A GIANT REDWOOD TREE by Jane Stilwell
THE WOMAN WHO BELIEVES
SHE IS LIKE A GIANT REDWOOD TREE
...by Jane Stilwell
This is a signed and numbered copy (e-copy) of first 5000 copies
signed by the author
SAND Publications, Garden Grove, CA
(additional printing will resume with 102)
Copyright © 1995by Jane Stilwell
Printed in the United States of America
All Rights Reserved
--First Edition--
Cover design by Author
SAND Press, BHC, AZ
--1995--
CONTENTS
Prologue Is anyone nervous? and MAGIC
I. GROWING UP
1. The Woman Who Believes She Is Like A Giant Redwood Tree...
time/space travel
2. The Light Daughter . . . time/space travel
3. The Star Son . . . time/space travel
4. The Man Who Thinks He Is The Wind Who Dances With
The Giant Redwood Tree . . . time/space travel
5. The Loving Wolf Hybrid "Woofy" who sits at the Right Hand and
Sleeps at the Feet of the Giant Redwood Tree Woman time/space travel
6. Mothers, Aunts, And Other Women Friends . . . time/space travel
7. The Second Self In The Mirror time/space travel
II. SHORT SUBJECTS
8. That Which Lies At A 90o Angle From Alleged Truth time/space opinion
9. The Chain Link Fence a short play
10. Floyd Carson a short play
11. Stoopid Cat a short play
12. Sonora time/space travel
13. The Judge's Tennis Club File epistolary
14. "Joran" and “The Blue Cats” from . . . AND HE IS US time/space sci/fi
15. FIVE STORIES, as read by Tobor time/space travel
16. The Manduca Sphinx and the Formica Hymenoptera time/space filter
17. Focus, Physics, Fabric, Temporal Shift, Proof that Time is an Illusion, Temporal Shift Changes Viewer time/space logic
III. "Jane, You Never Cease to Amaze Me...Failure Never Gets You Down" comedy
IV. MORE MAGIC poetry, alphabetical
Epilogue BLACK MAGIC time/space travel
PROLOGUE
"Is anyone nervous?"
"Uh huh."
"So am I. I've never done this before." (Something
the doctor said to a 13 year old girl scout while
feeling her stomach during an examination for a girl
scout camping trip.)
I want you to know I have no license or permit to do
anything. If you have any questions, write them down if
you don't want anyone to know it's you, or speak up if
you're advertising.
• A friend: “Am I likely to show up in this book?”
Me: “Not like you have ever seen yourself before.”
It was either Schrodinger or Einstein who said:
“If you can't tell all you know, it has all been for nothing”
MAGIC
Well, I said this pencil was magic, did I not?
It is. It can move so smoothly almost without my
Thinking. Kind of like riding a bicycle or making
love in the dark, it just happens, and later when
You're lying there next to each other, you and
your lover, you and your bicycle, you and your
Poem, feeling good, wondering at what happened,
a little pleased and self conscious at how
Uninhibited you got. And a little smile as if to say,
I didn't know I was so good, I didn't know
You were so good, but I really did know. We were
good the last time we did this, some different.
Next time we'll be some different again. I'm so
pleased and content and smug, I ride this bicycle
Across America. See the Grand Canyon, the
Grand Tetons, the Grand Old Opry, Grand Central
Station, Grand Hotel and Grant's Tomb across
my handlebars. I hear the gears click, the crickets,
The silence of night at a desert rest stop, the trains,
the planes, my breath comes hard and fast and
Deep out on the road or making words or love
I never made before. I smell the desert in May,
Taste fresh fruit at roadside stands, cherries, berries,
pomegranates, pears, apples, grapes, smell
Their bouquets. I feel my muscles sore from
the bicycling. I feel delight that I know what I know,
I am who I am, my pencil moves mysterious and
sure and soft and slow and surprising me,
is not tired, but will be soon. Tomorrow is already
A memory of the mystery of whatever this is
we do and renew and renew again.
I. GROWING UP
Chapter 1
THE WOMAN WHO BELIEVES SHE IS LIKE A GIANT
REDWOOD TREE . . . . . time/space travel
There is a Woman come unto the planet, conceived in Willamina, born in
Salem, raised in Portland at first (a green and wet and Baptist place), and
later in the San Fernando Valley, quite the opposite.
The Woman learns of this planet from her Mother, Irene, and her Father,
Gerald, and her Aunts, Irma, Violet, and Lynn, her Grandma Amanda,
and her Grandpa's, Clarence (Greene) and Ira (Green), her Uncles,
Walter, Carl, and Nathaniel Lee, her cousin, Bob, her younger brother,
Richard, and when she is five, a new Uncle, Merle.
The Woman learns also from public and private schools and churches in
Portland, San Fernando, Reseda, North Hollywood, Taft, and Irvine.
From the beginning she learns the language exceptionally well, to hear it,
see it, describe it, and write it.
But, she does it playfully, occasionally misspelling or misusing a word to
see if anyone is listening, and who they are.
The Woman learns from other lands and worlds and futures and pasts
and dreams. She learns from being away from Gerald and Irene, and then
from going with them to the San Fernando Valley in California, away
from the Aunts and Uncles and Cousins (there come many more cousins)
and Grandparents. And there comes one more brother, Al (Arnold), and
three more sisters, Cissie (Dixie), Judy and Little Birdie (aka Jennifer).
She learns that it can be beneficial to be neglected, for she finds quiet
places and shelves full of grown ups’ books. Gerald and Irene also give
her many comic books and Polly Pepper, the Bobbsey Twins, Little
Women and Maida's Little Shop, fairy tales, and the Whiteoaks of Jalna
(which is a whole set of books).
The Woman runs up and down Shadow Hills, and picks purple lupines
from fields at the top. Gerald takes them on picnics in Little Tujunga
Canyon with potato salad and jello and chicken. They (she and Richard
and Gerald and Irene) have a half hour ride on the first TWA
Constellation. ..................................page 1
She hears about old Carl, a man who works for Mr. Ensign. He had one
ear bitten off by a horse when he was a child, and after that his parents
and sisters would not let him live in the house. She hears that he knows
how to tell time by the sun. Running up Shadow Hills from school one
day, she spots him hoeing weeds, and runs over to ask him what time it
is. "Why don't you go ask your mother?" he growls.
But she is determined to see him do it, and says she is afraid she is late
home from school. He shades his eyes, looks up at the sun and growls at
her again: "It's 4:45." He does it! The spark of seeing him do it is all she
needs. She runs on up the hill to check on him, and after that she learns
how to tell time by the sun.
She learns some of the properties of light, and she hears Gerald's voice
change from authoritative to wonder one day when she tells him what
she observes. He is fascinated by light, and makes his own clock radios
and stuff.
The Woman learns that she can think; when someone says "Who are you
to think," she laughs. And when someone asks her to believe what they
believe without knowing what it is, she says "No."
The Woman asks Irene one day why she never sent her to ballet lessons
and stuff. Irene says, "I want you to have time to lie in the grass and
watch the clouds go by." And that is good.
The Woman's childhood is good, but she does not know that for a long
time. She thinks that she can change herself and change things that she
perceives. But she remains silent for a long time, because she does not
know exactly how to do that.
She has children, the Light Daughter and the Star Son, and sometimes
semiadopted children (Kris and Lisa) who need her for awhile. And they
are better than good. They are miraculous and wonderful.
The Woman learns that life is not something to learn about from the
Ladies’ Home Journal.
She learns that the Saturday Evening Post is much closer to reality,
because reality is polarized. One way it polarizes is into comedy and
tragedy, or humor and the lack thereof. The Post has humor that sticks
to your ribs. Her children also have humor and that is good.
.....................................................Page 2
She remains silent awhile longer, trying various exciting jobs: file clerk,
records clerk, clerk typist, library clerk, clerk, clerk, and clerk. All of them
have a learning curve of about 2 weeks, mostly involving locating things,
learning names, and figuring out the system. Oh, and keeping quiet in the
presence of authority. It is a lot like school.
(School: a special note because I have finally realized that I would have done
well in P.E. if I had gotten my mother to go to school and insist that I be
allowed to pick my own sport, like track. Most of my experience in P.E. was
like watching a Ping-Pong game, with my head bobbing back and forth,
listening to one team captain and then the other say: “I don’t want her on MY
team.” Then “I don’t want her on MY team either.” If there are people out
there with the same problem today, try this. After a year of getting a chance
to do your best instead of being left in a corner and they will be begging you
to be on their teams. Keep doing your best without them.)
Some jobs are more interesting than others. The Woman's first job is in the
North Hollywood Public Library while she in high school. Mrs. Murman
is the Head Librarian.
One day the Woman comes to work and finds she has to work an extra
evening. She is already tired, and breaks out in tears.
Mrs. Murman takes her into her office. She invites the Woman to sit down
with her, and Mrs. Murman, without a word, but with a smile, lets her
blubber and talk herself into working that extra evening. It is probably an
education for both of them.
She knows she is not interested in selling widgets, moving up the
corporate ladder, multilevel marketing, real estate, or writing romance
novels.
One year, however, while still in Taft, she takes a class at Taft college
from Mr. Jason. He is a terrible teacher. He is a terrible person. Terribly
temperamental. Mean. Capricious. He has brain cancer and is getting
cobalt treatments.
Mr. Jason changes her whole life. She decides she will not take the second
semester from him, no matter what (even though it is a required class).
She takes it by correspondence from UC Berkeley. She has to sit home and
read Coleridge and Wordsworth alone. Yawwwn. Got to get through this
somehow. Hmmm. You cannot go to sleep if you read aloud. Heh heh.
.............................................Page 3
Reading poetry aloud hits the ON button. Poetry is a spoken form. She
starts writing. And writing is an incurable disease. You do not get over it.
Mr. Jason is a catalyst. He does not change. He does not have to. The
Woman changes. And it is good.
The Woman discovers immediately something strange and wonderful
about pencils. Not everyone knows this. Hardly anyone knows it. And
even those who do know it sometimes forget because they worry about
writer's block, fat, and money.
Pencils are magic. If you hold a pencil in your hand (or teeth or whatever
you have handy, heh heh, a little pun), touch the pencil to paper, and
move it the least little bit, or if you haven't exercised it much, encourage it
by just writing any old stupid words. Pretty soon it will start writing
things you did not know you knew.
It writes such wonderful things, that you will have to admit they must come
partly from inside the pencil, because up to that moment you probably
did not know those words were possible.
The Woman knows that people want to write, but they do not want to
have magic explained to them. So she does not talk about it as much as
she did at first. But it works every time. It's working now. And it is good.
The Woman finds jobs slightly more interesting, perhaps because she is
writing more, learning to speak. She decides to learn mime and stand up
comedy, and it is good.
But comedy can be written, as well as performed, and she does not like
nightclubs as a way of life. Writing has a learning curve that never has to
stop. Besides, many comedians(iennes) tend to stay with the same routine.
Her comedy heroes are Jack Benny, Red Skelton, and Steve Allen. Where
would any of them have gone with just one routine? (And, of course,
Steve Allen is still very much with us, and very, very funny. And Red too, I think.)
The Woman meets people who have, or just think they have, bad
childhoods, some like hers, some worse, some better. But some of them
never get a chance to laugh, and say "No," and learn to do something cool
while beating Mr. Jason out of a second semester, explain something
about light to their father, and learn to tell time by the sun from a gruff
old man with only one ear. .....................Page 4
They do not have anything like the Saturday Evening Post. They do
not know yet that there is an ON button to toggle, or how or why to
turn it on.
The Woman thinks about the fields of wildflowers. Lupines, dandelions,
poppies. Picture them. How do they look? How would they smell if you
could smell them?
How would they feel if you could brush your hand across them? If you
could hear the wind sigh across them like thousands of tiny temple bells?
Breathe in their seduction, the perfume that tells their catalyst, their Mr.
Jason, the bees, "Here I am. I am here because what I do works. I may be
bigger and better, or smaller, or crippled, or stepped on, but I am a field
of wild flowers."
"I may even get mowed down, but if I am small and crippled, I'll get
missed, and I will be back. I make a statement, toggle ON buttons, I have
a sense of humor. So, Mr. Jason, with your help, let's make more flowers."
The Woman then laughs about the potlucks she has been to where the
food never seemed to come out right. One night too many people brought
dessert, and those few who brought sensible casseroles became
self-righteous and lectured on the sins of poor planning and lemon
meringue pie.
The Woman brought something sensible, I suppose, but she listened to
the tones in the voices, and saw the expressions on the faces of the
condemned and misfit.
And she said, "If everyone brings lemon meringue pie, that must be what
they want to eat. So let it be." And it was good. She potlucked less and
less often after that.
The Woman thought then about a man who gave her a really wonderful
gift: he told her, "You are like a giant redwood tree." What a wonderful
feeling! She knows she can never be too old.
Who would dare tell a giant redwood that it needs fake nails, a
new hair-do and color, more/less weight, an electrologist, a face lift, an MBA,
or a BMW? Who, indeed? Who would dare?
Who would have cheek enough to tell it that if it really believed in itself,
all goals could be accomplished by tomorrow noon? Or yesterday.
...........................................Page 5
A giant redwood does not have to be told how beautiful, how smart, how
creative, how rich, how thin, how successful, and how popular it is.
A giant redwood stands alone. It exists, it hears the sound the wind
makes in its branches and the wind listens back. It feels the earth with its
toe-roots and the earth feels back. It does what it does in the natural order
and time of things. It grows a foot in the time it takes to grow a foot.
A giant redwood stands up for itself.
A giant redwood sees the fields of wildflowers, the mowing machines, the
potlucks on the picnic benches, the magic of pencils. It hears the cool
silent spaces, and the laughing tourists.
It feels the wind hold it and move against it like a dance partner. Even
Mr. Jason is not mean to a giant redwood. He looks and listens in awe,
and forgets to feel his pain for awhile.
And so the Woman, in the natural order and time of things, knows that
she has always stood up for herself.
She is a Giant Redwood Tree, a field of wildflowers, an old man with one
ear missing ... she is her mother and her father ... she is her aunts and
uncles, and Mrs. Murman ... she is magic.
And the Woman knows that she will always honor anyone who brings
lemon meringue pie, and knows how to do magic, or wants to learn.
The Woman changes, she changes things that she perceives, and she
performs in many places for many people with her magic pencils.
They smile and sometimes laugh, learn to say "No," and ask outrageous
questions and explain interesting things they know. Sometimes someone
asks to learn how to do magic.
And the Woman sees that it is good. It is better than good. It is miraculous
and wonderful..................................Page 6
I have a good friend who just told me within the last year
that she raised her daughter reading one of my stories to her
(one in the Poetry section, I had no idea anyone liked it that
much!). It is THE DOORMAT WHO WANTED A PET.
I am working on the next book, also Science Fiction, which will
be ready in a few weeks, check back with the website for a
first free chapter(s) of that. It will be right here.
This is a signed and numbered copy (e-copy) of first 5000 copies
signed by the author
SAND Publications, Garden Grove, CA
(additional printing will resume with 102)
Copyright © 1995by Jane Stilwell
Printed in the United States of America
All Rights Reserved
--First Edition--
Cover design by Author
SAND Press, BHC, AZ
--1995--
CONTENTS
Prologue Is anyone nervous? and MAGIC
I. GROWING UP
1. The Woman Who Believes She Is Like A Giant Redwood Tree...
time/space travel
2. The Light Daughter . . . time/space travel
3. The Star Son . . . time/space travel
4. The Man Who Thinks He Is The Wind Who Dances With
The Giant Redwood Tree . . . time/space travel
5. The Loving Wolf Hybrid "Woofy" who sits at the Right Hand and
Sleeps at the Feet of the Giant Redwood Tree Woman time/space travel
6. Mothers, Aunts, And Other Women Friends . . . time/space travel
7. The Second Self In The Mirror time/space travel
II. SHORT SUBJECTS
8. That Which Lies At A 90o Angle From Alleged Truth time/space opinion
9. The Chain Link Fence a short play
10. Floyd Carson a short play
11. Stoopid Cat a short play
12. Sonora time/space travel
13. The Judge's Tennis Club File epistolary
14. "Joran" and “The Blue Cats” from . . . AND HE IS US time/space sci/fi
15. FIVE STORIES, as read by Tobor time/space travel
16. The Manduca Sphinx and the Formica Hymenoptera time/space filter
17. Focus, Physics, Fabric, Temporal Shift, Proof that Time is an Illusion, Temporal Shift Changes Viewer time/space logic
III. "Jane, You Never Cease to Amaze Me...Failure Never Gets You Down" comedy
IV. MORE MAGIC poetry, alphabetical
Epilogue BLACK MAGIC time/space travel
PROLOGUE
"Is anyone nervous?"
"Uh huh."
"So am I. I've never done this before." (Something
the doctor said to a 13 year old girl scout while
feeling her stomach during an examination for a girl
scout camping trip.)
I want you to know I have no license or permit to do
anything. If you have any questions, write them down if
you don't want anyone to know it's you, or speak up if
you're advertising.
• A friend: “Am I likely to show up in this book?”
Me: “Not like you have ever seen yourself before.”
It was either Schrodinger or Einstein who said:
“If you can't tell all you know, it has all been for nothing”
MAGIC
Well, I said this pencil was magic, did I not?
It is. It can move so smoothly almost without my
Thinking. Kind of like riding a bicycle or making
love in the dark, it just happens, and later when
You're lying there next to each other, you and
your lover, you and your bicycle, you and your
Poem, feeling good, wondering at what happened,
a little pleased and self conscious at how
Uninhibited you got. And a little smile as if to say,
I didn't know I was so good, I didn't know
You were so good, but I really did know. We were
good the last time we did this, some different.
Next time we'll be some different again. I'm so
pleased and content and smug, I ride this bicycle
Across America. See the Grand Canyon, the
Grand Tetons, the Grand Old Opry, Grand Central
Station, Grand Hotel and Grant's Tomb across
my handlebars. I hear the gears click, the crickets,
The silence of night at a desert rest stop, the trains,
the planes, my breath comes hard and fast and
Deep out on the road or making words or love
I never made before. I smell the desert in May,
Taste fresh fruit at roadside stands, cherries, berries,
pomegranates, pears, apples, grapes, smell
Their bouquets. I feel my muscles sore from
the bicycling. I feel delight that I know what I know,
I am who I am, my pencil moves mysterious and
sure and soft and slow and surprising me,
is not tired, but will be soon. Tomorrow is already
A memory of the mystery of whatever this is
we do and renew and renew again.
I. GROWING UP
Chapter 1
THE WOMAN WHO BELIEVES SHE IS LIKE A GIANT
REDWOOD TREE . . . . . time/space travel
There is a Woman come unto the planet, conceived in Willamina, born in
Salem, raised in Portland at first (a green and wet and Baptist place), and
later in the San Fernando Valley, quite the opposite.
The Woman learns of this planet from her Mother, Irene, and her Father,
Gerald, and her Aunts, Irma, Violet, and Lynn, her Grandma Amanda,
and her Grandpa's, Clarence (Greene) and Ira (Green), her Uncles,
Walter, Carl, and Nathaniel Lee, her cousin, Bob, her younger brother,
Richard, and when she is five, a new Uncle, Merle.
The Woman learns also from public and private schools and churches in
Portland, San Fernando, Reseda, North Hollywood, Taft, and Irvine.
From the beginning she learns the language exceptionally well, to hear it,
see it, describe it, and write it.
But, she does it playfully, occasionally misspelling or misusing a word to
see if anyone is listening, and who they are.
The Woman learns from other lands and worlds and futures and pasts
and dreams. She learns from being away from Gerald and Irene, and then
from going with them to the San Fernando Valley in California, away
from the Aunts and Uncles and Cousins (there come many more cousins)
and Grandparents. And there comes one more brother, Al (Arnold), and
three more sisters, Cissie (Dixie), Judy and Little Birdie (aka Jennifer).
She learns that it can be beneficial to be neglected, for she finds quiet
places and shelves full of grown ups’ books. Gerald and Irene also give
her many comic books and Polly Pepper, the Bobbsey Twins, Little
Women and Maida's Little Shop, fairy tales, and the Whiteoaks of Jalna
(which is a whole set of books).
The Woman runs up and down Shadow Hills, and picks purple lupines
from fields at the top. Gerald takes them on picnics in Little Tujunga
Canyon with potato salad and jello and chicken. They (she and Richard
and Gerald and Irene) have a half hour ride on the first TWA
Constellation. ..................................page 1
She hears about old Carl, a man who works for Mr. Ensign. He had one
ear bitten off by a horse when he was a child, and after that his parents
and sisters would not let him live in the house. She hears that he knows
how to tell time by the sun. Running up Shadow Hills from school one
day, she spots him hoeing weeds, and runs over to ask him what time it
is. "Why don't you go ask your mother?" he growls.
But she is determined to see him do it, and says she is afraid she is late
home from school. He shades his eyes, looks up at the sun and growls at
her again: "It's 4:45." He does it! The spark of seeing him do it is all she
needs. She runs on up the hill to check on him, and after that she learns
how to tell time by the sun.
She learns some of the properties of light, and she hears Gerald's voice
change from authoritative to wonder one day when she tells him what
she observes. He is fascinated by light, and makes his own clock radios
and stuff.
The Woman learns that she can think; when someone says "Who are you
to think," she laughs. And when someone asks her to believe what they
believe without knowing what it is, she says "No."
The Woman asks Irene one day why she never sent her to ballet lessons
and stuff. Irene says, "I want you to have time to lie in the grass and
watch the clouds go by." And that is good.
The Woman's childhood is good, but she does not know that for a long
time. She thinks that she can change herself and change things that she
perceives. But she remains silent for a long time, because she does not
know exactly how to do that.
She has children, the Light Daughter and the Star Son, and sometimes
semiadopted children (Kris and Lisa) who need her for awhile. And they
are better than good. They are miraculous and wonderful.
The Woman learns that life is not something to learn about from the
Ladies’ Home Journal.
She learns that the Saturday Evening Post is much closer to reality,
because reality is polarized. One way it polarizes is into comedy and
tragedy, or humor and the lack thereof. The Post has humor that sticks
to your ribs. Her children also have humor and that is good.
.....................................................Page 2
She remains silent awhile longer, trying various exciting jobs: file clerk,
records clerk, clerk typist, library clerk, clerk, clerk, and clerk. All of them
have a learning curve of about 2 weeks, mostly involving locating things,
learning names, and figuring out the system. Oh, and keeping quiet in the
presence of authority. It is a lot like school.
(School: a special note because I have finally realized that I would have done
well in P.E. if I had gotten my mother to go to school and insist that I be
allowed to pick my own sport, like track. Most of my experience in P.E. was
like watching a Ping-Pong game, with my head bobbing back and forth,
listening to one team captain and then the other say: “I don’t want her on MY
team.” Then “I don’t want her on MY team either.” If there are people out
there with the same problem today, try this. After a year of getting a chance
to do your best instead of being left in a corner and they will be begging you
to be on their teams. Keep doing your best without them.)
Some jobs are more interesting than others. The Woman's first job is in the
North Hollywood Public Library while she in high school. Mrs. Murman
is the Head Librarian.
One day the Woman comes to work and finds she has to work an extra
evening. She is already tired, and breaks out in tears.
Mrs. Murman takes her into her office. She invites the Woman to sit down
with her, and Mrs. Murman, without a word, but with a smile, lets her
blubber and talk herself into working that extra evening. It is probably an
education for both of them.
She knows she is not interested in selling widgets, moving up the
corporate ladder, multilevel marketing, real estate, or writing romance
novels.
One year, however, while still in Taft, she takes a class at Taft college
from Mr. Jason. He is a terrible teacher. He is a terrible person. Terribly
temperamental. Mean. Capricious. He has brain cancer and is getting
cobalt treatments.
Mr. Jason changes her whole life. She decides she will not take the second
semester from him, no matter what (even though it is a required class).
She takes it by correspondence from UC Berkeley. She has to sit home and
read Coleridge and Wordsworth alone. Yawwwn. Got to get through this
somehow. Hmmm. You cannot go to sleep if you read aloud. Heh heh.
.............................................Page 3
Reading poetry aloud hits the ON button. Poetry is a spoken form. She
starts writing. And writing is an incurable disease. You do not get over it.
Mr. Jason is a catalyst. He does not change. He does not have to. The
Woman changes. And it is good.
The Woman discovers immediately something strange and wonderful
about pencils. Not everyone knows this. Hardly anyone knows it. And
even those who do know it sometimes forget because they worry about
writer's block, fat, and money.
Pencils are magic. If you hold a pencil in your hand (or teeth or whatever
you have handy, heh heh, a little pun), touch the pencil to paper, and
move it the least little bit, or if you haven't exercised it much, encourage it
by just writing any old stupid words. Pretty soon it will start writing
things you did not know you knew.
It writes such wonderful things, that you will have to admit they must come
partly from inside the pencil, because up to that moment you probably
did not know those words were possible.
The Woman knows that people want to write, but they do not want to
have magic explained to them. So she does not talk about it as much as
she did at first. But it works every time. It's working now. And it is good.
The Woman finds jobs slightly more interesting, perhaps because she is
writing more, learning to speak. She decides to learn mime and stand up
comedy, and it is good.
But comedy can be written, as well as performed, and she does not like
nightclubs as a way of life. Writing has a learning curve that never has to
stop. Besides, many comedians(iennes) tend to stay with the same routine.
Her comedy heroes are Jack Benny, Red Skelton, and Steve Allen. Where
would any of them have gone with just one routine? (And, of course,
Steve Allen is still very much with us, and very, very funny. And Red too, I think.)
The Woman meets people who have, or just think they have, bad
childhoods, some like hers, some worse, some better. But some of them
never get a chance to laugh, and say "No," and learn to do something cool
while beating Mr. Jason out of a second semester, explain something
about light to their father, and learn to tell time by the sun from a gruff
old man with only one ear. .....................Page 4
They do not have anything like the Saturday Evening Post. They do
not know yet that there is an ON button to toggle, or how or why to
turn it on.
The Woman thinks about the fields of wildflowers. Lupines, dandelions,
poppies. Picture them. How do they look? How would they smell if you
could smell them?
How would they feel if you could brush your hand across them? If you
could hear the wind sigh across them like thousands of tiny temple bells?
Breathe in their seduction, the perfume that tells their catalyst, their Mr.
Jason, the bees, "Here I am. I am here because what I do works. I may be
bigger and better, or smaller, or crippled, or stepped on, but I am a field
of wild flowers."
"I may even get mowed down, but if I am small and crippled, I'll get
missed, and I will be back. I make a statement, toggle ON buttons, I have
a sense of humor. So, Mr. Jason, with your help, let's make more flowers."
The Woman then laughs about the potlucks she has been to where the
food never seemed to come out right. One night too many people brought
dessert, and those few who brought sensible casseroles became
self-righteous and lectured on the sins of poor planning and lemon
meringue pie.
The Woman brought something sensible, I suppose, but she listened to
the tones in the voices, and saw the expressions on the faces of the
condemned and misfit.
And she said, "If everyone brings lemon meringue pie, that must be what
they want to eat. So let it be." And it was good. She potlucked less and
less often after that.
The Woman thought then about a man who gave her a really wonderful
gift: he told her, "You are like a giant redwood tree." What a wonderful
feeling! She knows she can never be too old.
Who would dare tell a giant redwood that it needs fake nails, a
new hair-do and color, more/less weight, an electrologist, a face lift, an MBA,
or a BMW? Who, indeed? Who would dare?
Who would have cheek enough to tell it that if it really believed in itself,
all goals could be accomplished by tomorrow noon? Or yesterday.
...........................................Page 5
A giant redwood does not have to be told how beautiful, how smart, how
creative, how rich, how thin, how successful, and how popular it is.
A giant redwood stands alone. It exists, it hears the sound the wind
makes in its branches and the wind listens back. It feels the earth with its
toe-roots and the earth feels back. It does what it does in the natural order
and time of things. It grows a foot in the time it takes to grow a foot.
A giant redwood stands up for itself.
A giant redwood sees the fields of wildflowers, the mowing machines, the
potlucks on the picnic benches, the magic of pencils. It hears the cool
silent spaces, and the laughing tourists.
It feels the wind hold it and move against it like a dance partner. Even
Mr. Jason is not mean to a giant redwood. He looks and listens in awe,
and forgets to feel his pain for awhile.
And so the Woman, in the natural order and time of things, knows that
she has always stood up for herself.
She is a Giant Redwood Tree, a field of wildflowers, an old man with one
ear missing ... she is her mother and her father ... she is her aunts and
uncles, and Mrs. Murman ... she is magic.
And the Woman knows that she will always honor anyone who brings
lemon meringue pie, and knows how to do magic, or wants to learn.
The Woman changes, she changes things that she perceives, and she
performs in many places for many people with her magic pencils.
They smile and sometimes laugh, learn to say "No," and ask outrageous
questions and explain interesting things they know. Sometimes someone
asks to learn how to do magic.
And the Woman sees that it is good. It is better than good. It is miraculous
and wonderful..................................Page 6
I have a good friend who just told me within the last year
that she raised her daughter reading one of my stories to her
(one in the Poetry section, I had no idea anyone liked it that
much!). It is THE DOORMAT WHO WANTED A PET.
I am working on the next book, also Science Fiction, which will
be ready in a few weeks, check back with the website for a
first free chapter(s) of that. It will be right here.
CONTENTS
Prologue Is anyone nervous? and MAGIC
I. GROWING UP
1. The Woman Who Believes She Is Like A Giant Redwood Tree...
time/space travel
2. The Light Daughter . . . time/space travel
3. The Star Son . . . time/space travel
4. The Man Who Thinks He Is The Wind Who Dances With
The Giant Redwood Tree . . . time/space travel
5. The Loving Wolf Hybrid "Woofy" who sits at the Right Hand and
Sleeps at the Feet of the Giant Redwood Tree Woman time/space travel
6. Mothers, Aunts, And Other Women Friends . . . time/space travel
7. The Second Self In The Mirror time/space travel
II. SHORT SUBJECTS
8. That Which Lies At A 90o Angle From Alleged Truth time/space opinion
9. The Chain Link Fence a short play
10. Floyd Carson a short play
11. Stoopid Cat a short play
12. Sonora time/space travel
13. The Judge's Tennis Club File epistolary
14. "Joran" and “The Blue Cats” from . . . AND HE IS US time/space sci/fi
15. FIVE STORIES, as read by Tobor time/space travel
16. The Manduca Sphinx and the Formica Hymenoptera time/space filter
17. Focus, Physics, Fabric, Temporal Shift, Proof that Time is an Illusion, Temporal Shift Changes Viewer time/space logic
III. "Jane, You Never Cease to Amaze Me...Failure Never Gets You Down" comedy
IV. MORE MAGIC poetry, alphabetical
Epilogue BLACK MAGIC time/space travel
PROLOGUE
"Is anyone nervous?"
"Uh huh."
"So am I. I've never done this before." (Something
the doctor said to a 13 year old girl scout while
feeling her stomach during an examination for a girl
scout camping trip.)
I want you to know I have no license or permit to do
anything. If you have any questions, write them down if
you don't want anyone to know it's you, or speak up if
you're advertising.
• A friend: “Am I likely to show up in this book?”
Me: “Not like you have ever seen yourself before.”
It was either Schrodinger or Einstein who said:
“If you can't tell all you know, it has all been for nothing”
MAGIC
Well, I said this pencil was magic, did I not?
It is. It can move so smoothly almost without my
Thinking. Kind of like riding a bicycle or making
love in the dark, it just happens, and later when
You're lying there next to each other, you and
your lover, you and your bicycle, you and your
Poem, feeling good, wondering at what happened,
a little pleased and self conscious at how
Uninhibited you got. And a little smile as if to say,
I didn't know I was so good, I didn't know
You were so good, but I really did know. We were
good the last time we did this, some different.
Next time we'll be some different again. I'm so
pleased and content and smug, I ride this bicycle
Across America. See the Grand Canyon, the
Grand Tetons, the Grand Old Opry, Grand Central
Station, Grand Hotel and Grant's Tomb across
my handlebars. I hear the gears click, the crickets,
The silence of night at a desert rest stop, the trains,
the planes, my breath comes hard and fast and
Deep out on the road or making words or love
I never made before. I smell the desert in May,
Taste fresh fruit at roadside stands, cherries, berries,
pomegranates, pears, apples, grapes, smell
Their bouquets. I feel my muscles sore from
the bicycling. I feel delight that I know what I know,
I am who I am, my pencil moves mysterious and
sure and soft and slow and surprising me,
is not tired, but will be soon. Tomorrow is already
A memory of the mystery of whatever this is
we do and renew and renew again.
I. GROWING UP
Chapter 1
THE WOMAN WHO BELIEVES SHE IS LIKE A GIANT
REDWOOD TREE . . . . . time/space travel
There is a Woman come unto the planet, conceived in Willamina, born in
Salem, raised in Portland at first (a green and wet and Baptist place), and
later in the San Fernando Valley, quite the opposite.
The Woman learns of this planet from her Mother, Irene, and her Father,
Gerald, and her Aunts, Irma, Violet, and Lynn, her Grandma Amanda,
and her Grandpa's, Clarence (Greene) and Ira (Green), her Uncles,
Walter, Carl, and Nathaniel Lee, her cousin, Bob, her younger brother,
Richard, and when she is five, a new Uncle, Merle.
The Woman learns also from public and private schools and churches in
Portland, San Fernando, Reseda, North Hollywood, Taft, and Irvine.
From the beginning she learns the language exceptionally well, to hear it,
see it, describe it, and write it.
But, she does it playfully, occasionally misspelling or misusing a word to
see if anyone is listening, and who they are.
The Woman learns from other lands and worlds and futures and pasts
and dreams. She learns from being away from Gerald and Irene, and then
from going with them to the San Fernando Valley in California, away
from the Aunts and Uncles and Cousins (there come many more cousins)
and Grandparents. And there comes one more brother, Al (Arnold), and
three more sisters, Cissie (Dixie), Judy and Little Birdie (aka Jennifer).
She learns that it can be beneficial to be neglected, for she finds quiet
places and shelves full of grown ups’ books. Gerald and Irene also give
her many comic books and Polly Pepper, the Bobbsey Twins, Little
Women and Maida's Little Shop, fairy tales, and the Whiteoaks of Jalna
(which is a whole set of books).
The Woman runs up and down Shadow Hills, and picks purple lupines
from fields at the top. Gerald takes them on picnics in Little Tujunga
Canyon with potato salad and jello and chicken. They (she and Richard
and Gerald and Irene) have a half hour ride on the first TWA
Constellation. ..................................page 1
She hears about old Carl, a man who works for Mr. Ensign. He had one
ear bitten off by a horse when he was a child, and after that his parents
and sisters would not let him live in the house. She hears that he knows
how to tell time by the sun. Running up Shadow Hills from school one
day, she spots him hoeing weeds, and runs over to ask him what time it
is. "Why don't you go ask your mother?" he growls.
But she is determined to see him do it, and says she is afraid she is late
home from school. He shades his eyes, looks up at the sun and growls at
her again: "It's 4:45." He does it! The spark of seeing him do it is all she
needs. She runs on up the hill to check on him, and after that she learns
how to tell time by the sun.
She learns some of the properties of light, and she hears Gerald's voice
change from authoritative to wonder one day when she tells him what
she observes. He is fascinated by light, and makes his own clock radios
and stuff.
The Woman learns that she can think; when someone says "Who are you
to think," she laughs. And when someone asks her to believe what they
believe without knowing what it is, she says "No."
The Woman asks Irene one day why she never sent her to ballet lessons
and stuff. Irene says, "I want you to have time to lie in the grass and
watch the clouds go by." And that is good.
The Woman's childhood is good, but she does not know that for a long
time. She thinks that she can change herself and change things that she
perceives. But she remains silent for a long time, because she does not
know exactly how to do that.
She has children, the Light Daughter and the Star Son, and sometimes
semiadopted children (Kris and Lisa) who need her for awhile. And they
are better than good. They are miraculous and wonderful.
The Woman learns that life is not something to learn about from the
Ladies’ Home Journal.
She learns that the Saturday Evening Post is much closer to reality,
because reality is polarized. One way it polarizes is into comedy and
tragedy, or humor and the lack thereof. The Post has humor that sticks
to your ribs. Her children also have humor and that is good.
.....................................................Page 2
She remains silent awhile longer, trying various exciting jobs: file clerk,
records clerk, clerk typist, library clerk, clerk, clerk, and clerk. All of them
have a learning curve of about 2 weeks, mostly involving locating things,
learning names, and figuring out the system. Oh, and keeping quiet in the
presence of authority. It is a lot like school.
(School: a special note because I have finally realized that I would have done
well in P.E. if I had gotten my mother to go to school and insist that I be
allowed to pick my own sport, like track. Most of my experience in P.E. was
like watching a Ping-Pong game, with my head bobbing back and forth,
listening to one team captain and then the other say: “I don’t want her on MY
team.” Then “I don’t want her on MY team either.” If there are people out
there with the same problem today, try this. After a year of getting a chance
to do your best instead of being left in a corner and they will be begging you
to be on their teams. Keep doing your best without them.)
Some jobs are more interesting than others. The Woman's first job is in the
North Hollywood Public Library while she in high school. Mrs. Murman
is the Head Librarian.
One day the Woman comes to work and finds she has to work an extra
evening. She is already tired, and breaks out in tears.
Mrs. Murman takes her into her office. She invites the Woman to sit down
with her, and Mrs. Murman, without a word, but with a smile, lets her
blubber and talk herself into working that extra evening. It is probably an
education for both of them.
She knows she is not interested in selling widgets, moving up the
corporate ladder, multilevel marketing, real estate, or writing romance
novels.
One year, however, while still in Taft, she takes a class at Taft college
from Mr. Jason. He is a terrible teacher. He is a terrible person. Terribly
temperamental. Mean. Capricious. He has brain cancer and is getting
cobalt treatments.
Mr. Jason changes her whole life. She decides she will not take the second
semester from him, no matter what (even though it is a required class).
She takes it by correspondence from UC Berkeley. She has to sit home and
read Coleridge and Wordsworth alone. Yawwwn. Got to get through this
somehow. Hmmm. You cannot go to sleep if you read aloud. Heh heh.
.............................................Page 3
Reading poetry aloud hits the ON button. Poetry is a spoken form. She
starts writing. And writing is an incurable disease. You do not get over it.
Mr. Jason is a catalyst. He does not change. He does not have to. The
Woman changes. And it is good.
The Woman discovers immediately something strange and wonderful
about pencils. Not everyone knows this. Hardly anyone knows it. And
even those who do know it sometimes forget because they worry about
writer's block, fat, and money.
Pencils are magic. If you hold a pencil in your hand (or teeth or whatever
you have handy, heh heh, a little pun), touch the pencil to paper, and
move it the least little bit, or if you haven't exercised it much, encourage it
by just writing any old stupid words. Pretty soon it will start writing
things you did not know you knew.
It writes such wonderful things, that you will have to admit they must come
partly from inside the pencil, because up to that moment you probably
did not know those words were possible.
The Woman knows that people want to write, but they do not want to
have magic explained to them. So she does not talk about it as much as
she did at first. But it works every time. It's working now. And it is good.
The Woman finds jobs slightly more interesting, perhaps because she is
writing more, learning to speak. She decides to learn mime and stand up
comedy, and it is good.
But comedy can be written, as well as performed, and she does not like
nightclubs as a way of life. Writing has a learning curve that never has to
stop. Besides, many comedians(iennes) tend to stay with the same routine.
Her comedy heroes are Jack Benny, Red Skelton, and Steve Allen. Where
would any of them have gone with just one routine? (And, of course,
Steve Allen is still very much with us, and very, very funny. And Red too, I think.)
The Woman meets people who have, or just think they have, bad
childhoods, some like hers, some worse, some better. But some of them
never get a chance to laugh, and say "No," and learn to do something cool
while beating Mr. Jason out of a second semester, explain something
about light to their father, and learn to tell time by the sun from a gruff
old man with only one ear. .....................Page 4
They do not have anything like the Saturday Evening Post. They do
not know yet that there is an ON button to toggle, or how or why to
turn it on.
The Woman thinks about the fields of wildflowers. Lupines, dandelions,
poppies. Picture them. How do they look? How would they smell if you
could smell them?
How would they feel if you could brush your hand across them? If you
could hear the wind sigh across them like thousands of tiny temple bells?
Breathe in their seduction, the perfume that tells their catalyst, their Mr.
Jason, the bees, "Here I am. I am here because what I do works. I may be
bigger and better, or smaller, or crippled, or stepped on, but I am a field
of wild flowers."
"I may even get mowed down, but if I am small and crippled, I'll get
missed, and I will be back. I make a statement, toggle ON buttons, I have
a sense of humor. So, Mr. Jason, with your help, let's make more flowers."
The Woman then laughs about the potlucks she has been to where the
food never seemed to come out right. One night too many people brought
dessert, and those few who brought sensible casseroles became
self-righteous and lectured on the sins of poor planning and lemon
meringue pie.
The Woman brought something sensible, I suppose, but she listened to
the tones in the voices, and saw the expressions on the faces of the
condemned and misfit.
And she said, "If everyone brings lemon meringue pie, that must be what
they want to eat. So let it be." And it was good. She potlucked less and
less often after that.
The Woman thought then about a man who gave her a really wonderful
gift: he told her, "You are like a giant redwood tree." What a wonderful
feeling! She knows she can never be too old.
Who would dare tell a giant redwood that it needs fake nails, a
new hair-do and color, more/less weight, an electrologist, a face lift, an MBA,
or a BMW? Who, indeed? Who would dare?
Who would have cheek enough to tell it that if it really believed in itself,
all goals could be accomplished by tomorrow noon? Or yesterday.
...........................................Page 5
A giant redwood does not have to be told how beautiful, how smart, how
creative, how rich, how thin, how successful, and how popular it is.
A giant redwood stands alone. It exists, it hears the sound the wind
makes in its branches and the wind listens back. It feels the earth with its
toe-roots and the earth feels back. It does what it does in the natural order
and time of things. It grows a foot in the time it takes to grow a foot.
A giant redwood stands up for itself.
A giant redwood sees the fields of wildflowers, the mowing machines, the
potlucks on the picnic benches, the magic of pencils. It hears the cool
silent spaces, and the laughing tourists.
It feels the wind hold it and move against it like a dance partner. Even
Mr. Jason is not mean to a giant redwood. He looks and listens in awe,
and forgets to feel his pain for awhile.
And so the Woman, in the natural order and time of things, knows that
she has always stood up for herself.
She is a Giant Redwood Tree, a field of wildflowers, an old man with one
ear missing ... she is her mother and her father ... she is her aunts and
uncles, and Mrs. Murman ... she is magic.
And the Woman knows that she will always honor anyone who brings
lemon meringue pie, and knows how to do magic, or wants to learn.
The Woman changes, she changes things that she perceives, and she
performs in many places for many people with her magic pencils.
They smile and sometimes laugh, learn to say "No," and ask outrageous
questions and explain interesting things they know. Sometimes someone
asks to learn how to do magic.
And the Woman sees that it is good. It is better than good. It is miraculous
and wonderful..................................Page 6
I have a good friend who just told me within the last year
that she raised her daughter reading one of my stories to her
(one in the Poetry section, I had no idea anyone liked it that
much!). It is THE DOORMAT WHO WANTED A PET.
I am working on the next book, also Science Fiction, which will
be ready in a few weeks, check back with the website for a
first free chapter(s) of that. It will be right here.
Prologue Is anyone nervous? and MAGIC
I. GROWING UP
1. The Woman Who Believes She Is Like A Giant Redwood Tree...
time/space travel
2. The Light Daughter . . . time/space travel
3. The Star Son . . . time/space travel
4. The Man Who Thinks He Is The Wind Who Dances With
The Giant Redwood Tree . . . time/space travel
5. The Loving Wolf Hybrid "Woofy" who sits at the Right Hand and
Sleeps at the Feet of the Giant Redwood Tree Woman time/space travel
6. Mothers, Aunts, And Other Women Friends . . . time/space travel
7. The Second Self In The Mirror time/space travel
II. SHORT SUBJECTS
8. That Which Lies At A 90o Angle From Alleged Truth time/space opinion
9. The Chain Link Fence a short play
10. Floyd Carson a short play
11. Stoopid Cat a short play
12. Sonora time/space travel
13. The Judge's Tennis Club File epistolary
14. "Joran" and “The Blue Cats” from . . . AND HE IS US time/space sci/fi
15. FIVE STORIES, as read by Tobor time/space travel
16. The Manduca Sphinx and the Formica Hymenoptera time/space filter
17. Focus, Physics, Fabric, Temporal Shift, Proof that Time is an Illusion, Temporal Shift Changes Viewer time/space logic
III. "Jane, You Never Cease to Amaze Me...Failure Never Gets You Down" comedy
IV. MORE MAGIC poetry, alphabetical
Epilogue BLACK MAGIC time/space travel
PROLOGUE
"Is anyone nervous?"
"Uh huh."
"So am I. I've never done this before." (Something
the doctor said to a 13 year old girl scout while
feeling her stomach during an examination for a girl
scout camping trip.)
I want you to know I have no license or permit to do
anything. If you have any questions, write them down if
you don't want anyone to know it's you, or speak up if
you're advertising.
• A friend: “Am I likely to show up in this book?”
Me: “Not like you have ever seen yourself before.”
It was either Schrodinger or Einstein who said:
“If you can't tell all you know, it has all been for nothing”
MAGIC
Well, I said this pencil was magic, did I not?
It is. It can move so smoothly almost without my
Thinking. Kind of like riding a bicycle or making
love in the dark, it just happens, and later when
You're lying there next to each other, you and
your lover, you and your bicycle, you and your
Poem, feeling good, wondering at what happened,
a little pleased and self conscious at how
Uninhibited you got. And a little smile as if to say,
I didn't know I was so good, I didn't know
You were so good, but I really did know. We were
good the last time we did this, some different.
Next time we'll be some different again. I'm so
pleased and content and smug, I ride this bicycle
Across America. See the Grand Canyon, the
Grand Tetons, the Grand Old Opry, Grand Central
Station, Grand Hotel and Grant's Tomb across
my handlebars. I hear the gears click, the crickets,
The silence of night at a desert rest stop, the trains,
the planes, my breath comes hard and fast and
Deep out on the road or making words or love
I never made before. I smell the desert in May,
Taste fresh fruit at roadside stands, cherries, berries,
pomegranates, pears, apples, grapes, smell
Their bouquets. I feel my muscles sore from
the bicycling. I feel delight that I know what I know,
I am who I am, my pencil moves mysterious and
sure and soft and slow and surprising me,
is not tired, but will be soon. Tomorrow is already
A memory of the mystery of whatever this is
we do and renew and renew again.
I. GROWING UP
Chapter 1
THE WOMAN WHO BELIEVES SHE IS LIKE A GIANT
REDWOOD TREE . . . . . time/space travel
There is a Woman come unto the planet, conceived in Willamina, born in
Salem, raised in Portland at first (a green and wet and Baptist place), and
later in the San Fernando Valley, quite the opposite.
The Woman learns of this planet from her Mother, Irene, and her Father,
Gerald, and her Aunts, Irma, Violet, and Lynn, her Grandma Amanda,
and her Grandpa's, Clarence (Greene) and Ira (Green), her Uncles,
Walter, Carl, and Nathaniel Lee, her cousin, Bob, her younger brother,
Richard, and when she is five, a new Uncle, Merle.
The Woman learns also from public and private schools and churches in
Portland, San Fernando, Reseda, North Hollywood, Taft, and Irvine.
From the beginning she learns the language exceptionally well, to hear it,
see it, describe it, and write it.
But, she does it playfully, occasionally misspelling or misusing a word to
see if anyone is listening, and who they are.
The Woman learns from other lands and worlds and futures and pasts
and dreams. She learns from being away from Gerald and Irene, and then
from going with them to the San Fernando Valley in California, away
from the Aunts and Uncles and Cousins (there come many more cousins)
and Grandparents. And there comes one more brother, Al (Arnold), and
three more sisters, Cissie (Dixie), Judy and Little Birdie (aka Jennifer).
She learns that it can be beneficial to be neglected, for she finds quiet
places and shelves full of grown ups’ books. Gerald and Irene also give
her many comic books and Polly Pepper, the Bobbsey Twins, Little
Women and Maida's Little Shop, fairy tales, and the Whiteoaks of Jalna
(which is a whole set of books).
The Woman runs up and down Shadow Hills, and picks purple lupines
from fields at the top. Gerald takes them on picnics in Little Tujunga
Canyon with potato salad and jello and chicken. They (she and Richard
and Gerald and Irene) have a half hour ride on the first TWA
Constellation. ..................................page 1
She hears about old Carl, a man who works for Mr. Ensign. He had one
ear bitten off by a horse when he was a child, and after that his parents
and sisters would not let him live in the house. She hears that he knows
how to tell time by the sun. Running up Shadow Hills from school one
day, she spots him hoeing weeds, and runs over to ask him what time it
is. "Why don't you go ask your mother?" he growls.
But she is determined to see him do it, and says she is afraid she is late
home from school. He shades his eyes, looks up at the sun and growls at
her again: "It's 4:45." He does it! The spark of seeing him do it is all she
needs. She runs on up the hill to check on him, and after that she learns
how to tell time by the sun.
She learns some of the properties of light, and she hears Gerald's voice
change from authoritative to wonder one day when she tells him what
she observes. He is fascinated by light, and makes his own clock radios
and stuff.
The Woman learns that she can think; when someone says "Who are you
to think," she laughs. And when someone asks her to believe what they
believe without knowing what it is, she says "No."
The Woman asks Irene one day why she never sent her to ballet lessons
and stuff. Irene says, "I want you to have time to lie in the grass and
watch the clouds go by." And that is good.
The Woman's childhood is good, but she does not know that for a long
time. She thinks that she can change herself and change things that she
perceives. But she remains silent for a long time, because she does not
know exactly how to do that.
She has children, the Light Daughter and the Star Son, and sometimes
semiadopted children (Kris and Lisa) who need her for awhile. And they
are better than good. They are miraculous and wonderful.
The Woman learns that life is not something to learn about from the
Ladies’ Home Journal.
She learns that the Saturday Evening Post is much closer to reality,
because reality is polarized. One way it polarizes is into comedy and
tragedy, or humor and the lack thereof. The Post has humor that sticks
to your ribs. Her children also have humor and that is good.
.....................................................Page 2
She remains silent awhile longer, trying various exciting jobs: file clerk,
records clerk, clerk typist, library clerk, clerk, clerk, and clerk. All of them
have a learning curve of about 2 weeks, mostly involving locating things,
learning names, and figuring out the system. Oh, and keeping quiet in the
presence of authority. It is a lot like school.
(School: a special note because I have finally realized that I would have done
well in P.E. if I had gotten my mother to go to school and insist that I be
allowed to pick my own sport, like track. Most of my experience in P.E. was
like watching a Ping-Pong game, with my head bobbing back and forth,
listening to one team captain and then the other say: “I don’t want her on MY
team.” Then “I don’t want her on MY team either.” If there are people out
there with the same problem today, try this. After a year of getting a chance
to do your best instead of being left in a corner and they will be begging you
to be on their teams. Keep doing your best without them.)
Some jobs are more interesting than others. The Woman's first job is in the
North Hollywood Public Library while she in high school. Mrs. Murman
is the Head Librarian.
One day the Woman comes to work and finds she has to work an extra
evening. She is already tired, and breaks out in tears.
Mrs. Murman takes her into her office. She invites the Woman to sit down
with her, and Mrs. Murman, without a word, but with a smile, lets her
blubber and talk herself into working that extra evening. It is probably an
education for both of them.
She knows she is not interested in selling widgets, moving up the
corporate ladder, multilevel marketing, real estate, or writing romance
novels.
One year, however, while still in Taft, she takes a class at Taft college
from Mr. Jason. He is a terrible teacher. He is a terrible person. Terribly
temperamental. Mean. Capricious. He has brain cancer and is getting
cobalt treatments.
Mr. Jason changes her whole life. She decides she will not take the second
semester from him, no matter what (even though it is a required class).
She takes it by correspondence from UC Berkeley. She has to sit home and
read Coleridge and Wordsworth alone. Yawwwn. Got to get through this
somehow. Hmmm. You cannot go to sleep if you read aloud. Heh heh.
.............................................Page 3
Reading poetry aloud hits the ON button. Poetry is a spoken form. She
starts writing. And writing is an incurable disease. You do not get over it.
Mr. Jason is a catalyst. He does not change. He does not have to. The
Woman changes. And it is good.
The Woman discovers immediately something strange and wonderful
about pencils. Not everyone knows this. Hardly anyone knows it. And
even those who do know it sometimes forget because they worry about
writer's block, fat, and money.
Pencils are magic. If you hold a pencil in your hand (or teeth or whatever
you have handy, heh heh, a little pun), touch the pencil to paper, and
move it the least little bit, or if you haven't exercised it much, encourage it
by just writing any old stupid words. Pretty soon it will start writing
things you did not know you knew.
It writes such wonderful things, that you will have to admit they must come
partly from inside the pencil, because up to that moment you probably
did not know those words were possible.
The Woman knows that people want to write, but they do not want to
have magic explained to them. So she does not talk about it as much as
she did at first. But it works every time. It's working now. And it is good.
The Woman finds jobs slightly more interesting, perhaps because she is
writing more, learning to speak. She decides to learn mime and stand up
comedy, and it is good.
But comedy can be written, as well as performed, and she does not like
nightclubs as a way of life. Writing has a learning curve that never has to
stop. Besides, many comedians(iennes) tend to stay with the same routine.
Her comedy heroes are Jack Benny, Red Skelton, and Steve Allen. Where
would any of them have gone with just one routine? (And, of course,
Steve Allen is still very much with us, and very, very funny. And Red too, I think.)
The Woman meets people who have, or just think they have, bad
childhoods, some like hers, some worse, some better. But some of them
never get a chance to laugh, and say "No," and learn to do something cool
while beating Mr. Jason out of a second semester, explain something
about light to their father, and learn to tell time by the sun from a gruff
old man with only one ear. .....................Page 4
They do not have anything like the Saturday Evening Post. They do
not know yet that there is an ON button to toggle, or how or why to
turn it on.
The Woman thinks about the fields of wildflowers. Lupines, dandelions,
poppies. Picture them. How do they look? How would they smell if you
could smell them?
How would they feel if you could brush your hand across them? If you
could hear the wind sigh across them like thousands of tiny temple bells?
Breathe in their seduction, the perfume that tells their catalyst, their Mr.
Jason, the bees, "Here I am. I am here because what I do works. I may be
bigger and better, or smaller, or crippled, or stepped on, but I am a field
of wild flowers."
"I may even get mowed down, but if I am small and crippled, I'll get
missed, and I will be back. I make a statement, toggle ON buttons, I have
a sense of humor. So, Mr. Jason, with your help, let's make more flowers."
The Woman then laughs about the potlucks she has been to where the
food never seemed to come out right. One night too many people brought
dessert, and those few who brought sensible casseroles became
self-righteous and lectured on the sins of poor planning and lemon
meringue pie.
The Woman brought something sensible, I suppose, but she listened to
the tones in the voices, and saw the expressions on the faces of the
condemned and misfit.
And she said, "If everyone brings lemon meringue pie, that must be what
they want to eat. So let it be." And it was good. She potlucked less and
less often after that.
The Woman thought then about a man who gave her a really wonderful
gift: he told her, "You are like a giant redwood tree." What a wonderful
feeling! She knows she can never be too old.
Who would dare tell a giant redwood that it needs fake nails, a
new hair-do and color, more/less weight, an electrologist, a face lift, an MBA,
or a BMW? Who, indeed? Who would dare?
Who would have cheek enough to tell it that if it really believed in itself,
all goals could be accomplished by tomorrow noon? Or yesterday.
...........................................Page 5
A giant redwood does not have to be told how beautiful, how smart, how
creative, how rich, how thin, how successful, and how popular it is.
A giant redwood stands alone. It exists, it hears the sound the wind
makes in its branches and the wind listens back. It feels the earth with its
toe-roots and the earth feels back. It does what it does in the natural order
and time of things. It grows a foot in the time it takes to grow a foot.
A giant redwood stands up for itself.
A giant redwood sees the fields of wildflowers, the mowing machines, the
potlucks on the picnic benches, the magic of pencils. It hears the cool
silent spaces, and the laughing tourists.
It feels the wind hold it and move against it like a dance partner. Even
Mr. Jason is not mean to a giant redwood. He looks and listens in awe,
and forgets to feel his pain for awhile.
And so the Woman, in the natural order and time of things, knows that
she has always stood up for herself.
She is a Giant Redwood Tree, a field of wildflowers, an old man with one
ear missing ... she is her mother and her father ... she is her aunts and
uncles, and Mrs. Murman ... she is magic.
And the Woman knows that she will always honor anyone who brings
lemon meringue pie, and knows how to do magic, or wants to learn.
The Woman changes, she changes things that she perceives, and she
performs in many places for many people with her magic pencils.
They smile and sometimes laugh, learn to say "No," and ask outrageous
questions and explain interesting things they know. Sometimes someone
asks to learn how to do magic.
And the Woman sees that it is good. It is better than good. It is miraculous
I have a good friend who just told me within the last year
I am working on the next book, also Science Fiction, which will
and wonderful..................................Page 6
that she raised her daughter reading one of my stories to her
(one in the Poetry section, I had no idea anyone liked it that
much!). It is THE DOORMAT WHO WANTED A PET.
be ready in a few weeks, check back with the website for a
first free chapter(s) of that. It will be right here.