Telling Stories

Time has just gotten away from me. I think that's what happens when you go from no structured job to one with specific days and hours. I'm getting to like the new employment venture. Yesterday I made money. Today I got a lot done.

But tonight when I went to visit my favorite blogs, I realized I had missed a whole week of "As the Trout Turns." It shocked me. Where had my time gone? What did I have to show for my time?

I like to write, but I'm not a writer. Writing this blog is great, but I don't have to. What I know about writers is - they write. No matter what. My friends Susan and Madora are writers. They write essays. Susan keeps me in stitches with her commentary on life, children and chickens. Madora catches the truth about everyday life. Many of her essays have been published and she collected the ones on family life into a book. She once wrote an essay about me. It was a real thrill.

And while I don't think of myself as a writer, I am a storyteller. Mostly when I write it ends up a story. I actually get that from my mom. I know I kind of bashed her in my last post. And yes, there are good things I got from her (thanks for the reminders), and one is the storytelling. She told us great stories as kids. They were mostly about her and her best friend Marillyn and their adventures in Depression-era Los Angeles. Some of the highlights included a high power water pistol at a movie theatre; Sneaking into the glamourous hotel The Garden of Allah; and a day spent watching Sonia Henie movies over and over.

I hope my kids learn the joys of storytelling. My daughter doesn't like my stories the way I liked my mom's. My daughter is a poet. Not matter what, she writes poetry. And not the long wordy ones, but clean, sparse poetry that says in 10 words what I as a storyteller would say in 100. I wonder if her moment of "dear lord, I've turned into my mother" will come when she tells a long, rambling tale, a story, worthy of me or her grammy!?