Day 6 2012: We Light the Stars–Backstory and Story

Posted on May 6, 2012 by Billie Noakes

A few years ago, I left a meeting of the Tampa Bay Storytellers’ Guild feeling … inadequate.

Every other storyteller I knew had a story about Creation. Things like how the sky became blue, or how different animals were assigned their natures, or how certain rivers or seas were formed. Me? I had my Sal stories and a few folk tales that caught my fancy, and a big bag of nuthin’ when it came to the stories that resonated with our souls.

I left that Guild meeting and went to Boston Market to take comfort in … well, in comfort food … and before I even got my order, I had the beginnings of a Creation Myth of my own. It was a few months before I had anyplace to tell it, but I posted it on my storytelling website, and on Sean Buvala’s storyteller registry, and earlier this year I was stunned when Marni Gillard, a teller up in Schenectady, NY, wrote to say one of the students in the Children at the Well program had found it and had been rehearsing it for an upcoming interfaith program!

One problem: storytellers are kind-of honor bound not to simply lift each other’s work, and the young girl didn’t know that the story she’d selected wasn’t in the public domain (what a compliment!).

I was thrilled to have my story shared, and told Marni that if the girl would write and ask to use it, my answer would be “yes.” She did, it was, and the next thing I knew, friend and fellow storyteller Megan Hicks posted a Facebook update about her plans to travel to attend the program!

Megan told me she nearly fell off her chair when one young storyteller introduced “an original story by Florida storyteller and writer Billie Susan Noakes.” <g> And Megan tells me the girl hit it out of the ballpark!

The same story has been tapped by tellers in the UK, and in a couple of our United States, and I’m darn pleased with it! So, for the story lovers among us, here it is:

We Light the Stars

(c) 2005 and 2010 by Billie S. Noakes. All rights reserved.

Long dreams ago, and more years than anyone can count, when Creator made the Earth, the universe was dark and silent, and the Earth held back her beauty and her bounty.

So Creator made the Sun, and placed the Sun high in the sky above the Earth, and the Sun sent his warmth and light to hug the Earth and bring forth her abundance.

Creator gazed upon the Earth’s deep blue oceans, lush green forests, golden prairies and dark, mighty mountains, and was delighted. But as you know, joy is never complete until it is shared, and there was no one to share with Creator in the marvels of this wonderful work.

So Creator made the People, and placed the People to live upon the Earth. And  the People, like Creator before them, celebrated the wonders of the Earth, and Creator’s joy and their own was complete.

For a while.

But People are people, after all, and while they cherished their home, there was just one little thing that kept the Earth from being perfect in every way.

So they traveled far from the place where their villages grew, to the place where they could speak with Creator in all reverence, and they said:

“Creator, we love this Earth that you have made for our home. The abundant plains feed us, the vast waters refresh us, and the forests and mountains entice us always to seek their hidden treasures.

“The warm sunshine that lights all our activities is a blessing, as well, Creator. But the sunlight tickles our eyelids open when we need to rest, making it hard to sleep.

“Creator, is there not something to be done to help us with this one small problem?”

Creator thought long and carefully, and then said, “Yes.”

And Creator set the Earth to spin every so slowly, so that at every minute of every day, part of the Earth was bathed in sunlight, and part was cloaked in darkness.

“Now,” said Creator, “you have both Day and Night.”

Oh, how the People rejoiced! They returned to their villages, and their days were spent working and playing, while their nights were spent in restful sleep, with no sunlight to disturb them.

But People are people, after all, and it wasn’t very long before they noticed there was another small detail that kept the Earth from being absolutely perfect in every way.

They knew they must make another journey to seek Creator’s help.

“The night is so dark!” they told Creator. “And we have so much to do that we often work late into the night. Without the Sun’s light to guide us home we could fall into a pit, or walk into a tree, or come to some other great harm. Creator, is there not some way to solve this one very small problem?”

Again Creator thought long and carefully, and then said, “Yes.”

And Creator made the Moon, and placed the Moon high in the nighttime sky to gently reflect the light of the Sun onto the night side of the Earth.

The Moon was just what the People had hoped for! Its light was not so bright as to tickle their eyelids open when they tried to sleep, nor so dim that they worried about coming to harm in the darkness. And for a while, the People were most happy.

But People are people, after all, and they gradually became aware of one more detail that kept the earth from being absolutely perfect in every way. Once again, they made the journey to seek Creator’s help.

“Creator,” they said now, “the moonlight is just what we wanted, but every so often, the Moon fails to shine in the nighttime sky. Without its light to guide us, we can still come to harm when we must walk in the darkness. Creator, can you not find some way to bring a little light to the sky when the Moon is away?”

Creator again thought long and carefully, and just when the people expected a new solution to remedy this latest problem, Creator said, “No.

“My People, you have the power to bring light to the darkness of the world, and you must find that power for yourselves.” And Creator would say nothing more on the subject.

The People were stunned! Creator had never denied them before. How were they to bring light into the darkness? The People had no powers to match those of Creator. Creator told them the power was there, but what mystery must they penetrate to find it?

The People thought long and hard about the challenge Creator had set before them.

They looked at their cooking fires and watched as small embers drifted up from the flames. Perhaps, if they but built their fires large enough and hot enough, the embers would be lifted higher into the sky until they could burrow into the velvety darkness and be held there.

But when the People matched action to idea, their embers drifted up, higher and higher, and then winked out.

The People noticed that when they carried torches to light their way at night, the wind sometimes carried the light from their torch fires a short distance ahead of them into the dark of the night. So they fashioned larger torches and carried them high up onto the windswept mountain tops, thinking the stronger winds there would carry their light farther than their embers could rise, and that the fire from their torches would travel forever across the heavens.

But the winds on the mountain tops were so strong that they blew the People’s torches right out, leaving the People to make their way blindly back down the rocky mountain slopes.

Some of the People built a catapult, and gathered old sticks and dried grasses and leaves and all manner of things that would burn, and they rolled them into a great ball and slathered the ball with animal fat. The People hoisted the sticky ball onto the catapult, set the ball aflame, and sent it hurtling into the night sky.

Up and up the flaming ball went, higher and higher … but then it fell back to the ground, where it burned itself out.

By now, the People were weary of their quest. They were sure that Creator was mistaken, that the People were powerless to light the world’s darkness.

Frustrated by Creator’s seeming indifference, the People finally turned back to return home, resigned to accept the occasional nights of darkness. Perhaps in the comfortable familiarity of their villages they would one day think of better solutions.

But when they reached their villages, the People discovered that while they were gone, their homes had fallen into disrepair. Their fields had gone to weed. Their herds had returned to the wild.

The People felt overwhelmed. How could they begin to restore their villages with so much to do? Where should they begin such a monumental task?

But People are people, after all, and quick to learn important lessons. And they had learned that what one could not do alone, many could accomplish by working together.

So it was that, one by one, each family’s home and fields and herds were brought aright, and with so much work to be done for so many, the People often toiled from dawn until dusk, and still they pushed on, laboring late into the night, even on those nights when the moon failed to light the nighttime sky.

And that is when something wonderful happened!

As the People worked beyond the light of day, there appeared a small chip of light in the darkened sky for each man, each woman, and each child who worked to help his or her neighbors. Together, these small points of brilliance made just enough light to illuminate their tasks and see the People safely home when it was finally time to sleep.

And so it continued: when any one of the People helped another, or performed an act of kindness or compassion, that act was matched by a sparkling gleam of light in the sky, bright and constant.

The People felt a need to acknowledge these small sparks of brilliance, and named them “Stars.”

Every night, after they finished their work, the People would gather together, look up at the sky, and share the story behind each new Star that now glistened above them.

The stories spread quickly from village to village, and soon the realization came that the People had fulfilled Creator’s promise, and found within themselves the power to light the darkness. That realization was the cause of great celebration.

And that power is alive to this very day: one person lightening the darkness of another’s life, and each light multiplying the brightness of those around it.

So, my friends, whenever you wonder whether even a small kindness we show to another really matters, just look up at the nighttime sky, count the stars, and know that it is just as Creator promised:

Each one of us does, indeed, carry the power to bring light into the world’s darkness.

Each one of us does, indeed, carry the spark of the Creator.

 

So, my friends, go out there are sparkle! –B.

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Day 5 2012 Giving it away …

Posted on May 5, 2012 by Billie Noakes

I used to run a coffeehouse and art center where musicians and poets gathered to practice  new work, encourage each other, and just jam or talk.

In time, I became a resource for connecting worthy causes with talented people who would perform for free. The musicians and I both fell for the the idea that the “exposure” they got from continual voluntarism was payment enough.

But after a while, we noticed something. All those people who were so eager to call me and ask for free talent had no problem paying their graphic artists, printers, sound technicians, clean-up crews, and insurance carriers.

Finally, I realized that I was helping keep my own talented friends down, and I decided not to do that any more.

When event planners suggested that they were “supporting” the arts by giving us wider exposure as we entertained their audiences, I suggested to them that “the best way to support the arts is to BUY some,” whether that meant buying a chapbook, a CD or painting, or hiring a musician or other performer to entertain at their events.

It took a little while. I wrote a couple of letters to local papers, pointing out that it would be a shame to have wildly talented burger flippers and checkout clerks who couldn’t afford, any more, to support worthy causes with their volunteer efforts. I suggested that everybody quit asking for handouts and start looking for sponsors to cover the cost of fostering these talents.

It worked. Several musicians who were about ready to throw in the towel on their creative endeavors finally earned their way as artists, and basked in new-found validation when others placed a value on their work.

Keep in mind, too, that freebies give the public no basis for evaluation. A free show can’t be criticized for not being worth the money, and if an adequate show is available for free, then it’s too easy to “settle,” and keep the really good stuff (available for a price) from ever being seen.

I don’t envision or embrace a world where nobody ever volunteers for anything. As a storyteller and performance poet I am happy to put my skills in support of my favorite causes, but I don’t work for free. Instead, I collect my fee and then donate it back to the organization that hired me. I’m still volunteering, but it establishes that we both know the value of the work I’m performing.

And it does something else: it makes it easier for the public and the sponsoring organizations to “vote with their dollars,” to reward the musicians, storytellers, poets, and artists for our skill, not just our effort.

It gives the artists the means to continue to survive as artists, and incentive to continue raising the bar so our communities can be proud of the creativity they support.

Most recently, I was asked to perform at the first-ever EarthFest in Gulfport, Florida, and, like all first-time events, funding was uncertain. All the performers were asked if they would be willing to volunteer if the funding didn’t come through, and because I know and respect the organizers, I was happy to toss in.

I was even happier when the volunteer gig turned into a paying one–in part because the cash came in at a good time, but in greater part because that stipend was proof that here was an organization that values and supports local artists, making it easier for us to support them in return.

Kudos!


 

 

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DAY 4 2012: Rocky, Too

Posted on May 4, 2012 by Billie Noakes

Have you noticed? Facebook is a mixed blessing.

On the one hand, you have information coming at you 24/7 and, if you started building your network the way I did, before I knew what the heck I wanted from it, you’re “friends” with people you don’t even know, and privy to TMI about their no-longer-private thoughts and actions.

On the other hand, you can log on one day and find a message from someone you knew half a lifetime ago, in the days before the divorce, the accident, and the losses that go with simply surviving the life. Oh, yeah!

It happened for me yesterday, when Rocky dropped me an e-mail and a FB connection asking if I was the Billie Noakes who used to frequent The Four Seasons in Colorado Springs in (shudder) the late 1970s.

Hell, yes!

She (“Rocky” is short for “Roxanne”) and my husband, Tom, worked in the same office in the airfield at Fort Carson. Tom and I were in our 20s, Rocky and Brent a little younger, and we got to be friends in short order.

It was Rocky and Brent who adopted our ferret after we discovered we weren’t cut out to be parents to a near-wild beast.

Found this pic online. Looks like Cori.

The ferret was Tom’s idea. He’d grown up with cats, and baby ferrets were called “kittens,” so, he reasoned, how different could it be? He’d heard that ferrets could be trained to use a litter box, and that was really all we needed to know, right?

Dear God, NO!

We did everything wrong–drove to the nearest pet shop and just asked for a ferret.

We did ask for a female, because one of us had heard that the males have a really strong, musky scent. Had I known what a musky scent, much less a strong one, smelled like, I would not even have wanted a female!

WELL … we bought our young female ferret, a litter box, a cage, and small bowls for water and kitten food (see? just like a cat!). We took her home, gave her a name (Cori, because she was the color of coriander), and proceeded to pet her, play with her, and do our damnedest to tame her.

Rocky and Brent advised from the sidelines, because they had TWO females, a sable like ours, and an albino.

A few months later, Cori taught us that wild animals raised in captivity do not always conform to expectations.

Every time we took her out of her cage (which was pretty often, since we didn’t like the idea of keeping our pet in prison), she’d run to the kitchen, skinny up behind the fridge, and crap her little brains out. Then she’d run back to her cage, climb up the side, drop down through the door, and sleep in the litter box.

And who had to clean up after her? Uh-huh. Me, who never really understood why you’d want an animal to poop in a dish pan in the first place, but SURE didn’t understand why an animal would want to poop behind the fridge.

To top it off, Cori had medical issues. She was hypoglycemic, and occasionally had low-sugar seizures. The vet told us to keep Karo syrup and water handy, and give it to her with a dropper whenever she started thrashing about.

My fascination with the cool pet was cooling.

A few more months went by, and Tom was out on maneuvers at the base for a few nights. I was home alone with Cori, and she was exhausted from playing with me and a length of yarn, so she was napping in her cage while I read and watched TV.

All of a sudden, I heard this high-pitched squeak coming from Cori’s cage, and when I looked over I was horrified to see that she was thrashing in one of her seizures, but all wrapped up in her blankie. I imagined her getting wrapped up and snapping her delicate little neck in the throes of her low-blood-sugar fit.

Maternal instinct kicked in: my baby needed help!

I threw my book aside and leapt across the room.

I opened the door of the cage and reached in, gently lifting Cori and her blankie out in one deft motion and disentangling her as quickly as I could. Her squeaking was at a frenzied pitch, and I was on the verge of panic when … WHAT THE HELL?

I was holding Cori under her little ferret armpits, and her body was dangling down, exposing her underbelly.

And HIS little ferret-y private parts. My daughter wasn’t having a hypoglycemic fit: my son was having sex with his blanket! Oh, no. Oh, NO. We did NOT buy a male ferret. We had papers that said we bought a female.

I’d had enough of back-of-fridge poop, snarky little bites every time I tried to pet him, contortions every time I had to administer Karo syrup and water, and smelly ol’ musk that I thought I had to be happy wasn’t  worse. And now I find out that Cori worked her/his way into our home under false pretenses?

It was still early. The pet store was open. I loaded Cori and his belongings into the car and drove to the pet shop. Cori was in his cage, romancing the blankie. I strode purposefully up to the counter, explained that I needed to return our ferret because … well because … (and I reached into cage, once more interrupting Cori in mid thrust) does this look like a female ferret?

The pet shop manager agreed to take him back (seems he had a customer who wanted an adolescent male ferret, so my timing was exemplary) and gave me a certificate good for a female when the next litter of kittens came in.

I got as far as the parking lot when I realized that I’d just given Tom’s son away.

I marched back in, pitched an even bigger fit, and came back out with Cori.

And a few months later, when Tom decided fridge-poop was not a good thing, we gave Cori to Rocky and Brent, because they had those two females they wanted to breed.

That’s how we found out that in addition to hypoglycemia, Cori was plainly stupid. He was so fond of his blankie that he wanted nothing to do with the harem he’d landed in.

He finally figured it out, and fathered a litter so numerous that Rocky and Brent were able to trade the whole lot of them in on a pet raccoon!

And … oh, man! I was planning to write about renewing contact with Rocky. Even all these years later, that damn ferret is interfering with my life!

More tomorrow …

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DAY 3 2012 Replacing the Last Minute

Posted on May 3, 2012 by Billie Noakes

I have to confess that I live my life on the ragged edge of disaster.

I know, I know. I’m a writer, and I spend my days plunking placidly away at my keyboard.

I’m a cheerleader for the Pinellas Park/Gateway Chamber of Commerce, networking with such scary types as builders, bankers, ministers, health coaches, and feed store owners.

I’m a storyteller, and I go to festivals and luncheons and business workshops to ply my trade.

Not exactly activities to send your blood racing, your head spinning, or the butterflies in your stomach doing back flips and cartwheels, now, are they?

Bet me.

Despite my best intentions, it seems that if it weren’t for the last minute, nothing would get done in my life.

I feel like the poster child for poet Edna St. Vincent Millay, who wrote “First Fig.”


My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night.
But ah, my foes and oh, my friends
It gives a lovely light.

Yeah, and burns my fingers in the process!

I don’t remember when this happened, this mad dash to complete Every. Single. Thing.

I was the “good student,” the one who went home, did my homework, and turned it in as soon as I got to my classroom.

The planner who had the shopping list written and the table schematic drawn for every birthday party or house party or dinner party I ever hosted—three weeks in advance.

The go-to person for those poor souls who seemed always to be rushing just to stay behind.

Somewhere between sedately grown-up and middle-aged crazy, I slipped a gear or two.

Forgot that always being available for tasks meant I was never free to go dancing.

I like to dance!

My friend Lauren tells me that our culture has really botched its understanding of the injunction to “love thy neighbor as thyself.” She points out that the advice is meaningless if we forget to love ourselves first.

So I’m going to shift gears again and try saying “no” at times when “yes” would move my personal Doomsday Clock closer to midnight.

I’m going to remember Erma Bombeck, who left this planet too early and regretted only the fun things she didn’t make time for.

I’m going to light many candles, not just one, and NOT expose the wicks at the bottom.

From now on, my candles will burn at one end only, and their main purpose will be to light the dance floor.

 

 

 

 

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DAY 2 2012: The Three Hermit Crabs (sorry, little pigs …)

Posted on May 2, 2012 by Billie Noakes

By Billie Noakes

 Three Hermit Crabs named Lamar, Tommy, and Nancy were hanging out on St. Pete Beach, trying to stay out of the hot sun, when a tourist put her beach towel on the sand right next to the rock where they were chillin’.

She turned on her radio and blasted them with music so loud, it made their legs curl in! But they were shaded and cool by the rock, and didn’t want to move, so they sat there, irritated, and wished she would just leave.

It’s a good thing she didn’t! Pretty soon, the music ended and a weather report came on: there was a thunderstorm coming, and it would be accompanied by high winds!

Well, Lamar, Tommy, and Nancy knew what that meant—sand would be flying all over, stinging their soft bodies and sticking to them and making them uncomfortable. They decided it was time for them to find … homes.

You see, Hermit Crabs aren’t like snails or oysters or even Blue Crabs that grow their shells around their soft bodies. Their homes come to them naturally. Not so for Hermit Crabs. Hermit Crabs live in places that other occupants have left behind.

So our three soft-bodied friends had some searching to do!

 

Lamar was the first to find a home he thought was perfect: He found an empty paper cup that some careless tourist had left on the beach. Lamar crawled inside and waited for the storm.

When it hit, Lamar discovered that a flimsy old paper cup was no shelter at all! The rain soaked right through it, and even sopping wet, the paper cup was so lightweight that the wind picked it up with Lamar inside, and carried it all the way down the beach! It bounced this way and that, and poor Lamar got motion sick and threw up all over the inside of his not-so-safe new home. When the storm was over and Lamar was steady enough to look outside, he discovered that the paper cup had landed in Mr. Fussy’s front yard. Mr. Fussy didn’t like litter, and that paper cup looked more like litter than anything he’d seen in a long time! So Mr. Fussy picked the paper cup up off his lawn and threw it in his trash can. And since it was trash day, it wasn’t long before a big, loud, lumbering truck came up the street, and big, strong arms picked the trash can up and dumped it right into the back of the garbage truck!

The garbage truck collected a lot of garbage that day, and after Lamar finally got out of his paper cup, he spent HOURS climbing through all kinds of garbage just to stay on top of the heap.

All for nothing! Because when the garbage truck finally got to the city dump, it backed up to a big hole in the ground and tilted its bed up so far that Lamar and all the garbage went tumbling out! It took poor Lamar forever to crawl out of the mound of garbage and get back to the beach!

When he got there, he started at the empty beach, worried that Tommy and Nancy had been caught in the storm.

He looked and looked, but there was no sign of them on the beach.

But wait! Was that Tommy’s voice? Lamar turned around and around, and finally caught sight of a big tin can turned upside down under a dumpster outside an Italian restaurant. “Over here,” said the tin can in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Tommy’s. “I’m here!”

Sure enough, the can (it used to hold diced tomatoes) wobbled and shifted, and finally tipped over, and Lamar could look right inside! When he did, he was looking right at Tommy!

“After you found your paper cup, I found this tin can,” said Tommy. “I crawled inside, and rocked back and forth till the can tipped over so I could roll it under this dumpster. The wind couldn’t get to me here, and the bits of tomato left inside were pretty tasty. You should move into a tin can,” Tommy advised Lamar. And that’s just what Lamar did.

Bad timing! A movie company had just come to town to film a movie about a tornado! They brought big machines that made a lot of noise and kicked up a lot of wind, and that wind was so strong that it blew those cans, with Tommy and Lamar inside, down the beach! Worse, it flung those cans toward a brick wall, and it was all poor Tommy and Lamar could do to jump out of those cans before the cans were CRUNCHED against the wall. Whew! Close call!

It took them a while, but Lamar and Tommy finally got back to the part of the beach where they’d started out, and they started looking for Nancy, the third Hermit Crab, but she was nowhere to be found.

But after they settled down to think, Lamar and Tommy heard a familiar call! Recognizing Nancy’s voice, they looked eagerly up and down the beach, but all they saw were some old sea snail shells that had been washed up on the shore by the storm:

But wait! Was that their friend Nancy waving a shapely crab leg at them from inside the one of those snail shells? It was!

Nancy had weathered the storm and the movie’s wind machine by bracing herself inside the smooth-walled snail shell, abandoned on the beach by its previous occupant.

Nancy’s new home was buoyant: the shell floated safely on the puddles of water left by the thunderstorm. It was aerodynamically sound: it rolled harmlessly along the beach when the movie company kicked up the wind and sand. What a GREAT new home! And it was RECYCLED!

Tommy and Lamar moved into the two other snail shells that were no longer occupied, and found their new digs were quite comfortable!

Just in time, too, because a hurricane was on its way, and it was big and it was bad and it blew into town with a fury!

But Nancy and Tommy and Lamar, in their weather-worthy new homes, were bothered not a bit by that hurricane—or any of the other storms that kicked up all summer long.

And if you go to the beach this week-end, you’ll probably see all three of them walking along the shoreline, enjoying their fine, recycled homes!

 

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Day 1 2012: Oh, Dee Dee!

Posted on May 1, 2012 by Billie Noakes

This keeps turning up on my Facebook newsfeed:

“Insanity does not run in my family. Rather, it strolls through, taking its time, getting to know everyone personally.”

It became really good friends with my mom’s older sister.

Dee Dee was a character from the get-go. She managed to spend so much time preparing for a career that she never actually held a job. Never even learned to drive. And from her perspective, she still assumed the right to tell the rest of us how to handle our bosses and our cars. Go figure.

She was married twice: once to the man who started her drive to drink, and once to the man who helped her complete the journey, then drove her to the hospital to dry out.

That second husband, Tony, is the one I remember best, because he liked to scare the hell out of anyone who would listen by taking his socks off and telling us how he came to lose two toes in The War.

Is it any wonder that Dee Dee needed a stiff drink every now and then? Or that her humor took a decided turn to the quirky?

Our best Dee Dee story happened when I was a pre-teen. She and Tony lived in a suburb of Aurora, Illinois, called Boulder Hill. They lived a long way up the main road into the subdivision, a twisting road that ran past about a hundred tract homes before reaching Dee Dee and Tony’s driveway.

Back in the late 1960s, a subdivision out in the sticks was ripe for those who wanted to save souls, and every weekend Boulder Hill was beset by teams of Jehovah’s Witnesses who knocked on doors trying to share their message of faith.

People stayed away from their windows and pretended not to be home so they wouldn’t have to deal with the details of eternal salvation when what they really wanted was to pile in their cars and drive to the lake.

One day, the prospect of hiding in her own home from guests she didn’t even know got the better of my aunt.

She phoned one of her friends who lived close to the start of the subdivision.

“When they get to your place, you call me,” she told her. “I’ll take care of this!”

Dee Dee hung up the phone and went into overdrive, and when the two unsuspecting proselytizers rang her doorbell, expecting to wait a decent interval before chalking up another “no one home” on their record sheets, my aunt opened her door.

Now, you have to picture my aunt: Drinking and smoking had long since given way to Fannie May® chocolates, so my 5-foot-nuthin’ aunt was as round as she was tall.

Not being a driver, she never volunteered to leave the house, or even to go outside. Her skin wasn’t just white; it was old plaster white.

She had coarse, black hair that hung well past her shoulders, and her blunt-cut bangs formed a straight line just above her eyebrows. She was near-sighted, and had Bette Davis eyes that I swore were going to pop out one day. Without make-up, she looked like an honest-to-god witch.

For good measure, Dee Dee got herself undressed and slipped naked into a black caftan that billowed about her ample body. She did NOT draw it closed about her …

As she heard her unwanted guests approach the door, she marched to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and drew out a plucked chicken she’d bought from a local farmer.

And in time with the chiming of her doorbell, my aunt, short, round, and scary-lookin’ as all hell (and naked inside her open caftan), opened the door with a butcher knife in one hand and the dead chicken in the other, and in her best “Whatever happened to Baby Jane” voice said,

“I can’t talk now. It’s time to sacrifice to the tree …”

She claimed credit for ridding Boulder Hill of all manner of door-to-door activity for the next thirty years.

Robin Williams is credited with this advice: “You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.”

Lose it? Dee Dee invested it!

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UBC 5: Shot With Success!

Posted on April 8, 2012 by Billie Noakes

In Pinellas Park, we lead with our strengths.

In many communities, the local Chamber of Commerce has fund-raising and team-building activities that revolve around golf tournaments, wine tastings, or nights on the town featuring the area’s top-tier restaurants. Cruises and casino nights. Glittery things.

My town? We’re a little closer to the earth than that. Pinellas Park revels in being rural. So our fund-raiser? We shoot things.

Now, don’t get all tree-huggy on me. We don’t KILL anything. We have a shooting range on the outskirts of town, so last year, our Chamber of Commerce staged a fund-raising trap shoot, the Shoot for Success Trap Shoot.

People who spend their days as bank vice-presidents, retailers, advocates for the elderly and the disabled, manufacturers, business coaches, contractors … people who serve on our county Economic Development Council, and the county Tourist Development Council, people who guide Kiwanis and Rotary through their charitable acts, who donate lots (lots) of money to the arts, to agencies that help the mentally ill or physically disabled, to groups that shelter the homeless or build sturdy homes in safe neighborhoods for struggling families, these people, the salt of the earth, delight in shooting defenseless clay pigeons.

Some history fits in well here:

We threw a Trap Shoot a couple decades ago and it was wildly popular, but like all successful events, it was a lot of work to put it together. Somehow, after that first Trap Shoot, life or the economy took its toll on our volunteers, and there weren’t enough willing or available workers to make it happen again.

Till last August. A couple of long-timers on our Board got talking about things we did “back in the day,” and nostalgia for that single Trap Shoot took over.

It didn’t hurt that our Chamber desperately needed a fun and successful fund-raiser after the crummy economy had decimated our membership roster. We needed an event that would pull us together again, and bring in some fresh funding so we could beef up our member services.

So wistfulness quickly morphed into “what if?” and the next thing we knew, we had reserved the Skyway Trap & Skeet Club for the first Saturday in November.

One of our Board members offered to donate a catered breakfast and lunch on site.

Two others stepped up as “title sponsors” and covered the basic costs of guns and ammo (see how easy it is to pick up the lingo?).

We knew we had to get at least 50 shooters signed up to make this respectable. Fewer and we wouldn’t make much more than our sponsors had donated–we’d do better just to ask them for the money and not have to work our butts off on a Saturday morning.

We doubled that number, and then some! (Granted, not everyone showed up. But everyone paid, which was the point.)

We had shooters arriving almost before sunrise just to be sure they got a gun, shells, and a spot to shoot from. By 9 am, we had seasoned shooters explaining trap shoot safety to the newbies. We had two of us working the computers, verifying registrations and signing up latecomers. Busy, busy fingers on keyboards. We worked up as much of a sweat as you can on a delightfully cool November morning in Florida.

And by 10 am, we had loud noises and shattered targets all over the place. It was — dare I say it? — FUN.

Even better, once the clay settled, we’d actually shot our way to a shot of financial success! After a couple years of the doldrums, our Chamber was back, baby!

YESSS! Success combined with enthusiasm, and we had a Trade Show this March that beat the pants off last year’s event. We’re partnering with the local storytellers’ guild to stage a storytelling concert to benefit both groups.

And some of us are quietly contemplating classes so when the Shoot for Success Trap Shoot rolls around on November 10, 2012, we’re gonna be ready!

 

 

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UBC 4: Realizing Her Dreams (Mary Dimino #2)

Posted on April 7, 2012 by Billie Noakes

Here’s the second article I wrote about comedian/actress/author Mary Dimino. It makes use of pieces from the first, so don’t think you’re experiencing deja vú!

Realizing Her Dreams: Mary Dimino

By Billie Noakes

Mary, with her Gracie. The Gracie Allen Awards are named for one of the most notable female pioneers in radio and television programming. They celebrate and honor programming created for women, by women, and about women, and recognize excellence in programming concept, creation, and delivery.

It’s a magic moment, that instant when you realize you’re coming in touch with your dreams.

For comedian Mary Dimino, that moment came in the bathroom.

“It was the mid-90s,” she recalls, “and I was one of five new comedians to win a place in Comedy Central’s Stand-Up Stand-Up Comedy Boot Camp.”

For seven days, these five up-and-coming comics were sequestered at Club Med to learn the real work of being a comedian from nationally acclaimed entertainers like Richard Belzer and Janeane Garofalo.

“During a break, I went into the bathroom, and Janeane Garofalo was there, washing her hands,” says Mary.

“I didn’t want to disturb her – it wasn’t like the new comics were hanging out with the veterans. I just headed toward a stall, and Janeane turned to me and said, ‘Hey, kid, you’re very funny. You keep doing this. I’m a fan of yours.’ After that, I was beaming.

“That’s when I realized, ‘I’m here.’ All I had to do was stick with it.”

Opening Doors

In the years since that “Aha!” moment, Mary Dimino’s humor and perseverance have landed her featured spots on comedy club stages across the country.

She’s performed on HBO’s “Chris Rock Show,” and landed acting roles, including her portrayal of Connie, the maid of honor, in “Tony and Tina’s Wedding,” and Polly on “New York Undercover.” She’s appeared in dozens of television commercials, notably for Nicorette Gum and Dunkin’ Donuts, and has appeared in supporting roles in television shows and films.

FAT is available on DVD from Amazon.com

In 2008, Mary achieved an especially notable distinction, winning a Gracie Allen Award for her part in the production of the Twin Cities Public Television special, “FAT: What No One Is Telling You.”

The program included interviews with doctors, nutritionists, and weight loss specialists, as well as footage of Mary as she battled with her own excess weight.

“The cameras went everywhere with me,” says Mary. “To the gym, to one of my shows – we had to get special permission from the club – to dinner after the show, hanging out with other comics. I was recorded making dinner, going on an audition, riding the subway … I wrote and improvised monologues for the film. Some are humorous, some are very personal, like talking about my mom passing from cancer, which was my inspiration for losing a hundred pounds.”

FAT opened even more doors for this amazing entertainer.

Dr. Brad Johnson in Atlanta, GA, was impressed with her message in the FAT documentary and asked her to co-author a book about weight loss. The book, Scared Skinny: No More was optioned by Random House.

The editor of the website DietDetective.com watched one of Mary’s monologues from FAT and called her commercial agent to ask Mary to write an occasional blog for his website.

On October, 21, 2009, Mary celebrated the debut of her own stage show, “Scared Skinny: A one (hundred pound lighter) woman show,” in New York City, which later won the award for Overall Excellence in the New York International Fringe Festival for an Outstanding Solo Show.

And in 2010, Mary won the Manhattan Association of Cabarets & Clubs MAC Award as Major Stand-up Comic – Female.

 

 

Early inspiration

Mary has been captivated by comedy since she was a little girl.

“I used to love watching Lucille Ball,” she says. “The show I Love Lucy was a real groundbreaker. It was the first TV series ever produced on film, with multiple cameras, in front of a live audience. I loved her slapstick abilities, her elastic expressions, her verbal talents. I used to memorize her shows and imitate her in front of my grandmother, who thought everything I did was hilarious.”

Image from IMDb.com

Another favorite was Carol Burnett. “I wanted to be Carol,” Mary confides. “I loved her questions and answers with the audience. She was so unpretentious, and had such honest spontaneity. She stood there and just made people laugh. I didn’t know there was a job title called ‘stand-up comic’ at the time. All I knew was I wanted to be … what she was.”

A few years went by, and Mary identified with talk show host Oprah Winfrey. “Oprah revolutionized the talk show,” Mary states. “Her shows are about self-empowerment, spirituality, health – issues more important than ‘who’s your baby’s daddy.’ Here’s a woman who teaches other women about overcoming adversity and poverty, about being of service to other people. She has so much, and she puts so much out there.”

Building Opportunity

Mary recalls a favorite quote by George Bernard Shaw:

“People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don’t believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can’t find them, make them.”

“Look at Carol Burnett,” Mary suggests. “When Carol started out, she was living at the New York Rehearsal Club with a lot of other aspiring entertainers, not getting anywhere, not getting any work. What did she do? With her housemates, she organized a showcase, the First Annual Rehearsal Club Revue, and everyone invited their friends, their agents, their casting directors, anyone they could think of. As a result, Carol was signed by the William Morris Agency. Carol’s career was launched.

“And she made that opportunity out of her own drive and determination.”

Mary says drive and determination are particularly important for women pursuing careers in show business, especially those in comedy.

“As a comedian, you have to face a lot of rejection, and only about one-third of what people offer ever comes through. So you have to make your opportunities, just like Carol did.

“I have a quotation that I keep on my desk,” she says. “It’s an old Japanese proverb. Fall down seven times, stand up eight. I love that.

“Knowing people helps, networking is important, but in the end what your real success comes down to is never giving up.”

 

Learn more about Mary Dimino at http://www.marydimino.com

 

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UBC 3: Glorious Gracies and Mary Dimino

Posted on April 7, 2012 by Billie Noakes

Here’s something a little different: a two-part blog about a television and stage personality, comedian Mary Dimino.

I met Mary by phone in 2009, when I was working on a feature story about Media World, a speed networking event produced by the Bay Area Media Network, the local chapter of the American Women in Radio and Television. Mary, a 2008 recipient of the AWRT’s Gracie Allen Award, was coming to the Tampa Bay (FL) area to emcee Media World.

My phone interview with Mary gave me enough material not only for the intended article, but also for a second feature about how Mary was “discovered” as a top-tier comedian.

Here’s the first article, which was commissioned by Kate Sullivan of WordSmitten.com. It ran on Kate’s website and on SunburstWomen.com in 2009. You’ll find the second, which also ran on SunburstWomen.com, slugged “UBC 4: Realizing Her Dreams.”

Glorious Gracies

Mary, with her 2008 Gracie.

They’re tall and sleek, these statuettes. Graceful and, like many who receive them, a little daring.

They’re seen on the sets of national television shows, in the display cases of radio and television stations across the country, on the desks and bookshelves and mantle pieces of community volunteers, radio hosts, actors, and corporate CEOs.

They’re the Gracie Allen Awards (“The Gracies”), named after one of the most notable female pioneers in radio and television programming.* Presented in late Spring by the Foundation of AWRT (American Women in Radio and Television, which in 2010 changed its name to Alliance for Women in Media), The Gracies celebrate and honor programming created for women, by women, and about women.

To win a Gracie is a sign of excellence in programming concept, creation, and delivery.

“I remember when I first learned about The Gracies,” says comedian Mary Dimino. Dimino won a Gracie in 2008 for her part in the production of the Twin Cities Public Television special, “FAT: What No One is Telling You.”

“It was about three years ago, and I was watching Suze Orman’s show.

“Suze came on with this beautiful, this gorgeous silver award, and it was shining under the lights. Suze said, ‘I just won a Gracie Allen Award, people!’ And then she described what they’re all about. I was mesmerized, and as I listened to Suze talk about this award, given by AWRT, I thought, I have to join this organization. I wanted to be a part of these women who empower other women and celebrate women who have an impact in media, whether it’s through commercials, or TV shows, or documentaries.”

Dimino joined AWRT, but for the next couple of years, The Gracies slipped from her radar.

With good reason. Dimino is a stand-up comic and travels the country to work in comedy clubs and on stage for televised specials. She’s also an actress, notable for her portrayal of Connie, the maid of honor in “Tony and Tina’s Wedding,” and Polly on “New York Undercover.” She’s appeared in dozens of television commercials.

Shortly after joining AWRT, Dimino became involved in the production of FAT, a program that included interviews with doctors, nutritionists, and weight loss specialists, as well as footage of Dimino as she battled with her own excess weight.

“The cameras went everywhere with me,” says Dimino. “To the gym, to one of my shows – we had to get special permission from the club – to dinner after the show, hanging out with other comics. I was recorded making dinner, going on an audition, riding the subway … I wrote and improvised monologues for the film. Some are humorous, some are very personal, like talking about my mom passing from cancer, which was my inspiration for losing a hundred pounds.”

Those monologues are what cinched the Gracie Allen Award for FAT in 2008, bringing Dimino back to her roots with AWRT.

“When the special was nominated, I was excited but I didn’t really know that much about The Gracies,” confides Dimino. “I Googled them and found a picture of Whoopi Goldberg [a 2003 Gracie Award recipient], who is one of my favorite comedians in the whole world. Then I saw clips from the Gala and I thought, Oh, my God. This is fantastic. This is huge. This is such an honor.”

When Dimino later received the call confirming her show’s win, she remembers needing reassurance. “I kept asking, ‘Are you sure? You watched the right film? It’s the right title? You’re sure?’ When I knew we’d really won a Gracie, the first person I told was my manager, Carmen Tucchi, and she was very happy, very excited for me.”

Of course, Tucchi already knew about The Gracies. Sharing the excitement with friends and family who weren’t in the know was more an exercise in education.

“A lot of them said, ‘Oh, that’s great … What is it?’ And when I explained that it’s an award named for Gracie Allen, presented for outstanding women’s programming, they thought I’d won some type of comedy award.”

Such frustrations are minor compared with the doors that have opened for Dimino since winning her Gracie.

Dr. Brad Johnson in Atlanta, GA, was impressed with Dimino’s message in the FAT documentary and asked her to co-author a book about weight loss. The book, “Scared Skinny: No More,” was under consideration by Random House in 2009.

The editor of the website DietDetective.com watched one of Dimino’s monologues from FAT and called her commercial agent to ask Dimino to write an occasional blog for his website.

Dimino won the 2010 Manhattan Association of Cabarets & Clubs MAC Award as Major Stand-up Comic – Female.

And she completed and debuted “Scared Skinny: A one (hundred pound lighter) woman show,” which won the 2010 New York International Fringe Festival Overall Excellence Award for Outstanding Solo Show.

History Lesson

In June, 2009, the Foundation of AWRT presented the 34th Annual Gracie Allen Awards in New York City.

Jennifer (“Jeffy”) Beaver, National Sales Manager for Bright House Networks, was that year’s president of the Bay Area Media Network (BAMN), which is the Tampa Bay area chapter of AWM.

Beaver has been a member for 39 years, and she remembers the very first recognitions handed out by the Foundation, back in 1975.

“We didn’t call them The Gracies then,” shares Beaver. “They were originally called the National Commendation Awards. It wasn’t until the mid-nineties that we decided to change the name, and we approached Gracie Allen’s family for permission to use her name in recognizing women’s programming and women’s contributions to that programming.”

They agreed, and today The Gracies are a prestigious award, recognizing commercial and public television programming at the national and local levels. It is also the only industry award to establish a Youth category, encouraging the next generation of producers.

Following AWM’s national example, BAMN also encourages tomorrow’s media professionals. On April 2, 2009, the organization hosted Media World, a speed mentoring event that introduced anyone interested in a career in media to the people who are currently on the front lines, from on-air personalities, to general managers, TelePrompTer operators, producers, editors, engineers, and camera operators.

The two-and-a-half-hour event, emceed by Dimino, raised funds for the BAMN scholarship program.

Later in the year, the chapter hosted a reception to present cash scholarships to students pursuing careers in communication, television and radio production, web-based programming, and allied fields.

Beyond The Gracies in AWM

“I’m so grateful to be a member of AWM,” says Dimino. “I’ve made some great connections and been offered some amazing opportunities.”

A complimentary coaching session with Jim Arnoff alerted her to the need to overhaul her professional “packaging,” and the result has helped her move more quickly into auditions for plum roles.

A luncheon meeting introduced her to celebrity photographer Kimberly Butler, and resulted in updated headshots that are opening even more doors.

It’s the same for members who work outside the public eye, says Beaver.

“I’ve moved a lot in my AWM, and every time I moved, I found a job through my contacts in this organization. It’s provided my continuity and been my support system.”

“AWM introduces its members to so many women with so much knowledge,” adds Dimino. “It makes us part of something bigger than ourselves.”

*George Burns and Gracie Allen started their comedy career in vaudeville, then moved along with the times to radio and television.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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UBC 2: What the ELF?

Posted on April 4, 2012 by Billie Noakes

Oh, I’m going to regret this.

FIFTY-SEVEN YEARS of hard-headed realism (some would suggest “cynicism” is more accurate) are about to bite the dust. My friends will swear I did not write this.

There’s a good reason for that. I’m an Objectivist, someone who appreciates the philosophical premises set forth by philosopher/novelist Ayn Rand.

Ayn Rand wrote the novel “Atlas Shrugged,” and depending on whether you’re a liberal or a conservative, she’s either a two-dimensional cardboard caricature pushing a heartless message, or a visionary who understood the meaning of the founding of the United States, and the legal and social contracts that MUST be enforced in order to realize the country’s full potential, and build a truly moral society.

Oh, my. Did I give my own position away? But I digress …

For AGES my friend Trish Giglia has told me that, my rampant skepticism aside, God “has great plans” for me. And people who lay serious claim to the title say I’m a better Christian (or Jew) than most who profess their devotion to the dogma.

OK, OK. I’m a decent person, a good friend, a fine ally to have on your side.

But when it comes to paying attention to what will do me some good, I have to admit that I tend to pull my punches. Always have, evidently always will.

But here’s the thing: recently, the first editor I ever wrote for found me on Facebook, and turned my psyche upside-down.

See, back in the day, when I was all of 16 or 17 years old, Lauren intimidated the HELL out of me. She was SO “put together,” took no guff from anybody, and was so no-nonsense about everything. Wow.

My high school job with her ended, we drifted apart, and after I grew all the way up, I tried to find her, to thank her for being a good role model and to see how she was doing. I found ZIP. Even after I knew how to use search engines and social media. Couldn’t find her anywhere for love or money (didn’t think of offering them, either, so that might figure in …).

Out of the BLUE last year, she writes to me on Facebook, and we’ve struck up a wholly different relationship.

For one thing, she’s married (hence the lack of info on her OLD name), and she and her husband are BOTH ministers. MINISTERS. Lauren who could turn your eyeballs to ICE if she disapproved of you is preaching warmth and kindness and nurturing and spirit.

She’s written a book about it, called “Go to ELF!” ELF being the Eternal Life Force, aka “God.” Culture shock and then some!

But wait! There’s more! Also out of the blue, I lob a question to her about coming to terms with my OWN inner turmoil, the fact that I am more willing to help others than to help myself, and that I’m a little tired of the results that have come out of THAT.

WHAP! She offers to spend a full day with me teaching me something called Focused Attraction.

DING! DING! DING! All the alarms go off in my head. SHINY, HAPPY ALERT!  Step AWAY from the affective alien!

Did I heed my own advice? Absolutely! NOT. I spent a whole day learning how to envision what I want. Or what I thought I wanted.

I was listening politely on the outside, rolling my figurative eyes to the ceiling on the inside. “Ask the universe for what you want.” “What you give voice to, the universe will give form to.” “Ask and you will receive, abundantly.”

Did I mention she gave me homework? I was supposed to end each day calling for the positives I wanted to bring into my life. And start each day anticipating that good things would happen to me.

Puh-leeze.

OK, so every night, I recited the things I want to call into my life: people who are considerate, compassionate, generous, honest, fun and funny … people with a need for what I know how to do, and the money to pay for it. Yes, I really did.

And every morning, like clockwork, I told the universe that I expected great things from it, in the form of new writing and storytelling assignments. Yes, I really did. Felt like a damn fool, too.

Until I started seeing people respond enthusiastically to my storytelling in my business meetings. And attracting new clients who wanted me to write press releases and business histories and web content. Not a lot, but enough for me to think something was working in my favor. How the ELF did that happen?

More serendipitous things (Lauren says to call them “blessings”) came my way:

A youth storyteller in New York State found one of my original stories online (“How the Stars Came to Live in the Nighttime Sky“) and asked to use it as part of an interfaith storytelling program, “Children at the Well.” My friend and fellow storyteller Megan Hicks happened to attend the program, and says the girl’s telling of my tale was outstanding!

I received invitations to tell my own and some traditional stories at events with good visibility–and people looked me up afterward.

My website moved into a position of prominence on the Storytelling Web Ring on a night when another friend and storytelling colleague, Maureen Belote, happened to be browsing the Web.

Projects that I couldn’t get anyone to consider long enough to ignore suddenly “got legs.”

And almost without recognizing the shift, I’m focusing and attracting like mad.

ELF alone knows where I’ll end up. And, surprisingly, that’s OK with me.

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