My Storytelling Odyssey

Jana Segal performing at Odyssey Storytelling 

When I first started storytelling, I would try to memorize the whole story – since I was accustomed to memorizing monologues for acting auditions.  Glenda Bonin, my storytelling mentor, kept nudging me to get rid of the script and just tell it.  And there were times when I experienced a glimpse of actual telling – by sheer chance. Like the first time I attempted to tell my pioneer story without reading it. I was still struggling with memorization when I arrived at Bookmans for the performance. The only audience, aside from other storytellers, was a mother and her two children. At some point in the story, my mind went blank. But this little audience was my saving grace. I looked into their eager eyes and told the story just for them.  

Since then I have been working on becoming less nervous and more conversational in my storytelling.  So when Glenda invited me to perform at the Teller of Tales summer gathering, I thought it was a great opportunity to practice just that. I wanted to share something cheerful, so I decided to tell about how my son Josh had made it into the Haidong Gumdo World Championships in Korean sword dance. I brainstormed all the incidents that led up to this accomplishment - like how he was famous for dancing with his French horn in the bleachers at football games or for doing his own version of hip hop in the high school halls during lunch. I outlined (on file cards) all of his creative projects that may have contributed to his Israeli-inspired sword dance – including creating claymation Canaanite characters.  I composed my opening line, “Josh has always marched to the beat of his own drum – especially when he was in the Catalina Magnet High School marching band.”

Joshua Segal at Haidong Gumdo World Championships

As an experiment I went over the list again and again, but purposely didn’t practice it out loud. I wanted to see if it would be more conversational if I just spoke off the top of my head.  I should have at least practiced the opening line because when I got on stage I groped around for it. I eventually warmed up. (I always enjoy performing in front of an audience.) Somewhere along the way, I got side-tracked from my outline, and just started blabbing. I admitted how frustrated I was that my smart, creative son - who was so full of promise - was given mind-numbing drugs right before his trip to Korea.  Caught up in this train of thought, I forgot the big payoff – describing how he honored his Jewish heritage by dancing to Hava Nagila and two other Jewish folk songs. It was so anticlimactic. I wanted to hop back on stage and fix it.  And I would have too, if the MC (Glenda) had let me.

Knowing how frustrated I was, Glenda called the next morning to offer sympathy and advice. She said that it was really brave when I shared my true feelings and that the audience had really connected to it. She suggested that next time I concentrate more on my own feelings and how I was proud of Joshua. She said the audience will really relate to it and that it will make Joshua proud, too.

A few days later Odyssey Storytelling sent out a call for stories about “Detours.” It was an opportunity to put Glenda’s advice into action! Odyssey would give me a chance to practice it twice – at the rehearsal and at the performance. At the rehearsal, the other tellers and facilitators would also give valuable feedback for shaping my story.  This time I was going to make sure to include how proud I was of Josh and fully describe his experience at the sword dance competition.

Characters from Josh (Killetz) Segal's film, "Bronze"  

And I did manage to include it. But I was sort of… off, sort of stiff. One of the storytellers described my performance as episodic – like reciting a list of episodes. He said that I was more engaging when I told the group about Josh afterwards. I had described how Josh focused on himself when he danced, looking down at the floor. That guy said that he could tell so much more about Josh by how I acted out that little bit. The other tellers wanted to see more of me in it - more of how I felt about what happened.  On the bus ride home, I jotted down their great advice.

After that rehearsal, I realized that I needed some way into the story that would propel me to the end. I had planned on practicing some more on the day of the performance – holding a hair brush like a microphone (as they recommended at Odyssey).  But that morning Josh messaged me about his actors backing out on him. He had been rushing to finish his claymation for a screening the next day at The Loft Cinema’s First Friday Shorts. I spent the entire day contacting actors for him.

That became the angle I was looking for. I would start with how I had spent the day helping Josh with his claymation project. I would just share it with the audience like I would a friend. Instead of a last minute (panicked) rehearsal while I dressed, I relaxed with a leisurely shower.  While we waited for the bus, I asked my boyfriend if I could tell him about Josh’s experience. When I got stuck on a word, I stopped to figure it out, then went back to telling the story. A woman at the bus stop was eavesdropping. She looked shocked when I messed up and said, “Shoot! Can I start again?”

Odyssey Storytelling at the Screening Room

My performance wasn’t perfect. I groped for a few words. I have no idea what my free hand was doing. But I really enjoyed sharing Josh’s story with the audience and they seemed to be with me. The thing I am most proud of is that I didn’t beat myself up for my mistakes. I realized it was all a part of the process. In the lobby before the show, I told a friend that I had no idea how this was going to turn out. “It is what it is.” I achieved what I was working on - being less nervous and more conversational. I think it was because I believed in the process.

The next day, I waited nervously as Josh watched a recording of the performance.  He looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked if he could post it on his Facebook page.

Josh was proud. 

What Our History Books Don’t Teach Us: Unsung Heroines

by guest blogger, Anna Yosin

I am pleased to present guest blogger, actress/producer/martial artist Anna Yosin.  Anna discusses two projects she is developing and the importance of sharing stories of incredible women who made history, but weren't included in our history books.

Victoria Woodhull 

When we think of story, we think of entertainment. We think of stories that move us emotionally. We laugh, we cry, we get angry or inspired. But stories also teach and inform us in many ways. We can learn about the past or different cultures through the exposure to stories - whether it be live theater, film, TV, new media or the good ol' book. Often we get history lessons from storytelling and that tradition goes back to before literature existed. But what happens when those stories are skewed by what is left out? We miss out on learning about some of the most inspiring people in history, especially if we depend only on the knowledge we learn in our classrooms. Unfortunately, our history books leave out so much and the content is often politically skewed.

This really hit me about a year ago. I stopped at a truck stop on my way back to LA from Tucson and picked up a few interesting books about women in the West. I found one particularly interesting - “The Bad Girls of the Wild West.” Although the book only touches upon women of notoriety in the days of the Wild West, it was enough to spark my interest. I found myself wondering why, out of all the Western movies and TV shows, these women's stories weren't told in more detail. Some may have appeared in supporting roles, but none of the movies (at least that I am aware of) featured them as the main character. So I started to dig deeper and I found some rare historical gems!

Among the stories that everyone knows like Calamity Jane and Annie Oakley, I found many that we don't hear about. These women played important roles in the history of our country. For example: Stage Coach Mary (the first person to deliver mail for Wells Fargo on a stagecoach), Clara Barton (the founder of the American Red Cross), Elizabeth Bassett and her two daughters (who ran their own ranch, smuggled cotton from Mexico and fought against big ranching companies who were taking over all the smaller ranches… a familiar struggle even today), or how about Maria Rita Quinteros de Valdez, (another rancher who owned a massive stretch of land that is now Beverly Hills), or Toby Riddle (a Native American who stepped in and prevented some deadly battles, then traveled to the east coast educating people about Native American culture). That’s just to name a few, of MANY.

Biddy Mason

Two of these women really stood out for me and I am currently creating projects based on their stories. Biddy Mason, who was a slave for the first 40 years of her life, sued her owner and won her freedom in Southern California in 1856 (a year before the Dread Scott case propelled the country into civil war.) She went on to become one of the wealthiest property owners in Los Angeles, started the first black school and church, donated money to the poor and visited prisoners to bring a little light into their lives. Talk about a philanthropist! My other heroine, Victoria Woodhull,  was the first woman on Wall Street to own a stock brokerage company. She started a revolutionary periodical and wrote articles about the most leading edge controversial issues. She actually ran for President of the United States of America in 1871 - almost 50 years before women were legally allowed to vote!

What? Is this for real? Yes! It's huge! Why isn’t it in our history books? These stories are impressive even by today's standards and are nothing less than inspiring. They are too powerful not to be told. I believe that if more people knew about their challenges and accomplishments, they would be inspired to do more in our modern society. That is why I am so motivated to get these stories out. There are parts of the world where women are not allowed to be educated or even go outside of their homes without their husbands - let alone create their own successful business or run for president. It is my hope that when people hear about the brave women of our past, it will inspire them to research more, uncover more and give them courage to take a stand. When we hear stories of great accomplishments or of crossing new boundaries, it encourages us to believe in ourselves. We are more than capable of accomplishing what may be deemed impossible by society’s standards. The stories of these incredible women give us the courage to leap higher, stretch farther and have trust in humanity.

Reposted from http://www.reelinspiration.blogspot.com/

Mothers Day Gifts

On this mother’s day, I feel blessed to have worked with my mom on her love project honoring her mother, “Model T Biscuits.” You can just feel the love as you read about their cross country trip to find a little farm of their own.  

As I look back, it is really a miracle that I became a writer. When I was in kindergarten, I was so shy that I couldn't even raise my hand to go to the bathroom.  I had great difficulty learning my ABC’s. So they held me back another year. Yes, I flunked Kindergarten.  I was put in a special class for students with learning disabilities. I remember being taught to tell my right hand from my left by holding up the hand I used to salute the flag.  In second grade, I struggled to learn to read by memorizing words, so I doodled on the handouts instead. The teacher complained that I was in my own dream world, put me down another grade and suggested that I be put on drugs. But my mom never gave up on me. She hired a nice young woman to write down my stories while I illustrated them (so I could see the connection between my imagination and words.) My mom was so ahead of her time.  I’m still proud of the resulting picture books, “The Stinky Skunk” and “The Roadwalker.”

The thing I love most about my mom is how she always encouraged us kids to develop our talents. When I was little I spent all my time drawing people.  Despite our limited income, mom always made sure I had art supplies. (Seems like every birthday I got art sets.)  Somehow she convinced a local artist, Jan, to give me free art lessons.  (Jan taught me a trick for drawing faces... Draw an oval with a curved line half way down it. That's where you put the eyes.) She had been commissioned to paint a portrait of our local celebrities Roy Rogers and Dale Evans for their museum. Inspired by her painting, I sketched a picture of them too. I remember mom driving me to Victorville and waiting outside the bowling alley for Roy Rogers so I could give him my little picture. He just looked at it and walked away.

Mom inspired me every day with her passion and dedication to her own writing.  On our birthdays, she brought cupcakes to school and read her story picture books to the class. One year she read a story about a little Mexican boy and brought a lopsided homemade piñata. I loved it! 

When my passion shifted to theater, mom drove me to the next town over to perform in Community Theater. I checked out plays and musical records from the library.  I listened to show tunes on my little record player and belted out the songs. I believe it was that love of plays that helped me to finally overcome my struggle with reading. I started writing show tunes and musicals.  My most cherished memory of my mom is climbing into her bed and singing her my latest creation. Of course, she thought they all were brilliant. On the last day of school before going off to college, I somehow found the courage to sing one of those songs, “At Last” to my choir teacher. He was inspired to write an accompaniment to it right there in the practice room while the rest of the class enjoyed their Christmas party.

Whenever I came home from college, I crawled into bed and sang mom my latest songs. After learning to critique in grad school, we would sprawl out on the couch as I critiqued her latest children’s book. One of those books was, “Model T Biscuits” which I eventually adapted into a screenplay.

directing a scene from "Model T Biscuits"

Mom and I have shared many priceless memories. We attended the Burbank Children's Film Festival and watched as Dee Wallace's acting students performed a stage reading of, “Model T Biscuits.” During the awards dinner, mom was so nervous that her stomach was gurgling. She kept escaping into the bathroom. During one of those visits, she ran into Shelly Long ( from Cheers)! She babbled something about how nervous she was. Shelly admitted that she was nervous too and gave my mom a comforting hug.

Finally, Dee Wallace (the mom from E.T.) announced that we had won the award for best short screenplay. Mom nervously uttered a speech about how her mother had inspired, “Model T Biscuits” with her sisu (Finnish for guts and determination.)  I am so grateful that my mom always showed sisu when it came to encouraging us kids.  That is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me. 

Searching for Tucson's Lost Heritage

I was very inspired by the lectures on border issues at the Tucson Festival of Books. I went to the panel about ranching on the Arizona-Mexican border as research for a screenplay I am working on. I figured I would hear the usual complaints about “illegals” trashing their property or robbing them. (As I had from ranchers around Tombstone.) But I was delighted to find that in all their years of ranching, these three ranchers never had any problems with Mexicans. The female rancher shared how she always felt safe riding across her property alone. She reminisced about the old times when the cows from the Mexican ranchers would roam freely back and forth across the border. And how she and her cowboys would take coffee breaks with the Mexican cowboys. In the eighties, when the government passed stricter laws about undocumented workers, migrant workers were forced to cross the brutal desert in search for work in America. When they crossed their land, these ranchers gave them a meal or temporary work fixing fences and such. The ranchers had nothing but positive experiences.

Tucson's Presidio

Living in Tucson for 25 years, it’s hard for me to understand the current attitudes about undocumented Mexican workers. The Old Pueblo used to be part of Mexico. Mexicans were the first settlers. When the portion of Sonora that contained Tucson was sold to the US, the Mexicans settlers were given a choice between returning to Mexico and receiving a piece of land or becoming full American citizens. Many of these new citizens still had family across the border, so it was common to travel back and forth to visit them.

In the border town of Nogales, there were no walls between the Mexican and American side. It was treated as one city. Their annual Christmas Parade procession crossed the border. Later, hard-working Mexicans were hired as seasonal farm workers, so they were encouraged to migrate across the border. This migration has always been a part of Tucson’s culture. It’s as Tucson as apple chimichangas.

On another panel at the book fest, Peg Bowden, author of “Land of Hard Edges,” reminisced about growing up in the ethnically diverse, culturally rich Tucson. Later Peg told me that the ethnic breakdown was about 20% African American, 30% Latino, and 8% Asian. She heard Spanish and Mandarin spoken in the hallways of her high school. Mexican-Americans were active in politics and were revered. This got me thinking about my first impressions when I moved to Tucson. One of the first things I noticed was memorials with prayer candles and ribbons by the side of the road and altars to Our Lady of Guadalupe. I was struck by the incredible talent in the Latino community represented in art galleries, on murals, Borderland Theater Company, and Tucson Cine Mexico.

The first place we take out-of-town guests are our authentic Mexican restaurants such as El Minuto by the El Tiradito (the castaway) Wishing Shrine in Barrio Viejo. Then we head downtown to the restored Presidio near the Tucson Museum of Art to see the large Mexican nativity, El Nacimiento. The Mexican influence is evident in our cultural events. Tucson school children get two days off every year for rodeo days. 150,000 people gather for the annual rodeo parade to watch Vaqueros sitting high on their saddles, high school bands performing Mexican marches, and Mariachi dancers. 100,000 come out to experience the spectacular Dia de Los Muertos (The All Souls Procession). Mexican culture enriches our community. It is an integral part of our Tucson heritage. 

While researching Mexican culture in Tucson, I discovered that what had once been a thriving, vibrant community had been relegated to a museum exhibit. Before the urban renewal project of 1967 destroyed Tucson’s largest barrio, descendants of Tucson’s Mexican, Chinese and Jewish settlers still lived in their families’ traditional adobe row homes just outside of the Presidio walls. The Mexican barrios were tight-knit communities where family and church were valued. They gathered for holidays in the square. Everyone in the neighborhood knew each other and looked after each other. People shopped in neighborhood stores.  When Peg Bowden was at the U of A Nursing College, she did home visits on Convent and Canal Street. "People had chickens in the backyard and no electricity. They put their food on the back porch at night to keep it cool. They gave me warm tortillas fresh off the griddle when I visited. Great memories."

Politicians used the fact that some of the houses were ramshackle with backyard outhouses and that there was a rough neighborhood. They called the barrios a "blight" on the city. In the name of progress, the barrio was condemned to be replaced by a money-pit: a failed convention center and shopping center. This close knit community was torn apart, leaving some destitute. 

There are remnants of that vibrant barrio in what remains of the Historic Districts in Barrio Viejo including Teatro Carmen, the first venue in Tucson devoted to Spanish language productions and later used as a cinema, meeting hall, ballroom, and boxing arena. In Barrio El Hoyo there is a small garden and plaques that commemorate what used to be the Carrillo Gardens. The eight acres of garden boasted several small lakes and bathhouses fed by natural springs surrounded by cottonwood trees, fruit trees, and roses from around the world. There was a pavilion for music and dancing or skating. There was even a shooting gallery and a small zoo. Every weekend in the park was like a fiesta. 

When the barrio was gutted, Tucson lost much of its charm and history; in fact, its very heart and soul. In this time when politicians create an atmosphere of fear using undocumented workers as scapegoats, it’s important to remember those who built the adobe walls that became the Old Pueblo and their descendants who carry on our shared traditions.

Read more in my blog, "Footprints in the Dirt."  

Dare to Be Mediocre with Children's Writer Katherine Paterson

Tucson Festival of Books

Lorna Kerin Beall 

For years my daughter Jana has invited me to go to the Tucson Festival of Books and I finally went. The fest was amazing.  In addition to street fair vendors, book signings with your favorite authors (500 of them!), entertainment, a science pavilion, and kids’ activities; they had authors speak on every topic imaginable.  I was delighted to find that there were at least twenty-five authors who spoke about writing for children.

The speaker I enjoyed most was two-time Newberry winner, Katharine Paterson, the author of one of my favorite children's books, The Great Gilly Hopkins. I found her encouraging, humorous and humble. She told us that no one thought she had the makings of a writer. In fact, when she was growing up, she wanted to be an actress or missionary. She ended up marrying a minister and joyfully becoming a missionary. But she still harbored thoughts about writing. Then a wise friend (and writer?) said, “Maybe that is something God is calling you to do.” Katherine protested that she didn't want to be mediocre. The friend replied, “If you don’t dare to be mediocre, you won’t be a writer.” 

I’m sure Katherine’s words inspired beginning writers, but they also rang true for me. I believe in plunging ahead and getting that first draft done, warts, typos and all. But I take it a step farther. Some of my friends only write when they’re inspired. Maybe that works for them, but I’d never get anything done.  I've discovered that I've accomplished some of my best writing when I didn't feel like it, and that the writing seems to have more depth. Then I go back later and  smooth out the rough spots. 

          

Katherine’s minister husband became her first supporter and editor. If he had insisted that she strictly maintain the traditional role of a minister’s wife, she would've never found time to write.  He informed his parishioners that she had her own calling!

Listening to Katherine Paterson

I related to this. Having six kids, we often had difficult financial times, but Richard never insisted that I get a job, and he always encouraged me to write. When he sees me puttering around the house, he’s known to  grumble, “Why aren't you in your room writing?”  This was in spite of the fact that I got (and still often get) enough rejection slips to wallpaper that room.

In addition to being inspired by Katherine, I felt a special camaraderie with the other writers.  With free lectures, panels and workshops on writing in every genre, as well as panels on self-publishing, marketing, and getting an agent, I would recommend this free festival to any author or aspiring author.

I was delighted when Katherine held up her brand new book and said, "It's called, The Story of My Life." It touches on both her life and her writing. My hubby claims that I totally ignored my own writing (not to mention cooking and housecleaning) while reading her amazing book. I hope all of you enjoy it too!

Nissa-Nassu

In my work-in-progress children’s pioneer novel, “The Wormy Bean Winter,” six-year old Emmi tells two-year-old Sunni about Aunt Riika’s famous Nissa-Nassu (Finnish Christmas Piggy Cookies) that they always have at their aunts for Thanksgiving. This results in their saying the name both forward and backwards, "Nassu-Nissa...Nissa-Nassa," as well as much noisy “oinking” and even noisier giggling!

Jana attempted to nurture her Finnish heritage by making Piggy Cookies for Christmas.

In the photo they did look “piggy.” (Messy like pigs anyway!), due to coloring the frosting with some seedy raspberry jelly or something to make them pink!  I’m sure they were delicious. And I admire her spirit in fostering our Finnish traditions.

Happy Holidays!

Lorna Kerin Beall

Note from Jana: Inspired by my mom's story, I decided to try my hand at Finnish Piggy Cookies. Dan combined the Finnish tradition of baking ginger cookies with his own love of local Tohono O'odham heritage ingredients by making yummy mesquite-ginger cookies. Unfortunately, the piggy shape and ginger-mesquite taste was covered by the raspberry frosting. I didn't have a pig cookie cutter so I cut out circles and sculpted piggy ears, snout, legs and tail with my fingers. I made another cookie of a piggy face with a raised snout. They sorta looked like pigs until I put the speckled pink frosting on them. I tried making eyes with little dollops of white icing and a shiny round sprinkle. When I applied black eye lasses on it, Dan's mom exclaimed, "Oh! It's a face!" 

Heirloom Traditions

Our little "Tree of Life" represents our relationship. Can it withstand the weight of our first Christmas? 

Traditions are like heirlooms handed down by families through generations: trimming the tree, sending Christmas cards, favorite holiday treats, singing Christmas carols, hanging lights, going to Christmas Services, and the big family dinner.

Are family traditions worth the time and effort? Actually, the busier we get, the more important it is to hold onto them. Traditions help us stay connected to lost loved ones, ethnic heritage, religion, family, and friends.

One vanishing tradition is sending Christmas cards. I remember looking up in wonder at Mom's many Christmas cards hanging from a red ribbon.  This year I got five cards. Five! For years I sent newsletters sharing our family story to keep distant friends and relatives in the loop. But now I can’t seem to find the time. Instead I post Christmas greetings on Facebook and find personalized memes for friends. (I sent a Finnish Christmas stamp meme to my cousin and a Christmas gnome to my sister.) The great thing about sending cards is that it keeps us connected to distant family and friends.

This year we combined new technology with old. We took a photo with our cell and created the card on the computer.

Another tradition is holiday baking. Sure, it’s easier to buy cookie-cutter perfect cookies from the bakery, but what are we missing?  When I mix up a batch of oatmeal chocolate chip cookie dough, it brings back warm memories of making cookies with our mom, with all of us kids waiting around to lick the bowl. What better way to spend precious time with your family. This year we added a cookie decorating party to our traditions and shared a delightful afternoon with friends.

The "Cookie Queen" reigns over her subject.

Dan and I are spending our first Christmas together. After our Thanksgiving fiasco caused by warring traditions (when the words, “Scott doesn’t do that,” were uttered); Dan and I discussed how we can better handle the holidays. We have decided to meld our traditions and make some of our own. We’ll open our presents on Christmas Eve (my tradition) and eat tamales (Dan’s tradition). Today we were googling new Finnish recipes (reflecting my ethnic heritage.) We got a good laugh at the Finnish comfort food (don’t ask me how to pronounce it) nakkikastike – hot dog sauce! Lol! (I also posted the picture on my mom’s Facebook page – along with a squeaky cheese recipe (leipajuusto) that mom mentions in, “Model-T Biscuits.”) For the first time, we will be making Finnish cardamom coffee cake and coffee for breakfast Christmas morning.

To deal with the addition of two cats in the house (Dan's), we decided to forgo a traditional Christmas tree (Jana's). I realized that the part I would miss the most were our sentimental ornaments and lights reflected in shiny red and gold bulbs.  So we decorated a pole over the sliding glass door (Dan called it our festivus pole) and hung the boys' baby ornaments on our tree lamp.

One reason we hold onto Christmas traditions is to recreate the magical memories we experienced as children. A favorite memory was going Christmas caroling with our church youth group. I loved belting out Christmas songs until my throat was raw. My ex and I recreated that magic by hosting popular Christmas Sing-a-long parties. But trappings of those parties - the song books, candles (lit during Silent Night) and jingle bells have been packed away in the shed ever since my eldest son became an atheist.

Another cherished tradition was to make Nana’s chicken soup with homemade noodles.  Carrying on that tradition, I can feel her presence as the noodle dough sticks to my fingers. This year I saved time by using roasted chicken and broth in the chicken soup. And I still got to make the homemade noodles (the part that made her soup special.)  I imagine Nana is looking down and shaking her head in distaste. 

One way to make traditions last is to simplify them. Mom calls me every year to ask for my easy fudge recipe. We set out several fun ingredients (marshmallows, Reese’s Pieces, coconut, nuts, raisins, etc.) and the boys come up with their own creations.

It is so easy and fun that it's become a Christmas tradition. Here's the recipe if you'd like to try it...

JANA’S EASY FUDGE

3 cups chocolate chips

1 can sweetened condensed milk

1 tablespoon butter

1 teaspoon vanilla

Put all the ingredients in a microwave-safe bowl, microwave for two minutes (stirring after one minute and at the end), and spread onto a greased cookie sheet (or into a giftable mug) and refrigerate. Easy!

Why is it as we get older we care more about Christmas traditions? We long for that connection with our past and the joys of our youth. 

Have a Merry Christmas full of heirloom traditions!

Jana

Mining for Authentic Details

Lorna Kerin Beall

In the children’s novel I’m writing, The Wormy Bean Winter, Kata’s Finnish Pappa and her thirteen-year-old brother, Jari, go to work in a Copper Mine in Butte, Montana.

Vanadium, Colorado mine, ca 1900. Western History/Genealogy Dept., Denver Public Library.

I needed to find out if they used Carbide helmet-lamps there in 1919. So I called a librarian in Butte and, surprise of surprises, she’d seen a photograph of a miner wearing one for the very first time in that mine in 1912!  She also explained in detail how the carbide “lumps” worked. I owe her many thanks.

I also needed to know the name and description of the contraption (elevator?) the miners took to enter the mine. My daughter (who had done some research for her own screenplay) hooked me up with Carey Granger, the tour guide and care-taker of the Good Enough Silver Mine in Tombstone, Arizona. Carey told me it was called a cage.

In, The Wormy Bean Winter, Pappa and Jari have to go in the cage for the first time. I likened it to a cage of chickens they’d seen fall off a buckboard and clatter down a cliff.  Carey, thanks for sharing the authentic details that help make my story a little more accurate. I probably still need to double-check some of my mining details... 

A Memorial to our Muse, Cousin Willo.

Sisu. One of my mom's favorite words. Finnish for gutsy. She loves to weave it through her stories about our Finnish ancestors. Wonder if she got it from our cousin Willo? I remember when Mom first started researching Finnish customs for her book, Model-T Biscuits. She sent Willo a list of questions about their family stories and growing up on the S. Dakota homestead. This got Willo a'thinkin'. She, in turn, self-published a book about her father, Axel Sacrison, and his art. What a gift she left for her children. Mom and I were thrilled when she sent us a copy of her next book, Cave Hill Finns: They Had Sisu!

It is a treasure trove of old-timey photographs of our ancestors' homestead; Cave Hill Lutheran church; sheep wagons; the sisters decked up in their white Sunday dresses on horseback; Mumu weaving a rag rug on her loom; and Axel's wonderful painting of his mother in her puku (dress) and huivi (head scarf) walking past the homestead by the buttes. Inspired by their sisu, I pored over these family photographs as I adapted, Model-T Biscuits, into a screenplay.

One summer, all of us cousins stayed at Aunt Edna's house while attending the Finn Festival in Astoria. Since Willo had been such a help, Mom and I wanted to share, "Model-T Biscuits" with her and our other cousins. As the fragrance of fruit soup with cinnamon wafted in the air, we all sat around the kitchen table and read it out loud. I always felt a special kinship with Willo.  I was delighted to find another family member who was also into video production, so I sent her my short Western, "Desert Angel." Willo, Mom, and I share a love of all things Finnish and old-timey - themes we all wrote about on our blogs.

Cousin Willo and Aunt Edna at Cave Hills Lutheran Church

We love antique bottles: blue medicine bottles, ink wells, tinted with time, beautifully flawed, light filtering through, reminiscent of past lives. After seeing my Facebook post of glass bottles in a window cell, she started her own collection of blue glass that are posted on Willo's blog.

Reminiscing about Willo, I can almost feel her presence as the light streams through the antique glass in my kitchen window. Thank you, sweet cousin Willo, for sharing our family stories and the meaning of sisu. Lepää rauhassa.

Heritage Gardens (Healthy Traditions in the Making)

As Thanksgiving approaches, I reminisce about how, as a child, I was intrigued by the idea of living off the land like Native Americans. I loved climbing on the boulders in Apple Valley, California, (near Hesperia, where I grew up) to find holes worn in the rocks from grinding grains. On a recent visit to Tucson Botanical Garden, my boyfriend, Dan, and I were drawn to the Tohono O'odham heritage garden and the corn grinders.

(What fun! You can pay 25 cents for a handful of seeds to grind. Of course, being accustomed to modern conveniences, I opted for the corn that had been partially ground by the kid before me...)

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Dan took pictures of their irrigation system as a guide for the heritage garden we will be growing as research for his humanitarian farming project, The Pineapple Project.

We cleared out backyard for a test garden...

I love this project! Aside from assisting subsistence farmers in third world countries, it gives Dan's endless curiosity free range to research sustainability and returning to local heritage plants. Yes, we have attended plenty of food lectures and documentaries. Our idea of a good time is perusing the Tohono O'odham heritage cook book, From I'itoi's Garden. This all suits Dan's life style of eating organic foods and baking his own bread. (Lucky me!) We enjoy experimenting with all kinds of indigenous grains - much healthier than processed white flour.

Amaranth: Weed or Food?

Dan is also interested in using local plants (we call weeds or pests) as sources of food. In his research, he found out that the Amaranth, that is growing wild in the utility road behind our house, is a heritage food and more healthy than quinoa! Unfortunately, it was too late in the season to be edible. Prior to that, Dan waited patiently for our huge prickly pear cactus to bear fruit, but it never did. He is looking forward to the Mesquite bean to be in season for picking. It's tough being a programmer/gatherer.

We are excited about the new restaurants inspired by Tohono O'odham ingredients. These restaurants represent more than just a culinary trend. The Desert Rain Cafe is educating this generation about the health benefits of eating traditional foods. (Chiolin, the cholla cactus flower buds that their ancestors harvested, balance the blood sugar which is good for diabetes, a growing concern of the tribe.) We plan to make a pilgrimage to Mission Gardens at the base of A Mountain in Tucson. (It's by the Mercado - if you wanna grab a bite while there.) We already made the trek to Native Seeds where we bought Tohono O'odham staples: tepary beans and mesquite flour.

Last night we finally ate tepary bean stew with mesquite flour tortillas. (I say finally because it took 24 hours for these tiny beans to cook in the crock pot - even though we soaked the beans overnight.) But the stew was delicious. We found adding chipotle chilis gave it a nice smoked flavor. The homemade tortillas resembled Flintstone Frisbees. (Sorry, Dan. Your bread is yummy though! lol) To redeem himself, Dan just came in with a fresh, soft batch - thanks to the wonder of baking powder! Great with butter and prickly pear syrup!

UPDATE: Dan and I are excited to announce our new blog:

http://raglooms-heirlooms.blogspot.com/2016/02/starting-where-we-live.html