Monday, February 27, 2017

We're taking a Screenplay Writing course, just for fun.
Let's co-write this together.
The Wolbromski's.
Two women get into a conversation at the old water tower in Netanya, by the sea. Gorgeous vistas of the seaside town, the waves, red red poppies along the shore. Wind.
They form an intense and nurturing friendship, and very quickly discover that Talia's father and Miriam's grandfather were brothers. Brothers!
Unfolds a saga, of Aidl's children. Aidl in Staszow, Poland. Though on Nov. 8, 1942, ALL the Jews in Staszow were murdered,
Two of Aidl's children had fulfilled their crazy dream to build a homeland in Israel. (That very water tower in Netanya is where Aidl's daughter Golda began her Israel life, founding a fledgling kibbutz and rescuing Jews arriving by boats that were forbidden by the British from entering Israel)
One had come to make a life in Canada
One hid in the forests.f
And one, on that Nov. 8, 1942, went into hiding at the farm of a Christian family.
Together Talia and Miriam search for the missing children of Aidl, and reunite the family.
Scene by Scene
1. Seaside Netanya.
Miriam, 28, has come alone to Israel, and rented a beachside apartment to sketch and swim. She is vibrant, active, needed a retreat from her busy life in Canada. She is on a self-imposed silent retreat, to regroup after breaking up with a boyfriend. She wants to wash off all of her excesses, and be fit, centred, purified, ready to start anew. She is wearing a jogging suit, with a small Canadian flag on the  shirt.
Talia, 60, carries the heaviness of her past. Today is the anniversary of her mother's death. Talia's mother and father managed to survive the horrors of World War II, by hiding in the farm of a generous and courageous Christian family who kept them in a hidden room behind a false wall throughout the war.
Scene 1
Exterior a cliff overlooking the sand and the sea,  the vastness of sunshine and waves, and red poppies blooming in grasses along the cliff.
Windblown, Miriam walks along the cliff, stopping in silent pleasure over and over again, at flowers and at the sunny waves.
She arrives at an unusual stone structure, round and imposing, close to the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea.
Talia, an older woman, approaches from the opposite side of the structure.
Talia: Canada?
[beat]
Miriam almost begins to speak, then catches herself and remembers that she is on a silent retreat. She purses her lips, smiles all over, and
makes a humorous hand sign that she is not speaking.
Talia: What, my English is that rusty? You're not from here I know.
Miriam sees Talia looking at the flag on her shirt. She points to it and nods. Their eyes meet in sudden friendship.
Talia: You do speak English, don't you? I learned English when I was little. We had a Canadian aunt and uncle who used to visit us when I lived in Uruguay. It was funny. The uncle looked so much like my father, I used to run and sit on my uncle's lap by mistake. Then I would feel the candies in his shirt pocket and figure out that it was Uncle Volv from Canada. I would jump away so fast.
Miriam (forgetting her vow of silence). Ha. Volv. That was the name of my grandfather.
She laughs and claps her hand to her mouth.
Miriam: I'm trying to be on a silent retreat. Oh well.
Talia: Feh. Silence is for lonely people. Silence is for hiding. Silence is for not being found. Silence is for life and death. It's not silence you're looking for.
Miriam follows Talia's gaze to the strange round stone structure on the cliff over the sea.
Talia: See this? This is all we have from the spot where my other aunt and uncle first began their life here in Israel, back in the thirties.  It was a water tower. They built it when they first got here from Poland. They collected the winter rains here, and built a small Kibbutz, a shared farm.  A collective. They shared all the work jobs, the digging and the planting and the building and the defending.
My aunt Golda was in charge of Beauty.
[beat]
Miriam looks quizzically at Talia, a dawning of possibility.
Miriam: Your Aunt Golda? .............Where did they go when they left this place?
Talia: Ah. This little spot by the sea was beautiful, and from here they brought in many boats of people who were escaping the horrors in Poland and Germany.
 The water tower was a lookout, for spotting the boats of secret immigrants running away from the horrors in Poland and Germany. They would take a rowboat out in the dark of night, and secretly bring these scared and hungry people to shore. And they would give each one a basket of oranges from their newly blooming orchards, right here (Talia waves her hand at the surrounding orange trees).
Miriam: (Lauhing) This beats silence any day.
(She straightens, faces Talia with an open smile.)
I'm Miriam. My grandfather in Canada was Volv. His sister who came to Israel in the thirties was named Golda.
My aunt Golda lived in Kibbutz Yad Mordecai. And where did you Aunt Golda live?
(Talia narrows her eyes, then

Friday, January 13, 2017

The Ancient Art of Reminiscence

When did Sapiens begin to mark anniversaries, remember back to older times, and mark them? When did the rhythms of new moon and full moon and new moon again bring us to taste anew the delicious moments,  to relive sad times and say farewell all over again to loves who have died? When did deja vu begin?

How our life is measured out in moons,
The many moons ago
Of celebration pies,
Of wedding pies, and
Pies no longer possible.
The waxings and the wanings
And the flickerings out,
Recalled when the moon rhythm
Comes around again,
Ancient stirrings of remembered moonpattern,
Bringing us right there
To mooniversaries in time.

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Educating the Creativity Out of Children?

Never! The kids who come to me have free reign, to invent worlds and to fly in them. I must listen to Ken Robinson again. I recall that he said the school system was constructed for the industrial revolution, to mould kids into good assembly line workers who didn't glance to the left or to the right but kept their eyes on the task at hand. There was one right way to do things. Do it that way and you get the marks. No sirreee. None of that in my speech room. I always have a plan in place. And I jump for joy the moment the kid tells me that he was at the skating rink and heard, "Ice Clean". All puckered up for two scoops of chocolate ripple and vanilla, what a disappointment when the ice cleaning machine came out on the ice. That was not the story I had planned for today. I love when the session takes its own wings, and I am learning things I never thought of before.

Monday, January 9, 2017

"Self" as a Rube Goldberg slapped together intricate conglomeration

"To be alive is to marvel — at least occasionally, at least with glimmers of some deep intuitive wonderment — at the Rube Goldberg machine of chance and choice that makes us who we are as we half-stride, half-stumble down the improbable paths that lead us back to ourselves. " 
How can communication happen at all, when "I", one conglomeration of experiences and reactions and history and interpretations and parent tapes and influences, try to convey a message to you, a while different conglomeration? 
      Answer: Communication can happen when we try, then check, then correct, then try some more. 

Saturday, January 7, 2017

Free From Arithmetic's Tyranny

"And still, after all this time, the Sun has never said to the Earth, You owe me'. Look what happens with love like that. It lights up the sky."
Oh my. Look at all the times when arithmetic doesn't hold. Kissing. I give you a kiss. Do I have less kissness?  More!
Gift Giving. The pleasure direction is not always the direction that the object passed. What joy the giver receives, when the gift is taken with delight. Oh, those lovely times.
 A mom and baby nursing. Mutual. As much as the babe hungers for the milk, the mom hungers to feed her. Take it further. A few months ago, this babe and the mom were one being. That never really stops.
The arithmetic of love. A mother loves her one baby one hundred percent. (Also, this small one takes up one hundred per cent of her thought, her time, her concern, her delight, her wonder). Once there are two, or seven children, one hundred per cent.
       Ah, once we let go of the arithmetic, of scoreboards and the notion that "fair" means anything at all, we are free to love.
****************************************
Every bit of advice, and its opposite, are helpful. It all depends on which way you are tipping over at a particular time. Too impulsive or too reflective. Too giving or too guarded? Too busy or too lazy?
The truth and its opposite are true: 
“Let go of certainty. The opposite isn’t uncertainty. It’s openness, curiosity and a willingness to embrace paradox, rather than choose up sides."
How I love the Crazy, Crazy Wisdom, where paradox makes good sense. Once we embrace paradox, "The truth and its opposite are true" we are well on the way.
I love surprise. ////I love routine. Both are true for me.
"Don't be interesting. Be interested"///////. "Fascinate, intrigue, instruct and delight". Both!
Scout Listening, to open our minds, explore, find out something new. Be willing to change our minds./////Hold fast to what you believe and value.
Murray Enkin I want to live in the moving resonance between these opposites. Not a happy medium and not a middle ground. 100% this one and 100% that one.

Friday, January 6, 2017

1979. The Rights of Parents and Children: Exploring Alternatives

A moment by moment blog post, this Friday morning, three generations at Mommy and Daddy's. Adam and Daddy are changing the water in the aquarium, Mommy and I are finding the gems amongst boxes and boxes of papers. June 27, 1979 at Harbour Castle, International Childbirth Education Conference. I easily found Murray Enkin's talk, The New Obstetrics, Premises, Promises and Priorities." Something made me keep on looking through the typewritten brochure. "Eleanor Enkin. Learning the Art of Parenting".
We'll, something went right in their parenting. Here we are, their children and grandchildren, coming by to laugh and work together, and to learn from them.

Thursday, January 5, 2017

The Body Remembers Beauty

A friend responded to my memory of canoe trips without phones. You could always drop the phone in the water. Splash!
"Invention is the Mother of Necessity"
Yes! On Yom Kippur when son Adam and I climbed Mount Doug, fasting, I would have taken my phone in my pocket, you know, just for safety and security and, you know, just in case . Someone could faint. You never know. But I forgot.
Our talk as we climbed was elevated, each tangled root carried a life metaphor for us, a tall tree grown past where the lightning had slashed it a perfect picture of Tamar Frankiel's symbol of forgiving while acknowledging the hurt as part of our bodies, letting the remembered hurt shape our contours to a thing of unique and asymmetrical beauty.
       When Adam and I got to the stunning sunshine of Mount Doug's peak, and the clearest view of    Mount Baker's snow in the distance, I had to memorize the scene in sharpest detail.
       Nobody fainted from the fasting and the climbing on no fuel but angel thought, and there were no emergencies down below. And no photo was needed of that thisworld beauty, the vastness of blue blue sea and distant snowy mountain. Without the iPhone, I printed the memory somewhere indelible and retrievable. Anytime. Now.
       Remembered beauty, too, leaves its contours. Our body shapes to it.