UPCOMING PERFORMANCES

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

October 2010:
10/17: Madison Library, NJ 2:30PM
10/22: Devotion Yoga, Hoboken, NJ (tales plus yoga class) 7PM
10/23: Eastern Branch, Monmouth Library, Shrewsbury, NJ 11AM
10/23: Howell Branch, Monmouth Library, Howell, NJ 2PM

November 2010:
11/23: Fort Lee Library, NJ 3:45PM

December 2010:
12/11: State Theatre, New Brunswick, NJ 10AM, 12PM
12/18: New Jersey Performing Arts Center, Kwanzaa Festival, Newark, NJ 2PM

January 2011:
1/17: Unitarian Society, Ridgewood, NJ 1PM

February 2011:
2/8: Hillside Library, NJ time: TBA




So,,, where is Julie when she’s not storytelling?
She might be….Performing as Dr. Ima Confused, her character for the Big Apple Circus Clown Care hospital program at Harlem Hospital for the pediatric patients and their families. Or, you could catch her stilt walking at any number of special events. She also might be…performing as any number of characters for the Big Apple Circus Vaudeville Caravan program at the Montrose and Castle Point Veterans Hospitals. And, of course, you might find her…teaching yoga at Devotion Yoga Studio in Hoboken, NJ (mostly Monday and Friday nights, but some other times as well). And, never forget that sometimes she’s cleaning chimneys – okay, not for real – but I just looking for an ending!!!

NOTES FROM THE FIELD: "THE GIRLS"

Although I sometimes make fun of myself because of my monkey length arms, the animal I more closely have resembled for most of my life is the "lone wolf". Solitude has never scared me, in fact I have always needed more of it than most people. Often when I tell others this, they are in shock - "YOU??? Why you're so outgoing! So friendly! I don't mean to be rude, Julie, but you're so talkative!" And while all those things are certainly true (good lord, sometimes I swear I can't shut myself up!!!), it has never taken away from the fact that I NEED, and I mean NEED to be alone.
I long ago made peace with this facet of my personality, and have quite happily bowed out of parties, outings, and social doings, to spend some quality time with me, myself, and I. One of the reasons I knew my husband was the man for me is because we could be together so many hours of the day on our first vacation together, and I never once felt the all too familiar "I GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE" suffocation I quite often get when around too many people, for too long a time. But as nourishing as these personal space breaks are, they have come at a price - I don't have a lot of friends. Now before you start saying, "Awwwwww, poor Julie" - I don't mean that to say I'm lonely, and no one emails, calls, or facebooks me (ironically, on facebook, I have more friends than I truely know what to do with). What I mean is that I never had a "pack of friends", I never did roadtrips with, or went out with that group know as "THE GIRLS". In fact that type of thing was as alien to me as people who don't like Diet Peach Snapple (unheard of in my world) or working out (I know these folks exist, but how can they possibly not like to get a good sweat on?????). Even folktales containing tight friendships never registered on own my story radar, and I scoffed at stories like the Haitian tale 'Tipingee" when I heard them told - all that female bonding, come on, I would believe that Rapunzel's hair was real, and not a weave before I would buy that one.
You see, in the tale of Tipingee, a mean stepmother (sorry stepmoms everywhere, I know you get a bum rap in storyland) makes a deal with an old man. If he carries her wood, she (the stepmom) will give him her stepdaughter, Tipingee for a wife. In order to recognize her, the old guy is told what color dress Tipingee will be wearing the next day. But when Tipingee overhears this, she rushes to her group of friends and begs them to all wear the same color dress she is so as to confuse her would be kidnapper. Not only do the girls all dress alike (and we all know how embarrassing it is to come to the party wearing what others are wearing!!!!!!), they also taunt the man, all claiming that they are Tipingee. Confused and overwhelmed, the man gives up and leaves. Typical person's response: OOOOOOH, how sweet!!! Mine: OOOOOOOH, I don't think so!!!!!
But then - and there's always a "but then" moment, isn't there - I went to yoga teacher training school, and met the most amazing, welcoming, fearless women I had ever met in my life. At first, I was like I always am in groups - friendly, but not deep. Flitting around from person to person, never staying very long in a conversation, never revealing too much about myself - bubbly, fun, but pretty surface. But yoga is a funny thing, it works on more levels than any of us can truely understand - sort of the way deep wisdom tales in storytelling do, so that somewhere along the way in that year of weekends with these women, I opened up to them, I let myself be seen, and I realy saw them. We laughed and talked and giggled, but we also shared in a way that I have done with very few people in my life. They became individuals I really wanted in my life, they became "THE GIRLS". So, whereas I turned down my nose at the story of Tipingee before, I am now welcoming it into my repetoire, and I feel as if I can perform it from a place of truth, and a place that knows what a group of friends actually feels like. And each time I perform it, I will dedicate it to those women, who taught me so much about what friendship is!

Upcoming Performances

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



August 2010:
8/3: Fairfield Library, Fairfield, NJ 1PM
8/4: Franklin Lakes Library, Franklin Lakes, NJ 7PM
8/10: Franklin Lakes Library, Franklin Lakes, NJ 3PM
8/14: Hans Christian Anderson Statue, Central Park, NYC 11AM
8/21: Hans Christian Anderson Statue, Central Park, NYC 11AM
8/18: Brooklyn Public Library, Crown Heights Branch, NYC 3:30PM

September 2010:
9/10: Devotion Yoga, Hoboken, NJ (tales plus yoga class) 7PM
9/12: New Jersey Storytelling Festival, Hamilton, NJ time TBA
9/15: Maywood Library, Maywood, NJ 11AM
9/18: Afro-American Historical Society Museum, Jersey City, NJ 12PM

October 2010:
10/22: Devotion Yoga, Hoboken, NJ (tales plus yoga class) 7PM
10/23: Eastern Branch, Monmouth Library, Shrewsbury, NJ 11AM
10/23: Howell Branch, Monmouth Library, Howell, NJ 2PM


So,,, where is Julie when she’s not storytelling?
She might be….Performing as Dr. Ima Confused, her character for the Big Apple Circus Clown Care hospital program at Harlem Hospital for the pediatric patients and their families. She also might be…performing as any number of characters for the Big Apple Circus Vaudeville Caravan program at the Montrose and Castle Point Veterans Hospitals. And, of course, you might find her…teaching yoga at Devotion Yoga Studio in Hoboken, NJ (mostly Monday and Friday nights, but some other times as well). And, never forget that sometimes she’s cleaning chimneys – okay, not for real – but I just looking for an ending!!!!

UPCOMING PERFORMANCES AS OF JULY 2012

UPCOMING PERFORMANCES MANY OF MY PERFORMANCES ARE AT SCHOOLS,OR OTHER PRIVATE EVENTS, THAT I CAN'T INVITE THE PUBLIC TO. WHAT IS LISTED BELOW ARE SOME OPEN PERFORMANCES ANYONE CAN COME TO. AUGUST 2012: 8/1/12: Summit Library, NJ 3PM 8/30/12: Crown Heights Library, Brooklyn, NY 3:30PM SEPTEMBER 2012: Monroe Township Library, NJ 7PM FEBRUARY 2013: 2/23/13: Hempstead Library, NY 2PM APRIL 2013: Hoboken Library, NJ 2PM SO, WHERE'S JULIE, WHEN SHE'S NOT TELLING STORIES...WELL, SHE MIGHT BE Performing for the Big Apple Circus Clown Care hospital program bringing clowning and joy to hospitalized children, their families, and hospital staff. OR SHE MIGHT BE travelling to Haiti for Clowns Without Borders bringing physical comedy, clown, and circus skills to children and families in need. OR SHE MIGHT BE...teaching yoga at Devotion Yoga in Hoboken, NJ, OR SHE MIGHT BE walking stilts, clowning or dancing at all manner of special events. OR SHE MIGHT BE..drinking Diet Peach Snapple, her favorite beverage!!!

UPCOMING PERFORMANCES

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

May 2010:
5/9: Mother’s Day Benefit for Haiti, Scandinavian House, NYC 2PM (I’m one of several tellers)
5/19:Brooklyn Public Library, Macon Branch 4PM

June 2010:
6/21: Westwood Library, NJ 2PM
6/29: Little Egg Harbor Branch, NJ 2PM

August 2010:
8/14: Hans Christian Anderson Statue, Central Park, NYC 11AM

So...where is Julie when she’s not storytelling?

She might be….Performing as Dr. Ima Confused, her character for the Big Apple Circus Clown Care hospital program at Harlem Hospital for the pediatric patients and their families. She also might be…performing as any number of characters for the Big Apple Circus Vaudeville Caravan program at the Montrose and Castle Point Veterans Hospitals. Or she just might be…dancing and doing physical comedy with Ron Hoffman, as “Two Left Feet A Dancing Duo”. And, of course, you might find her…teaching yoga at Devotion Yoga Studio in Hoboken, NJ (mostly Monday nights, but some other times as well). And, never forget that sometimes she’s cleaning chimneys – okay, not for real – but I just looking for an ending!!!

Notes from the Field XXI

THE STORY OF A NAME

I love my name – first and last. I like the way it sounds, I like the way it’s not so unusual I was beaten up as a kid, and yet not so common that every second person has it (although, someone already had the email juliepasqual@hotmail.com before I did. Hello, whoever you are!!), and I’m really enamored of the fact that my parents didn’t go with Penelope, which, as family lore had it, is what they were STRONGLY considering. And, because I am a storyteller, I suppose I adore it because both parts of my name, come with a story.

As child number six, I can only imagine how exhausted my parents were by all aspects of parenting a newborn – especially one determined to make her arrival during the Christmas season (what can I say, I just couldn’t miss out on that fir tree smell!!!). So, maybe, that is why they turned to my mother’s mother on advice on what to name me. Nanny, which is what we called her, was Eugenie Julia Menna Mcketney, and while many people have grandmothers that are plump, and bake cookies, I was not one of them. By the time I was born, my grandmother had been a widow for a LONG time, and seemed to enjoy every second of it. She travelled to exotic lands like DISNEY WORLD, had friends that on Christmas day, did not bring gingerbread cookies, but fortune cookies, and had, until late in her eighties, as an ex-boyfriend of mine put it “GREAT legs!!”

Nanny was from that mythical land called “The Islands”, and had the music of the Caribbean in her voice. Her tales of giant bugs , and “black magic” from the tropical land she came from, frankly, freaked me out, and I don’t suppose it’s any coincidence that I have never been to any island that is outside those found in the NYC Metropolitan area. In her sing-song voice, her first name, Eugenie, was pronounced U-Jen-E, a lyric word that sounded like the warm waters from my grandmother’s homeland. But, in regular old American, it was a much harsher sounding word: U-Jean-EE – the moniker of an ancient lady, who wore moth eaten sweaters, with cream corn dribbled on her shirt. So, luckily, wanting to spare me from being a senior citizen well before my time, they went with Nanny’s middle name – dropping the “A” because she hated it. And so, I became Julie.

Now, if this were a folktale, I’d say that at that moment my die was cast, my fate determined, my life’s path laid before me at my feet. For the name Julie means youthful, and considering I grew to be a woman much more in touch with her inner child, than her outer adult, it fits me like the proverbial glove (or mitten – one of those knit stripped ones, with the clasps that connect to your coat sleeve, so you won’t lose them – see, inner child rules even in this!!) You know sometimes you might say that somebody “looks” like their name – “She LOOKS like an Olivia, don’t you think??” Well, I don’t know what anyone sees when they look at me, but I can tell you straight up, that I FEEL like a Julie. Never in a million trillion years would I change my name. (Maybe for a million trillion dollars – because, come on, I’m not stupid!!) Especially in combination with the most fascinating thing about me – my last name!!!

PASQUAL, no E at the end, please – I’m not Italian. No C instead of the Q, I’m not French (or whatever language spells a name that way). You say it PASS – QUALL – second part like the word for a sudden storm, which is what you get from me if you dare to assume I changed my name when I got married. LOVE, ADORE, ADMIRE, and CHERISH my husband, though I sincerely do, I am NOT Mrs. James Whelan. Jimmy being, well, Jimmy, replied, when I said I wasn’t going to change my name, “I never expected you to.” (See why I LOVE, ADORE, and CHERISH!!!) Nope, Julie Pasqual is who I will always be, and here is why – it is COMPLETELY FICTIONAL!!!

Now, what I’m about to tell you is 100% true – though you may think I read it in one of the many folktale anthologies I own. My grandfather on my father’s side, was left, as a baby, on a doorstep in Venezuela!!! REALLY – it’s TRUE!!! He was raised by a Dutch family who’s last name was Hobart, and, as a young man joined the Merchant Marines. One fine day, he jumped ship in New York City, and took the name Vincent Pasqual. Why??? NO ONE KNOWS!!! He married, had my dad, and died well before I was born. The kicker is, my father – the history buff, NEVER asked: why Vincent Pasqual? Why a distinctly Italian name?? Was he walking by an Italian restaurant, and his love of garlic made him want to be from the country shaped like a cool high heel boot? (Which I would totally understand, by the way – a day without garlic, is a day without sunshine, as far as I’m concerned!)

And even more interesting for me – why did he jump ship??? Was he an outlaw on the run?? Was he like Emil De Beque, from the musical “South Pacific”, who fled his homeland for a secluded island after – in his words, “I killed a man. He was a bad man. A bully. Everyone was glad to see him go.” Or, was the lure of NYC too much for young Vincent – or whatever his first name was then (again – Grandfather, I couldn’t agree more – I HEART NYC!!!) Whatever it was that made him, virtually become another person, I’m glad he did. Nothing against Venezuela, or the name Hubert, but being a native New Yorker named Pasqual, suits me to a tee.

I have my father’s easy going nature, and my mother’s energy, but I also have the ever buoyant quality of youth, that I feel was bestowed upon me by the woman who’s tales from “the islands” I still try to live up to in my own storytelling. And from my grandfather, a man I never met, I have a story for the ages, in the form of my last name.

Notes from the Field XX

Becoming a Grown Up

Pretty much anyone who has ever read a number of folk, and/or fairytales can tell you the same thing – two parent homes are in short supply in storyland. Cinderella, Hansel and Gretel, Snow White, and many far less known heroes and heroines were missing at least one parent. Scholars write that this loss of a mother or a father in stories represents the coming of age of a child, a new beginning and era for them. A time when the people who had guided them were now gone, leaving them as the leaders, the decision makers, in short, the grown-ups. Once again, the ancients who told, than wrote these timeless tales, had figured out, and expressed, something modern man thinks he (or she) is only now discovering. Namely, to quote I don’t remember who, but somebody who said, “No matter how old a person is, they are not a grown up, until they have lost a parent.”

I began thinking of my parent’s mortality about 12 years ago, when my father had the first of several strokes. Over night, or so it seemed to me, my dad went from hale and healthy, and permanently middle-aged, to sickly, frail, and a senior citizen. My mother, strong, and as full of life force as her mother (who lived into her 90’s) had been, took on an “elderly” look to me as well. But, in my life, since the time I was fourteen, there was another “parent” around, Mr. Gus Dick Andros – ballet teacher extraordinaire. Six weeks younger than my real dad, Mr. A (or Sir to his face, and the Old Man, behind his back)was “that” teacher to me. You know, the one who sees in you, what nobody else guessed was there, the one who believes in you, even before you believe in yourself, the one who’s approval comes to mean so very much to you, that you break your back to do them proud – Mr. A was that to me. In story-speak he was the wise man that the heroine meets at the side of the road while she is wandering lost. It’s he, who puts her on the right path, and gives her a gift that will take her far.

As my ballet teacher at the High School of Performing Arts I saw him five days a week, and hung on his every word and correction. His tricky combinations of steps fired up my brain, and taught me that I could pick up steps faster than most anyone else around me. I knew I wasn’t the best dancer in the room, not even close, but Mr. A rewarded my love of dance and performing, as well as my hard work, and discipline, and told stories of a dance world that was broader than just the classical ballet island I was obsessed by. He opened my eyes to what being a professional performer was really all about, and encouraged me to take the leap, and go for it.

All through my high school years, I studied with him during school hours, and weekends and evenings, too. And, after graduation, that pattern continued, if I wasn’t off performing, or in a rehearsal, I was in his class, day after day, week after week, year after year, literally growing up there. He would jokily refer to me as his daughter, and he even once told a HUGE lie to an old high school girlfriend, saying that I was his illegitimate child – a product of an affair he had with another dancer while he was doing a production of the musical “Showboat”!
But, unlike my birth parents, Mr. A, didn’t seem to grow old to me. My dad would shake his head in wonder as I would proudly tell him that Mr. A, at 60, 70, and 80 was still doing what he loved more than anything – teaching ballet. Sure, he used a cane, now, and he said during the weekends all he did was sleep, but, like a child – like his child, I didn’t see that the end of his story was looming. When his diagnosis of acute leukemia came in mid-October, I remember feeling like my stomach dropped into my feet, followed by a big old blanket of denial and disbelief. It was only in the last two weeks of his life last month that I really and truly felt that he was actually dying.

And so I find myself, like all those characters who tales I recount time and time again, starting off on a path without my guiding force at my side, without that sense of home, devoid of that someone who would ALWAYS welcome me, and love me when I walked in their door. I find myself, my own leader, my own wise woman, I find myself, at long last, a grown-up.