Tell Your Technicolor story. We’ll listen

Millions of people. Millions of stories

Millions of people. Millions of stories

When you think of it, stories were our main entertainment when we were little. I didn’t have the kind of parents who read me bedtime stories. Now that I think about it, I don’t remember ever seeing my mother or father sit down and read a book. I guess if it weren’t for public education, I’d be drawing stick-figures on this blog instead of typing.

But the adults in my life loved stories and spoke them into any pause in a conversation.

We’d go over to someone’s house (folks used to visit face to face a lot more often when I was little). While the kids were supposed to be playing, the adults sat around and told their stories. Stories about the war;  tales about neighbors who made moonshine or stole watermelons; Jokes about stupid horses and even stupider owners.

Kids used to be ignored a lot back then; so we were invisible even when we were in earshot to hear about  Aunt Gertie  goin’ downtown with “some man,” or the red-eyed cobbler  who couldn’t hit a tack straight after a weekend with a bottle.

Of course,  we didn’t understand a lot of the things we overheard, but you don’t survive to be 6 years old without recognizing disapproval when you sense it underlining  the spoken word.  We interpreted this as Aunt Gertie was in for a spanking and we made a mental rule to never go downtown with a man-or have our shoes fixed on Mondays.

I think we still love our stories.

Sometimes they come in different forms. The You-Tube video of Susan Boyle has received over 85 million hits. It is a short (7 minute) story with a heroine who fights seemingly impossible odds and wins.

Blogs are stories. Our weavings, jokes, and tales. With over 113 million blogs (and that doesn’t include the estimated 73 million blogs in China), you may wonder if anyone ever sees your story.

True, your thoughts may ride the internet waves for years, but even if it’s just one person who stumbles upon your words; you’re still telling your story. No longer do you have to have disgraceful aunts and quirky neighbors to spin a good anecdote. The blogs in my sidebar full of stories about knitting, job hunting, writing, and life-examining thoughts.

Some are seeking a way to go on. Some have found it. All of our yarns show our mistakes, successes, and how human we are. We go on-telling stories. And that gives me hope.

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About Barb

I escaped from a hardscrabble farm in Oklahoma. I'm not sure why people think I have an accent. I miss the sunshine, but not the fried foods.
This entry was posted in Hope, Lights, Sleepless Nights, Smiles and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Tell Your Technicolor story. We’ll listen

  1. Barb says:

    Alice,
    I’d love to go to the cemetery with you some dark night and hear your stories of terror. Please, nothing about a man with a hook, okay?

    Like

  2. Barb says:

    Roxie,
    What a compliment from the master storyteller, herself.

    Like

  3. Alice Lynn says:

    Your blog revives memories of tale telling around a campfire when I was a kid; going with friends to the cemetery when the night was dark and the moon a pale orb shining fitfully behind the scudding clouds because I was known for concocting “good ghost stories.” As oral traditions preceded written language, you remind us to revisit not just our personal past but to honor the great tales told by poets; to listen in imagination to the European minstrels who traveled from town to town and castle to castle singing of the great deeds that comprise the bedrock of our literature. Thanks for the reminder!

    Like

  4. Roxie says:

    Before any electronic entertainment we had stories, and a person who could tell them well was a valued member of the community. Sure, everyone had already knew the story of Cormac and the Giant, but someone with a good imagination and a gift for gab could tell it so well that everyone wanted to hear it again and again. It passed the time. It gave you something to think about. Fairy tales weren’t just for kids. And with ballads, the music and rhymes make the story easier to remember. We need stories in our lives. The oriental storyteller in the marketplace, or the wanderint minstrel in europe, could eke out a living on the telling of stories. Early-self publishing – put out a bowl at the fair, salt it with a few small coins, and start singing your version of Robin Hood.

    And I love the real stories. I, too, remember listening as a kid and hearing these jokes, morality tales, and community builders. Tell your stories, Barb. You’re good at it! I would gladly buy you another beer to hear you keep on talking.

    Like

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