Good Company Theatre Brings Daughters of the Appalachians to New Heights

by Linda Goodman

November and December have been incredibly busy months for me, but I just had to close out 2013 with my final thoughts on Good Company Theater’s (Granby, CT) production of my play Daughters of the Appalachians.

            Three theaters performed the show in 2013. The Lamplighters Theatre in La Mesa,CA and The Village Players in Somers, CT did staged readings of the show, both playing to full houses and standing ovations. I was unable to attend either of these shows, but enjoyed reading the press releases and reviews, and hearing about the overwhelming audience reactions.

            Good Company Theatre, however, did a full production of the show and ran it for six nights (November 1-10). I was able to attend all of them. My good friends Nikki Currie-Huggard and Resa Ferreira co-directed the show. Both of them are talented and accomplished writers, storytellers, actors, and directors, so I knew the show was in good hands. They are the very definition of artistic integrity. Artist and storyteller Steve Ferreira painted an amazing mountain back-drop for the show. Rik Huggard provided excellent sound, in spite of a few obstacles that popped up along the way.

            Laura Mazza-Dixon wrote an enticing press release that drew people to the show in droves. All of the shows drew full houses except for the first show, which was six seats shy of being full. All six received standing ovations. The Appalachian music (sometimes rousing, sometimes haunting) chosen for the show was arranged and played by Laura on the guitar and Julie Senter on the fiddle.

            Nikki and Resa did a remarkable job casting the show:

            Nannie Brown played the pivotal role of 94 year old matriarch Marthie Potter to perfection, weaving a complex tapestry of  honor, stubbornness, superstition, and loyalty into a collage of family sorrows, fears, and triumphs. Nannie was so real as Marthie that I felt as though I was in the presence of my great aunt, on whom the character is based.

            Sixteen year old Jessica Manion played Jessie, a young girl who strikes a deal with a conjur man, only to learn that she needs to be more careful with her wishes. I loved the innocence and purity that Jessica brought to the role. She made Jessie (who, in the wrong hands, can seem conniving) sympathetic and the audience cared for her.

            Tamara Torres McGovern was amazing as Harlene. I wrote this story about a woman and her dog and have performed it, and seen others perform it, many times. So how did Tamara manage for make me cry for six nights in a row, even though I knew how the story ended?  Through sheer talent – her acting skills are THAT good!

            Peggy Shaw was a hoot as Boojie, a woman who meets a star-crossed lover who changes her life. I love the way she injected this role with joy and freedom, to the delight of her captive audience. By the way, Boojie’s use of the term “shot my wad” does not refer to a sexual act; it figuratively refers to a wad of chewing tobacco and is synonymous with “blew my top.”

            Resa Ferriera, as always, OWNED the stage as the vengeful Nellveda Hawkins. Portraying Nellveda as both blatantly evil and eerily hypnotic, Resa sent chills down my spine. The audience was electrified.

            Kimberly McCord, on stage as an actor for the first time, introduced the audience to Sarah Jane with the expertise of one with far more experience, making the character real by portraying both the doubts that her mother imposed upon her and the confidence her father planted in her heart. Kimberly went deeper into the character with each performance. Her evolution was remarkable.

            I cried when the show’s run ended on November 10. I did not want to leave my ladies. Indeed, they felt real to me, and I still miss them. But I do have souvenirs of the show I will keep always. I even have a poem written by Boojie (Peggy Shaw) herself:

Linda’s Play

Subtitle: Nikki and Resa Made Us Do It

They said it would be easy to get up on the stages

And tell a little story that lasted for eight pages.

Well, it wasn’t easy, I must say,

Until we realized one day

That this was such a lovely play.

We could do it for ages and ages.

Well, there are five verses after that….

 

Happy New Year to one and all!



Elisa Pearmain's Forgiveness CD a True Gift

CD Review 

Forgiveness: Telling Our Stories in New Ways

A two CD program of stories and reflections for healing your past and living peacefully in the present. $22.50 (includes shipping and handling) from http://www.wisdomtales.com/forgiveness.html 

Reviewed by Linda Goodman

            I took my first Elisa Pearmain storytelling workshop, sponsored by the Connecticut Storytelling Center, in 1990. At that time, she was already being hailed as one of the wise women of storytelling. This two CD set further cements that reputation.

            Pearmain says that her favorite definition of forgiveness is this: giving up all hope for a better past. “Forgiveness is first and foremost a form of self-healing….Research now confirms that forgiveness can reduce anxiety and depression and improve physical health,” she states on her CD insert. These are not words spoken by an amateur. Pearmain, in addition to being a respected storyteller, is a seasoned Psychotherapist with a private practice in Concord, Massachusetts.

            The sixteen stories on this CD come from various cultures around the world, and each illustrates a facet of forgiveness. Each story is followed by a reflection or insight. Some are also followed by exercises and meditations to help the listener internalize the wisdom taught by the tale. Several of the stories are personal stories, two from Pearmain’s own life. 

            My favorite story from this collection is Prince Dhigavu, a Buddhist tale about a prince who seeks revenge against the murderer of his parents, only to realize that his vengeance will beget only more vengeance in an unending cycle that can be stopped only by surrendering his hate to the love he has for his people.

            I also appreciated hearing Her Story in Motion, Pearmain’s personal story of her first real love, which began with joy and hope, only to deteriorate into an abusive relationship. Dance theater became her healing salve, helping her to banish the shame she harbored through sharing her pain. Positive audience reactions affirmed the value of her sharing her story. Her creativity allowed her to heal herself. “Is there a personal story you would like to share?” she asks at the story’s conclusion. She encourages those whose memories cause flashbacks to seek the help of a therapist.

            Pearmain makes therapy an art form as she tells each tale with a sensitivity that reveals rare insight into the frailty of the human condition and the power of forgiveness. She has harnessed that power as a gift for story lovers everywhere, but especially for those desiring to let go of the past and live a more peaceful and compassionate life. I will listen to these stories again and again for the wisdom, the hope, and the healing that they offer. This is an important work that stands on its own for the caliber of its stories and Pearmain’s telling; but it also goes beyond the traditional story realm to that healing place where magic can truly happen. 

Father and Sons

(Inspired by Matthew 21:28-32)

©Linda Goodman, November 2013

My father was sixty-five years old when his mother passed away in 1970. She left to him the heavy chifferobe (a combination armoire/chest of drawers) that his father had made by hand.

Daddy was glad to be offered this piece, as he loved his father and admired his handiwork. The piece was much too heavy and bulky, however, for my father to move by himself. Besides that, my grandmother’s cabin was 10 hours away in Wise, Virginia, and Daddy did not drive.

He did have two sons, though, and each of them had a pickup truck. He called Allen, his younger son, and asked him for his help. “My sister Nell is going to be at Mama’s house two weeks from Saturday, Daddy explained. “ That’s the only day that someone will be there to let me in. Will you take me to get that chifferobe and help me bring it back?”

“Sorry, Pop,” Allen answered. “The World series begins that day. The Baltimore Orioles are playing the Cincinnati Reds. You know I can’t miss that game.” The Baltimore Orioles were his favorite team.

Daddy understood. He was a big fan of the Orioles, too. So he said good bye to Allen and called his oldest son, Lee, whom he asked the same question. “Sure, Pop,” Lee answered without hesitation.  “I’ll be glad to go with you and bring that chifferobe back.”

I am sure that Lee meant well, but he was the happy-go-lucky type who made promises easily, but did not keep track of them. Within a week he forgot all about Daddy and the chifferobe and, excited about the World Series, he decided to have a World Series hotdog cookout party. He invited all his friends and neighbors. He also invited Allen.

“Say What!” Allen exclaimed. “Didn’t you tell Daddy that you would take him to pick up that Chifferobe in Wise that Saturday?”

“Shucks! I forgot all about that.” Lee reflected. “Oh, well, I’m sure Daddy will understand. He knows that the Baltimore Orioles are my favorite team. I’ll call him right now.”

“Never mind, “Allen told him. “I’ll call Daddy and tell him. I need to talk to him any way.”

On Saturday, October 15, at 4:00 a.m., my Daddy stood on the front porch of his apartment building waiting for his son to pick him up and drive him to Wise. As the truck pulled up to the curb, Daddy was surprised to see Allen, not Lee, behind the wheel.

“What are you doing here, Allen?” Daddy asked. “I thought you were going to watch the World series.”

“Yep, I was, Pop,” Allen grinned. “But then I decided that I’ve seen plenty of Orioles games.  I’ve never had my father to myself for an entire day before, though.  How could I pass that up?”

Daddy laughed and slapped Allen on the back as he got into the truck.

Daddy talked about that trip until the day he died in August 1987. Memories of that trip brought a smile to his face whenever he thought of them. I am pretty sure that they made Allen smile, too.

          Years after Daddy was gone, Lee told me that he would give anything to have that day back. Unlike Allen, he would never have his father to himself for an entire day.

Diane Edgecomb's In the Groves

In the Groves 

Stories performed by Diane Edgecomb, accompanied by harpist Margot Chamberlain.  Winner of a Parent’s Choice Silver Award! $17.00 (includes shipping and handling) from www.livingmyth.com

 

Reviewed by Linda Goodman

            In the introduction to this charming yet haunting CD, we are told that trees are first and foremost teachers, and, if we listen closely, they will share their secrets.  While listening to this CD, one does indeed feel likes a confidant, hearing the secrets of the groves for the first time.

            The Dancing Spirit of the Birch, a Czech folktale, tells of a young girl who knows happiness, in spite of being poor and having to work all day spinning flax into thread. Who is the mysterious woman in white who seeks to draw the girl from her work for a day of dance and levity? Will the girl allow herself to be lured from the work that supports her hungry family?

            From Cornwall England, Three Green Ladies is a story centered on rituals related to trees, and three men whose late father taught them to honor those rituals. Only one brother heeds their father’s wisdom, however, leaving the other two to reap the consequences of their own selfish actions.

            Kansakura – Sacred Cherry Tree features a cherry tree so beautiful that a shrine to the God of Love is built near it. This story from Japan tells of a young girl who resents her father’s plan to marry her to someone she does not love. How will she extract herself from this arranged marriage when she finally meets her true love?

            Australian Aboriginals say that the land needs us as much as we need the land. One of the things it needs is to hear the old stories told in a sacred manner. The Voice of the Creator is just such a story; a tale of lazy humans who take the presence of the Creator for granted until it is too late. The Creator, however, is benevolent and cares enough for his people to send an emissary to lead them back to him, though not in the way you would imagine.

            Evergreen, from the Cherokee People, is a pourquoi tale that explains why some trees keep their green leaves all year long, while others lose theirs. It is a story about the rewards that follow steadfast endurance.

            Each song and story on this CD is thoroughly researched and expertly performed. Diane and her accompanist, harpist Margot Chamberlain, create sweet harmonies for songs from the Shaker, Russian, and Japanese traditions. Margot beautifully sings a Welch tune solo and underscores each story with traditional music from the cultures represented. Listeners will be captivated with the musical ebb and flow that Margot has created to follow Diane’s telling from tale to tale. The result is elegance so enchanting that it makes story magic.

            Diane’s skill at shifting from character to character within a tale is amazing. No blunt transitions here, only a subtle change of tone or pitch, or quickening of pace, is necessary to guide the audience from one character to the next.

            Story lovers on your Christmas list will cherish this CD as they listen to it again and again. Do not let its soothing tone fool you, however. For all its beauty, there is justice in the grove. Sometimes that justice is harshly dark; but Light lingers on the edge of the darkness, beckoning all to journey forward.

           

A Story for Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving

by Linda Goodman

©Linda Goodman 1996

     When my family lived in the Appalachian Mountains of Wise County, Virginia, the food that we ate at our Thanksgiving Day meal was the same as what we ate on any other day: soup beans and cornbread. Occasionally, there would be meat, if Daddy had been out hunting.


     What made the meal different was a ritual that my Daddy insisted upon observing on Thanksgiving. Before eating, each of us sitting around the table would, one by one, give thanks for that for which he or she was most grateful. Not having much in the way of material possessions, our thanks usually were given for treasured relationships. One year, after I had recovered from a severe bout with pneumonia, I was surprised to hear my brothers give thanks for my survival. It changed the way I felt about them, and their constant teasing was easier to take after that. I gave thanks for my new baby sister. Mama was thankful for well-behaved children, and Daddy was thankful that he had been blessed with children who were thinkers. If you use your head, you will come out ahead, he always said.


     When we moved to the city, Thanksgiving remained the same. My parents refused to assimilate into the city culture, and so our meals and rituals never changed. We children eventually adopted city ways, but Momma and Daddy held to the old ways until their deaths.


     The Thanksgiving after they passed away, my sister and her family came to spend the holiday with me in Connecticut. I fixed a traditional meal of turkey, dressing, and various side dishes. Before eating, my sister and I decided to reinstate the old ritual that we had taken part in so often. One by one our children gave thanks. My daughter was thankful for the new dress she had gotten for the Christmas dance at school. My nephew was thankful for his Nintendo. My niece was glad that her allowance had been increased. No one mentioned family or friends.


     I abandoned the ritual after that. It just was not the same with its new emphasis on material possessions. On Thanksgiving day, we have a bountiful meal and good companionship. Everyone seems happy. But I always make sure to take a few minutes alone to give thanks for the wonderful man who taught me that it is not who you are, but how you live, that matters most; and that anyone who has a loving family is rich indeed.

The Least of These

© Linda Goodman 2013

Matthew 25:40: “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."

This morning (10/27/2013) Pastor Steve Rembert’s sermon centered on the above scripture.

I remember when the economy crashed in 2008. Many people lost their jobs and things looked bleak. They were scared, and rightfully so.

I was one of the lucky ones. When the company I was working for went bankrupt, I was remembered by several former colleagues who had segued into management elsewhere. I had made good impressions upon them, and I received multiple job offers from them.

I ended up working in downtown Richmond. Every day on the way from the bus stop to my job, I passed people who were holding signs that said that they were hungry. I made it a habit to always carry dollar bills with me, and, while trying not to draw attention, I gave one to each needy person I passed. Well-meaning friends warned me that the money I gave would most likely go to drugs or alcohol.

Their warning made me think back to 1969, when I was hungry myself. I was unemployed and pregnant with my daughter.  My husband (now ex-husband) was a self-employed musician. We never knew if we would make it from one paying gig to the next. At his gigs, my husband was usually treated to meals by his fans, or the club where he was working. I was living on Campbell's Soup for lunch and supper. I skipped breakfast.

A couple lived down the road from us, and I felt compassion for them because neither of them was working. One of their parents was helping out with the rent, "But we have no food," the wife told me. "We're starving."

I had no money to help with their situation, but I had stockpiled Campbell's Soup the last time I had found it on sale. I set aside half of my soup cans and watched and waited for a few days, until I saw the two of them leave their house together. Then I took the soup I had set aside to their house and pushed each can through their mail slot. This way, they would not know who their benefactor was, and they would not feel embarrassed around me. Knowing that I was helping them made me feel good. I had visions of their happiness when they came home and found the soup.  They would be ecstatic.

The next time I saw the two of them, they were agitated. “Somebody put canned soup through our mail slot,” the man complained. “I don’t mind somebody helping us out, but getting canned soup is an insult!”

I was in shock. “I like canned soup,” I told them. “I eat it every day.”

“We’ll give the soup to you, then,” the woman offered. “Frankly, I’d rather have nothing at all to eat than to have to eat canned soup,” she added.

“If someone really wanted to help,” the man continued, “he would have given us the cash and let us buy what we like.”

I went back home with the soup. I don’t think they ever realized that I was the culprit. Throughout my pregnancy, I continued to eat that soup. I was glad to have it, too.

My intentions towards the couple were honest and sincere, just as my intentions towards the hungry that I met in Richmond were honest and sincere. Some of those hungry people may have felt that a dollar was not enough. I have no way of knowing that.

What I do know is that my actions were motivated by scripture, by my personal memories of being poor, and by my desire to help those in dire straits. In Matthew 25:40, Jesus blesses those who come to the aid of “the least of these brothers and sisters of mine.” I see no reason to cease doing so just because I don’t know to what use the aid will be put.  That is between the "least of these" and God.

Tall Tales and Laughing Spells

CD Review

 

Why I Don’t Fish Anymore

 

Stories performed by Alan Hoal.  $15.00, plus shipping and handling, from www.thehoalstory.com or call

919-607-0993

Reviewed by Linda Goodman

            Roanoke, Virginia native Alan Hoal claims that every story on this CD is true. Of course, when we hear that, we must remember that he has an entire shelf of tall tale competition trophies. My advice: don’t worry about whether or not the tales are true; just allow yourself to suspend your disbelief for a while, and I guarantee you will have a rollicking good time listening to this story collection.

            While listening to Why I Don’t Fish Anymore, just believe that Hoal once had a beloved pet catfish named Whiskers. After you have listened to the story of how Hoal came to adopt Whiskers as a pet, and to all the adventures they had together, you will understand why the tragedy that followed scarred Hoal so much that he had to give up fishing altogether.

            The Conjuring of Bloody Mary recalls Hoal’s own experience at trying to call up the legendary, vampire-like ghost, famous for draining the blood out of her victims. Was she real? Only the next of kin can say for sure, but make no mistake: Hoal knows a good story when he lives it.

            Hot Diggity Saves the Day, set in Punkin Patch, Virginia features an eccentric Uncle, a hated giant chicken, and an extraordinary hunting dog that saves the town from going down in history as a laughing stock. This story is a puzzle that creates a wonderfully funny picture as it puts all the pieces together.

            Ever wonder what a decaffeinated coffee plant does with all that caffeine that is removed from its coffee? The Great Caffeine Disaster goes into great detail to explain just that. Beware! It is not a pretty picture.

            In this current grim world of government shut-downs, increasing debt, and mounting fear, this album provides a much needed escape from reality. It is a flight of fancy to a world where the ridiculous seems real, reality seems insane, and healing laughter makes everything seem all right for a while.