Write Your Story then Tell Me What Happens!

MY FIRST SHORT, SHORT STORY


Once upon a time there was a person named _________________



_____________________________. Secretly, she wished that she
(my name)


______________________________________________.
(one different life)

One time I saw her _________________________________. Next
(a thing I enjoy doing)

thing I knew she was ______________________________________.
(one of the tiny changes)

Frankly, it wouldn't surprise me if she went wild and

__________________________________________________.
(something I don't have to do perfectly)


As matter of fact, I'd like it if she did that. I might just try

a few new things myself.

WRITE YOUR RANT AND THEN SING OPERA

Writers really never know what they really think until they write it down. Sometimes I write on a napkin in a restaurant, in my journal, or on computer. If something (like an insurance company) or someone is bugging me, I just rapidly write down all I can on the topic. Then I quickly write from someone else's point of view about it. Then as an imaginary third party watching the scene from the sideline. (Never get confused and email this to anyone!! You will look scary or crazy.)

But, what usually happens in the middle of the rant is that another new, fresh voice chimes in. A new perspective on the issue. I feel a weight lift. Solutions pour out. If have gone from raw feelings to hope.

When I sing this rough rant in my fake opera voice, perspective shifts and I start laughing or crying because I am finally ranted out. I have hit the truth, or it hits me. I can't sing a lie. My frustration+creativity has turned into fun. Even if funny only to me.

The truth is . . . most everything is bearable, light and even funny once you get to the highest note of truth at the end of a well-ranted opera.

Maestro! "I'm the cheese in this office insurance panini. I belong on Saturday Night Live. Someone swoop me up."

The Fajita Odor Eater

Bleh! I cannot stand to be gassed in a Mexican restaurant when the waiter serves up a smoking fajita on a platter right next to me. I do not need to see popping grease before I eat it or before a stranger eats it. Someone, please, invent a silent Dust Buster to follow that waiter out of the kitchen. Suck up the smoke and cracking grease so I don't have to smell it. I am choking to death here.

What would you love to see invented? Or, better yet, what can you invent? Be sure to get a patent. The poor fellow who invented the yellow happy face only made $45.

"Designed to Boost Morale: The original yellow happy face has its origins in Worcester, Massachusetts, on the drafting table of freelance graphic designer Harvey Ball. Joy Young, Promotions Director for a subsidiary of the State Mutual Assurance Company, ordered up a button design from Ball that would help boost morale at the company (which had recently gone through a merger). According to press reports, Ball originally drew just a smile, but feared cynical employees might simply wear the button upside down. So he added two small eyes for vertical reference. A sunshine-yellow background and, voila, the happy face was born.


"In an interview with the Associated Press in 1996, Ball recalled: "There are two ways to go about it (drawing a happy face). You can take a compass and draw a perfect circle and make two perfect eyes as neat as can be. Or you can do it freehand and have some fun with it. Like I did. Give it character.

"Ball is also on record as having said that 'never in the history of mankind or art has any single piece of art gotten such widespread favor, pleasure, enjoyment, and nothing has ever been so simply done and so easily understood in art.'

"State Mutual originally printed up 100 buttons, but when they became popular give-away items, many more were produced. A 1964 picture shows State Mutual vice president John Adams wearing one of the yellow buttons. Ball was paid a $45 fee for designing the button, and neither he nor State Mutual thought to trademark the image."

See http://www.creativepro.com/article/heavy-metal-madness-put-a-happy-face

LICK DESSERT FIRST

I blew my semi-vegetarian diet at Kansas City BBQue by ordering a half plate of ribs, French fries, and cold un-toasted Texas toast. Although we are not near Texas, Kansas City, or Missouri, I enjoyed every bite and sucked the rib bones like a dog. I licked the mint toothpick for dessert but did not eat it. I'm now a depressed unfaithful parttime vegetarian. I may invent a new more positive phylem: SIMPLY NON-FRIED.

THE ART OF CREATIVE LIVING PLAYSHOP: A LIFE-CHANGING JOURNEY TO HIGHER CREATIVITY

WE ARE CREATED TO CREATE

Creativity is in your soul and not something you need to invent.

Discover or recover your lost creativity through learnable skills provided in highly effective exercises and activities that ignite your imagination and flame new ideas.

Help stamp out fear, self-sabotage, jealous, guilt, self-limiting beliefs and inhibiting forces.

Find out how small changes can alter the trajectory of a life time.

Find healing for “DIS-ease.”

Get serious about taking yourself lightly.

Learn to grieve loss and get on with it.

Camp for adults.

Change is the only thing that is unchanging.

Explore creative abundance

Work at learning to play.

Protect your inner artist.

SAYS WHO?

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up. Picasso

Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.
Thomas Merton

I merely took the energy it takes to pout and wrote some blues.
Duke Ellington

Imagination is more important than knowledge.
Einstein

Do not fear mistakes—there are none.
Miles Davis

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented . . .?”
Actually, who are you not to be? Nelson Mandela


PLAYSHOP MEMBERS SAY

I didn’t know I had this many choices.

You should take a before and after picture.

I got in touch with my feelings at a level I’d never reached before.

The pages resulted in weight loss, less medication, and my allergies are better.

I feel like a one-woman work of art and the star of my own life.

I ended the pumpkin pie war.

I dreamed I had a beautiful baby at my age—me.

I quit my job. The most creative thing I can do its get a job—out of town.

This group should be required.

I keep forgetting to be unhappy. Sometimes it’s noon before I pick up a negative thought.

I went to see my baby rhinoceros again.

Last year I didn’t own a computer—now I’m a Web Page.

I never need a nap.

It’s my turn.

I’m having my second art showing.

She introduced me as her artist friend, and I didn’t turn around to see if she meant me.

When I am out alone, I’m in good company.

The joy is in the process and not in the product.

Now I pay attention.

I couldn’t overcome a perfect childhood, and you couldn’t overcome a bad one. We’re the same.

I don’t have time not to do the pages. They make me have a day worth living. Feel the fear and keep going.

You are now in my inner circle.

I wanted to go all my life. I did it.

My date was to stay in bed all day and read.

I have the sculpture because I offered to be the model.

I got a canvas bigger than me.


WHO?


K--
facilitator
writer
mom
wife
chauffeur
key keeper
cat catcher
seamstress
typist
scheduler
nurse
humorist
teacher/consultant
editor
friend
relative
artist
daughter
repairer
greeter
columnist
administrator
and
standup comedian

MAKE CONTACT

letslightenup@cox.net




Usually when we say we can’t do something, what we mean is that we won’t do something unless we can guarantee that we do it perfectly.

The grace to be a beginner is always the best prayer for an artist. There is always one action you can take for your creativity daily.

Serious art is born from serious play.

Life is not a problem to be solved but a mystery to be lived.


The answer is always within. YOU ARE THE LEADER YOU HAVE BEEN LOOKING FOR.

SAN FRANCISCO SHOPPING . . . NOT

While shopping alone in San Francisco, I encountered some colorful Girl Scouts rapping on the sidewalk. Their mom took my photo as they showed me some moves. Turned out the beautiful Scout leader was the niece of retired Judge Charles Owens from my hometown so it was a regular reunion.

The girls and I drew quite a crowd and sold cartons of cookies. Two other women joined us. My twenty-something son would really have enjoyed seeing this scene, but my poor husband would have crawled in a waste can and missed all the funky fun. Now I could add "Rapping" to my old Scout sash where "Cooking" should have been.

The week after receiving my drama badge for starring as the Witch in SNOW WHITE, I quit the Scouts. How could I humble myself to a kitchen after my name appeared in all caps on the bright play poster I had put in the window at the corner IGA? At age eleven, I refused to boil a dumb egg to put in a boring lettuce salad. Some things never change.

I thought I left town to forget it all not to remember.

To write.

To remember to write.

It's not about the shopping.

Monologue: My WORK Number

Scene opens. Tired supermom writing a check at the grocery store. Hand it to the innocent teenaged checker and smile.

“Yes, I found everything needed,” I said. “My work number? OK. 755-5968. Extension? Extension? Yes, there are several extensions. Let me give them all to you.

“Push 1, and you’ll find me in the master bath. I’ll either be anesthetized by Lysol, this Lime Away (she reaches into the sack) or Windex. Let it ring twice because my head may be stuck in the toilet.

“Push 2 (she holds up 2 fingers), and you’ll find me in my teenager’s room. I’ll be picking up sweat socks with tongs, shuffling CD’s, or wiping peanut butter off the remote control. If I’ve fainted from reading the lyrics to one of his poems, push 3.

"3 is the kitchen. I could be down on all 4 waxing or coaxing the incontinent cat out from under the table. I might be sneezing at the dust mop or riding high on my electric broom. Or maybe praising the sheltie for licking up all the cake crumbs.

“Now my assistants--the self-cleaning oven, the dishwasher, the microwave—will be there, but they don’t take messages. Call back.

“Or better yet, try extension 4. I might be in my home office balancing the books for my husband’s business. You see, if I stay in the background and make up flow charts and write checks, he can bask in a glamour position all day at his office and receive credit, or better yet cash, for a job well done.

“Stay right there, young man. If you push 5, you’ll get the backyard. Call anytime day or night because I won’t be resting by the pool. No, I’ll be cleaning the barbecue with a steel brush, putting out a pork rib fire, or explaining to my husband why I won’t stick my hand into the ice water and clean out the pool filter.

“Did you get my cell number, Sonny? 485-6958. Sometimes I run free and wild to the cleaners, the bank, the dentist. But, don’t worry, I’ve got an answering machine. If I’m pumping gas, leave a message. I’ll get right back to you. Or better yet I may just drive right on over the store and see you in person.

“No, I would not like to meet the store manager, but I’m sure he’s very nice. And so are you. See you tomorrow or maybe later today. And thanks again for asking for my work number. If you need me, you know where to find me.”



I thought of this scene because I encountered the same grocery store checker last month on jury duty. After 25 long years, he recognized me first.

VISION

Regarding September 1, 2008, Patty's 81st Happy Birthday.

I love the way I look in your eyes. Don't you love the way you look in mine?

PHILOSOPHICAL PHYSICAL THERAPY PREVAILS

If I cannot stand on my own two feet, I cannot stand beside someone else.

WRITERS REUNITE

Local writer, on right, mentored me to a columnist's position long ago. Thanks.

When I review a previous photo taken of me on an exhausting, bad hair day, I think I looked just fine. I'm sure today is going to seem lovely when I look back. Where's that camera?

FOUND TATOO POEM

Every saint

Has a past

Every sinner

Has a future

NANTUCKET AUTHOR VISITS

Have you read A CHILD'S GUIDE TO NANTUCKET or MY NANTUCKET JOURNAL yet? K is on the left!

K HOSTS NANTUCKET AUTHOR

Have you read A CHILD'S GUIDE TO NANTUCKET or MY NANTUCKET JOURNAL YET? Adorable!

BOOK SIGNING AT FULL CIRCLE BOOKSTORE IN OKLAHOMA CITY

K, on right,

authographs her

memoir along with

other authors

To purchase HEAVENLY PATCHWORK II: Quilt Stories to Warm Your Heart, by Judy Howard, click on http://www.heavenlypatchwork.com/

ARE YOU A TEACHER OR STUDENT? SCHEDULE A HUMOROUS WRITING WORKSHOP NOW

STANDUP COMEDIAN NEEDED: YOU

Since every school needs a humorous writing workshop for educators or students, please click on the following website. Click "How to Contact Us". Then click "Janis Cramer." She will contact me.

http:/www.ou.edu/special/owp/

STANDUP COMEDIAN NEEDED: YOU

Does telling your greatest fear provoke screaming laughter from friends? Is your pet peeve your sister’s goal in life? Are you mad at your dog?

According to the U.S. Population Clock there are over 6 billion people in the world, and I’ll bet each one of them could use a laugh today. I asked several people before class who is funny on tv or in the movies. I got a standard list of names. But my son said, “Mom, who cares? I would love to see some new comedians. We don’t need another Steve Martin or Robin Williams or Roseanne or Homer Simpson. The market is wide open.”

People have said to me all of my life and probably to you, “You're funny. You should write this down.” I took a few classes, and I finally did. I make money writing humorous essays for magazines and newspapers. I won my first short story slam and performed standup comedy in Austin. I had fun doing it. Sometimes I laugh when I write. Sometimes I cry. But, I found my passion and kept churning it out. The world needs to get serious about lightening up.
Comedians are needed. You are needed.

This seminar uses a five-step West Coast technique to massage your mind, discover your voice, and understand your audience. Today you will generate an abundance of material for a humorous essay or an opening act.

exerpt from Oklahoma Writing Project Seminar at Oklahoma City University

Oklahoma Writing Project
http://www.ou.edu/special/owp/


National Writing Project
http://www.nwp.org/

IS THERE A SCIENCE BEHIND LAUGHTER THERAPY?

"Humor and distressing emotion cannot occupy the same psychological space," says Steven Sultanoff, Ph.D., a clinical psychologist and Past President of the Association for Applied and Therapeutic Humor.

Is there a science behind laughter therapy? Yes. At California's Loma Linda University Medical Center, Dr. Lee Berk, assistant research professor, and Dr. Stanley Tan, Endocrinologist, have been studying the effects of laughter on the body. Drs. Tan and Berk wanted to determine if a form of good stress, or laughter, would improve the immune system. After subjects faced an hour of induced joy and laughter from videos and comedians, the subjects’ blood samples showed an increase in the good hormones --such as endorphins and neurotransmitters. Endorphins are the "feel-good" brain chemicals which raise both your mood and your ability to cope.

What may surprise you even more is the fact that researchers estimate that laughing 100 times is equal to 10 minutes on the rowing machine or 15 minutes on an exercise bike. Blood pressure is lowered, and there is an increase in vascular blood flow and in oxygenation of the blood, which further assists healing.

Laughing can be a total body workout! Chuckling also gives your diaphragm and abdominal, respiratory, facial, leg and back muscles a workout. That's why you often feel exhausted after a long bout of laughter -- you have just had an aerobic workout! And a free face lift.

“Hearty laughter is a good way to jog internally without having to go outdoors.” Norman Cousins, author of ANATOMY OF AN ILLNESS.

See the Association for Applied and Therapeutic Humor and Humor Matters
http://www.aath.org/
http://www.humormatters.com/

BACK TO SCHOOL

A lot has happened since I left my full-time teaching job at Mustang High School. But, I won’t bore you with the details of buying a business, raising a child, and burying those with lengthy illnesses. Or changing my dress size more than four times in two different directions.

Decades later, I have decided to substitute teach to see if it is fun. I want my own job, my own schedule, my own life back. I want no homework. I went to substitute training for three hours. I left thinking that I would need my own lesson plans in case none were provided; that I would never be able to navigate the computerized system set up for subs; that I never wanted to be called for anything at 6 a.m.

My anxiety heightened as the first day of school neared. Would I be able to find my classroom? Where would I go during free time? Would I find a friend? Did my hair, clothing, and shoes look right? But, I did not get a call because teachers are always on their best vitamins for the first week of fall.

However, I did a time trial along the route anyway to settle my nerves about being late. Just as I suspected, the parkway traffic stood still because of a wreck. After trying two alternative routes, I finally got through the left turn light into the high school parking lot, I was nine minutes late on teacher time.

The teachers entering the building dressed casually like my son and his friends. The students wore shorts with sweatshirts. I saw only one person like me—a sleepy grandparent dropping of a sleepy grandchild.

Since the faculty parking lot had numbered spaces for small Hondas and used trucks, I decided to lap the school a few times with the carpooling SUV parents, lumbering yellow-jacket school busses, and speedy red Lexus students. Luckily, I spotted an empty visitors’ parking lot just as the band marched directly in front of my bumper without looking both ways. I jammed the brakes, mumbled a few choice words, and it all came back to me.

Teenagers focus on themselves only. Will I find my classroom? Will a find a friend? Does my hair look right? What about my shoes? Where is the entrance to the building?

As I drove out through the school zone with matching squad car, I headed for the mall to buy new shoes, sunglasses, and hair dye.

On Tuesday I would leave fifteen minutes early, get out of the car, look both ways twice, and then bravely walk into the main entrance which was inconveniently located on the back of the building. Or not. 9/08

ODE TO THE CENTURY FURNITURE CATALOGUE 1947-97

As much as I enjoy marketing, I would never have conceived up a restaurant in a furniture store, but I am so glad the Mathis Brothers did. I may spend the weekend there with a friend.


ODE TO THE CENTURY FURNITURE CATALOGUE
1947-97

Home is where one starts from.
T. S. Eliot

The strength of a nation is derived from the integrity of its homes.
Confucius

I had three chairs in my house. One for solitude, two for friendship,
and three for society. Thoreau

Have nothing in your home that is not useful and beautiful. William Morris

Every great architect is a great poet. Every great home is a great poem.
Frank Lloyd Wright

The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it.
Emerson

What is more agreeable than one’s home? Cicero

The house of everyone is to him as his castle and fortress.
Sir Edward Coke



Dedicated
to
Mathis Brothers Furniture Store

TWELVE-STEP TANGO

After talking with a friend on the phone, I typed what he'd told me over dinner.

“It’s a weird dance,” said Marsh. “Once you get started you just can’t stop.”
“What?” I asked my friend over Chinese food.
“I read this article. Martin Sheen travels with his dance instructor so he can work on his dancing at night.”
“You mean she’s his girlfriend?”
“No,” Marsh said. “He takes his girlfriend and the instructor. They dance together. The instructor guides them in improving their tango.”
“That is insane. He must be filthy rich.”
“It’s weird,” said Marsh. “It’s like once you get the tango started it just goes on and on. You can’t really stop it.”
I started to laugh. My egg roll lost its appeal.
“It takes on a life of its own. You just get to one level and then another. It possesses you. You get tangled up in the tango, and you can just never let it go. You want to constantly to improve. It’s like ballet or something. There’s like levels of involvement. You just can’t quit.”
“Can’t quit?”
“No, it’s like an addiction.”

I pictured Martin Sheen and his lovely girlfriend I made up, let's say Melanie, on the way to the location of his latest movie set in Montana. His travelling tango teacher, also the chauffeur, spots a gas station connected by a breezeway to a country and western bar. The red neon sign flashed “DANCIN'.” My mind went nuts.


TWELVE-STEP TANGO

“Quick, pull over,” shouts Melanie. As Ronnie brakes, Melanie's smile radiates through the blacked-out limo window.

“Oh, I thought we’d never find a dance floor. I’ve been about to tango for the last 50 miles since Bozeman,” said Martin.

As the chauffeur pulled up to an empty pump, Martin dashed for the men’s room. He combed his hair left, then right, then straight back. His face showed he had lost weight.

His dancing queen, Melanie, ducked into her cubicle to freshen up and add a little perfume. She pinched her cheeks red. They rendezvoused in the hallway and glided toward the dance floor hand in hand.

“Do you think this juke box will have anything?” Melanie asked.

“Have faith, honey,” Martin reassured. “Have I ever let you down? We’ll play every tune if we have to.”

Six quarters later they found a beat they both agreed would do--“Mini-Warehouse of Misery.”

Martin and his lady gazed over their left shoulders and waited for the beat. Picking up right where they’d left off in another city, they set their posture high and spun into mysterious mastery of the tantalizing tango.

Jim Bob Wilson, the bartender, slacked his jaw. Sean Remington, janitor and cub reporter from the weekly Hip Pocket, stared in disbelief.

“They don’t even know we’re here,” Sean said.

“It’s like they’re in some kinda trance or somethin’,” said Jim Bob, wiping down the bar for the tenth time in as many minutes.

“What do you reckon will stop them?” said the reporter.

“Stop them? Stop them?” Ronnie butted in. “There is no ‘stopping’ the tango. You must be kidding. Ha!! That’s a laugh.”

“What’s so funny, Mister?” asked the bartender through clenched teeth. Just then Martin paused in mid turn.

“Ronnie, help us. What is happening? My balance is off," said Martin. Melanie paced while Ronnie danced with Martin trying to loosen him up.

“You are going to be fine. Just don’t panic," Ronnie said. "I’ll rest my arms on your shoulders. You move and let me feel the flow so I can follow. Go on.”

Martin closed his eyes in prayer then caught the music and spun to the right. Ronnie followed easily.

"What just happened?” asked the bartender to himself.

“Perfect, Martin,” Ronnie complimented. “You’re back.”

“Thanks, Ronnie, that was a close call. I panicked,” Martin said. “Honey, let’s continue.”

Ronnie gave a them a look a proud parent saves for his favorite child starring in the school play. He had the greatest job in the world. Then he went back outside to practice his own front dip as he check the tires and oil on the black stretch.

I'm Back

Surely I will figure out how to really use this soon. I'm getting Eastered up this week.