Monthly Archives: April 2020

Worst Day Leads to “Best Week”

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Worst Day Leads

To “Best Week”

What was the best week of your life to date?

It is an impossible question, really, with your answer likely depending on the phase of the moon and your current frame of mind. Was it your wedding day and honeymoon? Maybe summer camp as a child? Or the miraculous first week as a parent?

Traveling to Ireland and sensing the ethereal presence of my great-great-great-grandfather who sailed from those shores, alone at age 14, to America is another contender for me.

Ideally, we do not have a single best week but many. Hence, this is my new best week because my daughter’s debut novel, “The Best Week That Never Happened” from Month9Books, has just been released. It is a childhood dream come true for her, which makes it my dream come true as well.

As you might imagine, a thousand images have flashed across my imagination this week. One memory is of a 6-year-old girl sitting at the kitchen table and typing on my Radio Shack portable word processor. Using one finger, and slowly searching out each key, she wrote her stories.

In second grade, she had a poem – “Peanut Butter Surprise” about a PB&J sandwich made with a jellyfish because the grape jelly ran out – printed in The Star’s “Kids Corner” feature. She never looked back, self-publishing a book in fifth grade that sold 2,000 copies; released two more short-story collections; had a play produced off-Broadway; received the John Steinbeck Creative Writing Fellowship; and now reached No. 1 on Amazon’s list for Young Adult New Releases. Each, and countless more highlights amidst, has been a best week at the time it happened.

And yet “The Best Week That Never Happened” has me thinking of a worst week that did happen. A week of overwhelming grief that began on Jan. 26 five years past. At 5 a.m., my daughter phoned and said in a tear-choked voice: “Daddy, Celine is gone.”

One of her two best friends in the world was in India for a wedding, during one of the best weeks in her 26-year-young life, and the taxi she was riding in was broadsided by a bus.

On its homeward voyage, Apollo 11’s Command Module “Columbia” crossed an invisible Rubicon where the moon’s gravitational attraction yielded imperceptibly to the pull of Earth’s gravity. Mourners experience a similar invisible line where the gravity of grief and loss are overcome by the pull of healing and happiness.

After Celine’s death, my daughter’s Rubicon seemed too distant for a rocket ship to reach. For long stretches, she even stopped writing. Then, out of the blue, came the proverbial lightning bolt of inspiration and she began pouring out her grief through the QWERTY keyboard.

“On some level,” my daughter says now, “I was writing – trying to write – a different ending for Celine than the one she was dealt.”

The result is a YA novel of love, mystery and magic set in Hawaii that is not about Celine at all, yet she is throughout its pages.

The result also is testament to the wisdom of the great poet Robert Frost: “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.”

And the result is, according to bestselling author Jennifer Niven, “A poignant and gripping heart-tug of a page-turner filled with heart and hope. I couldn’t put it down. Magic.”

The most magical result is that the moment my daughter typed out the ending sentence she found herself crying and smiling simultaneously. Her grief was coming and going at once. She had crossed the imperceptible Rubicon.

Another best week in Dallas’s life had arrived.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

 

Mrs. Figs’ “Storytime” is Magical

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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“Storytime With Mrs. Figs”

Offers Magical Healing

It is said that reading aloud to young children fosters a love for books and literature that lasts a lifetime. Connie Halpern, however, pays lip service to this noble notion.

Literally.

Four weeks past, in an effort to make these shelter-in-place days and nights a little less confining for children, Connie started a not-for-profit channel on YouTube.com entitled “Storytime with Mrs. Figs.” She believes even coronavirus cannot quarantine a child’s imagination.

You may well recognize Connie’s pseudonym because for the past decade, before recently selling her independent bookstore, Connie was the effervescent shopkeeper of “Mrs. Figs Bookworm” in Camarillo.

“I believe strongly in the healing qualities of stories,” Connie says in explanation of why she created “Storytime.”

Down the road, again literally, Connie plans to travel by motor home and read to children all across America. For now, she is spreading the healing qualities of stories online.

Connie Halpern, aka the marvelous “Mrs. Figs.”

To date, Mrs. Figs has posted eight fireside Storytimes, including: “The Day the Crayons Quit” by Drew Daywalt and its bestselling sequel, “The Day the Crayons Came Home”; “Wild About Books” by Judy Sierra; “After the Fall” by Dan Santat; and “All in a Day” by Cynthia Rylant. More stories promise to be added as she receives copyright permission from publishers and authors.

Previously, the favorite fireplace I had ever seen was in Mark Twain’s home in Hartford, Conn., in his library to be specific.

Making it special is the elaborately carved oak mantelpiece that came from Ayton Castle in Scotland. Displayed upon it, from left to right, are a painted round vase; large seashell; marble figure of a woman; tall blue vase; silver serving platter; framed painting of a woman wearing a red winter coat and black hat; bronze tile of Twain’s profile; matching tall blue vase; white pottery water jar; small blue vase; a typing paper-sized painting of a cat’s face surround by ruffles; and a tiny bronze harp figurine.

I detail the items because each evening the master storywriter became an oral storyteller by making up a new tale for his young daughters in which he incorporated the entire ensemble, always beginning with the “Cat in a Ruff” painting. To imagine Twain performing one of his off-the-cuff stories is to imagine magic.

Connie’s “Storytime” is surely similar magic brought to life. She even reads while sitting beside an elegant fireplace, flames flickering as warmly as her voice, the handsome wooden mantle filled fully from left to right with books. It is my new favorite fireplace.

To say Mrs. Figs reads aloud is not quite accurate. Rather, she performs, the words seemingly memorized as she displays the illustrations to the listener/viewer. Additionally, she offers introductory thoughts about each book and other wisdoms.

“The only thing that you absolutely have to know,” Albert Einstein said, “is the location of the library.” During stay-and-shelter with children, knowing the location of “Storytime With Mrs. Figs” on YouTube is an absolute must.

Reading a book has been called a time machine. Mrs. Figs further proves that for adults, listening to a children’s book can magically transport us back to kindergarten naptime or even younger while being tucked into bed as our mother read us to sleep.

“Now you get to close your eyes,” Connie even coos after finishing one performance.

“It is my prayer that stories will be one small way that we can ‘stay-connected-while-sheltered’ during ‘stay-and-shelter,’ ” Connie allows, her words echoing the spiritual origins of Mrs. FIGs: Faith In God.

“Until next time, much love to you,” Connie signs off each episode. All that is missing is a kiss on the forehead.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

 

Readers Share “Warm” Memories

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Readers Share Own

“Warm” Memories

Two weeks back in this space, I turned back the calendar five decades and shared a story about a kindergarten boy who embarrassingly did not making it to the classroom’s bathroom in time.

That column, headlined “Cowboy boots filled with a warm memory,” resulted in a flood – pun intended – of emails from readers.

In hopes of offering a brief distraction from COVID-19, and perhaps a few laughs in the process, here are a few of the responses.

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“You gave me the best laugh of the week with ‘– Squish! Squish! Squish! –’ ” wrote Patrick Martin, who then returned the favor with this observation: “Ironically, now that we are at the other end of the age spectrum, such an event might be in store for us again. I wonder if Depends makes absorbent socks?”

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“You nailed it!” wrote Fred Romero, hitting the nail on the head himself with this: “I’m sure a lot of us adults can relate in one fashion or another.”

Mike Pedersen, for one, related with a memory from when he was 8 or 9:

“My story would be my grandmother finding soiled underpants in a drawer of their 2 bed, 1 bath on 24th Street in Del Mar – right across Highway 1 from the beach.”

The important fact was the one bathroom, as Mike explained the cause of his accident: “Grandpa was taking forever in the bathroom.”

His grandmother’s reply: “He gets a little constipated sometimes.”

“May have been the first time I’d heard that word,” Mike recalls.

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Rick Throckmorton related with this: “7th grade for me! Old Ocean View School on Olds Road. 2 classrooms, 1 bathroom. 60-70 kids and 2 teachers!

“I think it was built in the ‘teens. Guess educators back then figured it was sufficient, since we were surrounded by citrus orchards. Which, by the way, were used – at least by us boys – frequently during recess.

“Won’t tell you what happened, it’s still embarrassing,” Rick continued, but hinted with this: “Had to do with the bottom of the ninth, I think, and I was on-deck. Or was it bottom of the 3rd at recess?

“Mom and Dad worked the fields, no phones, certainly no cell phones, and therefore no dry clothes! But a (now old) buddy loaned me his sweatshirt, which I wrapped around my waist and hid most of the incriminating evidence.”

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This heartwarming “happy little memory of mine” came from Sharon Bisaccia:

“Thanks for today’s sweet story about a little boy and his cowboy boots.

I laughed until I had tears in my eyes. I loved it! It reminded me of another little five-year-old, my youngest grandson.

“One day, I received a call from the kindergarten teacher at Ojai Elementary School when I was at work at Ojai Village Pharmacy. She explained that Cody hadn’t made it to the bathroom in time. She was unable to locate his mother and could I possibly come and take care of him.

“ ‘Well, of course,’ was my reply.

“I arrived at the school to pick up my precious forlorn-looking little grandson.

We sped home where he trustingly allowed me to remove his damp clothing and to sponge him off and to find him dry clothing.

“With a hug and a smile, I returned him to school and all was well.

“I have never forgotten the look of relief on his face and the complete trust that little boy placed in me. This all happened many years ago. That little boy is now almost 30 and he and I have been great pals for many years!”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

 

Linked Hands In A Wheat Field

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Our Hands Linked,

Even If Only Virtually

 

Ventura County is rightly renowned for its strawberry fields. But my hometown also makes me think of wheat—specifically, a wheat field in a tiny farm town in Ohio.

The story goes like this:

A young girl wandered from home and became lost in the family’s wheat field that had grown taller than she. Her parents called out her name repeatedly, searched frantically, but could not find her.

Soon her three siblings, then neighbors as well, joined the hunt. But as daylight dimmed and disappeared, the little girl still had not been found.

By now seemingly half the townspeople were hectically racing through the wheat field trying to find the little girl, but with no success. The wheat field was simply too vast.

“Wheat Field With Crows” by Vincent van Gogh.

Night fell and with it the temperature. If the little girl was not found soon, she would surely perish from hypothermia. At long last, her father called everyone in from the wheat field.

No, he had not given up on finding his dear daughter. Rather, he had an idea. He gathered all the volunteers together and had them join hands to form a long human chain. More accurately, they formed a human comb.

They then walked together, side by side by side, combing through the tall amber waves of grain. In this manner they did not miss a single area as had happened when they randomly searched separately.

Within ten minutes, the search party of more than one hundred individuals – now united as one – found the little girl curled up on the ground …

… shivering and trying to stay warm, but still alive.

In a grander sense, it seems to me, the wheat field represents Ventura County – and even the world – most especially during challenging times like these COVID-19 “stay-at-home” days and nights.

All of us figuratively get lost at times and need the help of others. Our local healthcare professionals, restaurant staffs providing takeout meals, pharmacy and grocery workers, Instacart shoppers and retirement home caregivers, and so many more are now linking hands on the front lines, so to speak, to help the rest of us.

The rest of us, in turn, by “sheltering-in-place” as asked are figuratively linking hands to help keep our most vulnerable citizens – those over age 65, those with compromised immune systems, those with asthma – as safe from coronavirus as possible. Additionally, many in our “human comb” are further helping our small businesses by ordering takeout meals or having other products delivered to our homes.

Here is what else I see in our “wheat field.” I see people “social distancing” as advised, yet still “connecting” with others with a smile and a wave outside from safely afar or though a window; with phone calls, emails and video chats; with Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.

With our hands linked, virtually, we will eventually emerge from this current wheat field challenge. Perhaps we will be shivering, as though having stayed in the ocean too long; but, as if wrapped in a beach towel, we will quickly warm up again.

When this frightening moment in history passes and the warmth of normal returns, and with it the warmth of real hugs replacing virtual ones, I hope we will be better because it.

Correction. I am convinced we will be better because if it.

Already, I believe, we are seeing one another – from doctors and nurses to grocery workers and pizza delivery drivers, from co-workers and neighbors to the elderly and shut-ins – with a new appreciation.

Yes, when I think of the wheat field story, the new soundtrack is by Beatles: “Strawberry Fields Forever.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …