Flashback to 1971 - Circus Girl - "Lions, Tigers, and Horses,Oh My!"

My horse Commodore and I fit right in at PT Barnum and Bailey Circus at the Cow Palace, San Francisco.

He, a good looking tall black-bay with a long mane, wearing a new red halter and a leadrope on one side as a rein. Me, 19 years old, riding him bareback.

Lions looked out at us from cages, elephants were led by, people were milling around.

It was 1971, my Mom and I moved to Santa Barbara, California. We took a horse trailer up to San Francisco to pick up Commodore. A professional had trailered him across country from Wisconsin.

I hadn't seen him for a year, having been away at college. Commodore had been turned out in a giant pasture in Wisconsin.

The Cow Palace sign announced "PT Barnum and Bailey Circus."

We located the truck driver and Commodore.

I knew right away Commodore hadn't forgotten me.

I slipped the new red halter on him with the leadrope. "Would you give me a leg up please?" I asked the truck driver.

In my mind I said to Commodore, "Comma, I have missed you so much."

The past year melted away.

Commodore was a tall jumping horse, spirited, and I had never ridden him bareback with only a halter and a leadrope on one side.

We instantly connected, tuned in to each other. We took off riding around the circus.

We stopped at the lion cage. All kinds of circus animals were in cages nearby or being led around.

People in the crowd smiled at us, watched, waved, pointed at him. I knew Commodore was trusting me. That was why he wasn't nervous or spooking.

The bystanders probably thought I was a circus girl, one of the bareback riders with her trusty trick horse.

In my mind I said to him, "Oh Comma thank you! You're so good."

Commodore in his red halter, me riding bareback, we watched the PT Barnum and Bailey circus at the Cow Palace.

It was not your everyday experience, but Commodore was not your everyday horse.

Banana Peel Stories - Times When Something Slipped or Went Wrong - But Everyone Landed on Their Feet

These stories are all from the times when we lived on Lake Geneva, Wisconsin and I was in junior high or high school.

1 - First Banana Peel Story - When Something Went Wrong - "Sailing 101 and the Crash Landing"

My folks bought an older refurbished class X 16 ft. sailboat for my brother and I to use and signed us up for sailing lessons. I was in about the 7th grade and B.J. was 2 years younger.

Right after we started lessons my Dad decided to have B.J. and I take the sailboat out while he drove next to us in the Boston Whaler. He thought we'd had enough lessons to know the gist of it, and we thought the same about him. We were all wrong.

The wind came up, it got a little gusty and scarey, and Dad yelled for us to take the sailboat back. I was older and holding onto the tiller then. Holding onto it, not really being a skipper.

As the sailboat headed toward the pier, with a rising wind, gathering speed, I waited for my father to yell over to us what to do since I didn't know how to land a sailboat. I could see the people on the pier looked worried as we got close. I didn't know yet about tacking into the wind and letting the sails luff.

Dad was yelling but in the wind we didn't understand what he said. So we, I, kept going. We saw the sunbathers on the pier get up and run away.

Crash! The bow hit the pier, the front plate and stay broke, the jib, mainsail and wooden mast fell over.

B.J. and I, sensing we were supposed to have done this differently, jumped up and ran off the boat all the way up to the house.

The next week our sailing class got to the part about landing the boat.

2- Second Banana Peel Story - A Rogue Wave, A Runaway Speedboat, and 2 Lifeguards

Lake Geneva had tour boats that created gigantic waves when they went by.

I was about 15 years old. One day I was going all out in the Boston Whaler, full throttle, when one of these waves hit just right at an angle. The boat jumped into the air, I lost my grip on the outboard motor handle, and I flew into the air, the water.

From the water, in my clothes, I saw the outboard motor handle swing over to the other side so the boat began to circle back toward me, really flying. This could have been life threatening.

I heard a voice yell - "Over here!" A Gordy's rental ski boat with 2 cute guys about my age roared in with their 80 horsepower mercs, one guy grabbed my arms and pulled me into the boat, and they roared out before the Boston Whaler could hit.

The Boston Whaler went into a pattern of roaring around in figure 8's, with the outboard motor handle swinging back and forth. Each time the handle swung the whole boat jumped into the air and began a different circle.

A crowd gathered on the shore. My rescuers and I joined them. Someone said "Guess we have to wait till it runs out of gas" but another said "let's foul the prop with a ski tow rope." And that's what they did. By then several water safety patrol boats were there too.

They wanted to know who did this. I tried to blend into the crowd. My father showed up. Oh dear.

I was grounded because it was thought I must have been really hot rodding to get thrown out of the boat. Finally my mom convinced my dad that it really was a freak accident.

My mom was grateful to the 2 high school guys who rescued me. They turned out to be swim team competitors who were lifeguards from Michigan. They were done with their lifeguard jobs because it was almost the end of the summer.

So, my mom invited the 2 lifeguards to stay with us for a week in my brother's room, and B.J. slept on the couch. We all became friends and got along quite well.

My steady boyfriend from high school was over there every single minute possible keeping an eye on my lifeguard/rescuers, who were continuing to keep an eye on me.

They may have thought I would have another boating accident at any moment.

Perhaps they thought since they had saved me that it was their duty to continue to be protective.

So when my boyfriend came over the lifeguard - rescue guys were always there too. I have to admit I enjoyed it.

3 - Third Banana Peel Story - The Iceboat Without a Rudder

My dad was co-owner of a class A iceboat. His friend, the other owner, was on the board for the Stock Exchange in Chicago. I guess they both liked risk.

Lake Geneva was 12 miles long and up to 3 miles wide, so it could accommodate an 80 foot long iceboat that had a telephone pole as it's center. The crew rode in a basket made of super thick ropes at the back of the telephone pole. The tiller controlled the angle of the blades on the ice, which protruded out on the sides. The class A ice boat looked a little like a big cross.

It looked like a quiet day, almost no wind, and my dad couldn't find anyone else to crew on the iceboat that day. The crew's job was to move across the rope basket and use their weight to keep the iceboat from tipping over, somersaulting really, on the ice. I only weighted about 110.

The giant telephone pole had a huge mast and sail. We pushed the iceboat to get it going, then hopped in. Everything was ok until the tiller broke.

The wind had come up. We were in a rope basket at the back of an 80 ft telephone pole with a sail full of wind on a lake with mostly a rocky shore. It only takes a little wind to go really fast.

And..we were going really fast. "We'll have to use our weight to try to steer it into the wind' my dad shouted. He released the mainsail sheet to let the boom swing out and try to let air out of the sail, but we were still moving fast, the runners hissing. We leaned way out on one side but the boat seemed to be heading right for the rocks. The runners weren't responding to the weight change.

We went to one side of the crew's basket and half jumped to the other side to throw some real weight into it. The rocks were getting closer and it would be like a car crash, only on ice.

Slowly the runners responded and we began to circle away from the shore. The iceboat kept circling and ran into the wind and eventually it slowed and stopped.

We looked over at the shore but no one was around. My dad said, "Don't ever tell your mother about this."

Biography Example: Leonardi di Vinci Part 1 of 18

Perspectives in Life Story Telling

Out of that jumble of ideas that may come pouring out when you think of writing your life story there will be many perspectives. For example, you could tell your story from a spiritual perspective, a career perspective, or a family perspective. Values you hold to be very dear will be reflected in your story. Perhaps it will turn out to be a story of how you triumphed over a difficult start in life and went on to career success. Or, it may be a tale of overcoming a childhood with a disfunctional family and having a family life as an adult that you cherish.

A perspective or angle of viewing your life will emerge as you tell it or write it, and it's a chance to learn more about yourself. In a way, a life story sometimes functions like a mirror, reflecting your life back to you in a way that is not easy to see without telling your life story.

A theme often emerges, a calling in life, or a lifelong passion. Events unfold, but underlying those events there can be a steady stream of choices that reflect some consistent perspectives.

Five Steps to Set Up a Life Story Video Interview

If a full-length book of memoirs is not practical, a life story interview can be made on video. Here are the steps.

1. ORGANIZE. Gather photos, memorabilia, timelines, and family members.

2. OUTLINE.. Write an outline of topics and questions.

3. VIDEO CLIPS. Make a series of brief video clips, from a minute or so long to 10 minutes long. Shorter clips are easier to upload on the computer or send to family and friends.

4. TOPICS. Each video clip can focus on a special topic, such as "Pictures of My Childhood Home" or "The Story of Christmas Holidays in 1950."

5. MAKE CD'S. Copy the video clips onto CD's and share them with family members.

Video: Reasons Why People Enjoy Genealogy and Family History

How To Make a Life Story Video - Making a Film of Your Memoirs and Family History

Dividing Your Life Story Into Stages

Starting a life story can be a little like opening a closet you haven't looked at for awhile, and having everything fall out in a heap. Taking all those experiences and organizing them helps separate them into smaller, easier to handle chunks.

There are many different ways to divide the life story experiences into groups. One way I found recently used "The Eight Life Stages." Seeing how one stage, and it's experiences, led to the next stage, helps make the story meaningful. I learned some new things about myself by looking at my life story this way.

You can also visit the webpage for the Cuesta Community College Adult Emeritus class I take on Your Life Story for tips from instructor/facilitator Myla Collier.

A theory of Developmental Stages of Life, by the reknowned Dr. Eric Erikson, have long been accepted worldwide and taught in college classes. A glance at these stages can also help clarify your life story as you strive to put all those details into a timeline or groups of short stories.

Life Story Writer - Pulitzer Prize Winner Frank McCourt, Author of "Angela's Ashes"

Inspirational Video for Life Story Telling

Need a creative, inspirational uplift for your life story writing? Watching the video below is one way to get the story rolling.

Growing Up During the 1930's - As Told To Me

An acquaintance in his mid-70's recently shared the story of his childhood during the Great Depression, and gave me permission to use it on the blog.

Bill was born in Oklahoma in 1932. His mother was of full Cherokee ancestry, and his father was of caucasian ancestry. Soon after his birth the family came to California, where the parents parted due to marital problems.

He remembers living in a small house with a picket fence near an airfield, in the San Fernando Valley. When he was four or five years old he watched parachuters coming down during practice there. Bill and his brother played in the backyard, which was large. He says lots were bigger then.

Bill's mother became ill and he was sent to live in an orphanage of about ten children, which was somewhere in Los Angeles. He remembers his father coming to get him, and taking him to a hospital where his mother lay in bed. She died from pneumonia, and Bill and his brother went to live with his father.

Bill's father worked on farms in the California Central Valley. They lived in a tent. Bill remembers his father dragging a long bag when picking cotton. Bill would sit on the bag to go for a ride while his father pulled it along.

At Christmas when Bill was about six years old he got his first toy. The Christmas Tree was a dried out cotton stalk with cotton balls on it for ornaments. For Christmas Bill got a little car, about four inches long. Up until Bill was ten years old he played with make-believe toys. A block of wood might be a car or a tractor. Bill said he would push these blocks around and make motor sounds, "Vvvrooooom" or "put-put-put."

When Bill was six years old or so, he began working in the fields too, picking cotton or doing other work. He went to school off and on, but the regular farmwork was necessary for survival.

He said his father eventually put some money down on a house, perhaps around 1937. It did not have plumbing or electricity, and was small, about, 600 square feet.Once a week or so they would take a bath in a large metal tub. For a bathroom there was a place with a blanket hanging over a tree limb for privacy, and a hole in the ground with a shovel nearby.

They often only had one type of food at a meal. But Bill says there would be large servings to help them have energy for work. To this day Bill's favorite place to eat is at a buffet where there is a huge variety. They ate very quickly in order to get back to work. Bill says he still eats in a hurry, as eating slowly would have been a luxury.

They didn't have much money. But Bill says he always knew he was loved by his father and brother when he was growing up, both of whom have passed away. When he was growing up he didn't know they were poor, so he just accepted life as it was.

Bill said that he likes to think that when people pass away they become stars, and the good people are the brightest stars.

When Bill was 11, and his brother was 13 years old, his brother managed to join the military service, during WW II. Bill went to school sporadically, as he was needed for field work so they could survive. After the eighth grade he did not attend school any more at all.

When he was about 17 he, too, joined the military service, and he went to Korea. He was injured twice, stabbed by a bayonet, and then hit by shrapnel, and sent to Japan for medical care and recovery.

Hearing Bill H. tell about growing up during the Great Depression gives a personal insight into history. Today Bill, age 74, lives in a beautiful home in Greentrees Village, Florence, Oregon, where he enjoys the Oregon coast scenery. There's a swimming pool heated to the high 80's, a jacuzzi, and other amenities.

It's been a long time since the Great Depression. The memories of the good times he shared with his father and brother are always close to his heart.

Thank you, Bill, for sharing this story.

Countryside, Wildflowers, and Hobson Road

When I go out into the countryside and see the sun and the green and everything flowering, I say to myself Yes indeed, all that belongs to me! ~Henri Rousseau

It is the summer of 1960 in the midwest. A group of neighborhood children roam fields and forests, exploring the creeks, looking for jack-in-the-pulpit plants, and picking wildflowers. Huge red barns, silos, and farmyards with chickens, dairy cattle, horses, and sheep are part of the landscape.

The days begin with the sounds of roosters crowing, as the early sunlight streams in through the windows. Birds awakening chirp and sing, otherwise it's quiet in the countryside. Leaves rustle or shake in the breeze, and the fields of hay or oats ripple in the wind.

A country lane called Hobson Road has driveways to white clapboard farmhouses surrounded by tall shade trees. Occasionally a car or truck from a nearby farm comes down the road. Black and white dairy cattle graze in green pastures.

A large pond with willow trees has a smaller road next to it. Down that lane there is a circular drive of about 1/2 mile with eight or ten houses scattered around it on small acreages.

Next to one of the long, gravel driveways is a red mailbox and a clump of evergreens. Beyond is a brick ranch house, with evergreens and petunias in the front yard. Several acres stretch behind the house. Then there is a wire fence, and beyond that a field of corn, then a forest.

This was the house, 15 miles outside of Naperville, Illinois, 45 miles west of Chicago, where I lived from age five to age fourteen.

Today, 2007, I hear that the area is heavily populated. But in the 1950's and 1960's, we were a long way from town, and there were only a few friendly neighbors there sharing the peaceful countryside.

Each year there was a Christmas party, that moved from house to house, singing Christmas Carols. We always finished the evening with a potluck at the house of a neighbor who had decorated the basement.

Most basements were cement walls and floors, with windows below ground level that looked out at a "window well" that held the dirt back. The ceiling was the bare underside of the first floor of the house. A few light bulbs with strings hung down.

On the last day of school each year, the children from the surrounding houses were picked up by a neighbor pulling a hay wagon with a tractor. This was the way we celebrated the beginning of summer vacation.

The country school had two or three grades in each room. There were only about ten students in each grade. In the lower grades, when it was time for our class to practice reading, we went to sit at a circular table in the front of the room with the teacher.

Girls wore skirts or dresses, and boys wore slacks and shirts. At the beginning of class we recited the Pledge of Allegiance and sang a song, such as "My Country 'Tis of Thee" or "America The Beautiful."

For recess we would run outside to play in a mowed field with big trees. There were several crabapple trees, but the crabapples were too bitter to eat. The branches of these trees spread out and reached to the ground in places. We used the places under the crabapple trees for meeting places. During school we'd say to our friends "see you under the crabapple tree."

Under the crabapple trees we planned what games to play. A favorite for the girls was pretending to be wild horses. We were all "horse crazy" and we drew pictures of horses on everything. We named horses we saw in pastures, and imagined the day when we could be old enough to ride horses, flying across the land. We could all toss our hair like a horse tossing it's mane, scrape the ground with one foot like a horse pawing, and make noises like horses when they whinney, neigh or nicker.

We would dream of horse names for ourselves and whole horsey backgrounds. One of us might be a black and white spotted horse, with a name like "Beauty," and be from somewhere around the Grand Canyon. The horse's likes and dislikes, personality, and home were all part of the story. We each had two names, our own and our horse name.

Looking back from 2007 at 1960 it's hard to believe it all happened almost 50 years ago. But, it's easy to see where my love of the countryside comes from.

Opening A Closet Full of Memories

It's not an autobiography of the rich and famous, but it is my own life story, clutched in my arms, as I head into Life Story Writing class.

This week we focused on early childhood. What did our house look like when I was six years old? Who were the kids in the neighborhood? What were the family activities? It's all written down, and the memories have been refreshed.

It's a clear, October morning today. As I drove over to class I saw the sun shining on the Pacific ocean, next to our small town. A group of us visit for awhile on the steps of the Grover Beach Community Center before going inside.

After pushing the long tables together, end to end, there's a bit of rearranging the chairs. Then we sit expectantly, and the conversation quiets. The instructor reads excerpts from life stories that have been published and from associated historical events.

It's a good way to get warmed up, before starting to read our own stories. It's nice to get comfortable with the group, visit a little bit, and have some mental preparation before it's "showtime."

Somebody says, "I want to go first, if it's OK." The rest, who might prefer NOT to go first, smile and nod.

There are some people who may hold back and go last. That's fine too. After three hours of class we're still listening intently to each other reading the true life stories. There's always somebody else who has had similiar experiences, but in a different way.

Each week's writing focuses on a specific time period, such as birth to elementary school. This is an Adult Emeritus class, so people in it are over 50 years old. It's amazing how much people remember from childhood, a brief silly moment, an embarrassing event, or a happy time with kids in the neighborhood. The details can be so vivid. There's too much to write it all down.

It's like opening a closet stuffed so full that everything falls out when you open the door and lands in a heap. Boom. It's a closet full of memories. You have to sort it out. Some things get rearranged.

A chronological approach seems to be the best way to organize the memories as they fall out of the closet. Lining them up by time, according to dates and years, straightens out the jumble and puts them each in a place. Winter, 1954. Summer, 1970.

Then the historical events of that time can be tied in to the story. Internet "on this day in history" sites can give you quick lists of events, trends, and costs. When you went on your first date, what was going on in the world and how much did a movie cost? What style clothing were people wearing? What were the music trends? What kind of cars were they driving?

People, stories, history. The class is over before we know it, and we go out into the noontime sunshine, smiling and waving good-by to each other for another week.

Putting Together Pieces of Our Lives Into One Mozaic

Is telling our life stories a way of becoming more comfortable with our memories? Could it be a way to organize the jumbled pile that sits in disarray at the back of the mind?

Telling life stories has been a part of human culture since people sat around the fireside in a cave and drew illustrations on the walls. Now we can sit around a table to share our life stories and pass around photos or even show life story videos.

Putting together the pieces of our lives into one mosaic is part of telling a life story. Starting with birth, a chronological narrative that moves from year to year takes the pieces and builds a picture.

Adventure, laughter, drama - they’re all part of your life story, whether you are a quiet homebody or a celebrity. The characteristics of a classic novel with a hero exist in the story of your everyday living. Your struggles against the world, other people, or yourself, create the plot. Your strengths and “fatal flaws” can make your character complex instead of one sided.

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This week my Cuesta College Adult Emeritus Life Story Writing class met for the fourth time this Fall. We sit at several rectangular tables pushed together at the ends to form one long table, and each of us reads at least two pages of our life stories.

The class is held at the Grover Beach Community Center, and it begins at 9:30 am and goes until 12:30 pm, with a breaktime in the middle. Anthropologist Myla Colllier, who has taught at California Polytechnic University in San Luis Obispo and Cuesta Community College, is the instructor.

After each person's weekly life story reading, Myla and the class discuss interesting aspects of the story excerpt. This often includes related historical events which may have been associated with events in the story. For instance, someone who moved to California from the dustbowl during the 1930's would have experienced the depression.

As we read the material we’ve written for this week there is laughter, and sometimes there are tears. There is humor, there is tragedy. The nonjudgmental aspect and the privacy of the class helps us to keep our writing real. Historical events, trends, and styles are woven into the life stories.

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Reflecting on the popularity of life history and personal narrative writing today led me to consider the following question.

What does it mean when people pursue opposites? Two trends today seem contradictory. We see more personal narratives told through life stories, journals, and personal blogs than ever. Books based on life stories have been topping The New York Times Bestseller Lists. At the same time, we spend more time around machines and technology. As life has become more technological, we have become more personal as if to find a balance. Being more modern might be causing us to do more old fashioned storytelling.

This week the top 16 books on the New York Times Bestseller List include 7 personal narratives, and 4 books that are biographical. It’s not necessary today to be a celebrity to write a bestseller, and everyday people writing about their struggles and dreams can appear on the list. “Louder Than Words, A Mother’s Journey in Healing Autism,” by Jenny McCarthy, is listed as number four this week on the bestseller list.

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Sharing personal details of our life stories is common these days, although many of us still remember when our personal lives were kept private. A greater tolerance and a less judgmental attitude means we feel more comfortable about being open than we did before.

Telling a life story can sometimes be like opening the door to the storage closet. You have to dodge the tumbling heap that bursts out and then try to sort through it. Could it be that we are straightening our mental filing systems, and rearranging the facts in our minds? Perhaps it’s a little like giving the house a good spring cleaning, opening all the windows, rearranging the furniture, and redecorating. It can be very refreshing.

At the Hallmark Pressroom an article titled “Journal Writing Increases in Importance” predicts this will be “a banner year for diaries and journaling.” Hallmark offers 75 different journals, and an estimated 12 million journals are sold a year in the U.S.. Writing down thoughts, feelings, and details of our lives is described by Hallmark as part of a personal writing trend today. Some life stories are written with organized facts and others are streams of consciousness.

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Being able to look back at ourselves in a life story from the perspective of a later time helps us to see ourselves as others might see us. We can objectively learn from mistakes, and make plans for the future.

Events that were once painful may be seen from a distance of decades as softened by time. Humorous situations can gain additional comedy with retelling.

As the writers share funny moments with each other the laughter in my Life Story Writing class frequently continues as we end each session and stroll out to our cars.