Archive for April, 2010

Paradise

Monday, April 26th, 2010

My sister Cris and her husband Joe have a beautiful piece of property, called Paradise. They run their cattle on the land there and, every April, they round them up for branding. Friends and family come from all over, they bring their horses, they ride and rope and brand and cut and vaccinate. It’s the real deal with men and women who come to help and to share an experience. Cris and Joe are generous hosts. Joe stays on the ground doing the work, rather than getting on the horse to rope. I learned a few years ago that that’s the etiquette – if they’re your cattle, you let other people do the fun stuff. Cris counts the number of calves, bulls from heifers, and helps get everyone fed and supplied with the things that are needed at such an event.

Bill and I go each year and sit fence — Bill never having been a horse guy and I’m a long time from it. I feel like a city girl even though I grew up around this kind of thing. I’ve grown awkward around horses and try to stay out of the way and admire my nieces, Joely and Alyson, how confidently they ride. It’s at Paradise that I see how much time has gone by from the summers when I was on a horse most days. We were never a big horse family, but dad kept horse for us kids to ride – lazy, easy horses named Freckles and Lucky Bob. Like lots of girls, I was horse crazy and, even though we had live horses, I collected horse figurines back then and at one time had around 75 of them scattered around my bedroom.  I still get a thrill at the beauty of a horse or the pure joy of a colt.

My sister leads us up to the small cemetery that sits on a bluff above Paradise. The graves there are from the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. Mostly children. It’s easy to imagine the funeral processions, leading from the little cabin down by the creek and up the trail to the cemetery, men and women dressed in black, wildflowers blooming, the wind, the loss of a child maybe more expected in those days but still unbearable.

We talk about my niece Devin. The last time I saw her was here at Paradise three years ago. She died in May, 2007. We miss her so.

Reading Out Loud

Thursday, April 8th, 2010

I was one of those kids in school whose hand shot up when the teacher asked for someone to read out loud. I loved the sound of words and I loved that I could read them, especially when I could read them to others. Maybe it was from my dad who liked to read the newspaper out loud. Maybe it’s because I grew up in a big family and reading in class meant small moments of attention all on me — even though it wasn’t really on me, it was on those words. Still, I liked attention. I still do.

As a writer, I jump at the chance to read one of my stories out loud. To other people. So I was tickled last night to read at the First Wednesday Reading co-sponsored by Oregon Literary Review and Blackbird Wine Shop.  But I confess, as I always do before a reading, I got a bit nervous in the days ahead. I’d been on the April schedule for awhile and had been looking forward to it. Then about a week ago, I went into a panic. I’d sent out a notice to friends. What if they all showed up and I bombed? What if no one showed up? What if my funny story didn’t seem funny to anyone? Why did I think this would be fun?

Then the reading day came around. I practiced reading my story alone and then a run through with Bill. I simmered down. When I actually got up to read, I looked out at the audience: friends, family, writers, strangers — all those open smiling faces. I felt how much everyone wants everyone to do well, to be happy with themselves. I read. Out loud. I HAD A BLAST! Plus, I got to share the night with three other writers sharing their wonderful stories.

Stories sound different when they’re read to others. It’s a strange thing — the way the sound changes, from reading it silently, to reading it out loud to myself, to reading it to others. I learn things about a story when I say it out loud–something I missed before, something that is working or not working.  I think it’s like that not just with the written word, but with the stories we have in our heads, the troubles we may be having.  If we talk them out, they shift and change shape, they become more manageable, easier to carry and make sense of. Is it that way for you?