the riddles - really has the powerful effect of making storytelling what it is meant to be - a communal experience. I love the definition that a monk friend of mine gave of a community as opposed to a crowd - "A crowd is just a group of people. A community is a group of people working together at something greater than themselves." And in storytelling, what the community is serving is the tale. My friend, Sonia, who has brought me here to China has been reading a book by a scientist who says that though human beings have evolved in many ways, we have never gotten rid of stories - they are too much of who we are.
Sometimes I read folktales, and I understand what the symbols mean, and I remember reading what Joseph Campbell and other scholars would say about things, but sometimes I just revel in the mystery in them, in the wonder of a landscape where princes can be trapped inside of a serpent skin, and a grandmother spider can bring the world light and heat. I like the idea that I am serving this mystery in this communal act that is storytelling. In a world where we are so very, very literal, and think we can invent all the answers, it's really great, I think to feel a bit at sea, to feel small, and that we don't know, to feel, to quote, for the billioneth time, my favorite author, Anne LaMott - WOW!!!!
So, I a going home tomorrow, more in love with the WOW of stories, the inexplicable nature of some of these tales. And, I want to tell them not so I can figure them out, but that I can look at them the way I look at fireworks in the sky, and say "OOH! AAH!!! WOW!!!"
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-89561449747367582015-03-17T08:02:00.002-04:002015-03-17T08:02:42.397-04:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD: THE BIG QUESTIONS!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Whenever I have been lucky enough to do these storytelling tours in other countries (I am in China at this writing), I always leave room for questions at the end of a performance. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE hearing what kids have to say to me, after I have talked at them for an hour or so. I feel strongly that storytelling is a two way street, and that I am in it alone, that my performance is completely interconnected with those I am performing for, and that, we are partners in this crime of storytelling.
And so, this hearing from the kids is an aspect I feel is really worth the time. I usually explain, that I will (and do) answer anything - as long as it's appropriate (I have learned to say that, after a few "close calls" in that regard). And, I usually good on myself to make the point, saying, " You can ask me about my water bottle, why my hair is so short, why I always wear black pants" Anything!" And they do!!
Of course, some of your more standard questions appear: how old are you (teachers are aghast that I answer with a smile - even my sister when I was at her school didn't like that one - mainly because she is 10 years old than me, and her kids did the math!!), what's your favorite color or favorite food, are you married, do you have pets, where do you get your stories, how did you get started telling stories, do you write books???? And each trip there is a question or two that really makes me think. These last few weeks in China have provided quite a few of these queries. Here's a list of my favorites, so far:
1) If an animal could talk, which one would you like to speak to? I said shark, because they scare me, and I really want to know if there is a kinder, gentler side to them I don't know about.
2) Why is your skin so dry? LOL! Turns out what he meant is why are my arms so veiny!! And they are - I don't know why, I have skinny arms, and one time a hospitalized child complimented me on that fact by saying, "Boy, they'd never have a hard time putting an IV in you!" Aww, we all have our own talents!!
3) What is your REAL job? All the staff laughed when I replied, "You sound like my mother!!" Which isn't totally true, after many years my Mom has come to accept that her 6th child dances to a VERY different drummer - but for many years she was totally, and understandably perplexed by my career choices! The look on the kids face when I said this was my job was priceless!!!
4) What is your greatest struggle? This was from a young lady who had seen me perform, and then proved to be a wonderful performer herself in a drama workshop I led. As I always try to answer as truthfully as possible, I admitted, that my "struggles" weren't REAL struggles - not in a world where mothers can't get their kids clean drinking water, and people die of malnutrition in countries where leftovers are chucked into the garbage with abandon. And, I tried to express how lucky, blessed, and grateful I am that my life has been as smooth as an iced over lake in winter. But, to "keep it real", I spoke briefly of being a VERY young performer whose parents had been so angry at me for not going to college that it left a rift between my family and myself for more years than it really should have - and that, I am now grownup enough to say, was my fault! But, I also spoke of how those years, and those hard times when I was finding my way in the world, really helped shape me as a person - for the better, I feel. And how, now I can look back and see all the lessons, I would have missed, had I not gone through what I did.
5) And finally, this question today, asked by a second grader, who's English was a struggle (there's that word again!) - but who knew what he wanted to ask, and was not too shy to ask it "Do you like Julie?" Hmmmmmm.....good questions, right? I wish I had more time to answer eloquently, but I think that, even if I did, the words might have been prettier, but the content the same. "Sometimes, " I said. "And sometimes I REALLY don't!" If I could have, I would have said, I like who I am when I living up to the ideas that make me love Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King Jr, Mother Theresa, and my husband - who is THE BEST person I know. I like myself when I take myself out of the center, and realize that the only reason to do anything is to serve others. But too often I'm not that person, and that's when I want to shake my finger at myself and say, "REALLY?? Julie, really?? You know better!" But, the good thing about my job - which is VERY real - is that it puts me in contact with children, and kids tend to bring out the best in most of us, doesn't it?? They remind us to be loving, and kind, they remind us to laugh, and be silly, they remind us to be honest, and to ask questions, and to give hugs and high fives, and to show enthusiasm, and LOVE. So, probably, if I had had the time to think on it, I would have said, "I like myself right now at this moment, and if I can remember to be like this all the time, I would like myself more!"
People are always saying, "Kids say the darnest things!" And they do, so I am learning that as much as my job is to talk to children, where the magic really happens, is when I listen. Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-42312428661758849802015-03-11T05:42:00.002-04:002015-03-11T05:42:56.316-04:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD: THE REALLY, REALLY, REALLY GOOD STUFF!!: <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I always seem to be talking about my love/hate relationship with the news. It is a struggle for me, because, while I like, and feel it is responsible to be informed, I sometimes hate the way knowing all that information makes me feel!! On the CNN morning show I watch several mornings a week, they always end with "the good stuff", some little piece about someone somewhere doing performing some act of kindness or compassion. This piece is usually the shortest of the show, and comes after two hours or wars, shootings, and/or na<b></b>tural disasters. "Why," I always wail. "Is it at the end, and why so little of this good stuff???" And so I found myself horrified when I did the actually the same thing with my last blog post, the first of my posts from China, where I am on a storytelling tour. After a week of performances, workshops, and experiences, I chose to report on the ONE dark cloud, in what has been, a sky full of blue!!!
And so, while I won't deny what I was feeling and processing during my last post, I am going to spend more time reporting on "the good stuff" - which has been so plentiful and abundant, that today, on a day off, as I was strolling through a temple of 10,000 Buddhas (and they meant it, there were Buddhas everywhere) I nearly cried in gratitude. Here are just a few things that have been truly amazing about this trip so far…
One of the many wonderful things about this tour is that I am getting to teach workshops – both for students and for teachers, and so far, those have given me some of my fondest moments here in China. At one “Storytelling 101” workshop for a group of 10th graders, I gave the assignment that each group of about 5-6 students should look at a picture I had given them, decide what the story was in that picture, and then one of the members of the group would “tell” what they had come up with. Now, let’s remember I am in China, where the students can be brilliant, multi-lingual, but also EXTREMEMLY shy. While performing here, it is totally not uncommon to see kids hold their hands in front of their mouths, so as not to be seen laughing. So, with that – while I knew they had enjoyed the process up until that point, I did not expect much more than one student explaining, head down, mumbling, and with as little energy as they could possibly muster, what the group imagined. WAS I WRONG!!
While I was happy to see how everyone in the group was collaborating during the creation of the story, and seemed to be sharing opinions equally, I was not at all prepared for the way the “spokesperson” for the first group got up, and not only “reported” what the group had created – but gave a full on performance of a story – with voices, physical gestures, and a bit of improvisation audience participation!! It was MASTERFUL, and it set the tone for the other groups to follow ( I found out later, he is the student council president – so the Story Gods led me to pick a guy who is used to taking the lead!!), who each came up with tales that were creative, and utterly their own. One girl, after her group had gone, said she had another idea, and told that tale by herself, while the last group of extremely shy girls, presented theirs as a movement piece, with one narrator, and all the others in the group acting out the various characters. I kept asking if any of them had ever told a story before, and each time the answer was no. “You should.” I said. And, I hope they will, it was a wonderful moment for me, and for their teachers, who later expressed how surprised they were at the level or participation and engagement.
At another workshop with drama students who had seen me perform, I observed one shy young lady working up her courage before stepping into the center of the circle and moonwalking – yes, 1980s Michael Jackson moonwalking, when I had given the task of her embodying a dancer. BEAUTIFUL! In that same workshop, a gorgeous young girl, strutted across the room as movie star, and then immediately covered her mouth to hide a smile that clearly was saying “ I can’t believe I just did that!!!” At the end of the workshop she grabbed me, and pulled me in for a hug.
It was in that same workshop that a student who had been VERY attentive and creative asked me, “What has been my greatest struggle.” It’s interesting to answer questions like these – one wants to be profound, truthful, and ultimately, I think, REAL. And so, with just a moment of a pause, where I gave thanks to the Universe, once again, that the “struggles” I have had in this life are as small as a drop of water in a vast ocean, and that luck and good fortune has followed me all the days of my life, I told them of how my parents had absolutely not understood why I wanted a career as a performer. I tried, and I pray that I was successful to convey the fact that that “struggle” led only to growth, character, and lessons that could not possibly have been learned any other way, and that I am thankful for every bit of the journey that has led me to where I am today. I tried to speak as I wish someone had spoken to me when I was 17 years old, and about to buck my parent’s wishes, because something in my gut told me that even though it made no earthly sense AT ALL, I knew what my path was, and that I had to take it. It filled my heart to watch their faces watch me with so much attention I almost had to look away, because I could see they were absorbing my intention.
But, of course, my favorite workshops so far have been the ones I have done for the hardest working people in the world, the heroes of our planet – TEACHERS!!! Teachers EVERYWHERE work harder than they can ever be compensated for, and they all do it not for the money, but for their commitment to give, to ensure that the future of this world – our children, have the tools they need to start their journey into life. Teachers floor me time and time again with their commitment and their passion, and I am humbled to be asked to present anything in front of them. I mean, I barely finished those 12 years of schooling that was my formal education, how dare I deem to teach them anything??? So, I offer, I offer what I do know – folktales – those mystical nuggets of knowledge, wisdom, and entertainment, and the ways I have found to share them with the world. To see teachers come in on a Saturday – yes, a Saturday, and be willing to moo like a cow, walk like a king, and listen to tales appropriate for four year olds, is thrilling to me. And I cannot express how gratifying it is to have a teacher tell me “You have made me look at things a different way.” Or even better “I can really use what we did today in my work!!” YAY!!!!!!!!
At this teacher’s workshop, one of these amazing heroes told me of how she was tutoring a young boy who had seen one of my storytelling shows the day before. She said he came in sullen, and wanting to play outside after a long day of school, and not do more studying (I hear you, kid!!) She asked him if he had heard a story that day. “Yes, “ he said, not looking at her. “Tell me about it.” And so, this teacher told me later, he did. At first with head down, and voice low, but then with actions, movements, and mimicking the phrase I use over and over again in the story. By the end, the teacher had written down the story for him so he could share it with his parents. DOUBLE YAY – storytelling had helped both teacher and student!!! And I say storytelling, and not me, because I am clear on the fact that I – as cheesy as this sounds – am the funnel – those stories, someone else created, imagined, gave birth to – I’m just the carrier. And on this tour I am being inspired to carry my precious cargo with even more love and care than I have already been doing.
And one more good thing – and this is a summary, folks, because there is so much more that I can, and will write – the warmness of the kids and staff, the marvelous opportunity to go deep with stories that I am telling over and over again. The laughter, hugs, smiles of kids that live half the world away from me, but are as close as a heartbeat, because we share this gift of the human experience. But the good thing I want to close with is my friend, and employer here, Sonia, and her company Pana Wakke. She chose me to be the first storyteller she booked, when she started this enterprise a year and a half ago, and every day treats me with more respect than I will ever feel worthy of. She is an educator to the core, and as such she is one of those heroes that I wrote of earlier. Her passion is like a fireworks display that streaks gorgeously across he sky, and leaves all in it’s wake going “OOOH! AHHHH!”
The good news is that she has given me this opportunity to see the land of China in this exciting way, and the really good news is that I am inspired to give – to give to her, the kids, the teachers, the world my very best. And giving is what it’s about, so that I am motivated to do so is the very best news there could be!!
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-77014066768731080932015-03-09T05:10:00.003-04:002015-03-09T05:10:32.585-04:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD - A TASTE FROM CHINA!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In the great Indian epic, the Bhagavad Gita, one of my favorite lines is” You have a right to perform your duty, but you are not entitled to the fruits our your actions.” In other words, you cannot, as much as you would want to, control how things are going to turn out – the gift you slaved over making/buying may or may not be loved, or the gesture you found so moving, may go unnoticed or unappreciated. The philosophies of the East pull no punches when they say that to be attached to the results of our actions bring only suffering, because sooner or later things are not going to come out the way you so hoped, wished, and day dreamed about. DARN IT!!!!!! Why can’t things turn out the way I see them in my head??!!
It is a lesson that I keep finding myself learning, and each time I’m still a little shocked that the Universe does not seem to want to cower to my will! When I was dancing full time, I finally realized, after about the zillionth audition, that all I could do was come in and dance as well as I could – there was no way of knowing whether I was the right size or shape for what was needed, or if the choreographer already had three girls like me that they wanted to use. To last as a chorus girl, one had to become very good at “letting go” fairly quickly, and as I would go to audition after audition with my sisterhood of fellow “gypsies” I developed the back of a duck – the “water” of rejection rolled off me, without me taking it even a tiny bit personally.
So one would think, with so many “thanks, but no thanks” under my belt, the lesson of being too attached to the outcome of something would have been permanently burned into my brain – but, NO, apparently I am a slower learner in this regard, as was made evident in my response to one of my days here in China on my storytelling tour.
Having the opportunity to tell stories in English to children in international schools overseas, is something that I have been EXTRAORDINARILY blessed to have roll into my life the last few years. It has been enormously gratifying, challenging, and inspiring to share my love of stories with children of all ages in my native tongue of English – a CRAZY language with made up rules – to, hopefully, expand their knowledge of stories and the English language itself.
Anyone who has read my blogs when I was in Argentina, and then in Thailand will see that, for the most part, there wasn’t much of a challenge language wise – the students proficiency in English almost surpassed my own! Stories I would tell to a five year old in the states, I could tell to a five year old in any of those countries – and as to the teenagers, well – one of my favorite storytelling adventures EVER, was when after performing for a group of 17 year olds, we had an entire discussion about the American political situation in PREFECT ENGLISH – not only could these kids speak the language, they knew the culture, I thought of them recently when Jon Stewart announced he was leaving his show, because these kids shared my love of him!!!!
But, every once in a while on these tours, where often I perform four or five shows a day, they’ll be a group where the language level is not as strong – AND MAY I SAY RIGHTFULLY SO, BECAUSE AS I SAID EARLIER ENGLISH IS CRAZY!!!! But on those occasions, storytelling becomes a bit of a struggle. And so it was this week, with one school I visited. I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach the night before this session for a few reasons – 1) the group was large – about 200 kids 2)they were young – five years old 3)I had been told their English “wasn’t strong” 4) I was to see them two times in a row – in other words one 40 minute session, a short break, and then another 40 minute session 5) They had a theme of “courage” – not that I’m against themes, but it sort of ties my hands, because I can only stick to the prescribed stories.
As the kids arrived it became clear that what I had feared very may well come to light – instead of speaking English to the children as most of the teachers do in these schools, the teachers were speaking Chinese, and they didn’t seem to understand very much English themselves, the GORGEOUS space I was in was cavernous – my one body on the stage was swallowed up by the enormity of the surroundings – but I as I began, I told myself to rely on the two things that helped me through so very much – my physicality, and my energy. I lept, I made funny faces, I chanted, I went into the audience, I spoke slowly, I paused, I used props, in other words, I pulled out every trick in my playbook – but it was clear that I was failing – the kids had no idea what was going on, and neither did the teachers, and for 40 minutes I sweated more – not from heat but from anxiety – than I do doing my Jillian Michael’s boot camp videos I’ve been doing as my warm up here. As they left, I almost huddled in a corner, and searched for my phone, wanting to call my husband, or maybe book a flight home.
BUT – and this is why I’m writing this - as I fingered the Gita between sessions – looking for some inspiration to try again, my eyes fell upon that passage “you are not entitled to the fruits of your actions” – EVER. I had tried my best, my intentions were good, my preparation solid, and I had never for a second given up trying to make that performance a good one for the children and for my friend Sonia, who I am working for here – the rest I CAN NEVER CONTROL. And, as I sat with that, I won’t say the sting of my “failure” during that performance completely slid off my remembered duck’s back, but it gave me enough internal strength to go at it again. The theme was gone, we changed the seating arrangement, I used less language, more of my clown and physical comedy, and more props, and everyone left smiling – BUT, I don’t want the success of the second show be my lesson – what I tried to hold on to, and why I’m writing this as my entry, instead of all the other WONDERFUL responses and performances this week – is the fact that, like the Gita says, I can’t predict or own the outcome of anything ever, all I can do is offer what I have – the Gita calls it “a duty” – not to back down, give up, because one time didn’t go well, to prepare, to try, to go with good intentions, and then, to quote someone most of my audiences in the States know well, Elsa from the movie “Frozen” – LET IT GO!!!!!
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-54122615816320442532015-01-03T22:10:00.000-05:002015-01-03T22:10:11.491-05:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD: CONFIRMATION FROM MY FAVORITE WRITER<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br /></div> I hope I am not the only one who loves it when someone you admire, and think is talented, smart, deep, and inspiring says something that you yourself have thought? Something that you have felt to be “deeply true”, but you were never quite sure if that idea, or concept, would make sense to anyone other than you? That moment when your mouth drops open, and you bleat out, “That’s what I ALWAYS thought!!”
If it hasn’t happened to you, let me be the first to tell you that it is an AWESOME feeling, it’s like having the kid that teased you in junior high march up to you and say, “Sorry, I stuffed you into that locker, you’re actually pretty cool.” It has a sense of immense validation, a giant “I told you so” to the world, and it leaves me thinking that maybe, just maybe, I am not as crazy as I look!!
And that is how I felt the other day, when I opened up my most favorite author – Anne LaMott’s, newest book “Small Victories” If you are unfamiliar with her books – READ THEM, if you know her work – READ THEM AGAIN. Here is a woman who lives a REAL life – that is messy, joyful, funny, and tragic – and so when she speaks in her poetic yet earthy voice, she is more than worth listening to. And, so I – a storyteller, who, through the marvelous opportunities that Storytelling Arts has allowed me, tells stories in prisons - was delighted to see that one of her essays was about her experience going to San Quentin with a storyteller friend of hers.
She speaks of her fear that the prisoners will not respond to her friend’s stories, and stands ready to save the situation – but then, as I have seen it do over and over in the Morristown Youth Detention Center, the magic of storytelling, to quote Ms. LaMott “steals the show right from under her”. She writes of how this group of hardened career criminals listened to the stories, mesmerized, and when they did, she writes “they looked like family.” And why? Because, her friend, the storyteller, Neshama had shown them that “I’m human, you’re human, let me greet your humanness. Let’s be people together for a while.” And that “they had thought Neshama was going to teach them a lesson, and she instead sung them a song.”
YES!! BINGO!!! THAT’S ABSOLUTELY RIGHT!!!!! ENOUGH SAID!!! NAILED IT!!!
I have witnessed first hand, this “song” of storytelling, and I have experienced over and over, the power a story has to create not just a relationship and bond between teller and audience, but, also, between one listener and another – one human being to another. Too often, these incarcerated young men and women have had their essences whittled down to the mistake they made that put them in that facility. But they, like all of us, are complex, multi-faceted beings. Their lives have, and will, twist, turn, then twist again – just like those of the characters in the folktales we bring to them. And because to tell a story one must listen, REALLY listen to their audience by looking at their faces, feeling their energies, feeling out the way to the tell the story at that moment, for just those people, we are given a chance to, as Ms. LaMott beautifully states – greet them at their humanness.
There is such a beauty in that – reminding someone that their transgressions do not define them, and that life is not simple, streamlined, or linear. It is big, messy, individual, and to a great extent a mystery. Stories remind of us that – with their sometimes incredible series of events, larger than not just life, but the universe’s characters, and their truths – things that resound in all of us, that sound off an alarm of AHA!! somewhere inside those that hear them, and that make us turn to the person next to us and, even if just for a second connect!
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-34657856503554444822014-09-28T20:25:00.001-04:002014-09-28T20:25:41.440-04:00Notes from the Field - Back to School
I am being completely honest when I say that I have just two recurring nightmares. One is the “I can’t get there” dream, where I leave my apartment ready to go somewhere, but misadventure strikes again and again, and I just can’t get to where I’m going, in fact, I get further away, and later and later – and for someone who prides herself for being on time, that REALLY kills!
The second one, comes every year – usually the first week of August or so, the first time my eyes spy a sign that says “BACK TO SCHOOL”. It does not matter where I am, or what I did during the day, or even if I have seen the scariest movie EVER (which for me, great big chicken that I am, would be one of the Scary Movie series, which are supposed to be funny)- that night my dreams will be of someone dragging me – kicking, screaming, and possibly biting – back into school. Did I mention I DID NOT like school as a kid???
Clearly, I LOVE learning, and I will read anything put in front of me, but school and me – well, let’s just say it’s the old square hole, round peg situation, I just didn’t fit. So I guess it’s a little karmic joke that I now spend soooo much time in schools as a storyteller, and this year, I am lucky enough to have three different “residencies” – which means I will be visiting the same classes several times a month all year long.
My husband, the man who knows what I’m going to say before I say it, smiled on my first day of one of my residencies, and said, “Have a good first day of school, honey!” And I have to admit that, just like I worried about what I wore on my first day of high school – I fretted over my ensemble for Mr. Vargas’ class of 6th graders – I wanted to look “cool adult” – and not “who the heck is this lady who is not a teacher, but I have to listen to anyway, and boy does she look dorky!” I went over in my head, not just the stories I would tell, but the way I would introduce myself, and ask their names. More than just a one time show, this type of situation is about building a relationship with the kids and the teachers, one that will sustain my visits after the novelty of having a storyteller in the room performing for them has worn off.
And, unlike when I was a student – I LOVE this type of continuity – I relish the challenge of coming up with new material – pretty quickly, that will enhance the classroom learning, rather than add one more thing onto the plate of those most unsung and over worked heroes – teachers!! I enjoy adapting other parts of my life – my clowning, yoga, volunteer work, and travels into things I can share with the kids. As more and more of these opportunities to be a “storyteller in residence” in school classrooms have presented themselves, I have begun to look at them as a way to reach back in time to my younger self. The kid who would stay up as long as she could on Sundays nights, even though sleep was yanking at my eyelids, because if I closed my eyes and slept, I knew the next thing that would come was Monday – and that meant school – a place where I felt suffocated and trapped.
If there’s even one “mini me” in any of these classes, than maybe I can be of some assistance to them, and their teacher, and help make school a little less uncomfortable. Perhaps some of my stories and activities can open up the window in their mind, and let in some air and light, and get them to feel a little less heavy and fretful. Maybe. I hope so. Just the idea of trying to do that makes me want to go to bed on Sunday, so I can get up bright and early on Monday, tame my nightmares, and go back to school. I’ll let you know how it turns out!
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-32262741660436882662014-07-29T15:59:00.002-04:002014-07-29T15:59:33.984-04:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD: NOT THE KIND OF RESEARCH I HAD PLANNED What's that old quote about God laughing when man makes plans?? Nothing is more true than the fact that though we want to plan our lives, our schedules, our interactions - we can't. We are human, which is an overall great thing to be, but none of the definitions of humanness includes the words, "BEING IN CHARGE OF EVERYTHING!!" And, it can be sooo frustrating when we begin to forget that plans go awry, that there are bumps in the road, and instead of being "master of our fate" we have to just let go, and take the ride. That's kind of what my July was.
THE PLAN: Read, read, and read some more!! Since I was VERY light in storytelling this summer - in fact not one gig in July, I decided that I had no more excuses to not read more folktales, so that in the height of the school year when I am, thankfully VERY busy, racing around finding stories for my ongoing residencies in schools, I would read, and catalog tales that I might want to work on later (along with cleaning my apartment, blogging more frequently, and spending one whole day out at Governor's Island just sitting under a tree). Like a lot of stories - it all began so well -I was reading, notating (even scrubbed my bathroom tile, and had time to meet a friend for a cup of tea, and take another friend around the Botanical Gardens on a lovely Tuesday afternoon) feeling inspired, when my research took a different turn. For - not exactly out of the blue, but feeling very unexpected, my dad died.
I worry about just how personal one is supposed to get on a "professional blog" - this is after all my website, but, in this section I have all along shared my thoughts and feelings, not just facts and "scholarly knowledge" (if I even have any) with any of you kind folks who read this, including the death of the man who was my second dad a while back, so I feel okay about this now.
Long story short here, is that for well over a decade my father (whom we called Fido - that tells you something about his good humor!) has had one illness and hospitalization after another. When I got married 15 years ago, part of the timing was because we were afraid he was going to go then!!! I used to joke, after he would rally, and beat the odds again and again "I am the daughter of an immortal!!" thinking of all the Gods and Goddesses in the stories I tell. But, unfortunately, more like the Norse Gods who do die, than the Greek ones who don't, Fido at last drew in his last breath, with my mom by his side (and, yes, I know I am lucky to have had them both for so long, and that I still have her).
My biggest fan in my family is my sister, Valerie, who is a first grade teacher, and every year I visit her class to tell stories. She likes my work so much, at the wedding shower for her (wonderful) new daughter in law, she asked me to tell an impromptu tale. So, when we were all at my dad's bed side, knowing the end was near, and planning for his service (is it me, or is that just one of the weirdest experiences - EVER!!) she turned to me and said, "Will you tell a story?"
My first response to be honest, is a reflex - say YES - that's what we freelance people do, someone asks you for something "Can you tell a story about a giant big toe from Mars?" "YES!" (that's why you should have done your research so that you can find it quickly, and work on it). But then - I remembered where I was - in a hospice, watching my father slip more and more into "that great night" - and I wanted to say "NO!" Saying yes would mean, that for sure, the immortal would not rise, saying yes, would mean that I would have to stand up in front of people who had come to mourn him, and not to eat his BBQ chicken or spare ribs, saying yes would mean that I fully accepted that I was about to loss a parent. But, I knew that I would - my heart told me what my brain did not want to fathom, that the thing called death, had finally landed on our families doorstep. So, I said yes, and so the research had to begin.
I didn't have a lot of time, and frankly, not that much mental clarity, so I did what I always do when I really need to think - I worked out HARD - and, as almost always, as my body was pumping, and the lovely sweat was flowing out of my pores, I knew what tale I would tell to honor my father Morris Owen "Fido" Pasqual Sr. Here it is:
A man was granted the incredible gift of being able to see both heaven and hell. Wanting to see the bad first, he called on his spirit guide to show him Hell. To his surprise Hell was not the fire laden place he had imagined it to be - in fact it was beautiful. It was like a castle, filled with opulence. The people there were dressed in finery like he had never seen, and they sat before a table groaning under the weight of food that made his mouth water just at the sight of it. He was surprised again, when he looked at the faces of these residents of Hell - for, despite the wealth and the food that surrounded them, they were pale, and so thin, they looked like they were starving. The man soon saw why, as he gazed at the forks on the table - the arms of the forks were so long, that do what they might, the people could not get any of that food into their mouths - so they were tortured by being able to see the food, but not eat it.
He then asked to be shown Heaven,and he was even more shocked to see that Heaven looked exactly like Hell - the beautiful clothes, and the same table of delicacies. But the people here were smiling, they looked radiant and well fed, and yet, they too had those extremely long forks. "How can it be," he said. "That you are all so happy?" One of the residents of Heaven smiled, picked up one of those long forks, raised it across the table to another person, and said, "Because in Heaven, we feed each other."
There are many versions of this simple tale, that reminds us all that true happiness comes when we are in service to others. And, that, is the legacy of my father. Not just to my siblings, and their children, but to everyone he came across. So while my research of folktales got a little derailed this month, what I did get to delve into is far more important - love, compassion, forgiveness, kindness - and those are things I can use not just every time I show up to tell a story somewhere, but every time I interact with another human being. See you on the other side, Fido!
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-65654113382222428742014-07-01T17:08:00.001-04:002014-07-01T17:08:13.054-04:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD: END OF YEAR WRAP UP I think I am like a lot of people, in that I feel like now - as opposed to December 31st is the end of the year. For people who deal with the school calendar, June is the time for summing up, reflecting, and looking both back at what was, and ahead to what may be - to wince a little at plans that went awry, and marvel at the grace of having things actually turn as you had envisioned - and sometimes even better!
For me, this school year, was one where, though in theory, I was the visiting artist, was all about what I was taught, more than what I shared with the students. While I ALWAYS learn whenever, and wherever I tell stories, this school year was particularly ripe with lessons. And, I would like to thank the teachers, students, schools, and organizations that gave me such a capital education, and reinforced my love of the art of storytelling, and the fascinating world of folktales.
My school year started off with my AMAZING trip to Thailand. Having the opportunity to, in one trip, visit classrooms of children who are fluent in SEVERAL languages, in schools that were akin to college campuses, and had theaters to rival those on Off Broadway, AND, go into the classrooms of preschoolers, that an inspiring organization called the Mercy Center runs for children from the slums - blew my mind. In both cases the teachers were completely invested in trying to enhance the education of their students. For one group, my mission was to help unlock the creativity that is in us all - I believe, especially kids, and help them learn to express themselves, and for the other, it was to bring a little joy and laughter - something that could be done without any language at all. That trip taught me, all over again, the power, and importance of imagination, playfulness, creativity, and compassion -all things that are good to be armed with, no matter what classroom you are walking into.
Back here at home, I had the opportunity to have an ongoing relationship with three classrooms - one an English class for 8th graders, who, while not "special ed", were kids who were, as I thought of them "tender". Circumstances in their young lives making the road to adulthood a bit harsh. It was in this classroom that I met, what I can only describe as a wunder teacher - Brittany Spatz - a woman that, in our meeting told me, "I think it's more important that I help these kids feel good about themselves, and learn kindness - after that, I can use anything to teach them English" And, she did! Since Brittany is a lover of yoga, I got to combine two of my loves as I used tales of yoga poses, India, and yogic philosophy to introduce the kids to the physical practice of yoga asana, which we did in each and every session.
Another group of students I saw regularly were doing something I find incredibly daunting -learning to speak this crazy language we call English, as a second language!! The teacher here, Virginia Rodriguez was nothing but heroic in her work in trying not only to teach the children English (which really, REALLY makes no sense!) she also had to try and bring them up to their grade level even in Spanish. Because of immigration and family obligations, some of these children had missed years of schooling. But like so many of the educators I am honored to work with, she - in her first year in this school, and her own child at home, gave more those kids a stable place for them to learn. Because of the level of English, I called upon my background in theatre and clown, and found ways of using language and narrative that were fun, and the stepping stones to storytelling. It was such a GREAT opportunity for me to, every visit, not think about what I wanted to do, but what they needed, and how I could possibly provide that. I often think that sometimes, with all my interests, I am too diversified - thinking, if I just stuck to one thing, I'd be better at it. But, this experience ESPECIALLY taught me that sometimes it's good idea to have many tricks in one's pocket!!
And, the third was the classroom in a Youth Detention Center, where, almost unbelievably really, the administration has sought to fund, and keep storytellers coming as part of the in house schooling incarcerated young people. I have written about my experiences here, and I have learned lessons about judgement, tolerance, respect, and compassion, and even on days when things are "picture perfect" - and the storytelling isn't like out of those movies, where the "good doer" reaches the "hard on the outside, but ultimately soft and gooey on the inside" kid, I am more than glad I was there, if for no other reason than to be a witness to whatever they wish to share with me - their thoughts, ideas, even there boredom - part of storytelling is listening, and by that I mean the storyteller listening to the audience, and on some days they have taught me that's it is THE MOST important part. But, even more than the students this year, I learned from the trio of other storytellers who I, thankfully, get to partner with in this work. Paula Davidoff, Julie Della Torre, and Jack McKeon. All three FINE, FINE tellers AND teachers, who understand the importance of folktales and storytellers, and who's analysis of deep stories reaches those kids in ways that are surprising and wonderful. Most days I don't feel worthy to be part of this little band, but - selfishly, I might add, I try to "ride their wake", and having to stand besides them has made me go deeper into my own work.
Sometimes, I just have to marvel at how lucky I am that I found storytelling, and that I have the opportunities to watch such skilled people work, read and hear deep tales of our ancestors, and watch the effect of the magic of stories on children of many different ages. Who needs the lottery when you get to do what I do for a living??? Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-7539444589704370512014-02-13T15:11:00.001-05:002014-02-13T15:11:34.933-05:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD: STORYTELLING AND THE MIDDLE SCHOOL ROMANCE I have to admit that even as a tween and teenager, I never got the allure of the type of boy I'll call "the pretty boy". You know the type - they are usually slight of build, but big of hair. Think Justin Beiber, before his spiral of lawlessness, or those guys from "One Direction" (although, if you put on their song "That's What Makes You Beautiful" I will dance EVERY TIME!) Even then I liked a guy who looked like a MAN as opposed to a BOY - not that any male at all was looking at me in those years!!! But, OMG - do the girls love them!!!
In an English as a Second Language class I am telling stories in all this year, there is a classic "pretty boy" (from now on our refer to him as PT) - eyelashes that all the girls both want, and like to gaze at, a thick head of well cut hair, and a self confidence that makes the crowded halls of a middle school part like the Red Sea. And, of course there are the girls - lots of them - all wanting to sit by him, run their fingers through his hair, get him to brush their shoulder with his hand.
In this particular class our PT had two girls vying for his affections - one a cheerleader - her long, long hair adorned with sparkly clips and bows. The other a scholar - in a class of students with limited English, it is she who knows enough English to help others, and tries hard to read a new language that mostly does not make any sense! For weeks I watched as our PT sat between both of the young ladies, gazing at the cheerleader, before asking the scholar for help with his school work. The girls seemed to hold each other no malice, and they laughed with each other at the adorable little things he did and said, but one day when I entered the classroom, I noticed something was VERY much different.
It was almost like a boxing ring - in one corner it was the PT and the cheerleader, and, as far away as she could possibly get while staying int the classroom was the scholar - her arms crossed, eyes down, scowl on her normally sweet face. I would have had to be in a coma not to realize what has taken place since my last visit - the cheerleader had won. But what the cheerleader had taken in this little contest was not just the PT, it was the scholars self confidence as well. Where normally her hand would raise and wave to tell me she understood the story, or knew the answer, or would translate another students Spanish, so I could understand it, today she just almost laid there, present in body, but definitely not in spirit. My heart broke for her, and I wanted to yell,"Don't let this define you!! Do you know how many guys like that will come and go in your life?? Do you realize how amazing you are - having come to a new country, and having to learn a language from scratch??" But I couldn't, I could only hope that one day, she would see herself as I and her teacher saw her, and realize that the PT wasn't even worth her time.
But then, a wonderful thing happen. My plan that day was to tell a "silent story", where I would mime a short story, and then have them tell me, in English if they could, what they thought the story was. The students did really well, clearly they were all able to visualize the tale, and most were able to , with help, tell me what is they imagined. The scholars take on the story was both imaginative and sweet - she not only captured the facts of the story, but the spirit and meaning behind it as well. I told them that I was going to take one of their versions of the silent story and enhance it a bit, and tell it to them the next time I came, AND I wanted them to vote who's story they liked the best. They wrote their choice on little pieces of paper, which I placed in a hat, and as I pulled scrap after scrap their was one name that showed up on all but two papers - the scholars!!! She smiled for the first time that day, as I announced her name, and I made her take a bow, as all the class - PT, and the cheerleader included chanted her name.
Because of the snow, I have not been back yet, to enact the scholars story, but I look forward to it, and hope to give one of the best tellings of my life. Having me tell her story may not soothe the ache she feels when she looks across the classroom, and sees the PT and the cheerleader together, but maybe, just maybe, as she hears me speak her words, she'll be reminded of how much she has to offer, and what she is daily accomplishing in her new life, and that life is A LOT more than pretty boys!!!Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-73612098687824047432013-12-28T17:19:00.001-05:002013-12-28T17:19:19.532-05:00Notes From the Field: No-Imaginationitis<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In the world of clown, literal thinking is funny. You tell a clown to duck, and they start quacking, you say, “Split!”, and they try to do one; and we all know what happens when the words “walk this way” are used. Comedy like that plays on the fact that there are subtleties, that there can be more than just one meaning to a word or an expression, and that sometimes a phrase can have a connotation that seemingly has no relationship to the actual words used. How many of us have actually been in a ship, much less with someone else, and yet say, “I’m in the same boat.” The words and phrases are a stand in for something else, symbols that our minds de-code and then understand.
Sounds complex - this “decoding”, doesn’t it? So how do those of us who don’t work in the military cipher division figure this stuff out? The imagination. That lovely little (or hopefully, not so little)e part of our mind that sees between the lines, interprets that there’s more than black and white, and creates what is not literally there. We all have them, but just like some of us have not been acquainted with our psoas muscle in a while (it’s the BIG muscle that wraps around from your lower back, into your groin, and connects the top of you to the bottom half of you, and is used in every step you take), they are woefully under used. And like a muscle which is not worked out, the imagination can wither.
I wish I could say that I see this withering only in adults, but sadly, what moves me to write about this now is that I have seen it at younger and younger ages. Just today, I saw a child of seven or so not able to pretend to be ANYTHING they wanted. More, and more, I see a sort of deadness of the imagination, that makes me want to jump inside their brains and paint messy, out of the line pictures, OR dress up like a loin and ROAR!!!! What frightens me is not that, “Gee, this kid is never going to be able to imagine enough to be in their school play, or write a short story for a homework assignment.” It’s that without the ability to see more than what is evident and literal; these kids grow up missing so much of life. To quote the Little Prince “That which is essential is invisible to the eye.” To not be able to take the folktales that the ancients have blessed us with, and think just because they may not be “true”, makes them less real is a – and I know I’m using a heavy word for this, but I feel it – TRAGEDY!
In our work at the Morristown Juvenile Detention Center and Shelter, we four storytellers, see it over and over again. We watch these young people listen to our tales, with more attention that I get any place else I perform – and that is no lie – but they are unable to understand that while there may not be a real mystical tree, or demon with ten heads, or a place where people’s wishes come true, it doesn’t mean that these stories have nothing to do with their lives. Time and time again, we are astonished that these bright young people, seem unable to make the leap that the dark woods may not be an actual forest, but perhaps represents a place inside oneself that is somber, cold, and sad, or that the old woman at the side of the road offering wisdom might be the voice you hear inside of yourself, called your intuition.
Just last month, in THE MOST uncomfortable storytelling sessions I have ever had (and may it always stay the MOST uncomfortable), a young man – bright and articulate, could not see the metaphors and symbolism in the stories to such a degree, he was angry at us for wasting his time, and, I felt he was saying, lying to him. My fellow storyteller (Paula Davidoff), and I tried – she a lot more clearly than I - I have to say, to get him to understand the meanings and connections that could be found in the stories he had RAPTLY listened to, but the more we talked, the more he pushed back. For him there was no “grey” – all black and white.
That conversation did two things to me – it saddened me, and then, in the same way I have always responded since I was a teen, and was told to do something I didn’t want to do – it made me more determined! It made me see, even more, the value of storytelling and folktales, and it reinforced in me a sense of purpose. I’m not a shrink, a social worker, a classroom teacher, or a guidance counselor, but I am an AVID user of my imagination, and I intend to use that skill to reach who I can, whenever I can. It may not always work, we tellers may not always break through, but as I watch this epidemic of “no-imaginationitis”, I know I have to do something, and luckily for me I have the ammunition of the fabulous folktales from a multitude of lands to use. And I know that out there, there are storytellers, librarians, teachers, moms, dads, aunties, and grandparents that take up this cause. So, here are my closing words to those of you who see the spread of “No-imaginationitis” in our fine land. Take the kids you can and reach in and draw them out – dance, paint, read, dress up, EXPRESS!! Imagination is not a skill that should go the way of the dinosaurs. Let’s help kids evolve into human beings with rich, colorful imaginative inner lives, that will lead them to deep, meaningful outer lives.
(Got a little preachy there at the end, I know, but I believe it all. Thanks for reading!!!)
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-13679349159708042912013-11-13T15:22:00.002-05:002013-12-02T22:59:40.208-05:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD: WRAPPING UP MY THAILAND ADVENTURE!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When I told my friend Peety I was going to Thailand, he looked at me, and said with an intense earnestness, “Stay as long as you can!!” While I had been excited to go before, I became intrigued as to what would make him, a man who has travelled A LOT, make such a statement, but now, as I write this, soaring in the air away from the “Land of Smiles”, I can truly say that I get it.
How do I sum up my two and half weeks in this place of tuk-tuks (little motorized rickshaw-like taxis), wats (temples), night markets, and long boats? Do I tell of the humility and devotion that permeate this land that is so largely Buddhist, that every home, business, even taxi stand has a shrine, and where the sight of orange clad monks is as commonplace as the sight of people with their hands in a position of prayer. Every hello – sawadee – is said with palms touching in front of the heart, and with a bowed head, almost always with that sweet, sweet smile, that the Thai people are so well known for; instantly putting one physically in the beautiful position of being not above anyone, but of saying, “I wish you well, I wish you happiness, how can I help you??”
Do I try to describe the serenity in each and every wat, which (along with 7-11s and, funnily enough donut shops in Bangkok) are EVERYWHERE! Glittering with gold, mosaics, and statues of the Buddha, Garuda - the king of the birds, and the elephant head god Ganesh pulling one’s mind towards the great stories behind these devotional works of art, and lifting ones heart to something greater than oneself?
And then there are the children I performed for!!! In schools that have the buzz of learning emanating so powerfully from them that I felt inspired from the second I walked on the grounds. Children who are so kind, and, well “good” –and I don’t mean their behavior – which was VERY good – but I mean a deep kindness and sweetness, that all kids have, but sometimes gets lost at about age 10 or so. These students, from the two year olds I sang and was silly for, to the teenagers I worked with on their school play – were so willing to embrace what this lady with the short hair, and the fast talk from the USA had to offer. They let me into their world – and, heck, disrupt their world, as I asked them to get loud in their vocal and bodily responses (not something commonly done in the East, I quickly learned). Being someone who spends 90% of her time with kids, I am ALWAYS awed by the lessons they teach me – and once again, this group of young people taught me about humanity – that we are all more alike than different – the stories that hit home in NYC, hit home in Thailand, in Argentina, and in India – what makes us laugh is the same in Haiti, as it is in China. If only we could all remember that little fun fact.
And, because this was “work” (and how freakin’ lucky am I that this is my job!!!) there was that lovely, intense what I call “cheese cake” feeling – when you are deeply immersed, and things are full and rich like even a small bite of cheese cake – for I was asked to perform my stories, multiple times a day to groups as young as three years old, and as old as eighteen year olds, give workshops in storytelling, creating character and setting, and in one instance giving an impromptu yoga class to a group of 11 year olds!! And as a bonus to this storytelling tour – I also got to do my other job – I got to clown without language (my favorite way to clown!!) for hospitalized children, adults, and for a group of preschoolers – some of which come from VERY impoverish communities. Oh the joy of doing a show with the beautiful imaginary of the language of folktales, and then switching to the chaotic playfulness of physical comedy – but the basis of these two art forms I love is the same – human contact and presence in the moment. Only with those two skills can I connect with an audience with words, or without.
But, if I had to choose just one thing to say about my time in Thailand, it would be the people that I met along the way. There was Ellie and Dick – a couple from Kanas City, who, after spending three weeks doing work with an elephant conservation group north of Bangkok, were now taking some time to sight see. Then there is Edward, a clown from Liverpool, who has found a passion helping refugee children in Thailand by bringing them supplies regularly, and, making them laugh with his shows. (check out his foundation – gohappiness.org – you will be moved). There was Hal and Sue, who my husband and I met while at the Bangkok Doll Museum searching for my “gift doll” for my mom (can’t come back into the country without adding to her collection!), Hal, a long time doctor for the CDC, retired, but now back at work helping fight dengue fever, and Sue, a long time nurse. Angela, a full time volunteer for a group called icare Thailand (icarethailand.com) – who set up my clowning visits to pediatric and cancer hospitals, and then flew off to help flood victims. Grant, a young man from Australia, who, with his wife – who’s name I am ashamed I can’t remember, has worked for aids organizations throughout his college years. Joe, the manager of the hotel restaurant where we stayed a few nights – who just about cried when talking about his deep love for his country. Eric and Kevin, a deaf couple, who every single year make the time to travel for a month or more, finding ways to afford to feed their wanderlust, and use technology to help them communicate with a largely hearing world – and who this year, were happily celebrating their recent marriage, after being together for years!! And, then there’s the people of the Mercy Center (mercycentre.org) – an organization that has projects helping everyone from AIDS/HIV patients, to homeless kids, to the elderly, to giving scholarships to promising university students (one now works for them, and was my guide to their FABULOUS pre-school program!) I have been so inspired by the goodness, and commitment that I have seen in the people that I have met here, that I just want to run and give of myself as much as I possibly can!
The two most special people that I encountered on this voyage were people who I already knew – one is my life partner, my best friend, my support system, my husband – who braved the heat and humidity he DETESTS, to join me from day one on this tour. He did my laundry, organized our sightseeing, strived to make sure I ate something other than my protein bars at meals, told me time and time again, “You’ll be great!” when I was nervous about any of the performances or workshops. I am always a little too proud of my independence, and on this tour, I was, once again, reminded I live my life with A LOT of help from the man, who for some odd reason, not only puts up with me, but loves me.
I have saved my last comments for the woman who made all this possible – Sonia Zivkovic, who chose me to be the very first storyteller of her brand new company Pana Wakke (it means brother-sister). To create a company at all is a daunting task, much less one that deals with different countries, languages, schools, charities, and those weird beings called storytellers, and so what she has pulled off in a mere matter of months, is truly astonishing. The fact that she also wanted to include, not just performances for pay, but charity shows (the ones I did in the hospitals and the pre-school) speaks to who she is as a human being – she wishes to leave a positive impact everywhere she goes. She was constantly asking me if I was happy, and what she could do for me and my husband – when I am the one who should have been saying that to her! In asking me to be the first, in what I hope will be many artists to bring their tales to Asia, I was honored that she was entrusting her “baby” to me, and so I tried with all my might to give the best that I had to offer – they all truly deserve that, and much more.
I will see my friend, Peety in a few days, and I will tell him he was very, very right, and to all of you reading this, if you ever go to Thailand, take it from Peety and me – STAY AS LONG AS YOU CAN!!!
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-49104059203315544882013-11-06T05:33:00.001-05:002013-11-06T05:33:40.283-05:00Notes from the field: Opening the Imagination in Thailand<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I have just come from a day where I fed, petted, rode, and was hugged by an elephant, and literally lay down with a tiger - if that sounds crazy to you - think about my brain right now! I have clearly, always had an active imagination - sometimes I wish I could be less interested in my inner world, and more enchanted by the outer realms - especially when it comes to cleaning and balancing checkbooks - but "seeing" things like talking animals, fairies, castles that float in the air, have, frankly, never been a problem for me. To be able to see what is not necessarily tangible is easier to me than to comprehend things like why people are so awfully mean to each other, or why drivers think honking their horns REALLY is helpful to anyone. So, it is coming as a surprise to me just how much Thailand is stretching out a muscle I thought was already well used.
The colors here - vibrant and bold, give my brain something to chew on for the next time I tell a story of a market place or bazaar. The graceful sway of the elephant as they walk, will forever inform the way these pachyderms will live in my body. And tigers - never again will they be portrayed as evil beasts who just want to sneak up on and devour other creatures. No, now I will give them - even if in the story they are going to ear everyone in sight - the dignity, and respect, these kingly beasts truly deserve. And the temples - I have always loved places of worship, no matter what the faith. It seems that man is able to do his best work, when he is remembering that there is a higher power than himself - no matter what he may call it. The many Buddhist shrines and temples are a feast of color, and light, and serenity, that I not only need, but can infuse into many a tale.
With all this at their fingertips, it is interesting that one of the things I have been asked to do at the schools where I am telling stories is to "open their imaginations". To help the children be able to conjure up magical lands and beings for their writings. I REALLY don't want to join the "modern technology is destroying our brains" band wagon - but in this instance - it's pretty true. The fact that the children here are so sucked into their devices that they miss what I, in only a week have seen, speaks volumes. Yes, of course, computer sciences are key in this day and age, and goodness knows that I hope these kids take to math better than I did - but not at the expense of the worlds that are to be found in their imaginations! But, of course, children don't need much help digging into those places where fantasy live, they just need a little prompt, and that has been my job. And, it is one I have been relishing!!!
My time here has been filled with stories I haven't told much, but have been falling in love with, the story of three magical wishes - where the magic comes from fairies, but also from the love between a couple. The mystical happenings of objects that three brothers find, and how they can save the life of a princess they all love, but ultimately, only one can marry - with the backdrop of Thailand as my guide, I have found deep inspiration in my work.
It has been a joy to watch kids laugh at, and be engaged by these tales, and it was AMAZING to see students and staff embrace Halloween - a holiday, because of the costumes, candy, and color orange I ADORE!! But, even more than the tellings, have been the workshops with the children, in which they visualized magical forests, and, after describing them to their groups, created them with their bodies. There were rocks made out of diamonds, cakes containing monsters, animal-eating grasses. Teachers were fairies, narrators, and loving guides in these fun filled, boisterous romps into the inner rooms of the mind.
And speaking of these teachers, and their wonderful administrators - they get it- I mean they get that it's not just the traditional "in the box" schooling that children need. I have fallen in love with these teachers here, largely ex-pats, who see education as their calling, and see that teaching to a child in a holistic way is the road to a truly well educated student. I was thrilled to here them talk about Robert Coles, who said the thing I MOST agree with about education "Parents need to ask not is my child smart, but HOW is my child smart!" "Soft" subjects like the arts, give kids a chance to be intelligent, feeling, creative in ways that other subjects do not. Imagination and self expression are tools that everyone needs, and for this generation, who may grow up with the world a mouse click away, but never actually speak to a real in person "friend" - they are skills that need to be developed.
One of the students asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I LOVED that question, because it meant to me that I didn't look like I was "working", that I was just at play - and I was! I try to be grateful for the gifts of imagination and creativity, and on this trip to Thailand, as I bow my head before all those altars, I have been offering up my most favorite prayer (as inspired by the writer Anne La Mott) "please don't let me be a jerk!" but also "thank you, Universe for the gift of IMAGINATION!!"
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-78575476422255876062013-10-29T10:53:00.000-04:002013-10-29T10:53:54.712-04:00NOTES FROM THE FAR OF FIELD: THAILAND!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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You know, sometimes I have to pinch myself! I have just finished a day in a school where I did two performances, two workshops, and watched a rehearsal by a group of students in THAILAND!!! Yes, Thailand - land of elephants, Pad Thai, and from what I have experienced today - wonderful students, teachers, and schools. I am here on a two and a half week tour with the company Panna Wakke to tell stories in English to students here who are studying English, and in the case of two of today's groups - theatre.
What a JOY to walk into the St. Andrew's school here in Bangkok, and see an administrative office, where you have to take off your shoes to come in! How amazing it is that this school so clearly prizes the arts there is a professional like "black box" theatre, and an equally astonishing dance studio, as well as an art room full of light, inspiration quotes, and the creative outpouring of students. But, as we all well know, pretty rooms, and the latest in technology do not an educated child make! Great learning can certainly be helped by many, many things - and in this age of technological advances, it would be foolish not to strive to give students the best possible supplies that can be provided. BUT still, and always, what makes the learning real, meaningful, and lasting, are the one thing, that no computer can ever replace - TEACHERS!
The staff that I met at today's school were clearly dedicated - no one had been there less than 6 years, and every teacher was deeply and fully ENGAGED! Every moment they were present to look after their charges, try to help make things as best as they can, an actively listened and watched my performances and workshops. It was such a pleasure for me, to see their faces int the crowd - alert to put out any "forest fires" that might arise, but relaxed as they enjoyed the show. They treated me with such respect and friendliness that I truly felt like I was, as they say, and "honored guest".
Anybody that know me, knows what I think of teachers - that they are a rare and special breed of people, who do the MOST IMPORTANT job there is - and what a delight for me to see these superheros for our children, our future, doing this tremendous job oh so well in this magical place called Thailand. More to come on this journey, I am sure
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-20795081324056379522013-08-20T18:56:00.002-04:002013-08-20T18:56:49.734-04:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD: I DO TELL STORIES TO TEENAGERS!!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It is a question that I have now come to expect. It is usually accompanied by the most adorable looks, as people search, oh, so politely for a way to tell me I'm insane. I can just picture the images that are in their head. Of me, standing in front of a group of teenagers who are rolling their eyes, and laughing at me - not in a "she's so funny" way, but a "she is SOOOOO lame!!" way. And the more I try to assure them I'm okay, they only seem to get more worried about me! It's very sweet - and I get where they are coming from - teenagers can be, well, let's just say it - MEAN! The whole mean girl thing is not an urban legend - in those years when hormones are running wild, and being seen in the right clothes with the right people, doing the right things is the ONLY thing that matters - there can be some pretty nasty behavior - just ask my mother! But, despite that, and, in some ways because of it, I can ask the query posed to me with so much worry - YES, I do tell to teenagers - and, this may be a shocker - REALLY like it!!!!
And here is one reason why: The past two school terms I have one of a team of storytellers who have gone twice a month to a Youth Detention Center - that's right, not just teenagers - incarcerated teenagers. But, before you too, either give me the "you're crazy" look, let me tell you that it has given me some of the most profound experiences I have ever had as a storyteller, and just recently, I saw that, not only did the stories make an impact when these young people were in jail, it meant something to them after they got out.
I have written before about the intense attention, and amazing listening that I, and the other three storytellers have received during our visits to the Detention Center - how we are all able to tell long, complex stories, that have depth and meaning, and are ripe for discussion. And discuss we do, with these young people who are no different from any other teenager -they, like all of us are flawed - both kind and unkind, wise and foolish, human beings who are perfectly imperfect. It is just that their mistakes were larger than most.
But, as attentive as these young men and women were when they were "inside" - I had no way of knowing if ms y stories, or those of the other tellers had any lasting effect. But, two weekends ago, as I was strolling through a country fair with my husband, a young man stood BEAMING before me - his baseball hat was pushed back on his head, and his eyes locked onto my face. "It is you!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe it!" As I smiled, he titled his head, "You don't remember me - do you?"
I will admit, it took me a moment to place the face - he looked much younger out of his Detention Center jumpsuit, and with an open boyish grin, but I DID remember him, how could I not, he had been in the Center longer than most, and he had always been so responsive, respectful, and friendly. Jack, our lone male storyteller, called him the kid he first connected with. Instinctively, I did what I had always wanted to do with many of them - I reached up and gave him a hug. His smile grew, as he told me had a job, but was looking for another, how he was working on his GED - so he could be a high school graduate. He pointed out his mother who was close by, and gave my husband a hardy hand shake when I introduced them. When I said we were off for the summer, but headed back in the fall, he nodded his approval, and then with one last hug, we parted.
My husband looked back, and saw him explaining to his mother just who the heck I was, but I couldn't look back, because I had tears in my eyes. I will NEVER forget the look on his face when he saw me - the brightness of his eyes, the hopefulness in his voice when he asked if I remembered him. The way he clearly wanted me to approve of what he was doing with his life now. I knew in that moment that I, and the other tellers, had made a difference in that young man's life. That, with the tool of folktales, we had been able to make a human connection in a place not exactly built on such things. I will always love the giggle of a six year old, or the way a pre-schooler, after hearing some stories will come up, and wrap their arms around my legs. But the hug I received that day, that was a treasure like in the stories I tell. One that was hidden, maybe even thought lost, but, ultimately, after some hard work, a little faith, and an open heart, was found.
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-29270661268757791912013-05-23T17:54:00.001-04:002013-05-23T17:54:37.220-04:00Notes from the field: A Shout Out to Two Schools Who ARE DOING IT RIGHT!!! So much of the time we hear about how badly schools are doing - how they are overcrowded, filled with violence and dysfunction, how learning is a joke, and teachers are frustrated and heart broken. And, yes, these conditions do exist, and, yes, we need, all of us, whether we have kids or not, need to address these issues, and ask that our public officials do the same - but this past week, I had the AMAZING, AWESOME experience of, in just one day, being in two schools that are not are not broken. Two PUBLIC schools where two committed, hard working, big hearted librarians are making a difference in the lives of the children they serve.
I know it is almost antiquated to even say,"Librarian" these days - most schools have Media Centers, and Media Specialists run them - and believe me - I am all for it, but there is something special about LIBRARIES - the place where physical books, with their heft in your hand, and the smell of those pages still reign supreme. And the keepers of these jewels where the wonders of stories both real and completely fictitious live, are some of my favorite people - librarians!!
This past week at PS122 in Queens, I told stories for the fourth year in a row to students who were well read, full of thought, and great listeners as part of their annual Read to Me Festival. Through the hard work of their school librarian Virginia Hood, the whole school is awash in stories - some through the reading of books, and some through the type of storytelling I do. This is a school where the math teacher is a former student, and hopes one day his young children attend, this is a place where eight graders, who at this time of the year have every right to be "squirrely" and ready to jump out the window on a beautiful spring day - gave me their full attention, and asked mature, thoughtful questions. It was heaven, and what really made it even better to me, is that it is a public school - a place anyone can go. Virginia's library is a place where there are clearly books for all ages, it is organized, and, though it sounds cheesey - it is filled with love.
A subway, PATH Train, and frustratingly slow car ride later, I was in Glen Rock, New Jersey at the Central School's Storytelling Festival. I had told stories over three days to the ENTIRE school as part of the kick off to their storytelling festival back in January (literally right before I left for India!) Every year for a very long time, Marcia Kaiser - the second heroine of a librarian in this tale - has a storyteller come in to tell stories to inspire the kids (for years it's been one of my favorite tellers - Julie Della Torre), and then the kids - EVERY CHILD IN THE SCHOOL learns a tale to tell. In May, they all come together to hear their "school story" a lovely folktale about friendship from Haiti called 'Tipingee". This year, since I had told stories to the whole school, I joined Julie Della Torre (we like to call ourselves Julie Squared) to perform "Tipingee" in front of the entire school. It was such an incredible experience to see the whole school clap their hands, and sing the refrain that runs through this story that they have heard and loved so very, very much. After we told came my favorite part of this amazing day - the children broke out into groups, and they TOLD STORIES TO US!!
Marcia was genius in that it isn't just one grade together - we had second graders with fourth grades, third graders who had listened to the first graders earlier. The way the students supported and listened to their peers was the sweetest thing I had ever seen. It was the way we should all listen to other people - with respect and attention, showing that everyone, be they younger or older than us has something valuable to say.
I had to run to the third part of my day then - teaching a yoga class - but my heart was full with gratitude that I got to be part of both of these celebrations of things I love: stories, books, children, libraries, librarians and STORYTELLING!!! Thank you Virginia, thank you, Marcia - you are proving that libraries matter, that storytelling educates, as well as entertains - you are making a difference!!
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-14601406616319344052013-03-20T13:32:00.001-04:002013-03-20T13:32:28.300-04:00Notes from the Field - A Very Wanted Child
You know that expression - if I had a nickel for every time I...then I'd be RICH!! Well, if I had even a quarter of a penny, for every time I read or told a story that began "There once was an older couple who's only wish was to have a child..." I'd be having tea with Warren Buffet and Bill Gates, and picking up the tab!! The motif of an older childless couple comes up again and again in folktales, and almost always, that child born of that intense longing and love turns out to be special - brave, wise, and strong. He or she becomes a hero - doing some task, taking on some journey, not for themselves, but for others. They are loved, not just by their parents, but by others, and many times by the king, who showers then with gifts.
I have been thinking a lot about this motif lately, as I watched my brother at 53, and his wife at 51, adopt their first child. At an age when most folks are taking the money they have saved and planning where they will go, what adventures they will have, Robby (my brother), and his joy filled wife Helen, who only married two years ago are blazing a different path - they are opening their lives and their hearts to my newest nephew, Joey.
As I gazed down at this latest nephew of mine (now my score is - including those I married into - nieces: 7, and nephews: 7 - even!!!) I couldn't help but think, that I was holding a future hero - and how could he not be? A child that loved, that wanted is as blessed as any child in any of the stories that I tell. Fairy Godmothers may not have flown into his room, and sat by his crib, but the love that surrounded him, as he was introduced to his family, beats any magical wand in my opinion.
And so now - whenever I pick up a folktale collection, and read those words, "There once was an couple, that everything they wanted except a child." I will think of little Joseph Alexander, who has fulfilled the wishes of my brother and his wife, and by giving them someone to love, has become their hero!!Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-42258493721169958212013-02-10T16:09:00.001-05:002013-02-10T16:09:15.643-05:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD: INDIA!!
Why I got all the way to India, and skipped the Taj Mahal, and other realizations – big and small.
I have to get this out there, because before I left on this two week pilgrimage to India, I would ALWAYS say, “And, I’m going to see the Taj Mahal, because when will I ever be back here!” I said it time, after time, after time. Friends probably already had room in their draws for the “My friend went to the Taj Mahal, and all she brought me back was this lousy tee shirt!” souvenir they envisioned me bringing them. Oh, yes, I would say, I’ll snap a photo in front of it – maybe even with a red nose on, while doing a yoga pose, so that I could use it as next year’s holiday greeting.
But, a few days ago, into my second week of this trip, I realized, that I would have to let that side trip to the Taj Mahal go – and that I was perfectly fine with it, because there were more important things that I wanted to see, do, and experience than just a pretty building. Having been in India for almost two weeks now, I can honestly say that I don’t feel the Taj, represents the India I have seen in any way – yes, it’s beautiful, and India is bathed in beauty – but not like that.
As most everyone knows India is a land of contrasts – Bollywood and slums, call centers and beggars, garbage all over the place and women in the most beautiful saris and outfits imaginable. In the cities, the call of the car horn is a constant, as is the clearing of phlegm from the throat. And in the countryside, the out stretched thin arms are everywhere. Yes, it’s all true – but what is also true, is the beauty – a luster that is more than cosmetic. It is in the way, the poorest of the poor will offer you the delicious hand made bread (the only thing they will eat that day), with a warm smile on their face. The way the women, adorned in their saris, bangles, and earrings – whirl with their hands in the air as drums and bells sound. It’s in the bold color of the buildings, and the way the people push their way to the front of their temples, to see the altar – almost the way people in America reach out for a rock star. It’s in the music - the deep riffs, and drum beats that defy you to do anything but move your body. India is life at it’s fullest – it is brave and it is bold, and it challenges you, and if you take the leap, you will be rewarded for it.
I will leave here in two days not having seen the Taj Mahal – it is true – but I will have: been at a flower festival – where all during the day men and women work to assemble the most gorgeous and fragrant flower garlands, and then later watch them rain down on worshippers at a temple, until there is a mush pit of dancing and whirling in a pile of petals that were up to my ankles. Danced and sang through the streets, and have people not only be okay with it, but join in, and take my hand, and lead me in their dances. Worn a sari – not easy to do – and dance away in it – without it falling off – even harder to do. Been to the home of one of my personal idols, the great soul and Indian, Mahatam Ghandi, and read his letter to ask Hitler to stop his ways before it was too late. Sang kirtan (a call and response type of chanting) in temples that were ancient and sweet, or new and bright. Sat at the feet of swamis – real ones – and heard their teachings about being compassionate, and loving. Gone to a school, where children – especially girls – who are the POOREST of the poor, are given a safe haven, a meal, and an education. There I got to clown and tell stories for several groups of kids, serve them lunch, and hopefully help the life of a little girl who I will now sponsor, so that she can stay in school, and hopefully avoid an early marriage. I have also gotten to know – at least a little bit, the wonderful people who are in this little group – caring, inquiring souls all, who floor me with their compassion and devotion to wanting to open themselves up to something greater than themselves.
And, of course, I heard stories – stories of the many deities in the Indian pantheon – told on starlit nights in a hidden little temple, and on hillsides, while a bright eyed elderly woman offered us her only food, and on the roof of a cow barn, as candles twinkled in their banana tree holders. Stories not told by “professional storytellers” – but some of the most astonishing tellings I’ve ever witnessed – because they were from the heart.
In India, people don’t think of their tales as “fiction” – they believe that legends, really do live up to their real meaning, which is “that which is said to be true” – and these “lilas” as they are called, are believed to still be happening in places – just beyond our view, and only those who have eyes to see them can view the wonder of this world, where baby Krishna has the universe in his mouth, or Hanuman leaps to Sri Lanka, carried by his father the wind god. As morning after morning dawned in a dense fog, I could feel, that if I but only steeped myself more in this mysterious land, I would be able to see the people, animals, and gods that populated these tales – and some nights, like one two nights ago, as I was zipping through the night on a rickshaw, I thought I did – where those women just walking, or were they the “gopis” – the cowherd girls, I have heard about in the “lilas”?
India is a place that stretches the imagination, the mind, and the soul– it breaks your heart to see the poverty, but it humbles you the way people will give you the food out of their mouths, because you are a visitor. It makes you feel fortunate that you have water that you can drink, and electricity that is pretty reliable, but it also makes you feel foolish about the things you whine about – including rats (they may be in the NYC subways, but they won’t go after your bananas or sunglasses, like the monkeys here will!). The Indian people are bold and brave, and live not with themselves in the center of their own lives, but always, always, putting others first. The stories I heard were all about love, and ways to be more loving.
While I’ve been here, I have seen so much, felt so much, that TRULY, HONESTLY, REALLY – I feel like my trip has been rich and complete, without seeing the Taj Mahal. And, there is one other reason I can get on that plane back home with no regrets – I KNOW that one day, I WILL BE BACK!
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-21980601477391426732013-01-23T12:44:00.001-05:002013-01-23T12:44:57.406-05:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD: TO "W" - YOU'RE IN MY THOUGHTS
Considering I am in between tellings at this REALLY sweet elementary school, on the day before I am leaving for two weeks to India, there are a lot of things I SHOULD be doing. I SHOULD be finding out why my mailing list seems to have disappeared from this computer (luckily, it's backed up, but still - where the heck did it go??) I SHOULD be reading more about this exotic, full bodied place that I am about to plunge myself into. And, maybe I SHOULD be writing about the AMAZING librarian who is organizing this three day residency I am in the middle of (and I will - Marcia Kaiser - YOU ROCK!!!) But, for this moment, my fingers want to type about a kid, and I say kid intentionally, that I saw two weeks ago. A KID, that has been the guest of the Morris County Youth Detention Center for quite some time, and when he leaves there will be going to an adult facility for a LONG time (read: years, not months. read: he will be a full grown man when he gets out)
"W" I will call him, captured my heart from the very first. He is the kid who is smart, though maybe not educated, a great listener, though he is careful not to show you just how much, and full of insight and wisdom, that I am afraid he and the rest of the world will never really realize. He listens to my stories with the "side of his eyes" sometimes, looking forward, but I can see his eyes slide to my face and hands, I notice the grins, the laughs, and the way he looks at his "pod mates" when he finds things particularly interesting or funny. He is the "alpha" in that group, but not because he puts it upon the others, it is just they all, as I do, feel his inner power, his intelligence, his "something else". The head of the education department that brings myself, as well as four other storytellers into this Center, said of him, "He's the one you wish you could have gotten to earlier." Because, no matter his behavior now, he has done so many "bad" things, his dye is cast - when he turns 18 in the spring, I will tell him his last story, and he will be gone to a "regular jail", where it is my fear he will only grow better at the things that got him in trouble in the first place.
It is for him that I prepare my stories and my follow-up activities. In a desperate attempt, I suppose to warp him in my stories, so that maybe, maybe he can hang on to a few nuggets of the imagination for GOOD, that he so clearly has. To help visualize, even just for a breath or two, a world that is not bars, and jump suits, and mandatory lights out. I try to show all the young men and women that I will not judge them, that I see only their humanness,and not their crime, but it is on him, without a question, that I want my words to most fall.
He teased me once, when I said too often that I was glad to see the young men in his "pod", but not to see them HERE. 'Julie," he said, with a smirk. "Come up with another line!" He was right. In my wanting them to know that I SAW them, I made a bad joke worse. And, so I don't say that anymore. When I see him, still there, I just say, 'Hey", and I nod, and I tell my story the best way I can. And, I watch him connect with it, with the sides of his eyes. Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-91278264643547042272012-12-25T13:40:00.000-05:002012-12-25T13:40:28.373-05:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD: Imagine That! I've never been shy about using my imagination. I love giving it a workout as much as I love feeling my quads burn after a nice long cardio session on the stairmaster. I love imagining what the characaters in the tales I tell look like, sound like, move like. I walk down the street dreaming up ways to entertain the kids in the hospital, special gifts for my husband and friends, ways to indulge in the travel that I so love, on a performer/yoga teacher salary. What I come up with may not always be the best, but I have no problem going back to the drawing board of my mind, time and time again, and creating something new, something different, something unique. My brain does not like sameness, or repeating, so sometimes, even when I want to "rest" my grey matter, I simply cannot shut off (even with a lot of yoga!) the little voice that says "What if you???"
And so, I've always been a little sad when I've heard people say, "I don't have an imagination." Oh course, it's not true, we all have them - but like a muscle we never use, this fabulous thing called our imaginations can get flabby and weak, if we don't use it. We stop letting our minds soar, and so they become grounded - and not in a good way, but in a stuck way, in a "if it's not in front of my face, it can't possibly be" way. It used to be that this type of they call "in the box" thinking was the domain of adults alone, but lately, I have begun to see more and more children, even as young as seven or eight, leave the land of make believe behind for the land of literal and linear, and I'll say it - drab!!
In folktales all sorts of fantastical things occur - animals talk, the sun and moon live as brothers on earth, and in the sky at the same time, young men turn into bears - it breaks my heart, when I hear a kid say, "Yeah, but that can't really happen!" or "That never happened!"
Says who?????
Who's to say what happened in that time of long, long ago? We know there were dinosaurs - how unbelievable in a way are they - creatures like giants, with huge claws and teeth - are some of the things in stories anymore believable that that? I sit here typing on a tiny keyboard, that will somehow connect me to people around the world - how believable would that have been to my ancestors? Of the fact that I can speak to my friends in Argentina - not just hear their voices, but see their faces as well, or that a big metal bird can fly through the sky with hundreds of people in it?
All of the things that we use without thought today, were once, just figments of the imagination. They were all the unlikely dreams of someone at sometime who were not afraid to use the inquisitiveness we are all born with. And that, is the power of the imagination. Yes, it's nice I can use that part of my brain to bring a character to life, but an even more important use of my brain was the way I thought of being a storyteller in the first place. The day I dared to say, "What that lady - Carmen Deedy - is doing on that stage - I can do that!" And once I conjured it to my brain, I began the process of making it come to be, just as Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and all those guys, first saw our technology in their heads, and they worked to bring it to fruition.
As I stood in front of a college class recently, and talked about why stories are so important, the importance of imagination in building ones life came to me in a flash. I said to them that until we can imagine something more than we see, how can we ever hope to have more than what we see, more than just the status quo, more than what we have been born into and see around us? Yes, work will be involved - hard work, and maybe failure, too, but before we can know any of that, we first must see it in our heads. We must have the blue print, the road map, that our imaginations can give us.
And that is why, I love folktales and fairytales, because it says to our imaginations, "Yo, get off the couch and start working out!!" It's like the exercise that you do that doesn't feel like exercise, it just feels like you are doing something engaging and fun, that, oh, yeah, just happens to be good for you. Having an imagination isn't just for kids, and certainly isn't babyish or childish, it is essential. It's like the ABCs of building a life, without it you can't even begin to bring into existence all that might be within you, and that would be a waste, and a shame.
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-69983296981818149582012-11-05T20:30:00.000-05:002012-11-05T20:30:28.226-05:00Notes from the Field: Patience, Patience, Patience I am oh, so happily sitting in a lit room, with heating drumming it's way up the pipes, three days after Hurricane Sandy knocked the NY/NJ area on it's ear, and every day pleasantries right out of my apartment. I try really hard to remember to be grateful for the "little things" - light, plumbing, drinkable water. Each time I have returned from Haiti, I am always ACUTELY aware of just how blessed not just I, but EVERY American is. But, after a little while the sense of entitlement seeps right back in, and I find myself becoming annoyed if the train is a tad late, or if - GOD FORBID, my cellphone acts a little strangely. I forget that things I take for granted, are not rights, they are perks - privileges that I should constantly be thankful for, and in awe of.
So, I look at the past three days, and to however long it takes to restore my beloved PATH and subway service back to their under appreciated, but when you really think about it AWESOMENESS, as a time to cultivate that most important of qualities - gratitude. And, I will try really hard to be the model of patience, as people who have far more skills and knowledge than I do, work their tails off to restore a mass transit system that allows people like me to zip in and around the area, car free, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, for just a few dollars.
And so, if you see me telling stories in the next few weeks, don't be surprised if this next one comes out of my lips, because every time I tell it, I am reminded that patience is indeed a virtue. And one I need to grow in myself.
"There once was a man who returned from a war, completely changed. where once he was loving to his wife, now he barely looked at her, and spoke harshly when he did. The wife, saddened by all this, went to the town wise man. "I hear you can make potions to make someone love you again. Please, please, make such a potion for me." The wise man said he would, but to do this, he would need the woman to bring him three whiskers from a tiger. The woman left, puzzled about how she could possibly get the whiskers, and not be mauled to death. And then she came up with a plan. She went to the lair of a tiger, and placed a bowl of the richest cream some distance from the mouth of the cave, and then hid herself in the woods. When the tiger came out, it sniffed the air, but did not see her, and ate the cream. For one full week, she did this same thing. The next week, she moved the bowl of cream closer to the mouth of the tiger's lair, and when it came out, she still stood a good distance away, but she let the tiger see her. Another week passed, and she moved the bowl closer to the mouth of the tiger's cave, and she herself crept closer. Nearer and nearer both she and the cream got, as first weeks, then months passed, finally she was standing besides the tiger when it drank the cream. It gently went to the woman, and let her stroke it's great head, and as she did, she pulled three whiskers from it's face. Going back to the wise man, she proudly said, "Here are the whiskers you wanted. Now, make the potion that will make my husband love me once more." The wise man smiled, and replied, "First - tell me how you got these whiskers." And so she did, relaying in detail how she had patiently worked every day to gain the tiger's trust. And when she was done, the wise man smiled at her, and said, "And it is the same thing with your husband - you MUST have patience."
Life is full of challenges, and many of them cannot be fixed in a day, a week, sometimes not even for years - but it's in those times, instead of tearing our hair out, maybe we can begin to practice patience. If it's something we want badly enough, like the woman in the story yearning for the love of her husband, than it is surely worth the wait! Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5810411336998170089.post-83730648792019229072012-09-29T23:40:00.000-04:002012-09-29T23:40:02.670-04:00NOTES FROM THE FIELD:WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER!
There is an Aesop's fable that goes like this: a grasshopper and ant are best friends since birth. They walk together, talk together, eat and dance together. One fall day, the ant stops their fun games, and begins to gather harvest to put away for the cold winter ahead. The grasshopper does not, "There is plenty of time to do that,"he says. "Come friend, and dance with me!" But the ant warns that though it seems like winter is a long way off, it will be there before they know it, and if they don't act now, put aside food now, when the winter comes they will starve.
But, even as the ant works, and warns her friend, the grasshopper ignores her, and continues to dance. Time passes, and by and by it is winter,and one day the grasshopper realizes that there are no crops to eat, and he has not put aside a single morsel, and is doomed to starve. The only thing he can think to do is go to his dear friend, the ant, and hope she will share...
In the last month, I have had the opportunity to tell that story to several groups of pre-schooler and their teachers, care givers, and families. At this point in the story, I always stop, and poll the group. "Who thinks the ant will share her food?" I ask. And, almost every time, a sea of little hands shoot up in the air. "She'll share! Julie, she should share with her friends!" they tell me as if it is the one and only answer. Seeing their willingness to give always encourages me, and makes me smile. But one day, when I asked the adults in the room whether the ant would share or not, I was greeted with rolled eyes, and grunts of disgust. "No!" they said, practically jeering at the poor grasshopper their imaginations had conjured up. "Serves him right for not listening!" The harshness in their voices made me want to ask the question to the next group I performed in front of - and when I did, the results were exactly the same. While the children were forgiving, the adults thought the grasshopper got exactly what he deserved.
As I thought of this informal poll, a question formed in my mind - when exactly, do we begin to hold a grudge? When do we go from seeing everyone as someone worthy of a second chance, of forgiveness, to seeing others as so separate from ourselves, that even though they were life long friends, we would slam the door in their faces just because, "we told them so?"
I laugh sometimes when people say that children don't live in the "real world", when to me, it seems that it is adults that don't live in the real world. Children live only in the NOW, the present, the only time that is really "real", because the past is gone, and the future hasn't happened yet - that is why they are so willing to forgive. We see how they may look at us like we are satan when we take away a toy, but are begging for a hug five minutes later, because the moment of anger is gone - it is a new moment, and in that moment the anger is a thing of the past. It's we adults that can't let go of the past, that hold a grudge, that need so desperately to be RIGHT! Living in moments that are gone, is not living in reality - because unless there's an app on that new i-phone that I don't know about, the past is not REAL.
And more than that, when exactly do we learn - because I believe it is learned behavior - to turn our backs on our fellow living beings? When do we change from being compassionate and giving like a child, to being hard, and afraid to share, because we fear there won't be anything for us? When do we forget that we are all in this world, this life, together? Having spent A LOT of time with kids all my life,I'd say the shift begins at age 12 or so, when being like "everyone else" becomes more important than anything in the world. That is the age of cliques and "mean girls", and jocks versus geeks. It is the time of separation from the parental unit - which we need to do - but also the separation, it seems to me, to our fellow living beings.
Of course, as a friend who was a nun, and is now a teacher pointed out to me, people do need to learn accountability, and that actions have consequences, so that they won't repeat their mistakes, and that they will learn valuable life lessons. I mean, no, the grasshopper shouldn't live his life mooching off the poor little ant. But, the lessons can come with kindness, the lesson can come while a hand is being extended to help out. Because how the story ends is that the ant does in fact share, BUT, she tells the grasshopper, "Next year, you must promise that you will work just as hard as I do!" And the grasshopper does. He learns the lesson that was compassionately taught by the ant that never forgot that even thought the grasshopper made a mistake, he was always someone worth helping, simply because he was another living being.
Julie Pasqualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637998816539638548noreply@blogger.com0