She stood on the far bank of the stream and watched a young boy run down the hill. He stopped at the edge of the stream and waved before moving toward the plank that bridged the water. She called out, “Stop! Don’t try to cross,” and motioned with her hand. The noise of the rushing […]
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Visiting my Grandmother Dudley was easy when I was four because she lived with us. I would take my orange (or an apple) to her. “Grandma, please peel this for me?” I watched as her knife went around and around and a long spiral of peel appeared. She could peel my fruit, keeping the peel
“Um. . . Do you give autographs?” I had just finished my Golden Tales of California storytelling program. The fourth-grade students were lined up to return to their classrooms when one boy slipped out of line to ask me that question. “Yes, if it’s all right with your teacher.” “I’ll get a paper and come
The year I turned 62—which was a significant number of years ago—I decided to have a party. I invited the group of nine-year-old children that were in my Primary class at Church. I love to tell stories and planned storytelling to be the main event. Cake is almost a standard requirement for a birthday party,
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There once was a village by the edge of an enchanted forest. Every Christmas Eve presents appeared on the trees and the villagers would go into the forest. They would separate and choose gifts for their family and friends. Christmas Day was a time to open presents and cherish the givers. Then one year someone
I am excited to have been part of the Author Showcase Panel at Surry International Writing Contest this weekend. As a member of the panel, I was given 2 ½ minutes to talk about my books. The Maryalise Trilogy is middle-grade fantasy. Maryalise is a young fairy with powerful magic. In book one, Maryalise and
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“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can read.” Mark Twain Crissy was a non-verbal three-year-old in a classroom for developmentally delayed children. I was the substitute teacher that day. Crissy always cried when her mother left. And she continued crying throughout the morning. I sat beside her as one
I’m always looking for props for storytelling. When I go to a thrift store, I always browse the toy aisle. One day I found a cat puppet. Its strings were all tangled up. I started to put it back, but then I thought, I can fix this. And if I can’t, 75
The story of the pearl-handled pistol has always intrigued me. I first heard it from Ralph Durfee who lived through the events that happened in Mexico in the early 1900’s. I was recently invited to tell stories at a Family History event in Idaho. As I researched this story and talked with older siblings, I
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Was I born to do this? To find an audience? To tell my story, any story? Or did I come to storytelling by way of heritage? Because I am my father’s daughter? Because he told stories? I must have an audience or storytelling isn’t—no can’t happen. I volunteer in my children’s school classes. I step
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