Once upon a time...

In a land long ago (like uh, 18ish years long ago) there lived a little girl who loved to go downtown to Stage Center to hear the storytellers hum, whisper, folk sing their way through their well crafted tales.  She was captivated by these storytellers and the voice inflections, the painting a scene more vivid than the concrete version could be- and with words.  One person. On a stage. telling a story.
Simplicity and genius at its finest.  She was amazed by the courage these storytellers would have- to speak so eloquently, remember so much, words falling off their tongues with ease.  Practiced and poised, almost always ending the tale with a universally important point. 
The memories of WinterTales- the annual storytelling festival are vivid and sharp. 
I was fortunate to be around the folk-y ancient art form when I was little.  Once in your system, i don't think the love of hearing stories and tales told can subside.
Hans took me to a night of storytelling just the other night.  It had been such a long time since i'd last heard the stories, captivated and calmed by the lulling narrative.  But just like when i was little, captivated and calmed i was still. 
With all the crazy-ness of life plugged in, online, relating human to human on quicktime, compressing information into smaller sound bytes, using fewer out loud words while crowding our screens with multiple windows at once,
listening to one person tell one story with skill and creativity...
i can't explain what the experience of listening again to storytellers
did to my brain.  it slowed down, felt light and peaceful
such an ancient way of passing down wisdom, humor, history
changed me, just like it did when i went to Winter Tales and heard the likes of Garrison Keillor.
It's so much of who i am and how i see and hear the world everyday- this love of hearing and sharing stories.
More on telling stories to come...

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