Can I tell you guys something?
I’m going to be a storyteller at a local (Portsmouth) storytelling event.
I’m really excited. I know you can tell because of my strategically placed exclamation point and the fact that you’ve already read this twice.
In real life – this is not a cut-throat competition. Or a competition at all? Really, the woman that runs it was all, “Are you crazy?” and I was all, “In a good way?” and she was all, “Great, you can be one of the storytellers.”
In my head, though, I’m all:
That’s my book jacket, in case you were wondering. I picture myself having chickens. Doesn’t that make sense to you guys? We buy out the duplex I’m currently living in and rent the other side to travelling artists, musicians and writers that need a retreat. I leave baked goods and fresh eggs for them in the morning and sometimes I fall in love with one of them. When the wind changes direction (like in Mary Poppins?) we find a way for them to move on. We hold dinner parties so my diverse, tight group of local friends meet them. We never plan the menu, everyone just brings whatever feels right, and it always comes together for a wonderful meal.
‘Til then, though, the highs and lows of the weekend.
High: I’m going to be a storyteller at a local (Portsmouth) storytelling event.
ALRIGHT I’ll stop telling you. Will you guys come, though?
(Other) High: Anna made neighborhood friends. When we got home last night after getting some home-stuff, a few of the neighborhood boys were outside playing street hockey. She ran in the house, put on her snow gear and walked down there – and came back with kids in tow to show them our house, and of course, our pets. After hanging out with them last night, and thankfully after some coffee this morning, the same crew knocked on our door to see if Anna could come out and play with them. I didn’t think that happened anymore – kids knocking on doors to play, y’know? It hasn’t for us. And it was sweet and made me nostalgic and Anna was so happy to have them knock on her door and run outside and play that….
Low: It didn’t occur to me until they were halfway down the street that I had no idea who the kids were, really – I mean I knew their NAMES but that’s about it. And only their first names? So I stared at the window to see where they went? And then remembered that I’d sent Anna to ANOTHER parent’s house without any information on me? And then remembered Anna didn’t have her tooth in. And we hadn’t brushed her hair. She looked like a homeless person. Not a homeless child, a homeless person. Not that there’s anything WRONG with homeless people, but I could only assume that if the parent of these (very sweet, mind you) kids saw mine, she’d think she was motherless and had no clue what hygiene was. (But sometimes I don’t?) But it was fine, because:
High: She came back, with the kids again, about an hour later. For a few minutes, so they could gather some tools for a project they were working on. So I sat down and wrote my phone number and name down to put on Anna so if she wandered into anyone that was over the age of 10 she would have it on her. And reminded her to keep her hood on. And get her tooth in! Except:
Low: She didn’t know where her tooth was. And after doing the whole where’s-the-last-time-you-had-your-tooth-thing, we realized that it was on her dinner plate. Wish mashed potatoes, and roasted chicken. Which she didn’t finish. Which was in the garbage. Along with the rest of the roasted chicken, coffee grounds, stuff in the fridge I’d just thrown out (like ground beef that had gone past it’s date) and the remnants of cleaning out the parakeet’s cage.
So our lessons from the weekend: Save your phone number on an easy-to-carry card for your daughter to keep on her while wandering around your new neighborhood. Save your plastic bags, because they make good hand-mitts when you’re combing through roasted chicken and old parakeet food trying to find a retainer.
And save the date (March 16), of course, because I’m going to be a storyteller at a local (Portsmouth) storytelling event.
(NOW, I’ll stop. xoxo.)