Is it making a difference at all?

I found an interesting article in Storytelling Magazine, January/February 2006; More Than Memory by Meg Gilman (pg 21). Meg tells of her first experience in storytelling with a group of Alzheimer’s patients. Many of my clients are not only the children of Alzheimer’s patients, but caregivers as well. I understand the feeling of not knowing if the people you are interacting with are interacting in return. Asking yourself if what you are offering is wanted or needed, is it making a difference at all? Ms Gilman stuck with it and when she talked with the nurses a months in, they told her what a marked difference they saw on a day to day with the patients. So much so that they began a daily reading, not the same as a storytelling, but a good way to keep their imaginations moving.
I utilized storytelling through music to capture and hold the attention and motivate special needs children for years. If I could find a tune that they could repeat and recall then add bits of verbal cues and information then they would take it to the next step and add new information then build on what they already knew. Not only did it make it easier for them to learn a new task, but also they could recall old tasks and information more quickly.
Currently I am a storytelling facilitator at several nursing homes in my local area. Sometimes I hear the same story many times and sometimes it is the same story but with different facts. Either way I enjoy listening, and they enjoy telling. Sometimes I tell a story that they have told me and it brings some smiles of recognition.

Sometimes there is no immediate gratification for a job well done, but if you are diligent and mindful of those you serve, you can be richly rewarded with out a word being said. When you witness the spark of a connection that can only be seen when you look into a persons eyes; that is the reward.

Your don't have to preserve a memory, you can create a new one.
Namaste Dear One's

A Coming of Age

Most people from the north will tell you all about the winters. They are not just cold they are bitter cold. When you breathe your breath looks like the smoke from an old coal locomotive, and you never want to have a runny nose, it only leads to icicles hanging and glistening like diamond earrings. You wear so many layers of sweaters and jackets and mittens and socks and scarves that if you’re not careful you just might end up getting all the way home before you realize you have grabbed the wrong kid. There is a time for every season and a season for coming of age.
Summer…. ah the New York summer, that was my time of year.
The front porch roof!!
Every summer my older brothers would climb out their bedroom window and lay on the front porch roof. It was the best view for watching the stars and my brothers always bragged it up to their friends. And every year I would ask if I could go with them and they would tell me “NO WAY”
Early the summer of my 12th year my parents divorced and my brothers went to live with my father and my mom moved me into the coveted front bedroom overlooking the front porch roof.
I had finally earned the right of passage. Even if it was by default,
I moved my stuff in the room and that night as soon as I knew my mother was asleep I quietly opened my bedroom window and climbed out… I just stood there for a minute WOW it was all they said and more. I reached back in the window and grabbed my blanket and carefully spread it out on the rooftop and sat right in the middle. It was very humid and I could feel the moist night air on my skin, there was a slight breeze and I could hear the sounds of crickets, an owl and off in the distance an occasional car. Across the road a field of golden rod moved ever so slowly back and forth, like a rippling ocean of gold. I lay back on and gazed up at the night sky. It was even more beautiful than I thought it would be. The night sky was deep blue and the stars hung like a necklace around the moon. I just lay still and listened to the sounds of the night.
What is your coming of age story?