Recording (Family) Stories

If you have young children, read on.  If you have grandchildren, read on. If you have elders in your family, read on.

We all come from different cultures and each and everyone of us has different life experiences. These experiences, and our heritage, I believe, make us who we are.  These experiences can be told in stories, and the stories from our own culture and heritage can be, and should be told. As our planet, Earth, gets smaller and as we travel further a field to live the life we want to, we sometimes find ourselves leaving family behind and the stories they have within them.

Photo by Simon Brooks, 2014
Showing: Disney's Babes in Toyland LP, a compact disc, an Agfa cassette tape,
the Olympus WS-300M, the Zoom Q3 and Roland's Edirol R-09HR

I was not able to record many stories from my Gran before she died, just a little bit here and there, although I knew a great deal about my Grandad - he also came to America and Canada.  My grandparents on my father's side, sadly passed away before I could get any family stories from them, and it wasn't until after their death I found that I had Irish in me. My Mum, however, shared some great stories of her life growing up, when I last saw Gran, two years ago.  I found out about her jaunts to the jazz clubs of Birmingham and her wild and crazy friend. Her sneaking off to date with boys! I got some of these stories on tape. (To be used later...!)

As a kid, my brother and I recorded on my step-father's Grundig reel to reel machine, and occasionally on the Dictaphones my dad sold from his office supply store in South Wales (before Office Max was invented).  I wonder where those tapes are now, and if they still have a couple of little boys pretending to be police officers or spies on them! I later used that same Grundig to record my rock and band. I moved 'up' to a cassette machine, a Walkman and then an Olympus voice recorder. I have always loved recording sounds, stories, other people!

As Gran grew sick I realized how much I did NOT know about her.  She came from Canada originally, told me we were someway related to Cecil Rhodes, but I can't see how! She lost her brother, James, at a fairly young age. Gran and my Aunt (great aunt really) Andree sold their burial plots because they were worth some money and planned on being cremated! Our family has been Quakers and Christian Scientists. I tried to get over to the UK and record some of her stories but she was reluctant to talk into the recorder.  I wish I had done more many, many years ago.

These days, it is easy to record at very high quality for not too much money. With the ease of getting digital recorders we do not need tapes anymore, we only need free computer space, and we can get more of that with memory sticks, or external drives! For the cost of taking the family out for a meal or two at a restaurant, you can get voice recorders which record nicely. My grandfather was recorded on cassette, but there is a lot of hiss on it, as it was from one of those Jones cassette machines you see libraries giving away!

Now to bring this into a full circle!  I whole-heartedly suggest that you invest in a good voice recorder. Go to a store, take a good pair of headphones and try a few out. Why? The headphones will allow you to hear the sound quality, which you might not otherwise hear in the store.  Buy one and record stories for your children and grandchildren. If you have elders in your family, ask them to share some of their memories with you. Record your own stories! When your kids grow up, and have their own children, they might want to hear stories you might forget! When people pass away, so do their stories, their life experiences and the stories they knew and loved. If your elders are young enough, then they can record those stories and send them to you. Keep them.  Even though young kids might not appreciate the stories now, when they get older and get interested, you will have them.  If your family moved from another country be it England or Ireland, Egypt or South Africa, India or Serbia you might have family still there, embedded in your heritage.  Have them share those stories with your children, or share with other people's children within your community. You might have a rich source of stories that others do not.  Share this source, your heritage, your stories.

Books are great, they can contain so much information, but voices of your own family or of those close to you contain so much more - their own lives and experiences.

(I am doing a workshop on recording stories using voice recorders, computers, microphones and Digital Audio Workstations - DAWs - at Sharing the Fire, the North Eastern Storytelling Conference on Friday, 28th March at UMASS, Amhurst MA. For more details visit the website of the League for the Advancement of New England Storytelling: http://lanes.org/storytelling-conference/friday-pre-conference-intensives/)

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words - or is it?

I read a lot.  I read for pleasure (currently into the fabulous 'Life' by Keith Richards and James Fox), many of which get added to the list of books I have read so far this year here on my blog.  I read many anthologies and collections of folktales and fairy tales and poetry too (which I do not list due to the number!), and also for my audio book work (which can be seen on Audible.com)!  But I am also a photographer.  I studied photography at at the Hereford College of Art on Folly Lane in Hereford and it was my only income for a good number of years as I made a living taking photographs, trying to tell stories with a shot or series of photographs.  I also love artwork of many kinds and have a passion or a love of sorts for graphic design and illustration work.

So, when I go dumpster diving at libraries, or rummage through things left at the transfer station or at yard sales, I often look for book titles either to read, to admire, or yes, strip.  Strip?  Sometimes there are books which are beginning to go moldy but which have great illustrations in them or photographs, or they have great covers.  Some of the old and molding books get stripped of all their pages and I made journals from the covers (I am still trying to perfect these.  It is fun to write in an old book legitimately)!  Sometimes I remove the pictures only and leave the books in the dumpster.  Bringing home books going moldy is not an option.

I have a collection of artwork from many books and one day I will do a project with some of them. Sometimes illustrations get pasted on to or in letters to friends or family, but recently  when I was looking at some illustrations there seemed to be a little disconnect between the caption under the image and the image itself.  Mostly it had to do with the expressions on the character's faces. One struck me in particular from Sir Walter Scott's "Quentin Durward', a book I admit I have never read!  It looks like a love scene.  The heroine, or damsel in distress, has her hands clutched (by Quentin) over her heart.  As she looks at her presumed lover, she is quoted as saying: "Durward!  Is it you? Then there is some hope left." But looking at her face she seems, well, not so convincing. And my 11 year old inner self took over and I thought, 'she's looking up his nose and there is something up there!' I began to look more carefully at the expressions of the characters in the other illustrations and sure enough there were grounds to play and speech and thought bubbles came to my mind.

The above was the first of four I, er, messed around with.  The others will be going up on my Facebook account.  In each I have left the original caption.  Now look closely at our heroine's face.  Does it really say "there's hope" or does it say "I am slightly uncomfortable here" with the look in her eyes and raised shoulders?

And so I ask: if a picture can speak a thousand words, what is it REALLY saying?

To see the other pictures I have re-captioned, visit my Facebook page!  They will be going live over the next few days!
Peace,
Simon

A Forgotten Community

Back in 1998 I wrote a piece called a "Dialogue on a Forgotten Community."  I tried re-writing it a while back from memory, but did not do a good job.  I thought it lost forever, but yesterday, whilst playing with the kids and talking about stories, I found it!  Here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

A Dialogue on a Forgotten Community.

A community, as defined by the American College Dictionary, is a "social group of any size whose members reside in a specific locality." In this day and age we talk about the "global community", and although my reflection is not global, it is neither limited to local. I will be reflecting on a mobile community; a community I feel that is not always recognized as such and one that rarely involves itself in dialogue. This community is an aggressive and sometimes, violent community that would rather kill itself than communicate in a responsible fashion, often resorting to mindless, thoughtless, selfish and dangerous behavior. It is a rare occasion when a collaborative flow of meaningful dialogue occurs, and an exploration for truth happens.

On the road, copyright Simon Brooks, 2012

Each morning we rise and breakfast and make statements to ourselves about bettering our lot in life, about how we can improve ourselves as human beings and what we should be doing (even if we do not) to help the planet and fellow human beings. Then we get into our cars or trucks. The engine fires up, the coffee maybe in the mug holder and the radio is turned on. Here the conversations begin on the Community of the Road. This was the thought that came to me as I drove home from class, pondering on the reflections we had discussed.

Like much of life, we get some early instruction and head out on our own, making it up as we go, learning from mistakes and, therefore, experience. There are guides that we are given to read on how to use the Community of the Road, but it seems that we forget most of ft only after a few years. Our conversations begin with flashing lights at other vehicles that are in our way, we lean on our horns and yell at people and if all else fails we cut them up, if we can, at a later point. None of these techniques are in the instruction book other than as a list of things not-to-do.

I think that some of the problem is that within the cocoons of our vehicles we believe we are invincible and it would be inconceivable that we would be in the wrong, but we are. By opening a dialogue with our fellow community members we would find that life could be so much less stressful and more enjoyable. When folks need to merge onto freeways we can merge by allowing those entering the freeway to join us. Being one car behind will not kill us and it may even make us feel good helping someone else on their way. We are all going to the same place, further down the road. Vehicles have their own language that we, as the drivers, add to. By opening dialogue, using our indicators (or blinkers), we are letting people know where we want to go. There are no surprises if we communicate with our fellow travelers, no assumptions. When we know the person in front is taking a left, we know they are going to slow down and we can allow for that, but when someone slows down without letting us know why, we become frustrated. We see such actions as arrogance or stupidity and if you are like me, you will find stupidity intolerable. Just by waving people on, breaking early, making sure that your lights are working and blinking only when you want them to blink, displaying self mastery, we can create a better community using dialogue. Indicators are so easy to use and make life so much simpler.

 It is only laziness and greed that prevent us from being more courteous. Lazy, because we cannot be bothered to use the tools given to us to create a dialogue. Greedy, because we want to own the roads, or have them to ourselves. We cannot expect others to do what we ourselves do not. By mastering our own actions and reactions, we can show others how much better life can be in our Community of the Road. Lead by example. If people are let in when the traffic is heavy, they may start to do the same, creating a shared vision, one that would become stronger and more prolific. If more people were to use dialogue and not aggression to travel within the community, slowly our mental models would change, causing a chain reaction, albeit slow, around us. We could make better decisions, effecting our immediate environment, creating a balanced alignment within the community. If this is something we want, by setting examples, it can be made to happen. As a result, our community would become a pleasant and much safer place. By becoming a group, working as a team, we can strive for that same goal. Watching teams play in individualistic ways is not as satisfying as watching a team play. The soccer match between England and Argentina is a good example of that. England had some world class players performing really well as individuals, but Argentina, playing as a team, performed better and won (although on penalty goals). Had England used their individual skills as a team they may have won. By opening a dialogue of where we are going, and how we want to get there, we create awareness about us, allowing us to focus on reaching our goals in an efficient and conscientious way.

By using the dialogue available to vehicles, we can eliminate assumptions and disturbance; we can become aware of the necessities of our fellow community members, use energy in a more efficient manner and reach our goals in a safer and friendlier manner.

The writer at the time of writing!

Text copyright Simon Brooks, 2012.  Do not copy, duplicate, replicate in any manner or form.

A world away

When my family decided to book a vacation in Costa Rica I thought I could find a native storyteller or two, but that, sadly, did not happen.  There was not enough time and this was a family vacation.  But I have come home with a desire to return to Costa Rica and learn Spanish. Not in that order!

We read up a fair amount before taking off for these foreign climes, so we might understand the culture we were about to explore.  We read and were told that there is a thing called Tico-Time!  People of Costa Rica are very friendly and laid back.  We were told that if you want someone to show up, they may not be on time (at least not Western time, but on Tico-Time).  We never found this, everyone was very punctual.  However, whilst waiting for a ferry as we traveled from Curu to San Jose, I was in a line with a bunch of people from all over and learned another part of Tico-Time.  This was my second time in the line, getting a second cup of Costa Rican coffee (in my mind, the best coffee on the planet - even the bad ferry port coffee was really good).  The line was not moving fast due to some of the none Spanish speaking tourists who panic and look blankly at the Costa Rican's with wide eyes!  One guy was getting really up-set.  The ferry was close to leaving, but I watched the three folk in front of me fuddle their way through their breakfast order and get to the check out. Meanwhile the other guy, Mr. Upset, was getting more and more agitated.  In the end he leaned between the group of men and me, jumping the line in quite a major way, ordered a soda, paid and left.  On the ferry I saw him and discovered he was not a native, but an American!  He was the only one NOT chilled out and NOT on Tico-Time.  I guess he was starting his vacation, or had lost some surfing contest!

This really is a land to watch and listen to.  We traveled by taxi, micro-bus and regular bus with a backpack on myself, a backpack on my wife, and with the kids carrying day packs; traveling light.  Walking through forests, or sitting on beaches, and even climbing up volcano's or sitting by the pool, if you stopped and watched and listened, you saw and heard so much.  As I sat alone one morning, on the beach at the Curu Refuge I noticed a hermit crab climbing over the rocks and stones.  As I sat still and watched this little fellow make his way along the shore, I noticed another, and another.  Then, as I broadened my view, I realized the rocks were a hive of activity with hundreds of hermit crabs moving around almost invisible blending into the rocks and stones they traveled over.

In the forest we heard rustling. Turning around to our sides we saw a very different crab.  These crabs were blue or purple in their bodies, with bright orange or red legs - not water crabs, but forest crabs - congrejo.  They rattled over the dry forest leaves and fallen palm fronds.  Hundreds of them, running and hiding or bolting back into the holes they lived in.  We realized that first evening there that the holes around our cabina were not lizard holes, but homes for these crab.  We came back to find the concrete floored porch, and screen door covered in the congrejos.  It was like a sci-fi movie or Hitchcock film as we chased them away and they rattled and clattered back to their burrows.

Volcan Chato

I imagine the first Europeans to visit Costa Rica thought that the forests there were filled with demons: the eery screams and barking that come from deep between the trees.  Well there might be demons but we only saw, and heard, howler monkeys.  From the noise they make you would think they were giant monsters, with frighteningly sharp teeth.  But no!  Over-sized if they were large dogs, shy and those who are not shy, very friendly!  We were so lucky to have many howler encounters.  We watched as they danced from tree to tree, in a way Ananzi would be proud!  We saw a mother carrying, with great care and agility, her young one.  And they watched us too.

The sounds, once you got used to them, were like songs, the sites like a dance.  The scuttling crabs, the howlers had their language and at first we were wide-eyed. But the more we listened, the more we heard the songs and understood the language: the songs of the birds, the songs of the fish, the dance of the incredible flora and exotic birds, the songs of the forests and the songs of the people and the beautiful dances their joyful faces made. I have a desire to return to Costa Rica and learn Spanish. Not in that order!