Your Life As A Story

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Everything is a mirror when you are a writer. 

A flower is a mirror ... a lone tree is a mirror ...
a mountain is a mirror ... a sunset is a mirror ...
a waterfall is a mirror.

Raging fire, shattered glass,
torn skin, undeserved rejection ... all mirrors.

When you are a writer mirrors are everywhere.  

Even a blank piece of paper, or a glaring

computer screen, is a mirror.

I started to think about life differently, about five years ago, 

when I took playwriting courses in college. 

There is so much to learn about play (story) writing.

There are antagonists, and protagonists.

There are story turns, and transitional dialogues.

I learned about character development,

and how conflicts propel the plot/story forward.

I learned about inciting incidents, and character transformation,

and what it took to make a story truly meaningful.

The whole playwriting process is, quite literally,

a science ... a skill.

I started realizing that life ... in a sense ... 

is a story. 

And I also started realizing that

the elements that made a story

meaningful

were the same elements that

would make a life

meaningful.

Here recently
I have felt compelled to begin "writing my story"

for my girls.

The desire is there.

The strong urge is there. 

But it is a difficult task to start. 

Writer's block is just one obstacle. 

So I resort to the most basic of proven, timeless formulas

to help me get started with the writing of my story: 

A story

is a character

who wants something,

and overcomes conflict

to get it.

This most basic formula sounds so simple, but it isn't, really ...

especially when applied to real life.

 

The first forty chapters of my life have been recorded,

and are just waiting to be written down.

 

I have dynamic characters, conflicts and obstacles,

all kinds of inciting incidents, every kind of antagonist

you can think of ... and even a delightfully profound

protagonist (that would be, uh, me.)

How much should I share with them ...

how much should I tell? 

 

Part of me wants it to be an easy story.   

 

But nobody really appreciates, or learns from,

or remembers, the easy stories. 

 

If you think about the stories you like most,

and the ones you remember the most,

they probably have lots of conflict. 

And the characters probably faced their greatest

challenges, and fears, with courage. 

There was probably death at stake, too ...

actual death, or inner death.

 

Although I think most of us know great stories are

told in conflict ... I also think most of us are unwilling

to embrace (truly embrace) the conflicts in our own lives.

 

So far I don't think I have told a good story

with my life.

I have colleagues and friends and professors who would say

I tell wonderful stories ... beyond good, actually.

To them I would say, Thank you. 

I may tell good stories, but I don't live good stories.

I have spent a few very uncomfortable years

(after my playwriting courses .. when the seed was planted)

living with the awareness that I haven't lived a good story.

But I know what to do.  I am a storyteller.  A writer. 

A creator of sorts. 

Each day of my life is a blank page,

and all I need to do is start writing on it.

And I also know something else.

Good stories don't just happen by accident.

 

They are intentional.

They are planned.

 

There is a purpose in every scene.

 

There is a purpose in every line of dialogue.

There is a purpose for every character's entrance ...
and exit.

As I said, the first forty years of my story is already outlined

for me ... just waiting for me to skillfully construct it into

an artful form that flows within proven, timeless elements. 

 

And so now my newest, most strenuous, project to tackle

is this: 

To plan a good story for the remainder of my life, 

and to live that plan intentionally.

The remainder of my life's story will not be an accident.

What is your story, and

how is it being written?

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Casting Bread

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Does your life, for lack of a better word, suck?

If it does, "casting bread" will help it

improve in unexpected and amazing ways.

"Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days."

(Ecclesiastes 11:1)

Smile at others. Lend a helping hand. Say a kind word.

Crack a joke. Do what you can to make someone else's day brighter.

The more you radiate love to others, the more you
"cast your bread" into the universe.

The loving energy that you put out will come back to you …

and your life will become brighter.

Offer your place in line to someone who is old or suffering.

Give thanks to those who serve you,

as well as leaving a good tip.

Tell those who mean the most to you how much

they contribute to your life.

Be generous with hugs and kisses to those closest to you.

Your kindness will come back to you

… and your life will be easier.

Do you best to be polite, especially when others upset you.

When you try your best to be courteous, you make

others comfortable with you.

The constant energy that you give out

is the ultimate in casting your bread on the waters.

The more gentle and kind you are with others ... 

the more you attract gentleness and kindness.

Try to see things from the other person's point of view.

Overlook trivial misunderstandings. Forgive wrongs against you.

Be charitable, and know you are capable of making

the same mistakes that others have.

Extend tolerance toward others … and you will find

that others will be more tolerant of you.

If you do some or all of these "casting bread" actions,

you will create good "karma" for yourself.

This is because "what you bring into the lives of others,

will come back into your own,"

and "what you give out, you will get back"
and, of course, "what goes around, comes around."

All of these are just examples of "karma."

Life is a great circle of energy, and "casting bread" spins that circle

in the direction of love, charity, and compassion.

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Mud and Sud Baths

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Why Re-Invent the Wheel?

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Do not follow where the path may lead.

Go, instead, where there is no path and leave a trail.

~Ralph Waldo Emerson~

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I agree wholeheartedly.

But, unfortunately, we live in a world

nowadays

where it is discouraged to stray from the paths

laid before us.

Trail-blazers are becoming
more and more misunderstood.

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God Loves Me, Huh, Mama

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Monday, June 7th 

Nani (nah-knee) received her special package

from Mr. Wells

of the famed Field Lab. 

Nani has SLEPT with the postcard
of Benita
every single night since.

She loves her.

She dug out her brown and white spotted cow

from her deep toy box, and twirls around saying

"Benita Benita Benita. Does Benita love me?"

She loves sitting on my lap, and looking at Benita's
Facebook photo album ... she especially
loves the picture of Benita getting her hair combed.
Just giggled non-stop, she did.

Poor Benita ... the postcard is already getting worn out

from all Nani's loving these past few days.

And Nani loves, Loves, LOVES her t-shirt.

She has worn it every single day since Monday
 ... and even sleeps in it, too!

She calls the t-shirt her "Sirlingua S'prise."

I finally had to wash it yesterday (Wednesday.)

These are more pictures of her putting it back on ...

straight out of the dryer.

 Nani thinks the pale pink prayer flag in the tiny bottle
is an emergency "band-aid for boo-boos."

I tried to explain to her what it was, and she asked why
God sent her all these s'prises, and if He lived in Sirlingua.
"God loves me, huh, mama."

Thank you so much, Mr. Wells ... my little Nani is beyond thrilled,
and I am just full of hugs for you.

~mc~

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Og Mandino - The Scroll Marked III

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I will persist until I succeed.

In the Orient, young bulls are tested

for the fight arena

in a certain manner.

Each is brought to the ring

and allowed to attack a picador

who pricks them with a lance.

The bravery of each bull

is then rated with care

according to the number of times

he demonstrates his willingness
to charge

in spite of the sting
of the blade.

Henceforth will I recognize

that each day

I am tested by life

in like manner.

If I persist,

if I continue to try,

if I continue to charge forward,

I will succeed.

I will persist until I succeed.

I was not delivered unto this world in defeat,

nor does failure course in my veins.

I am not a sheep waiting

to be prodded by my shepherd.

I am a lion, and I refuse

to talk, to walk, to sleep

with the sheep.

I will hear not those who weep and complain,

for their disease is contagious.

Let them join the sheep.

The slaughterhouse of failure
is not my destiny.

I will persist until I succeed.

The prizes of life are at the end of each journey,

not near the beginning;

and it is not given to me to know

how many steps are necessary

in order to reach my goal.

Failure I may still encounter
at the thousandth step,

yet success hides behind
the next bend in the road.

Never will I know
how close it lies

unless I turn the corner.

Always will I take another step.

If that is of no avail,

 I will take another, and yet another.

In truth, one step at a time
is not too difficult.

I will persist until I succeed.

Henceforth, I will consider each day's effort

as but one blow of my blade

against a mighty oak.

The first blow may cause not a tremor in the wood,

nor the second, nor the third.

Each blow, of itself, may be trifling,

and seem of no consequence.

Yet from childish swipes
the oak will eventually tumble.

So it will be with my efforts of today.

I will be liken to the rain drop

which washes away the mountain;

the ant who devours a tiger;

the star which brightens the earth;

the slave who builds a pyramid.

I will build my castle
one brick at a time

for I know that small attempts,
repeated,

will complete any undertaking.

I will persist until I succeed.

I will never consider defeat,
and I will remove from my vocabulary
such words and phrases as quit,

cannot, unable, impossible,
out of the question,

improbable, failure, unworkable,

hopeless, and retreat;

for they are the words of fools.

I will avoid despair,
but if this disease
of the mind

should infect me

then I will work on
in despair.

I will toil
and I will endure.

I will ignore the obstacles
at my feet

and keep mine eyes on the goals
above my head,

for I know
that where dry desert ends,

green grass grows.

I will persist until I succeed.

I will remember
the ancient law of averages

and I will bend it
to my good.

I will persist with knowledge

that each failure
will increase my chance

for success
at the next attempt.

Each nay I hear

will bring me closer

to the sound of yea.

Each frown I meet

only prepares me

for the smile to come.

Each misfortune I encounter

will carry in it

the seed of tomorrow's

good fortune.

I must have the night
to appreciate the day.

I must fail often
to succeed only once.

I will persist until I succeed.

I will try, and try, and try again.

Each obstacle I will consider

as a mere detour to my goal

and a challenge
to my profession.

I will persist and develop my skills

as the mariner develops his,

by learning to ride out the wrath

of each storm.

I will persist until I succeed.

Henceforth, I will learn and apply another secret

of those who excel in life.

When my thoughts beckon

my tired body homeward

I will resist the temptation to depart.

I will try again.

I will make one more attempt

to close with victory, and if that fails

I will make another.

Never will I allow any day
to end with a failure.

Thus will I plant the seed
of tomorrow's success

and gain an insurmountable advantage

over those who cease their labor

at a prescribed time.

When others cease their struggle,
then mine will begin,

and my harvest will be full.

I will persist until I succeed.

Nor will I allow yesterday's success

to lull me into today's complacency,

for this is the great foundation of failure.

I will forget the happenings
of the day that is gone,

whether they were good or bad,

and greet the new sun with confidence

that this will be the best day
of my life.

So long as there is breath in me,
that long will I persist.

For now I know
one of the greatest principles
of success;

if I persist long enough
I will win.

I will persist.

I will win.

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What a Weekend: Lindsey & My Nanny

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Saturday, June 5th, my oldest daughter graduated high school (with honors.)

525 Students.

The Taylor County Expo Center

(our largest venue)

was packed ... every seat taken,

and every aisle standing.

My beautiful daughters: Lindsey (18) Laura (15) and Nani (4)

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And, today, Sunday, June 6th, would have been my Nanny's 80th birthday.

This woman is like a sleek, red-on-red '69 Corvair

languishing under arthritic mesquites over in Lawn,

scrapyard, Texas … and she sleeps peacefully,

rusting, beneath a roasting sun's dread … praying

her purr is not too long dead. And this woman

is like a platter of rib-eye steak with puddled juice

seeping into creamed potatoes … indeed, the

sourdough sops her up. Bath for the palate?

A slippery, wide-mouthed quart of iced tea with

lemon. Un-sweet, please. This woman is even like

Pee-Wee's ... the old rock gas station right before

the big oak-lined curve in the Gap ... that remembers

fifteen cent Dr. Peppers from the ice box, days of real

full service, and the billowing smokehouse out back

with its tree's swing still swaying as when baby Harry

hung himself from it. Yes, this woman is ever

so much like silver-streaked, seventy-nine years of

pure West Texas ... forty of which passed strolling

the God-forsaken wilderness in gallant blunder;

and she always took life for granted so long as her

four children were fed.

Shot in the head ... right there in the blue-n-white

striped VFW building that's next door to what's now

the all-nude Cloud Nine ... and somehow lived to

not want to tell a soul about it. This woman.

                                                                                        © brooke

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You Gotta Be HUNGRY

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Winding down DAY THREE of fast

... 69 hours ...

headache is gone, and I am HUNGRY

... speaking of which,

I have a great video to share

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(Going by memory here ... fell in love with this over 15 years ago ...

was THRILLED to find a video showcasing it

... YOU GOTTA BE HUNGRY!!!)

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If you want a thing bad enough to go out and fight for it.

To work day and night for it.

To give up your time, your peace, and sleep for it.

If all that you dream, and scheme, is about it.

And life seems useless, and worthless, without it.

If you'll gladly sweat for it, and fret for it, and plan for it.

And lose all your terror of the opposition for it.

And if you'll simply go after that THING that you want ...

with all of your capacity, strength and sagacity ...

faith, hope, and confidence ... and stern pertinacity.

If neither cold poverty, famish, or gout ...

sickness or pain, of body and brain, can keep you away

from that thing that you want ...

If dogged and grim, you besiege and beset it,

with the help of God you’ll get it!!!!

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The Old Man I Love

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I Am Elizabeth Bennet :)

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Take the Quiz HERE

You are Elizabeth Bennet of Pride & Prejudice!

You are intelligent, witty, and tremendously attractive.

You have a good head on your shoulders, and oftentimes find yourself

the lone beacon of reason in a sea of ridiculousness.

You take great pleasure in many things.

You are proficient in nearly all of them, though you will never

own it ... lest you seem too perfect.

You have a tendency toward prejudgement

that serves you very ill indeed.

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Aftertaste (a poem)

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Sipping red
wine
by the
window

a crimson
cardinal
slings water
from
a limb

Gazing up
to the
black-woven
sky
―the glum
paradise
stares back
as he flaps
his wings to flight

No tears
No farewell

Just chill
—sour on the breath

                                                                      © brooke
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Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground

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The Trip With My Father

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My father had his recurrent "every six months" medical appointment

at the VA in Albuquerque, and he invited me to go with him this time.

We turned a somewhat somber occasion into an extremely memorable one.

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Thursday Night - May 20th

As we rode up the elevator, exhausted, Dad gave me "the rules."

It warms my heart that after all of these years ... a forty year old woman

who has driven across the USA with two babies in the car

by herself, and who has been to hell and back

at least three times ... I am still his precious little girl.

Don't talk to strange strangers ... keep your door dead-bolted ...

if you go outside to use the phone, at night, stay near the front doors ...

stay close enough that if you scream, you can be heard ...

don't go near the busy street ... don't lose your key ...

etc etc etc

The few times I went outside, at night, I could see my father looking out

the window - ever so often - checking my whereabouts.

Is that sweet, or what?

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Our first night in town, I was treated to the best dadgum green chili cheeseburger

EVER ...

from a little burger joint called Blake's.

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Friday Morning - May 21st

Dad had to leave for his early morning appointment ... this was the view.

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Dad didn't get through with his medical stuff until 1:30 PM ...

but by the time he finally got back to the hotel,
he had the rest of our long day planned out to the last hour.

First Destination: The Sandia Mountain Crest
on the Tramway

A little known fact:  I am seriously afraid of heights.

It was a chilly 52 degrees up there ... and aside from the occasional

spots of snow, in late May, there were also deep snow drifts.

We walked along a trail, and gathered rocks ... when we got back to our room

later that night, Dad used a permanent marker to scrawl

the date and location on the backs of them ... momentos for our shelves.

While we were up there on the crest, the winds picked up ferociously ...

little did we know the trams were being filled quickly for departures.

By the time we made it to the departure platform, the winds were so bad

that the crew had to fill up the bottom of the tram ballisters with water

to weight it down.

The ride back to the bottom was scary,

and we were the last trip of the day before they shut it down.

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Oh!  While we were up there walking the trails ...
Dad told me about a memory he had about a TWA flight
from the 50's ... he was living there, as a child, at the time ...

that had crashed into these mountains. 

I've done some research on the tragedy, since I've been home,

and found out the wreckage is still there.  Untouched.
And the Tram goes directly over the crash site.

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Dad was full of memories and stories that he shared with me on our trip. 

He had lived in Albuquerque most of his elementary school years,
and part of junior high. He went to school with the Navajo Indian children
on a reservation near Gallup.

This is the last home they lived in (1959) near the Rio Grande in west Albuquerque ...

before his father abandoned him, his three little sisters,

and my beautiful grandmother.

 

 

It is rare to ever see my father cry ... ever ...
but I saw him tear up a few times this trip.

 

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His face lit up when he saw the Kimo Theatre downtown. 

He told me how it was such a treat for him
to catch the bus and go to the movies.

25¢ would cover the bus, the ticket, and the pop and popcorn.

Something else I noticed about my Dad that hasn't changed

after all these years ... while walking in the city, he always walked

the curb, and kept himself between me and the street ... he always

faced the entrance at restaurants, and always scanned the room for exits.

It dawned on me ... I am the same way.

Especially with my children.

And I never like to have my back to a door.

Ever.

 

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Friday evening he took me to the famed Sadie's at Fourth and Solar ...

he remembered her (and her food) from childhood.

 

I believe, if I remember the story right, her son took over

the restaurant when she died ... and he died a few years ago ...

and now her grandsons run the place.

Here was Sadie's original griddle/grill.

 

The mural in Sadie's main dining room ... 1955 - five burgers for $1

That's my Dad :)

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Then we went to Albuquerque's Old Town District for some shopping.

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Saturday - May 22nd

The buses in Albuquerque look like accordians!

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We took the train to Santa Fe.

 

 

I must have had some REAL good energy vibes today ... or something.

While standing in the crowd on the platform

waiting for passengers to get off so we could get on,

a lady appeared in front of me from out of nowhere

and handed me her "all-day" train pass.

She disappeared as quickly as she appeared, and
I barely had a chance to shout out my thrilled
THANK YOU!

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This photo depicts what my life feels like.

 

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Back to the comment that "I must have had REAL good energy vibes today
... or something."

I ate a pricey guacamole plate at The Ore House, and had a few sodas,

while letting Dad do some personal shopping.

When I asked for my ticket, the handsome waiter waved it off

and told me it was on him, and it was his pleasure.

He got a hug for that.

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I bought my girls their presents while here in Santa Fe ...

Lindsey and Laura both got one-of-a-kind necklaces,

and Nani got a bright red embroidered dress

that "just so happens" to have a baby dove on it.

 

**Big Smile and a Wink**

 

Dad bought me some intricate beaded, dangle earrings

from one of the street vendors, some salsa, a vase, and a recipe book.

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Saturday Evening - Heading Back to Albuquerque

 

Dad and I picked up some rocks along the Santa Fe tracks, too ...

to scrawl the date and location on the backs ...

for more momentos for our shelves.

On the train ride back, Dad and I talked about my possible move to Terlingua.

He loves the idea, and loves Big Bend/Terlingua, and is very supportive.

The past five years or so, every time I have cooked a meal for family gatherings ...

for which I am always nominated/selected ... everyone tells me I need to open

my own restaurant someday.

Dad reminded me of that fact, and then blurted another fact, with a shit-eatin'

grin on his face. 

"You know, Terlingua is an old mining town."

What in the world does THAT have to do with me opening up a restaurant someday?

"You are a grand madam if I ever knew or saw one, Brooke Dionne. It's perfect."

This time the ornery glint in his eye was replaced with serious flint.

And then all of a sudden, my memory zoomed into rewind

as I vividly recalled a playful conversation I had with Sunny and Zano

at the Legion in Terlingua one glorious, semi-inebriated night among friends.

The grand madam, Mama Crow, has her grand master plan ...

maybe it's been there all along ... or maybe it's another facet of the day's

REAL good energy/vibe thing.

  

Thanks Dad ... you are brilliant ... I love you.

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Saturday Night ended with a thick juicy steak, fresh bread, and wine ... the waiter
"forgot" to include my wine on the ticket, and when it was brought to his attention he
shrugged it off with a sheepish smile.

Goodness ... what a REAL real good-vibed day ... gracious.

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Sunday - May 23rd 

A Holy Day ... with a final view out our hotel window.

 
After we packed up the car, Dad made an unexpected detour back to
Albuquerque's Old Town District, and told me to wait in the car.

He surprised me with the liquid silver anklet bracelet (with dark blue gems) that I had
had my eyes on the other night.  I passed it up, for my Self, so I could make sure
I had enough money to get all of my sweet girls something nice instead.

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And, then, Dad made another unexpected detour at Barnes & Nobles ...

and, once again, I was told to stay in the car.

He came out with this for me ... and told me it was his favorite book.

I didn't know he read "fiction" ... never knew he entertained anything other than

The Bible, Og Mandino,  

Dale Carnegie, Napoleon Hill and all the rest of

the Magic of Thinking Big type stuff.

But, knowing Dad the way I do, I am willing to bet this "fiction" book is extraordinary

in some magnificent way or another ... it would HAVE to be to picque his interest;

let alone make such a claim as "it's my favorite."

This claim is from the man who can quote entire scrolls from Og Mandino's

"Greatest Salesman in the World."

And so it shouldn't surprise me much when he began quoting this

from Atlas Shrugged:

Man has been called a rational being, but rationality is a matter of choice

– and the alternative his nature offers him is: rational being or suicidal animal.

Man has to be man – by choice; he has to hold his life as a value – by choice;

he has to learn to sustain it – by choice; he has to discover the values it requires

and practice his virtues – by choice.

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My final surprise before we headed home to Texas was this ...

ending the memory the same exact way it started:

The best dadgum green chili cheeseburger EVER.

You can see Dad come out the door with the bag in his hand.

It was fun to eat it in the car ... going 85 down the highway ... really, it was.

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We were oddly quiet, after we downed our burger, the first hour of our drive home.

Both of us kept looking back over our shoulders through the Tijera Canyon. 

We could see still the snow-topped mountains in Santa Fe

most of our way to Santa Rosa. 

Dad showed me where Little Tilton (age six) was killed in Clines Corners

... while saving his handicapped, older brother.

Aunt Lillian and Uncle Clifford, while on vacation in the early 50's, had a flat tire.

At the time, they had two sons: Dale and Tilton.

Dale was mentally retarded, and four years older than Tilton.

The two boys were playing alongside the highway while the parents worked

on the car ... and Dale wandered into the road. 

Little Tilton saw a car coming, fast, and ran to push Dale out of the way.

Aunt Lillian collapsed in the middle of the road holding one of his shoes

that was blown/torn off from the force of impact ... some many, many yards away.

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Our conversation then turned to loss and sadness

... and we talked about a few old wounds between us.

I had never gotten over the guilt of my late night wreck

the summer I graduated high school, and him being the one who found me 

... and he had never needed/wanted to talk about it.

I had never gotten over the guilt of the failure of my first marriage

... and he had never needed/wanted to talk about it.

I had never gotten over the guilt of my second "marriage" either ...

and he had, once again, never needed/wanted to talk about it.

But we did.

A lot.

And the closure is healing, and sealing

... I love my father, and he loves me.

Without question.

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Dad then proceeded to cheer me up 

by tossing this red box upon my carseat 

during one of our quick restroom breaks.

A sure-fire way to my heart ... ssshhhh ...

just may be through these tasty little critters.

It's nice that Dad knows this 

... or remembers this ...

and now you know this, too 

:)

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The rest of our drive home passed quickly ... very quickly ... as it always

seems to do when the topic turns into a deep, profound, spiritual level;

and stays there.

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I will leave you with my father's favorite picture of Albuquerque

... one that he sent to me via email a long time ago.

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If you believe in prayer, please say one for my Dad ...
I am concerned about his physical health.
Thank you.

 

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