When Jim McWilliams walked into the class, a room full of fifth graders fell silent. They knew something good was coming.

Jim was “their” storyteller. Once a month the retired lawyer came into the inner-city Oakland school to tell stories to the class. When he spoke of leaders of the Civil Rights Movement, he called them Medgar (Evers) orMartin (Luther King). They had been friends and fellow activists, not just names he read in the newspaper.

The school lay in the heart of a city pocked like a bombing target. Some neighbourhoods were so derelict they looked as if they had been abandoned, and in many ways they had been. Drugs were sold openly. Violence was so common when children talked about gang beatings or drive-by shootings they were generally not referring to television shows.

Most of the houses surrounding the school were in good repair. The streets were home to Black American families with middle-class aspirations, but many of the children in the school were from families barely scraping by or living in poverty. The hills above them were populated be comfortably middle- and upper-class white families. That kind of social disparity has high costs. The average academic ranking of the students in the school was low.

I visited the school to watch Jim in action. He started out with a short folktale, something  surefire to warm up his audience. They listened, as they always did when Jim spoke, but they were listless and distracted.

Jim finished his story and looked around. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

The children answered glumly, “They’re closing our school.”

School closures were being announced regularly in the Bay Area, a curious consequence of the federal “No Child Left Behind” program that was mandating standardized tests and minimal performance standards. Schools that didn’t measure up to required standards were losing funding.

“Why are they closing your school?” Jim asked.

“Because we’re dumb kids.”

Jim was startled, but he understood after their teacher read part of a news release. It named schools being closed because they were “underperforming”. The kids knew what that meant. They were dumb.

“Are you dumb kids?” Jim asked.

“No,” they chorused.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

It hadn’t occurred to the children they could challenge the school board’s decision. As Jim talked with them and asked them questions, the gloom in the class lifted. Jim organized students to write letters to the school board. He taught them how to protest the closure of the school and their portrayal as underachievers, how to get on the speakers’ list at the next board meeting, how to stand up for themselves, how to contact media and enlist allies. (They learned the lesson well and talked him into coming with them to the board meeting and speaking on their behalf.)

The children’s eyes were shining when we left. They were sitting tall. They were afire with enthusiasm and not because they expected the school board to reverse its decision. Jim had been clear that was unlikely.

Jim had given them something more important than winning a battle to keep the school open. He had given them a new story. They were not “dumb kids”. They were smart, socially active fighters for justice.

I don’t know how long they held onto that new story. I don’t know how many lives were changed that day. I do know a room full of children learned they could refuse to be labeled.

And that is a powerful story.

Cathryn Wellner, Kelowna, BC

Along Cathryn’s meandering career path have been stints as a French teacher, a school librarian, an itinerant storyteller, a university instructor, a community developer, a communications consultant, and a project manager. Then there were the years as a farmer, rancher, and arts organizer. She’s a citizen of two countries and has lived in five. The upside of all that change is stories. Now she’s settling down to write them: Catching Courage Cathryn Wellner Story Route This Gives Me Hope Follow her on Twitter: @StoryRoute

©2013 A Hopeful Sign. All Rights Reserved.

(Post by COLLEEN CANNEY)

During my middle school years, I had the experience of being bullied. At the time, the term “bullying” wasn’t as readily used as it is today. To me, the situation was just viewed as one that entailed being the target for a group of popular girls. Walking down the hall brought about extreme anxiety as I wondered, “What verbal onslaughts will be thrown my way today?” I was also harassed because of my grades. One day for example, my History teacher posted our grades outside the classroom door and someone wrote, “Brown Noser,” beside my name because I received an A. After that experience, I remember hiding exam grades for fear of being taunted.

The bullying situation hit a climax right before my 8th grade graduation. The leader of the popular girl pack, a tall blonde who caused me the most grief, threatened to beat me up. As a result of this scare tactic, I hid in my closet and never attended my 8th grade graduation. This was the first time I “skipped” school but at the time, I didn’t see any other alternative. As a rather shy and petite individual, I couldn’t fathom going head-to-head with an extremely intimidating girl twice my size. I had no idea what it meant to fight and I sure didn’t want to find out.

8th grade graduation caused me to see my situation in desperate terms. The thought of going through high school with these mean girls constantly harassing me was not something I wanted to sign-up for. The day after I hid in my closet, I talked, or rather begged, my parents to send me to another school outside of our district. Luckily my parents had the financial means to pay for a private school so during the summer before freshman year of high school, I enrolled in a Catholic high school about 30 miles from my house.

During my freshman year at the private high school I attended, I remember standing in the cafeteria when a wave of anxiety came over me. I was having flashbacks of being bullied and found myself nervously peering around me, wondering if someone was going to start yelling choice words at me or give me “if looks could kill” glares. Then a wave of relief came over me and I realized that no one was paying any attention to me (in a good way!). At this point I realized there was no need to live in fear at school anymore. I was safe in my new school and I could let my guard down.

High school turned out to be a completely different experience for me than middle school. I thrived in the strong academic environment the private school fostered and found that I “fit” with my fellow studious classmates who also loved school and were driven to excel.  In high school I no longer had to hide from who I truly was but instead I could simply just be.

The question of why I became the target for bullying perplexed me for some time. After a number of years of contemplation however, my conclusion is that I didn’t fit the mold for the homogenous community that I grew up in. It seemed as though these girls picked-up on the fact that I wasn’t going to conform to the standard norm and my quiet defiance threatened their collective power. I didn’t dress like them, think like them, and didn’t strive to be like them, even though they were the so-called “popular girls.” While I was fairly insecure as a result of being bullied, I still clung to my strong sense of self that wanted to fully emerge.

From my experience of being bullied, I learned a few different lessons that may help others who have experienced bullying:

1. Deep within every person there is a well of courage – Being bullied has given me confidence to stand firm in who I am and what I believe in. Being a follower in life will only get you so far and will really limit your way of thinking. It’s important to forge your own identity in life, even if it means going against the norm. When we develop an authentic sense of self-confidence, we no longer question who we are.

2. Don’t waste time on individuals who don’t accept you – In life we may meet a few or many individuals who simply don’t like us for whatever reason and while this fact may be hard to accept, once we do accept it, we will be more at peace in life. Instead of going through trying to gain approval from others, we simply just need to remain true to ourselves and have compassion and empathy for others, even those who reject us.

3. During our darkest hours light will eventually emerge – When we are in the midst of seemingly unbearable pain, we may feel as though our situation is hopeless and we may struggle to see a way out. What we must remember however is that each of us has a tremendous amount of tenacity within us and miraculously we can find the strength to overcome adversity. When we do find this strength, the universe will help us see the path we are meant to follow. Lightness will then overtake the darkness that has been suffocating us.

Colleen Canney, Seattle, Washington

Colleen Canney is a Career and Spiritual Leadership Coach with clients around the world. Colleen brings a well-rounded background that includes an MBA and over ten years’ experience working as a Human Resources professional in both the private and non-private sectors. For more information, visit www.colleencanney.com. She is available via phone and in-person. If you are unemployed and need some guidance and support, contact Colleen for a FREE consultation. Email at: colleencanney (at) live (dot) com

©2013 A Hopeful Sign. All Rights Reserved.

A little while ago, I changed the way I talk to clients about retirement.  I used to ask them what they wanted their retirement to look like.  And then I came to the realization that it doesn’t matter a jot what their retirement LOOKS like.  It can LOOK happy, successful, prosperous – and all those other good things that we want our retirement to be… but if it doesn’t FEEL good, then none of the rest matters!

So, with that in mind, I invite you to take a look at the coming week, and all the things you have planned for it and ask yourself these questions:

How do you FEEL about the stuff that you’ve got on your calendar?

and

How do you FEEL about the people you’ll be spending your time with?

And, since I love a good thought-provoker, try these too:

What’s lighting you up today?

and

What are you really looking forward to doing this week?

And, finally, if your answers to the above have left you feeling a little less than enthusiastic…

What’s the next step?

Ann Harrison, Manchester, United Kingdom

Ann is a Retirement Options™ trained retirement coach and Too Young To Retire™ facilitator. She is also a writer, blogger and creator of information products; she retired from her job in education management at the ripe old age of forty-three. She is the author of ebooks, “The Retirement Detox Programme: 40 days to get your retirement back on track” and ‘Thought Provokers: Questions you need to ask yourself BEFORE you retire”. For more information, check out her retirement Blog or follow her on Twitter.

©2013 A Hopeful Sign. All Rights Reserved.

(Post by CATHRYN WELLNER)

The image still resonates for me. Bart Becker described a young fellow leading a frail old man to center stage. He sat the old guy in a chair and took off his hat. Then he walked offstage and came back carrying an acoustic guitar.

What happened next was one of those moments when fireworks go off in our brains, when we know the world will never be the same again. Son House picked up his guitar and “transformed from a little old man who couldn’t walk 20 steps by himself into a churning bundle of raw, exciting, sensual energy”.

The 80-year-old Mississippi bluesman poured every cell of his soul into the music. Becker had played in bands from the time he was in seventh grade. He had spent every extra dime on records. Music was in his bones, but he had never sat under the spell of music so profound it was “the inarticulate speech of the heart”.

By the time Becker wrote those words he had gone on to become music critic for the Seattle Times. I read his piece in the April 1, 1987, edition. I know the date because I still have the yellowed article. The paragraph he wrote about two-thirds through the article is engraved on my heart. Whenever I taught a new group of storytellers after that, I shared it with them. And now, as I sit down every day to pour my soul onto the page, I hear the words again.

Becker wrote:

“What Son House dropped on me was that art is alive, not dead. Creativity, whether primitive or futuristic, is not schooling and technique and logic and analysis; it is intelligence; it is unselfconscious, natural, spontaneous, free expression. Art is subversive, it’s about not following rules. And greatness has nothing to do with popularity and the marketplace. In Son House’s case, he had made a few recordings some 50 years before that hardly anybody ever heard, even then. When you dare to open up and express yourself, you have already not failed. It takes guts to dig into yourself looking for real truths, and the success is in the deed itself.”

Whatever you do that reaches right down into your soul, whatever is born of that ache for expression, is the gift you bring to the world. It is the gift only you can offer.

Dig deep and fearlessly. The world needs the truths you’ll find there.

Cathryn Wellner, Kelowna, BC

Along Cathryn’s meandering career path have been stints as a French teacher, a school librarian, an itinerant storyteller, a university instructor, a community developer, a communications consultant, and a project manager. Then there were the years as a farmer, rancher, and arts organizer. She’s a citizen of two countries and has lived in five. The upside of all that change is stories. Now she’s settling down to write them: Catching Courage Cathryn Wellner Story Route This Gives Me Hope Follow her on Twitter: @StoryRoute

©2013 A Hopeful Sign. All Rights Reserved.

(Post by GAIL BRENNER)

Still plagued by your past? Then this post is for you. But only if you want to be free, only if you want to know the open-heartedness and enthusiasm for life that come with making peace with the past.

As you probably know, sometimes events from the past have a mind of their own. Memories keep recirculating when all you want is for them to disappear. You are way more emotionally reactive than you know is good for you. And you are limited by distrust, neediness, and a stunted view of what is possible for you.

If you know your past is still nipping at your heels, read on. Because you will discover 10 facts that may just be the key to unlock the door to your full, unbridled, joyful, infinitely sane expression of you. Be free of the past, and you can go on and simply enjoy your life.

How do I know? From first-hand experience. For many years, I had a very rocky relationship with my parents, filled with anger and resentment about the past. My mind screamed about the “should have’s” and “ought to be’s.” I kept an endless list about what I deserved, but thought I had missed out on.

There were periods with no communication and many arguments as we tried and failed repeatedly to find a way of meeting. Until I saw the light.

In a moment of insight, I took responsibility for my own happiness. I saw that my anger was preventing me from experiencing the ease and well being that I desperately wanted, so I stopped feeding it. No more stories about what should have been, no more blaming or waiting for solutions.

My identity as the wounded child disappeared, and what was revealed? Happiness. Peace.

The story of what happened in my past didn’t change. But what I gave power to totally changed. I stopped dwelling on the past. I stopped justifying the anger, and now, 15 years later, I have trouble even remembering the details of events that used to agitate me to no end. I am so much more drawn to ease and simplicity.

Yes, my relationship with my parents has improved beautifully, but that has been a side effect and not the primary driver. What I wanted more than anything was to be free of the past and happy in the now. And, yes, I am free of the past and so deeply happy in the timeless now.

What happened to me is, without question, possible for you. Apply these 10 life-changing facts to the sticky residue from your past. See clearly, get unstuck, and move forward free and unencumbered.

1. The past isn’t really about the past.

When you look with great clarity, you will see that there is no actual thing called the past. Everything that happens happens in the present – it can’t be any other way. Memories of events are thoughts occurring in the present. Anger or hurt about the past is happening now.

Your present moment experience in the now is what keeps the past alive.

What is amazing about this understanding is that it shows you that the way out of your suffering is always in the present. You can change your perspective – now, focus on something different – now, feel your feelings – as they are right now.

If you want to heal from the past, put your attention on your present moment experience.

2. Memories are not the problem.

A memory is a thought, and a thought has no power or meaning whatsoever, unless you give it power or meaning. You have many thoughts about things that happened long ago, and these thoughts cause no problems.

But some thoughts are sticky. You have an emotional reaction to them and you think them over and over. You may even have beliefs related to them, for example, “I am justified in thinking this” or “I need an apology so I can move on.” This keeps them very much alive, affecting your ongoing experience.

If you want to be free of the past, lose interest in these sticky thoughts. Know that it doesn’t serve you to repeat them and that thinking they are justified only delays your freedom. Be prepared to take a look at the pure experience of your feelings without the layer of thinking that solidifies them (see #6 below).

3. “Healing” means letting go so the thoughts and feelings don’t impact you.

Your goal is to neutralize the story from the past so it loses its power over you. It becomes transparent, with no meaning and no effect. You change your relationship to your thoughts so they don’t sit like a dark cloud over you.

Your goal is not to:

• Make yourself forget about the past (impossible)
• Stuff or ignore your feelings (creates other problems – addiction, anyone?)
• Wait for an apology or acknowledgment (postpones happiness)
• Wait for time to heal all wounds (you may need more than time)
• Wallow endlessly in your emotions (oh, so painful)
• Redo the past (you can’t change what happened but you absolutely can change your reaction to what happened)

Keep holding as possible: freedom…peace…sanity…freshness in the moment…fully alive now.

4. The path to healing opens up once you are fed up by how the stories about the past impact you.

As I’m happy to say as often as necessary, what you focus on is what will grow. If you cultivate sadness, regret, and revenge, then they will become your reality.

As an alternative, be very willing to see through these stories as much as is needed. Be open to energy moving through your body rather than staying stuck. Prepare yourself to feel differently.

Contemplate not defining yourself by thoughts about the past.

5. You get a jump-start on releasing the past when you take full responsibility.

Once you see that the ball is totally in your court, you have set the stage for deep letting go. Your happiness is your responsibility alone, not anyone else’s.

You might be very familiar with feeling like a victim. But this is a passive, unempowered position, leaving you waiting for words or actions from someone else, something you cannot control.

Taking responsibility means being open to recognizing how your own internal landscape is feeding your suffering. What thoughts make you unhappy? What feelings are stuck in your body and heart? How do you make yourself suffer by recycling negative memories through your mind?

Being stuck in the past means that a part of your heart is closed. Take responsibility for going right into those bruised and tender places. Read on to find out how.

6. Telling stories keeps the past lodged in your mind, heart, body, and spirit.

We tell ourselves all sorts of stories that bring trouble to our lives. Want to be trouble-free? Here is the medicine.

1. Notice how entranced you can be by the stories of drama and victimhood that appear in your mind.
2. Just for a moment, let yourself lose interest in these thought stories. (see #2 above)
3. See that what is left is a pattern of physical sensations, maybe gripping, tension, or burning. You may never have noticed these sensations before, but they have probably been there for a long time.
4. Now notice this: You are aware, and these sensations are appearing in your awareness. They come, go, and change, but here you are: aware.
5. Take the perspective of awareness, and the sensations have the freedom to be. They aren’t ignored or suppressed. You aren’t so busy in the story that you don’t notice them.
6. Now notice: Are you suffering? No, you are simply experiencing sensation as awareness.

This is freedom – no attention to the story, experience appearing and disappearing with ease. You: unchanging, clear, undisturbed.

7. Beliefs about healing can get in the way.

Besides getting stuck in the story, you might become aware of beliefs you hold about what needs to happen for you to let go. These are simply more thoughts that keep you distracted from the heart of the matter. Here are some possibilities:

• “I feel justified in staying stuck because I was wronged.”
• “It is someone else’s responsibility to make this better for me.”
• “If I let go, I’m somehow approving others’ bad behavior.”
• “I need an apology.”
• “Life is unfair.”
• “It was so bad that it’s not possible for me to heal.”

You life begins now, in this very moment…and now…and now. You can always start anew.

Don’t feed these limiting thoughts, and you won’t need them to disappear. Proceed to discover that you were never not whole, that a part of you has always been untouched by the world.

8. Relationship troubles relate to your past.

Unless you see through all of it, you are a product of your past and the ideas you have formed about how relationships work. This keeps the past alive in the present.

Do you fear rejection or commitment? Do you feel you need approval and attention? Do you isolate or push people away? Do you need to be on top and in control? Do you have difficulty trusting?

If these tendencies cause you problems in your relationships, here is your opportunity. Untangle your thoughts and feelings about the past, and live in freedom from them as you move forward.

9. The middle path is the intelligent path.

Dwelling on what happened and leaking your feelings all over the place will keep you suffering. Hiding, indulging, or stuffing your feelings doesn’t work in the long-term.

Instead, bring intelligence and clarity to your direct experience. Cultivate a fire for peace and ease that serves you well.

10. Finding out who you are is the ultimate freedom.

If you define yourself by your past, you will be living as a fraction of what is possible for you. Say you think of yourself as wronged or abused or victimized. Or you see yourself as having gotten the short end of the stick.

Defining yourself by what happened doesn’t help you now. It’s like wearing clothes that never fit. Is it time to take them off?

It’s easy to believe in a mistaken identity. It feels so true to think we are the result of what happened or the sum total of our thoughts and feelings.

But the truest thing about you is that you are aware. Life presents a passing array of experiences – thoughts, emotions, events, people. These all arise in you but are not you.

Live as the awareness that you are – fully alive, here, not in conflict with anything. Know who you are, and the pain of the past will barely be a ripple…on the surface…of the immeasurable vastness of you.

Gail Brenner, Santa Barbara, California

Dr. Gail Brenner is a psychologist with 17 years experience offering psychotherapy. She has worked with adults, elders, couples, families, and teenagers as well as people with pain and chronic medical problems. Her therapy involves helping people gain the insights they need to release mental and emotional patterns that distract from happiness, inner peace, and full creative expression. For more information, check out her blog (A Flourishing Life) or website (Stress and Depression Therapy), follow her on Twitter or send her an email.

©2013 A Hopeful Sign. All Rights Reserved.

(Post by AIMEE LEDEWITZ WEINSTEIN)

I never doubt that my kids are indeed children of privilege, which is not necessarily bad, because the important thing, I believe, is what one does with that privilege.  In recent weeks my kids have had many lessons in humility and giving, and the grace that comes along with the ability to recognize the gifts of humanity, no matter how they are packaged.

We started our journey of lessons at the Asian University for Women (AUW) fundraiser.  AUW, located in Bangladesh, takes young women from around the region and gives them a top-notch university education. The support committee, of which I am a part, showed an American PBS film about Women and the Taliban in Afghanistan and how they are fighting back.  My son who is 13 understood a lot of it, but my daughter who is 10, did not.  The important part for both of them, though, was the speeches that followed the movie by the two girls who had come to Tokyo from AUW in Bangladesh.  One girl, originally from Afghanistan, stressed the importance of education, finding one’s voice, and telling one’s story.  The other, from Nepal, spoke eloquently on the idea of one person making a difference and changing the world.  Both kids were enthralled by these two girls.  Obviously young, they carried themselves with poise that belied their backgrounds and they spoke confidently about their viewpoints and ideas, something my children could admire and appreciate.

The next day after hearing the girls at the AUW event, the kids, my husband and I got on a plane for Southeast Asia.  We spent the next six days exploring Hanoi, Vietnam, and Siem Reap and Phnom Penh Cambodia.  (You can read about our adventures on http://TokyoWriter.com)

It wasn’t our first trip to the region, but seeing the extreme poverty never gets any easier, especially for the kids.  Hanoi was chock full of honking cars, a mix of traditional and modern architecture, and people who were thrilled to see tourists.  Many people approached us on the street to sell us something, and of course, some were kinder than others.  When my daughter expressed discomfort, my husband explained that this was how people made their living; not everyone can afford a storefront.  We bought things we wanted and said no to vendors when we had to.

In Siem Reap, the resort hotels eclipse some of the more extreme poverty, but it was really unavoidable as we took a boat ride up the Tonle Sap Lake to see the floating villages there.  Random kids approached us over and over again, begging, one little girl with a snake around her neck asking if we wanted to give her a dollar to see the snake up close.  Another girl approached us as we were eating our dinner at a sidewalk café.  My daughter was stricken when we wouldn’t buy her books and the girl groaned her disappointment. I faltered when I explained that one to my own darling girl.  That young lady was helping her family by trying to sell the books.  Maybe she had been in school all day and worked a little to make extra money at the dinner hour, but this was her life and this was what she knew.  Even I could tell that the explanation fell flat – of course the girl could observe that we could afford dinner in a restaurant and she couldn’t – but we noticed our daughter chewing on what she had seen and the ideas I presented.

That night was the start of the Jewish holiday of Passover, and our normal celebrations at home include a large seder with many friends.  It’s the holiday when we retell the story of the exodus of the Jews from Egypt – it’s a celebration of freedom.  I had packed a few copies of our Haggadah, the book we read at the table for Passover, so the four of us sat in our hotel room after dinner reading about our ancestors and telling the story as it is commanded, as if we ourselves were enslaved in Egypt, feeling the yoke of slavery and the gratitude for the miracles wrought by God to bring about its end, even if did mean forty years of wandering in the desert.  We tell it that way to encourage empathy and enhance that gratitude.  In addition to telling the story faithfully to our children every year, we – Jews – infuse the seder with the Jewish value of Tikkun Olam, saving the world.  “Let all who are hungry come eat,” says the Haggadah, commanding not just Jews, but really everyone, to share the gifts they are given.

Even though it was the lowest-key seder we’ve ever had, and the smallest, it was by far the most meaningful.  The kids were both able to talk about not just freedom to walk around and go wherever they please, but also freedom from tyranny and freedom from want.  The Haggadah gave them language to appreciate the accident of their birth into a loving and financially stable, Western family.  We were able to talk about the gifts of their good brains and the ability to use them and the bright girls who go to AUW on scholarship who have a stroke of luck to get their fine education whereas our kids tend to take their schooling for granted.  They vowed never to complain about it.

We saw some exquisite sights throughout Vietnam and Cambodia, things that will stay with us for the rest of our lives.  One morning we woke the kids before the sun to see Angkor Wat at sunrise, an enthralling picture that I can still see weeks later when I close my eyes.  To think that was built in the 12th century!  Later that day, my son said that he was sorry he fussed (which he really hadn’t) about getting up because it was worth it, and he was going to tell his kids about it someday.

Angkor Wat at Sunrise

“Maybe you’ll take your own kids to see it,” I suggested.

My daughter watched my son nod in agreement and smile. “Maybe,” she allowed finally, “But I hope I can give my kids what you and Daddy give me.”

I don’t think she understood my silent hug or the tears that sprang to my eyes as I surveyed both of my children.  My children are among the luckiest there are to be American and live an exciting life abroad in Japan.  They have every gadget available as well as access to the finest schools and activities in the world. I have no idea whether these lessons will stay with them even into next month, but I am sure that we planted seeds in the children that week, seeds that will hopefully bloom into beautiful tomorrows.

Aimee Ledewitz Weinstein, Tokyo, Japan

Dr. Aimee Weinstein is a writer and writing professor who has lived six out of the last eight years in Tokyo, Japan. She received her doctorate from the Department of Higher Education at George Mason University and has held positions at Temple University Japan, The George Washington University, and George Mason University. She has taught a variety of writing courses, from freshman composition to advanced expository writing. Her work has been published in Kaleidescope, Tokyo Weekender, inTouch, and Asian Jewish Life. She also maintains a regular blog at TokyoWriter, where she fondly observes Tokyo life through the eyes of an American expat and writes about writing. Aimee currently resides in Tokyo with her supportive husband and two beautiful children, where she continues to write and help others in their writing. Twitter: https://twitter.com/TokyoWriter 

©2013 A Hopeful Sign. All Rights Reserved.

It was our final day of the 2012 summer holidays – and one that would get our adrenalin pumping over and over again.

John and I were in Clearwater, BC – the gateway to Wells Gray Provincial Park. We’d been in the park a few weeks earlier at the start of our holiday where for five days we’d kayaked the motorboat free and very beautiful Murtle Lake.

This time we were here to go whitewater rafting. We’d chosen an all day trip called Guaranteed Addiction put on by Interior Whitewater Expeditions.

Our group consisted of thirteen people plus two very experienced guides – Elijah and Olivier.  We were an interesting mix of ages and nationalities. There were a few young couples in their twenties through to a gentleman in his sixties. People came from as far away as the Cayman Islands, The Netherlands and France as well as from nearby Kamloops. For many it was their first time whitewater rafting.

When we started rafting little did we know that our first adrenalin rush of the day would come in the form of a waterfall. We became intimately acquainted with 100 foot Moul Falls – before we even got going with a series of Class III and IV rapids on the Clearwater River.

(Moul Falls – about 35 meters high)

After the usual safety talk – which was very thorough – we all donned wetsuits and helmets. And then it was a quick paddle across the river followed by a steep hike for a solid half an hour. At the top of the trail we got our first view of Moul Falls. Kind of pretty is what I thought especially when it’s hidden away in the wilderness.

(Walking behind Moul Falls)

Then we descended to a path behind the waterfall – which with the wind and the water left me gasping for air. But that was nothing compared to how I was going to feel in a few minutes! Next up was a walk through the water at the bottom of Moul Falls – a new and I would say terrifying experience for me. I didn’t think I could do it – but not wanting to be the wimp in the group I stumbled and gasped my way through to the other side of the falls.

After surviving the falls I felt exhilarated.

(Practically suffocating as we walk through the bottom of a waterfall)

(Exhilarated on the other side of the falls)

There were a few people who were happy to go through the falls more than once. I was content to watch. And anticipate the rapids I knew lay waiting ahead.

(Anticipation of our first and only Class 4 wave)

Once back to the river it was time to meet Sabretooth – the gnarliest and scariest of the rapids we were to raft that day.

We didn’t flip despite getting high up on the side of the raft. Thank heavens because a set of Class III rapids - the S Bends – were up next and I didn’t fancy swimming them.

We pulled out right after the S Bend rapid for lunch. A riverside break provided welcome relief from the excitement so far. I knew there were more big rapids ahead but Class III rapids don’t terrify me the way a Class IV can.

Lunch was great. The van driver had set up a build your own sandwich table plus there was a homemade pasta salad as a side dish. Fresh fruit, homemade chocolate brownies and iced tea rounded out lunch. We were given time to digest and relax before hopping in the boat for a very agreeable section of floating.

(Enjoying a riverside lunch)

The afternoon was slightly mellower than the morning. That doesn’t mean we still didn’t have kilometers of wild water. We did and there were some great rapids in that lot – Shark’s Tooth, Shane’s Demise, Buckaroo and Granite Canyon.

We also had to sidestep the raft around a Class VI rapid that even from shore looked menacing. A few people have tried it over the years but none would attempt it again.

(One of the Class III rapids we hit in the afternoon)

Over the last few kilometers you’re given a chance to jump out of the raft and float down the river. I passed on the opportunity, happy to relax and just watch the world float by. At about 4:30 we pulled into Clearwater, just steps from where we started the day.

What I particularly liked about the Clearwater River compared to many I have rafted is the fact that there are no roads alongside the river except for the last kilometer as you head into town. The river is one of the few of its size that isn’t dammed either.

Interior Whitewater Expeditions is a company I’d highly recommend. This year they’re celebrating their 30th anniversary and they are one of only two rafting companies in Canada whose trips the Canadian Tourism Commission has recognized for its remarkable experience.

Another raft trip they offer is a four day trip on the Chilcotin and Fraser Rivers. I’d had a glimpse of the landscape around the Chilcotin River when we visited Junction Sheep Range Provincial Park a week earlier. I’d like to see more of this area and I can imagine that it would make a fantastic family trip.

Leigh McAdam, Calgary, Canada   

Leigh thrives on change and travel provides that. She has explored the world, a grand total of 53 countries (all continents except Antarctica). She is a photographer and travel writer in search of compelling images and stories that capture the essence of her adventures. Currently, she is working on a book featuring the Canadian outdoors. Check out her blog HikeBikeTravel or contact her on Facebook or Twitter.

©2013 A Hopeful Sign. All Rights Reserved.

Griot. Raconteur. Bard. Jongleur. Seanchai. Skop. Troubadors and minstrals. Spinner of yarns. Any way you call them they are stoytellers. And storytellers have shaped our societies and reflected our cultures for all of recorded history, and before—from the time of cave paintings, songs and campfires.

Because oral storytelling is told through memory, it spreads with a fluid and dynamic quality whose effect is alive, immediate and visceral. And ever evolving.

Being Romanian Helped…

When I was a young girl, I wanted to be an actress. I enjoyed telling stories to my brother and sister. My sister and I shared a bazillion adventure stories (most of them twisted and funny) about two twin brothers and sisters who solved mysteries in outer space. Because our cast and stories were epic, we dispensed with the limitations of set (not enough dolls and stuffed animals) and went straight into the oral storytelling tradition: we liberated ourselves and shared our stories anywhere and anytime we chose. While I never did participate in theatre or drama in school, I did cultivate the art of oral storytelling. An art I may have come by quite honestly as a Romanian.

Romanians are consummate storytellers; the country is brim with imaginative and compelling folktales, myth and supernatural phenomena. Romanian oral epic includes a large body of heroic songs, fantastic and mythological songs, haiduc songs (on the exploits of heroic social outlaws), and balladic narrative songs of a more lyric nature.

When my son was growing up, I used to read him stories at bedtime. It was a time of incredible bonding: sharing stories and laughter. I did all the voices and sound effects. It didn’t stop there; soon I was making up scenarios all my own with a cast of hundreds and my son leapt in with both feet. It was like when I was younger, creating stories with my sister. My son and I created worlds peopled by fantastic characters: there was “little girl” (me) and there was Baby Poopy and Baby Bang Bang (him) and a host of others. My son played some parts (usually the rational ones) and I played others (usually the silly ones). Using Lego, we even created a whole new twisted Star Wars universe where Luke Skywalker had a falsetto voice and Darth Vader had given up his evil ways and turned into an old grumpy hermit with a flatulence problem, who grew beans in his garden. There were no boundaries to our imaginative play and twisted humor.

The Age of Oral Storytelling

Oral storytelling is an ancient tradition and the most personal and intimate form of sharing stories. The storyteller and the listeners are physically close and, through the story connection, psychically close. Storytellers bring their own personality and character to the story; they ultimately reveal and share themselves through their telling and the listeners reveal and share themselves through their reception of the story. The intimacy and connection is deepened by the flexibility of oral storytelling which allows the tale to be molded to each audience and location or environment where it’s being told. Listeners experience the immediacy of a creative process taking place in their presence and, even more than that, they experience the empowerment of being a part of that creative process (which is often interactive).

Early storytelling combined stories, poetry, music, and dance. Storytelling was natural for everyone but those who excelled at it became the entertainers, educators, cultural advisors and historians of their community. The history of a culture was handed down from generation to generation through its oral storytellers.

The 9th century fictional storyteller Scheherazade in “1001 Arabian Nights” saves herself from execution by telling tales. Centuries before Scheherazade the storyteller Vyasa at the beginning of the Indian epic Mahabharata says, “If you listen carefully, at the end you’ll be someone else.”

During the Middle Ages storytellers told their stories in market places and became honored members in royal courts. According to storyteller Ruth Sawyer, Medieval storytellers were expected to know all the current tales. They were expected to “repeat all the noteworthy theses from the universities, to be well informed on court scandal, to know the healing power of herbs and simples (medicines), to be able to compose verses to a lord or lady at a moment’s notice, and to play on at least two of the instruments then in favor at court.”

The Age of Audiobooks and IPhone

An audio book is a recording of the contents of a book read aloud. They have been around for over 70 years, but their popularity has swiftly grown to an all time high.

Ubiquitous mobile devices like iPods and iPhones have made audiobooks much more accessible and easy to download and portably listen to. Audiobooks are also valuable learning tools due to their format. They are convenient in multi-tasking scenarios.

Audiobooks on cassette or CD are typically more expensive than hardcovers because of the added expense of recording and the lack of the economy of scale in high “print” runs that are available in print book publishing. However, downloadable audiobooks cost less than hardcovers and can even be less than their paperback equivalents. Market penetration of audiobooks is still substantially lower than for their printed counterparts despite the high market penetration of the hardware (MP3 and WMA players) and despite the massive market penetration achieved by audio music products. But this is changing.

Downloadable audiobooks don’t carry mass production costs; they don’t require storage of a large inventory, physical packaging or transportation and even if “returned” don’t require a cost of physical return or destruction/disposal. Like the downloadable ebook, audiobooks are taking the storytelling industry by storm.

Amy Harmon of the New York Times recounts this scenario: “JIM HARRIS, a lifelong bookworm, cracked the covers of only four books last year. But he listened to 54, all unabridged. He listened to Harry Potter and “Moby-Dick, Don DeLillo and Stephen King. He listened in the car, eating lunch, doing the dishes, sitting in doctors’ offices and climbing the stairs at work.” Harmon recounts how 53 year old Mr. Harris, a computer programmer in Memphis, hadn’t read that much since he was in college. Of course, for some diehard literary types “listening” isn’t the same as “reading”.

Fortunately for Mr. Harris, the ranks of the reading purists are dwindling, says Harmon. “Fewer Americans are reading books than a decade ago, according to the National Endowment for the Arts, but almost a third more are listening to them on tapes, CD’s and iPods and iPhones.”

For a growing group of devoted listeners, the popularity of audio books is redefining the notion of reading, which for centuries has been centered on the written word. Audio books, says Harmon, have seduced members of a literate but busy crowd by allowing them to read while doing something else. “Digital audio that can be zapped onto an MP3 player is also luring converts. Audio books, which still represent only about 3 percent of all books sold, do not exactly herald a return to the Homeric tradition. But their growing popularity has sparked debate among readers, writers and cultural critics about the best way to consume literature.”
For me, the audiobook represents more. Audiobooks aren’t just another aspect of our convenient, fast-paced, multitasking culture. Audio books provide a different form of creative storytelling that is both refreshing and thoroughly engaging.

Of course, some books are better told this way than others and the storyteller’s role is paramount. Inflection, cadence, passion and voice all play a critical role in the oral narrative.

My Audiobook

My science fiction space thriller “Outer Diverse” was recently released by Iambik Audiobooks as an audiobook, narrated by Dawn Harvey. And I am ecstatic! When I first listened to the proof, I was blown away. It was as though Dawn had created a whole new story, as though she’d breathed life into Rhea Hawke and the myriad of alien characters in Rhea’s universe. Dawn had applied cadence, inflection, joy and humor into each character and set. Remember how Orsen Wells created mass hysteria with his rendition of “War of the Worlds”? Give yourself the gift of pure joy with audiobooks.

Nina Munteanu, Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, Canada

Nina has written several novels, short stories, and essays published worldwide and translated into several languages. Nina teaches and coaches writing through her website www.ninamunteanu.com. Her acclaimed “The Fiction Writer: Get Published, Write Now!” is currently the textbook for creative writing classes at several universities and schools in North America. Nina’s blog is the Alien Next Door. Follow Nina on Facebook and Twitter.

©2013 A Hopeful Sign. All Rights Reserved.

©2013 A Hopeful Sign. All Rights Reserved.

(Post by KAREN VELEZ)

I had never met the woman who was going to give the presentation to the class.  I saw the Power Point slides and the text that was intended to go with each slide about a month ago. I had redlined it.  “No, don’t say that!  This is not my son.  Insert this,” I thought, as I marked through each page.

I did not know if any of the changes were made.  It was out of my control.

And so I sat on pins and needles at the back of the classroom.  The desks had been pushed closely together toward the middle of the room.  The perimeter was opened up.   The children from the other first grade class, next door, had carried their chairs into my son’s class.  In groups of 2, 3 and 4 they sat on the ends of each row.  The Vice Principal of the school had popped in to observe.  Both first grade teachers were present.

I looked at my son.  He was in his white t-shirt, his trademark look in play, the tilt of the head, eyes off to one side, smiling.  He was softly talking about the class turtle, a favorite subject of his.  I was overwhelmed.

All of this was to increase understanding amongst his classmates, and potentially, his classmates for next year.  This was all organized for my son by his teacher and his ABA providers.  But from the talk in the office, the school officials were all well aware of what was happening today in the first grade.  The class was learning about autism.

It was time to explain why my son was different and how those differences are not for teasing, or isolating or ignoring.  Everything was done in a way to encourage friendship,  to teach the children how to be a good friend to someone with autism.  To play with someone with autism and to accept that he might not respond the way other kids do was a theme.  There was emphasis that even though my son might not be able to express it, he will be happy and glad for the friendships that come.

The presenter was an assistant director from the company that provides my son his one-on-one ABA classroom aides.  She was lively and kind.  Positive and approachable.  She talked about special things my son could do and one of the kids raised a hand and mentioned how they knew my son could spell because he was second in the spelling bee!

She took questions after the presentation was over.  The questions were not so much questions as statements about the kids themselves.  Some of them told stories about how some noises upset them, how they were anxious and scared in new situations too, like the first time a couple of them slept in bunk beds away from home or heard a fire drill bell.

One boy asked if there was a cure for autism.  The answer by the presenter was that it was no different that being born with blue eyes.  She carefully skirted the word “cure” altogether.

My son’s teacher asked the children to raise their hands to thank the presenter and when they did, to tell the class one thing the child learned from the presentation.  Most said they learned how children with autism can be extra sensitive to sound.  Others said they learned that children with autism might not talk like the rest of the class.

I was touched by all this effort for my son.  I told him before it began, what was going to happen.  I don’t know whether he knew or understood that this effort was for him.  He has not spoken about it at all.  He seemed to pay the same attention to the program that I normally see him pay attention to anything else in that classroom.  Some of the time, he appeared to be listening.  Most of the time, he appeared to be elsewhere.  He did have a couple quiet but clear verbal outbursts of echolalia, related to his class turtle during the program.

My son’s teacher asked at the end of the program what the children could do to be a good friend to my son.  She encouraged them to play with anyone on the playground who was alone.  A few of the kids said they would play with my son.  I have no idea how much of that was true, or they felt it was expected on their part.  He never looked at anyone who spoke about him but he was always smiling.

For my part, the day before the program occurred, I offered an idea.  I told my son’s teacher that if she had each of the children draw a picture after the program, I would add the text, “I have a friend with autism” to the pictures and turn them all into buttons the kids could wear.  They would wear their own artwork and support a friendship with my son.  She agreed.

I did not know what I was getting myself into at first.  My intent was to take the photos of the artwork and turn them into buttons.  I ended up at Michael’s, an arts and crafts store, which sells buttons.  You insert your own photos.  The buttons were $4.99 a dozen.  I made up wallet sized photos of the art and inserted them.  I’ve got a few more to do-over since the words did not fit well enough or brightly enough on the buttons to be visible, but this is what they look like:

Once finished, I will insert them in plastic bags, tie them together with a sugar cookie shaped like a puzzle piece and pass them out to the class.  I hope the buttons stick with them for a long time.  Someday, they will meet another person with autism.  I hope it is something they will associate with a happy feeling and accept and embrace without question.  This program did a lot to foster that.  I will alway remember and be grateful to everyone who had a part in it.

Some people are just good by nature.  We are lucky to be surrounded by them.  In a world of hurt, arguing and pain, it is nice to have such a loving supportive community surrounding my child.

Karen Velez, Sacramento, California

Karen is a lawyer and mom of a 6 year old boy with autism. She works part time and spends the rest driving here and there and everywhere for her son’s various therapies. Instead of trying cases, she now plays Pac-man and watches SpongeBob. She wears old sweaters and jeans and always, always flat shoes to run after her son. “Yeah, it’s different,” she says, “but I wouldn’t change it for anything. The love of my child is the most powerful, beautiful and rewarding aspect of my life.” Visit her blog Solodialogue or follow her on Facebook or Twitter.

©2013 A Hopeful Sign. All Rights Reserved.