Lessons from Mabel

Mabel the Maple - picture taken just now.

Sometimes I worry. Don't we all?

And I fret.

Mainly about money.

Lack of.

Fear.

Of the metaphorical poorhouse.

And then I remember Mabel the maple. Who lives with me. A few of you might remember Mabel who technically "died" completely bowled over by a storm, her branches all lopped off for firewood. And then as her trunk was denuded of branches she rose again, she righted herself. And sprouted like a mad thing.

Much like me lately after my fretstorm.

In rapid succession (seriously, in a week!):

One of my stories is being published in an anthology coming out in the fall.

My tigeen is renting out quite nicely.

I was booked for more elder abuse sessions around the island.

Last night I gave a seanachie performance for one of the bigger Canadian magazines. Fingers crossed: a feature.

I sold a great whack of my cards to an inn.

And I was asked to conduct a (paying) writers' workshop in the fall featuring memoir writing.

Lots of little branches.

Just like Mabel.

Surreality

>>>>>mein host behind the bar today in the midst of crew and mikes and lights<<<<<

So I get to the rehearsal today for the Debut of the Seanachie (she appears next Saturday night).

"What are all these film crews and cameras and lights doing?" I ask, shocked.

"Oh, didn't we tell you? Oops, sorry! The History Channel is here doing a documentary on the area. So, if you don't mind, could you sign a release form and then chat up your show next weekend. And your new play if you like as that's about the end of a way of life in an outport, so all part of the history, right?"

"Oh, OK."

Feeling oh, so glad I'd put on some non-jeansy type clothes and dabbed a spot of powder on the gleaming nose, and sorted out my hair before I arrived. Luck of the Irish as some calls it.

So we test the stage and head for the bar where the interview happens and I get such a strong feeling as I talk that a family member is present in spirit, a really strong feeling along with "He would really love this, it's like an Irish snug-in-a-pub even with all the lights and the action and crew everywhere."

And we wind it up. And it's all good.

And I drop in on a really good friend on the way home afterwards to tell her and she laughs and says, "They followed me as myself and a crew cleaned up the old graveyard earlier on today and I was able to tell them about the old gravestones -they're talking of a series in this area."

And I say "Yeah, they want to film some of our play rehearsals too."

And we're quite gobsmacked over dinner and can't stop grinning at each other (she's the executive producer of our theatre company). And sqweeing in disbelief. She had a feeling I'd show up so she threw my name into the pot of heavenly slow-cooking beef stew earlier in the day.

And I came home and swear to gawd, the brother I'd been thinking so intensely about was on the phone from Ireland and said to me: "I've had such strong thoughts about you today. Like you were here. And then I said to myself I've got this big birthday coming up in the autumn and the biggest present I can give myself is my sister here for it."

And then we talked for nearly three hours.

Doors and Windows Open Wide

I'm a firm believer in that if you put something out there, hang a hypothetical sign "Open for New Business", then it will come. Manifestation. Yeah, too woo-ie for some to swallow, but seriously, it has always worked for me.

Today I got a message when I was out, training for the Tely 10.

"Hey----, someone referred you to our company. We're having our annual meeting at W----- Golf and Country Club and we understand you are a story-teller and we would like you to perform after our dinner on June----, if your fee is acceptable to us, are you interested?"

Am I interested?

Can you believe this?

Talk of the speed of a bullet?

Manifestation. I bow before you.

A Day in the Life

Timeout at Coutts today. Click to enbiggen

It was a packed day. I went to visit the owners of the inn and they booked me for 3 sessions of the new persona, The Seanchaí. Sometimes I think I've one hell of a nerve. Seriously. Nerve. I practised a sample on them and they were delighted and said you have to do all three dinner sittings, yes, you do! and by the way it's completely sold out. Be still my heart.

And then we moved on to other stuff. You know the way of it. Life stories, local interest, life by the ocean waves (they are CFAs too),Newfoundland people and how they enfold you into their hearts and are so unconsciously generous.

And then I went off to do some monthly pro-bono work. And then I took a little timeout with Ansa and went to a place where there are only sea birds (see above) and a rutted boreen of a road that we walked for quite a while. And I remembered the camera this time. The other day there were huge grey seals sunning themselves on the beach stones, watching us upside down, really funny creatures, flapping their flippers. And no camera. And we were two miles from home. Boy, was I mad.

Then it was dinner at a friend's, she made a marvellous stew with paste* and had saved a bone for Ansa who was over the moon at this largesse.

Then after this I headed off to drop in on more friends for an hour or so and then headed home. Grateful for the starlit sky, the magnificent weather we've been having, and so very excited about The Seanchaí's debut.

*This is peculiar to rural Newfoundland it is as if pastry and a dumpling had a child.

The Seanachaí*

* Irish for storyteller.

Funny this. I write stories. I love writing stories. I embroider or expand or elucidate or embellish. Take your pick. That is what storytellers such as myself do. Give us a sliver of a theme and we will give you a buffet. No headlines for us. It is all in the details of the dishes on the dresser or the fire crackling in the hearth and the sound of the rain tap dancing on the roof late at night.

I write them well, I think. As to actually reading them to an audience, I don't think I do that well, though I would love to. I would love to climb outside myself and pretend I too am in the audience enthralled with the spin of the words coming from the stage. I aspire to that. The loss of self in the telling. Eamon Kelly had such a gift, if you ever want to see one of the greatest Seanachaís of all time in action, have a look at this:



And because I am known a wee bit around these parts as a storyteller, I get sent to old people's houses so I can sit and listen to their tales.

What I don't tell anyone is that while giving all appearances of being raptly attentive to their stories, spruced up and laundered for me, The Seanachaí, I am listening fiercely to what is left unsaid.