The Story of Food

When I am home I love hanging out with two couples who are major foodies. We love going to dinner at current hot spots and discussing each thing ordered. These dinners can stretch to almost 3-3.5 hours. The stories flow and the laughter is headier than the best wine. I adore these times.

Recently we started discussing our favorite childhood dishes. I immediately thought of my mom’s Chicken Plantation.  When she made that dish she could ask my dad for anything…and get it.

I loved watching her make it. 

With a flick of her wrist she would fan flour onto the counter, then roll out the dough into a large square, sprinkle it with fresh parsley and onion, then roll it up and slice the dough into big fat biscuits. The she'd carefully place them, pinwheel side up, in a deep square dish baptizing them in rich, made from scratch gravy and fresh picked chicken. Into the oven it went. In minutes the whole house smelled heavenly. 

We would gather around the table and mom would present the food with love and pride. I'd scoop out a steaming biscuit and I swear, as a little girl, those biscuits where the closest thing to spring clouds that I could imagine. It is still one of my favorite dishes.

Another dish I loved as a kid was Shoo Fly Pie, a local dish that was a tradition especially in the spring. I grew up in Amish Country near Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Talk about good food. The south thinks they own comfort food but oh my, Dutch cooking and Amish

cooking in Pennsylvania cannot be beat for comfort.  

Yummm. Just made and already half gone

Shoo Fly Pie is basically just a molasses pie. I like mine wet bottomed, which mean super gooey.  It’s called Shoo Fly Pie because it is such a sugary treat that at potlucks you have to constantly shoo away the flies (that's a yummy picture).  

The best thing about these recipes, actually all recipes that bring us comfort, are the stories that go with them. Dinner table stories, helping mom in the kitchen stories, cooking with the kids stories; all things that are becoming a rarity.

I hope you enjoy these childhood dishes and I hope many stories are spoken over each bite, around your dinner table, with those you love.

(I am giving you my version of Chicken Plantation which I have switched up to be easier than my moms but just as delicious.  Please feel free, in the comment section, to share your favorite storied dish).

Chicken Plantation (Kim’s way)

Ingredients:

4 cups fully cooked chicken.  Shredded or cubed.

1 medium onion, finely chopped

2 tablespoons butter

2 cans condensed cream of chicken soup, undiluted

1 cup 2% milk (or, if you are in a party mood go with whole milk - we grew up on goats milk from the farm)

2 cups fresh peas (frozen thawed is fine. You can add cooked carrots too)

2 cups biscuit/baking mix

1/2 cup water

1/2 cup minced fresh parsley

Directions:

1. In a large skillet sauté chicken (or boil a whole chicken, pick it clean then add to skillet) and onion in butter until onion is tender. Combine soup and milk, stir into chicken mixture. Add veggies; heat through. Pour into an ungreased shallow 2.5 quart baking dish.

2. Combine biscuit mix and water until a soft dough forms. On a lightly floured surface knead dough 10 times. Roll out into a 12 inch square. Sprinkle with parsley (and fresh onion if you prefer).

3. Roll up jelly roll style. Cut jelly roll into 12 pieces, place over chicken mixture, pinwheel side up. Bake, uncovered at 425 degrees for 20-25 minutes or until biscuits are golden and chicken mixture is heated through and bubbly. 

Serve with warm, homemade, chunky applesauce and strawberry short cake for desert and you have one of my childhood meals on your own table.

Wet Bottom Shoo Fly Pie

Ingredients: 

1 cup flour

2/3 cup brown sugar, firmly packed

1 tablespoon vegetable shortening (or unsalted butter)

1 egg

8 ounces molasses (good and dark)

6 ounces boiling water

1 tspn baking soda

1 9 inch unbaked pastry shell (make your own or store bought if in hurry)
Use a deep pie plate, those little aluminum things from the store will not suffice.

Directions:

Mix together the flour, brown sugar and shortening

Set aside 1/2 cup of the mixture for the topping

Add remaining flour mixture with the egg, molasses, baking soda, and boiling water.

Gently mix

Pour into pie shell

Sprinkle the crumb topping over pie

Bake at 375 degrees for 10 minutes, then reduce temp to 350 and bake for 30 more minutes.

This pie is good warm, but it gets better if it sits for a day...but I guarantee it won't last that long. 

Apollo 8 and Genealogy? Yes.

On December 21, 1968 Apollo 8 was launched into space.

This would be the first manned spacecraft to leave Earth’s orbit.  The astronauts were able to see the far side of the moon, orbiting it 10 times. Finally, mankind’s longing to reach space and see the moon up close and personal had come to fruition. But an amazing

thing happened along the way. Once the astronauts entered space, they could not stop looking back, gazing at planet Earth.  Their desire to look upon where they had come from became more powerful than looking ahead to where they had not yet been.  It became such an overwhelming desire that they named it Earth Gazing.

I think life is a lot like that.   

In our youth and in our quest for new and exciting things, we propel forward with great passion and excitement, hoping to discover new worlds but then, we hit a certain place where we realize that where we've come from is just as amazing and awe inspiring as where we are going.

I am always searching for new experiences, creating new things and trying to discover new worlds but a year and a half ago I realized that my personal history is just as fascinating as the unknown that lies ahead.

I guess I have reached a place where, as I float among the years of my life, I have decided to turn and look back. It is addictive. I cannot stop gazing into the history of me. This is not narcissistic; it’s a natural human desire, to feel a part of something bigger.

I have always told personal/family stories, it’s how I make my living, but a year and a half ago I decided to start digging into my family history. Using online resources, Family Search and Ancestry.com, I started to uncover information, documents, and pictures that helped me see the whole picture of where I come from.

One hour turned into two hours turned into 8 hours turned into a yearlong project and now, an ongoing expedition. I can’t stop. I've uncovered pictures of my great, great grandfather. I've found documentation of my grandmothers addresses, which gave me a map of her life.  I've found my great grandfathers marriage certificate, my grandmothers marriage certificate and...her divorce records. I learned about aunts and uncles and I learned things about my mom and dad.  Slowly, my whole world is coming into focus.

Doing this family research led to some deep and meaningful conversations with my parents.  They are at the time of life when all they do is look back.  When I started sharing with them what I found, they sounded young again…thirsty for information. No matter how many times I called and told them about the latest family puzzle piece I had found, they wanted more.

How sad it is that I was in my late 40’s and my parents in their late 70’s when we began this journey.  I wish we had started when I was younger.

Recently Parade Magazine had an article titled, The Secrets to a Happy Family.

Get this.

When a team of psychologists measured children’s resilience, they found that the kids who knew the most about their family history were best able to handle stress.  The more children know about their family’s history, the stronger their sense of control over their lives and the higher their self-esteem. The reason: These children have a strong sense of “ inter-generational self”—they understand that they belong to something bigger than themselves, and that families naturally experience both highs and lows.

I wonder if that is what the astronauts were feeling.  We all know we are a part of something bigger, but they actually got to gaze on it.

Your family knows they belong to something bigger, but knowing it and actually hearing about it…seeing it, are two very different things.

Whether you share your family history by doing genealogy/family research or by sharing family stories at the dinner table…who cares?  Just do it. Better yet, do both. Here is the best part; your family isn't looking for fairy tale endings. Share with them the good, the bad and the ugly. It will help them through their own good, bad and ugly times. Let them gaze upon where they came from.

The main word in history is story. Share your stories. You were designed to. 

Recently I had the honor of presenting and keynoting at Story@Home/Rootstech, a beautiful melding of story, genealogy  and technology. It was a fabulous experience. I highly recommend that you either attend next years event or at least sign up for their live streaming. 

Tell Your Kids A Story

I was recently interviewed for an article for the Murfreesboro Magazine. It is well written and carries a great message. (If you need it to be a little larger, just increase the size from your 'view' tab).

The Tribe Has Spoken

For almost 70  years television has been telling us which stories to watch and which stories are relevant. Television networks built a consumer oriented identity, and like plump little babies we have wagged our tongues and let them spoon-feed us the expertly packaged goods. Without so much as a whimper, we went on autopilot and let them do the thinking for us.

But things are changing.


With the revolution of social media, people are now telling their stories, posting their stories, blogging their stories, and sharing their stories. This tsunami of social media has brought back the ancient ritual of gathering around the glow of the campfire to share the stories of the day...except now, it is by the glow of an LCD screen. A bit more isolated than the days of tribal gatherings...but no less impacting.


As we ride the steady hum of the electronic highway,  we decide what rises to the top of our tribal chatter, not the Networks. We decide which stories go viral and which are shared the most...and these tend not to match what the Networks are throwing up on our TV screens each night.


Stray dogs dragging injured companions off of busy streets, inspirational poems and sayings about strength, life and happiness, a person dancing in every country, groups of strangers breaking into song at train stations and malls, a man bringing light into darkness by using Pepsi bottles, an old married couple playing the piano and a baby laughing. Not your prime time TV...but the tribe has spoken, and we like this stuff.


Now I know what your thinking...you are thinking that there is a lot of garbage online and that it is no better then television. Yes, there is a lot of garbage online. But there is also a lot of awesomeness online. Yes,  I said awesomeness.  And the beauty is that WE choose what goes viral. WE submit the stories. WE supply the content...not just a couple companies, but all of us.


Blogging, social media, and family search engines are powerful vehicles in spreading story. Our stories...not someone else's. Do not misunderstand, I realize that nothing compares to sharing and communicating face to face. But we would be foolish to ignore the impact that technology is having on story and human connection.

Next year, in March, there will be a coming together of three different tribes...each one chanting the same thing. OUR stories are important.

story@home is scheduled for March of 2012. I am thrilled to be a part of this inaugural event. story@homeis a conference that will, for the first time that I know of, bring together nationally known storytellers, genealogy giants, and blogging superheros. Three very different tribes whose lines intersect at numerous points. I hope to see you there.
story@home website

I'm Still A Beginner

I just sent off the final proofs and the master CD for my new album. I haven't even held the final product in my hands yet and I'm already thinking about what is next. I have six projects I want to do. I'm never happy. I always think I could be doing better and I know, in a very real way, that there is so much I have left to learn. As freely as the creativity flows, so does the unrest. I am constantly hot and wanting to birth something new.

I love Ira Glass, I'm a huge fan. The following is from him and reading it about once a month helps me realize that I'm not alone in this process. I think I'm on the right path.

“What nobody tells people who are beginners — and I really wish someone had told this to me . . . is that all of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, and it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase. They quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it’s normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”

The Lap

When I was a little girl, I was stick thin. My daddy used to say that if I stood sideways and stuck out my tongue that I would look like a zipper.  Well, that all changed after the birth of my last daughter. My body began to change and then when I hit 45, I began to spread like unbaked cake batter. I still do some yoga and circuit training each week, but I cannot lose weight.

One evening when my oldest grandson was visiting, I pulled him onto my lap. He is 4. I cradled him and he said, “Nana, I am not a baby.”  I told him that I knew he was not a baby, but that I wanted to cradle him in my lap because soon, he would be too big.  He looked up at me with his deep brown eyes and said, “Nana, your lap is perfect.” And he settled in. 

I began to think about all of the laps that had spooned me over the years. My mother is a small, thin woman. I loved sitting on her lap…not because it was comfortable but because it was comforting. I can still close my eyes and feel her arms around me, the smell of Avon hand cream making the air thick with scent.  

My Aunt Louise was a different story.  She was a broad woman with heavy, sagging arms. Her lap was very, very comfortable. When I was pulled into it, it meant that a treat was coming; a cookie, a cheap piece of costume jewelry, or a joke! It was a good lap. 

My fathers lap was a place of conflicting feelings. It was used for two extremes. I can still hear his voice singing to me, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy….,” as he rocked me in his lap. But I can also remember being asked to bend over that lap so that a firm (and usually well deserved) swat could be administered. I preferred the first use. 

Laps are amazingly engineered pieces of living furniture. Man has tried for centuries to replicate the perfection of the lap through chairs, couches, benches and settees. They have failed. Even the most well crafted piece of furniture, no matter how deeply comfortable, cannot compete with the lap. 

In these man made attempts there is no soft childbearing pouch, no sweet low humming, no stroking of the hair, no stories whispered, no warmth from the arms, no perfectly placed pillows of rest that echo the heartbeat and never, from any chair, will you receive a kiss on the crown. The lap is perfection.

The first throne of a king is on his mothers lap. The first seat of a congressman or president is on his mothers lap. The greatest inventors, artists, and leaders were formed while sitting in someone’s lap. 

I looked down at my grandson and smiled, “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” And I began to sing, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy…”

The Fate of Festivals...

On a carpet of wildflowers, revival style tents were raised in salute to the ancient art of storytelling.  As tales flowed from the stage you could, with one turn of the head, gaze out onto the mighty Mississippi. The deep drone of barges and the turn of steel tires on the track provided a memorable underscore to this annual event.

The Cape Girardeau Storytelling Festival never disappoints. This is my second time being allowed to play a part in this well organized, well attended festival.  Considering it is only in its fourth year, the Cape Girardeau storytelling festival has experienced success that some festivals only dream about. It helps that the staff and volunteers put their heart into it.  Plus, they always offer a diverse and stellar teller lineup. It also helps that it takes place in a quaint town that offers an abundance of history, great shops, and quirky eateries.  But there are many other festivals that can tout the same qualities…without reaping the same attendance.

So what makes Cape Girardeau different?

I think it is the fact that they treat their festival as a business.  They care enough about the art of storytelling to handle it with professional gloves. They reach out to their main demographic using well thought out, professionally crafted marketing tools. They continually strive to pull in new people  by way of print, news, web site, emails, social networking  and radio. Their commitment to good marketing is proven in that they brought in a teller this year just to do PR in local universities and retirement communities. They think outside of the box and are always looking for new ways to reach possible audiences. They work closely with local business’ and merchants – helping them recognize the beauty of storytelling AND what it can do for the local area. They are realistic and patient, knowing it takes time to grow good stuff.

This serves as a good model for other festivals.

In these tough economic times, people have only so much ‘entertainment’ money in their pocket.  When they pull that $20 out and look at it, they have to decide where they will spend it. With this general mindset, festivals are up against a lot of competition to get a seat filled.

As a storyteller and story lover, I try very hard to help festivals and story events not just survive, but thrive. I feel it is my duty as an artist to not just take, take, take but to also give, especially in this economic climate.  If you make a living (part time or full time) as a teller, it is easy to fall into the mode of, I want paid. Where is the pay? How much is the pay? I want paid! mentality. There is nothing wrong with that, we need to survive as well, but we also need to realize that we get back what we put into our business and all festivals, events, and shows are our business. It would be terrible to wake up one day and find out the tank has run dry.

I want to encourage you, as a teller, to try some of the following:

• Donate 10% or more of your earnings back to the place that hired you.
• Offer a free workshop while you are there. Just an hour, to the business people in town. Have the event director set it up, they can go through the Chamber or the town. Using story in business is a hot topic and it can be a gift from the festival to the local merchants and non-profits.
• Offer to come a day early to the event, at no charge, to do PR work. Tell stories for the Lions Club, retirement communities, to educators, etc. Ask that only your expenses are covered…but help them get the word out by telling. It works and in the end we all benefit.
• Do your part to market the event. It is just as much our responsibility, as it is theirs, to fill the seats. Use your email marketing list and send out an e-blast, put it in your quarterly newsletter, do a Facebook filtered search and send an invite to folks who live in that area, post in your status where you are going and what is happening…believe me, people will come because of this. I had a guy and his wife come all the way from Pittsburgh to a Virginia festival because of a status update. Tickets, lodging, food, and gas helped the local commerce and seats where filled.
• Mingle. Yes, mingle.  I know that at an event you are tired, nervous, road weary, whatever…but you must mingle. Shake hands, hug the cute old ladies, joke about the weather, whatever. If people feel welcomed by the talent they feel special. When they feel special they come back (with friends) and the event survives which means work for my friends (and hopefully me) in the future.
• Fuel the grassroots organizations. Become a member of story organizations, donate to local guilds, give them product for giveaway at their events.  I can’t attend the functions of these groups, but I can pay the membership. Most events and festivals are held together by folks at the grassroots level. They are my hero’s. They usually cart my butt around, feed me, set up chairs, take tickets, and make sure I feel like I am at home. $25 bucks a year gives them a new member and helps their cause.

Listen, I’m not some story martyr. I have failed miserably in all of these areas at one time or another. But, no matter your belief system, we reap what we sow. By scattering a few seeds as we travel this lovely road, we leave it better then we found it. Now that’s something I can live with.

Welcome to the Year 2011 (insert space sounds here)

When I was a little girl the year 2011 seemed space ages away.  Instant food, hovering cars, and robot maids were things I thought I would never live to see. Well, here we are, 2011. Maybe things are not as advanced as they were for good old Judy Jetson, but they have definitely moved along.

Microwaves pop food out in 30 seconds, a Roomba can do your cleaning while you're at work, we can plug our cars into outlets, and video phone calls are not only a reality but they can be done  anywhere, anytime using a small hand held device called a smart phone. I pay my bills while standing in line at the pharmacy, I send pictures of my grandson to my mother (who lives 6 hours away) in 5 seconds, we move standing still on conveyors in airports, and I can transport myself anywhere on the planet just by typing www.

Amazing. And yet, in the midst of all this change and advancement several things remain constant, one being the use of and the need for story. Avatar, a groundbreaking movie in the area of special effects, would be nothing without the story. Web sites are just electronic billboards of a companies story. Facebook is just millions of people shouting, "Look at my story...read me!".

In a recent edition of Scientific American Mind, there was an article stating that today's children are so advanced, in the use of video game hardware, that game designers are realizing they cannot create anything new that will challenge them. So, they are going back to the story of the game and making the story deeper, more complex, more meaningful, and more textured.

There is a buzz about technological advancement hurting the art of storytelling. I somewhat disagree. Yes, it's a bit harder to grab attention of the wired child/adult, but they are reachable. Watch any kid/adult sit down in front of a good storyteller and in 30 seconds they are hooked.

Humans can decorate themselves with all types of electronic gear, surround themselves with all types of cool toys, gadgets, and robots...but they are still human. And other than love, story is one of the basic elements of human survival.

Even the most extreme gamers recognize that.

Oprah does it, why can't I?

12 Days of Kim's Favorite Things!

Its been a great year. No, wait...a fantastic year.

I would list all of the wonderful things that have happened, but then I would come dangerously close to sounding like one of those Christmas newsletters that proclaim how grossly perfect someones life is.  So we'll skip that part.

Bottom line: It has been a good year because of you! My friends, fans, and family. Thank you for your support, for buying tickets, coming to the show, purchasing CD's, sending encouraging emails and  for just being there.  Because of this I want to spread some cheer, ring the bells, deck the halls, fly the sleigh, dress like an elf! 

Wait, maybe not.

Seriously. It all comes down to giving back to the people who have given me so much! 

It's what Christmas is all about. Giving. (warm, soft music inserted here)

12 Days of Kim's Favorite Things! 

Here is how it works :

1. You have to have a Facebook account. If you don't have one, I'm sorry, you can't participate. I know, I know...some people  refuse to conform to the Facebook phenom, but I have one foot in GenX and can't help myself. Plus, it is the biggest social network tool in the universe. Even Captain Kirk has a facebook fanpage!

2. If you are not already a friend on my personal page or a fan on my public site, shame on you. You are on the naughty list.  :o)  But you can redeem yourself AND be qualified for the giveaway by going to

http://tinyurl.com/yb6fenq   and clicking the  'like' button. You will automatically be transferred from naughty to nice. 

3. Then stop by each day to see the daily video. Each video will showcase one of my favorite things. Some I have found while traveling on the road this year, others are just good ole standbys. 

4. Watch the video ALL the way through. Listen for the secret word.  Leave a comment using the secret word and you will be entered into a drawing for the item! Easy.

Merry Christmas to you and a peaceful, productive new year to all, and to all a good night.

UPDATE!!! Thanks to all of you who viewed the videos.  We had over 2500 people watch the videos and participate in the fun. Best of all, NBC did a three day story on this little project and Feeding America got some great coverage and $$.  Merry Christmas everyone!

Giving Kids A Headstart

I can't be home for long until I start roaming the streets looking for places to tell stories. So, I did some free shows for the local Headstart. I was grateful to get some story relief.

When I finished telling my stories and singing a couple of songs, I asked the kids if they had a story to tell. They went ballistic, throwing their hands in the air and sharing their stories.  The teachers were thrilled. 

Headstart is a non-profit community pre-school who's mission is to maximize the strengths of families, their health and well being and the social skills of children. I believe that story plays a large part in strengthening families plus it is the perfect tool to educate children  about health, social skills, and many other important life skills. And I'm not even going to start on my tangent about story exercising right brain thinking which helps grow ethical kids. I clear a room when I get going on that one.

Most of the children in the Headstart program come from low income homes. When I worked for the police department one of the things we noticed was that when we entered low income homes we never saw books.

If you are a storyteller...look up your local Headstart. Give them a call. And go share a story. If you have books or tapes...donate them to the class. Help give a kid a headstart.

Home

It is a mystery, the line that divides home from away. One only knows it by the note that is plucked when your heart crosses over.
Kim Weitkamp

Jonesborough Bound

Hey folks!  Getting ready to hit the road for three weeks.

I will be posting pics and checking in with updates throughout the National Storytelling Festival, the Four Corners Festival and the Forest Storytelling Festival.

Up first? The National Festival located in Jonesborough, TN. Stay tuned for pics and behind the scene footage.

What is Storytelling?

"What is storytelling?"

This is a question that was asked by an audience member after a show I did. This is a WIDE open question. To the general public, storytelling is a little librarian reading to kids draped over beanbags. To a salesman it is a tactic he uses to make a big closing. To a parent it is a fabricated tale to get out of trouble. To the ancients it was a way to pass on values and heritage. To people at festivals it is an escape from the normal hum drum.

This particular question was asked by an audience member at a storytelling concert...so we know in what context he was asking it. I gave my answer...and thought I would post it here and see what you thought.

I look at the world of storytelling like a wheel.

Dinner table stories of the day, dreams whispered to a baby, memories spoken to a bride before they take the aisle, front porch tales from my grandma, children telling make believe, a squealing girl on the cell phone telling her friends about her date or families sharing stories on a long trip. These are just a few of the examples that make up the hub of the wheel. It is a type of storytelling that cannot be performed or boxed and sold. It is  the very center of humanity. It fuels each and every day and is the basic, bottom line of communication that keeps us glued together as a society.

Now, out of that hub comes many, many, many spokes. None of them are wrong. None of them are better than the next spoke. They all are attached to the hub and they are all needed to keep the wheels on straight.
Performance telling, tall tale telling, Folk telling, therapeutic telling, applied telling, educational telling improv telling, telling with music, narrative dance (yes, I said narrative dance), telling for entertaining, telling for healing, telling to bring peace, reading stories (yes I said reading stories), comedic stories, historic stories, fairy tales, story in marketing, digital storytelling, storytelling pod casts, storytelling open mics, fringe festivals....should I stop? 

I could go on and on and on.  Now, some people may disagree with me and say that one of these spokes does not belong.  Who decides what is and is not, storytelling? If my story makes you laugh, is that bad?  If my story makes you cry, is that bad? If my story was written hundreds of years ago, is that bad? If I stand in front of a mic with an audience, is that selling out? If I sit at a campfire making something up to a bunch of badge hungry Boy Scouts, does that count?

We say storytelling is an art form. Well, art cannot be contained by borders and rules.  That is what makes it art, it is interpretive.

I say...bring it on. There will be new spokes that appear and disappear, new forms of telling and new styles of storytelling that come and go. It is all a part of something much bigger. I am not threatened and I don't want to debate...I say bring it on.

No matter what pops up in our 'storytelling' world the main thing is that it will lead the listener back to the hub.
And they will be inspired to go and tell a story. And that is what makes the big wheel of this world go 'round.

Which is all I really care about.

I am a Storyteller

Not to long ago I was interviewed for the Art of Storytelling podcast. Below is the written portion of the interview with Eric Wolf.  The recorded interview was entitled, "Reaching Troubled Youth Through Storytelling". If you'd like to listen, here is a link

 
By Kim Weitkamp:

For 15 years I saw first hand the amazing power of story. The right story deposited at the right time is like a time release capsule. I cannot count how many times one of the teens that I was working with would come back to me, after I told them a story, and they’d say, “Hey, you know that story you told me the other day? Well, I’ve been thinking about it…”

When I would hold group discussions, a story would bring together opposing sides. When I was digging into a person’s heart, trying gently to unearth the pain that was causing them to act out in anger, a story would be the trowel. When I looked into the angry hurting eyes of teen, a story would prove to them that I understood and that I had been there too.

I loved working with at risk youth and found great satisfaction in using story to bring healing. It was a worthy calling. But, after 15 years, it wore me out physically and emotionally, so I retired. From youth work, not storytelling. You cannot retire from what you are, you can only retire from what you do. So what I was had to release itself in another form.

I pulled out journals that I had kept over the years and started going over stories that I had written for no other purpose than to make me smile. I started sharing those stories with people outside my family and friends circle. After a few years of puttering around state festivals, schools and libraries, I branched out and before I knew it I was telling full time. But inside of me there was a struggle going on.

For years, I had used my stories to help teens who were suicidal, self-mutilators, violent offenders, lost, lonely and at their breaking point. I had used my stories for a worthy cause, but now I was telling for the sheer pleasure of it. I was using my stories to entertain and to make people laugh. I was at odds with myself. How could I go from one extreme to another? Was I selling out? Was there a purpose to what I was doing? I was constantly asking myself these questions.

One evening I was telling in a tent that was draped in white lights. The night was cool and still and the audience was perfect. I was in the middle of one of my favorite stories, right at a part where I pause for effect, when I had the most beautiful experience. As my gaze swept across the crowd I could see each face individually, expectant and ready. It was like slow motion, a hard thing to explain really, but they were there…with me… in the story, not in the tent. They were waiting to turn the corner with me and see what I saw and laugh at what I laughed at and smell what I smelled and taste what I tasted. They were there with me, in my story, walking with me.

It was at that moment I knew that what I was doing was just as worthy as my previous work. No matter how long I have them, no matter how large or small the group, no matter how funny, sad, silly, or heartbreaking my story is…it’s a miracle.

Each time I tell I have the privilege of taking my listener away from this world. For a few minutes I provide a much needed break from the rent payment, from the knee pain, from unemployment, from the wayward child, from the death of a loved one. It is a form of medicine, therapy, whatever you want to call it I don’t care. I only know that it is good. And to be a storyteller is a worthy calling.

After that experience I went to Jonesborough for the first time and in the glass shop on Main Street I found an art print that brought tears to my eyes. The artist had drawn a picture of a woman and beside it had written: “In the midst of the song she heard every heartbeat and knew she was a part of something bigger.” Nough said.

Time, Is On My Side...Yes It Is

I guess it was about 5 years ago that I bought my first tube of anti-wrinkle, hope a miracle takes place, cream. It was about 3 years ago I became a grandmother. That term still makes me slightly queezy even though I love my grandkids.  And  it was sometime last year that my doctor started using words like, high blood pressure, calcium intake, and regular visits.

There are two things that are unstoppable. A woman at a TJ Maxx one day sale and time.

Time. Not enough of it. Precious. Tick tock.Winding down. Sands in the hourglass.
Unlike Mick Jager, I do not feel like time is on my side.
Actually, after seeing him on TV recently I think even Mick would rethink those lyrics. But I digress.

As I type this I notice defined wrinkles on my hands where at one time, smooth young skin stretched out to handle my daily tasks. The wrinkles remind me that my time is running out. What do I have left? 25 years? 30? 45? No idea. But it does make me aware of the fact that I had better get a move on. What dreams have I not yet given life to?  Who have I failed to forgive? What stories have I not shared? What places have I not seen? What words have I not yet whispered?

Although growing older does have it's snags, I wouldn't trade it to regain my youth. It used to be that I greeted the day with a distant nod, no proper courtesy...I was cocky and invincible.
Now, as I rise with each sun, there is a reverence  towards the blessing of having another 24 hours. I used to think I knew everything. Now, there is a hard, fought for wisdom that is rooted in the soil of clueless. At one time I ran amuck, now  I am more careful where I place my feet, the  footprints I leave holding great value. I hug harder, listen closer,  laugh louder,  talk less, think carefully, and care deeper. So I guess, in some way...time has been on my side. It has been a great teacher.

As I travel the country sharing The Wrinkles Project, I am in awe of the beauty, wisdom, humor, and history that I am honored to see in each of the seniors I meet. With paper thin hands and raspy voices they share with me things that only time can teach.

www.thewrinklesproject.com

Work

I have a lot of fun doing what I do.

I love doing what I do.

But it comes with a price. I work really hard. I mean 24/7. Emails, booking, contracts, contacts, networking, creating, creating, creating, practice, travel, tell, tell, tell.

Sometimes at 3am my husband will walk into my office and ask when I am coming to bed...but the mojo is flowing and I cannot stop.

My daughter told me that it is like having divorced parents, she only sees me 2 days a week. (Don't feel to bad about this, she is 20 for goodness sakes.)

My friend told me she might be moving. I said that it would be sad if she moved. She said that it shouldnt matter...we never see each other anymore.

My dogs are shifting their loyalty to my husband. Now this smarts.

My gardens are not what they used to be.

But I wouldn't change a thing.

I had a woman come up to me with tears in her eyes and tell me that she was so touched by my story that she is going to start visiting her mother more. Her mom is in a nursing home.

A little girl named Jeannie kept her head down and shuffled her feet as she told me that she was a tomboy too. And I told her that was okay. And she smiled up at me.

A roomful of people laughed and then cried as I told them how I danced with my mother.

These three things happened in one day. One day of many.

So, sleep can wait. My daughter will build her own life. My friend will always be my friend. And the dogs, well...they keep my husband company.

I cannot stop. I love what I do.
Actually, it is not about what I do....it is more about who I am.
I am a storyteller.

Dwelling On the Past

Be forward focused, keep your eye on the prize, reach for the goal, move forward, look to the future. All wonderful little zips of encouragement that help us build momentum so we can jump the hurdles that are to come.

Face forward, don't look back, do not dwell on the past!

Can't. I make my living by dwelling on the past. Dwelling on the past normally has a negative connontation to it, but in my world dwelling on the past is a delight. It is where I pull most of my material from. Memories dangle like ripe fruit in the recesses of my mind waiting to be plucked and squeezed.

The coming times are covered in a thick-mantled mist overcast with doubts and uncertainty. But the green paths of the past, the cool meadows of memory is all my own. Nothing is uncertain. On quiet hills the past has bloomed and I can choose to stop and smell the good and tread over the bad.

I think I will keep dwelling in the past. I have found many treasures there.

Wow. It has been a long, long time since I sat down to drip drop a blog into cyberspace.

I don't think anyone reads them. So why write? Because it feels good to hear yourself type.

My website is being redesigned. I have to decide whether or not to put a blog on it.

I got an invitation the other day to be a fan of myself.

I just spent three hours answering emails that were backed up into the alley.

My IPhone never leaves the palm of my hand. I hold on to it tighter than I did my kids hands when we crossed traffic.

I eat Twinkies because I feel guilty for not accepting green plants and pieces of rice on Facebook.

And I want to know why I am tired and stressed. Ahhh, technology.

Thank goodness I get to hop in my car on an almost daily basis, put the windows down, turn the music up and drive for hours. I love it. Wanderlust runs in my family. My grandfather was a huckster. My dad sold RV's on the road. And I am a traveling storyteller. The DNA of our family is based in asphalt and dirt, twisting up into lines sprawled across a wrinkled map.

I'd have it no other way. My car is like a respite. An escape. A humming spa of tire and tread, magnified heat through the window glass, Etta James in the passenger seat and wide open spaces filled with new ideas, dreams, and memories.

I love to go.

The Mothership

I have just returned from the mothership.

Jonesborough.

It is the hot spot, the portal, the magnet for storytellers, storylovers, and people who just want to investigate the spoken word.

It was wonderful.


I had the priveldge of telling on the Exchange Stage. A lovely crowd of 1500 or so folks, on the edge of their seats hungry for a good tale. What a great audience.


All of my friends were there to support me and cheer me on. I think that one of my favorite things about going to the National Festival each year, is seeing all of my friends and co-workers from around the country. If you can call this work.

My new CD is out, "Freckles, Fibs, & Family." I am pretty proud of it.

Drop me an email and let me know whats going on in your neck of the woods.

Kim

I have a secret...

I have a secret. A confession of sorts, not the type that will make you lose face or end in repentence. Just a little secret between me, mother nature...and now you.

When I travel to a new place, which is frequently, I like to settle in and then wait for the moment when the evening tucks it's grey blanket over the fading blush of day. Then, I kick off my shoes and pad quietly outside and walk barefoot. I also indulge in this little habit early in the morning, when the grass is wet and cool. I love to find warm spots where the yawning sun has already smiled upon the earth.

Something happens when you walk barefoot...a kind of intimacy, kisses on the toes, a thrill in your heart as if any moment you might come upon a tiny bearded man sitting on a mushroom offering you a sip of port from a whittled mug.

I have dug my toes into the ash of a spent volcano, examined my steps etched in a million grains of sand, dried my toes on the orange stones of Utah, and felt the dew of cushioned steps alighted on the moss of Williamsburg. A hundred years of history becoming my pedestal.

So now you know, my little secret.