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Storyteller Blog

What is it about growing up that defines the kinds of people we become?  How do we chose from the myriad of characteristics and values of our ancestors, which will become part of our makeup? There are many characteristics of my parents that I see in myself. Just as there are characteristics of me that I see in my son. Then there are a number of characteristics of my parents that I chose not to adopt. What influenced me to make those choices, if they were choices at all?
Continue reading Where do I get it from?…

I’ve always loved slapstick comedies. When I was young I used to imitate some of the physical pratfalls that comedians did on TV and movies. I excelled at falling down and walking into things. This became very useful when I actually did walk into things, since no one knew how clumsy I really was. I used to do these types of activities just to amuse myself, and others, especially my young nieces and nephews. My favorite was walking into walls and doors.  When close enough to a wall, I would drag my back foot so it brushed my front foot, and thus creating the impression that I was tripping over something. As I headed toward the wall in question I would raise my hand and slap the wall just as my head was close enough to look as if it hit it. The sound of the slap, followed by a rebound of my head was enough to look as if I had tripped into a wall. I would immediately put my hand to my face and look dazed to complete the impression. Depending upon who was the witness, there was either shock or laughter. Adults tended to be shocked and wanted to offer help, children laughed. This type of slapstick behavior continued well throughout my young adulthood. Sometimes doing these types of behaviors did not have consequences.

Continue reading Payback…

Think about what dreams you have that are recurring. We all must have some. Those are probably the ones that are more likely to be remembered over time. When I was young (between 9-12 years old). I always had this recurring dream of being in a city excavation site. There were big steam shovels that were digging up things and burying them. Somehow I was always part of the burying part, as in the object being buried. Sometimes my parents were there, sometimes it was just me. I’m sure all you Freudian psych majors out there have already figured out some devious meaning behind all of those dreams.

As I got older I still had recurring dreams, but they usually were based on other themes. Continue reading Recurring dreams…

Uncle Itch was a folk music enthusiast. You could always hear him singing Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger or Peter, Paul and Mary songs. Some songs he sang just stuck with you. I still can’t get the song,  “The Cat Came Back” out of my head whenever he’s around.  His main instrument was the guitar, though that didn’t stop him from attempting other instruments. He has also learned to play the fiddle, mandolin, and harmonica as a performer. He told us that he took piano lessons as a child for a short time and in Junior High School he played the trumpet. As an adult he tried learning the viola, string bass, saxophone, and both hammered and mountain dulcimers, but just couldn’t stick with them.

Continue reading More Itch…

In our present day of medical specialists, where you are delivered at birth by an obstetrician, followed by a pediatrician as you grow up, and finally you move onto either a General Practitioner or Doctor of Internal Medicine as an adult, I am reminded of the doctor that I had growing up, that covered it all. His name was Dr. Tuch (pronounced with a German gutteral “ch”).

These were the 1950s and 60s, where the doctor you had was a Family physician. He not only tended to your birth, but also as you grew up attended to all of your needs and that of the needs of everyone else in your family. This was also the time when doctor’s still made house calls, though my memories of Dr. Tuch center around his office.

Continue reading The Family Doctor…