In my research today, I just found another version of Lazy Jack. Let me share it with you:
"Now Jack," said his Momma, "you just let me know what the farmer pays you with next time and I will you how you should carry it home."
And so Jack, after having completed his workaday in the hot southwest sun, asked the farmer for his wages.
"Jack, I want to pay you with this cat. You to take this little cat home and give it a place to stay. He'll hunt mice and be nice to pet. Take care of him now. Here's a little box to carry him home in. And you can keep the box."
"Well, no thank you, Mr. Farmer. That box sounds like a good idea and makes sense to me, but Momma said I had to ask her what to do. She has more wisdom than me. I'll come right back after she gives me her answer."
As Jack approached his home, Momma saw him and ran screaming out to him. "Jack, why don't you have any wages? You know how bad we need them."
"Well, Momma, I can bring the kitty in that little twenty-inch box the farmer had for me, but you said to check with you first. So, here I am. Momma, what should I do to get that kitty home?"
"Good boy," said Jack's Momma, "you were so smart to seek me out. Now, listen up. You ask the farmer for a five-foot-five length of rope as one kitty is not enough wages. Then, put the kitty in the box and wrap the rope around the box."
"Isn't that a lot of work, Momma, for a kitty?" asked Jack.
"Hush, young one. Listen to me. Take the kitty-filled box, with the rope, and drag it down the dry river bed back to our house," said Momma with an air of authority.
Jack thought about that river. It had once been dry, back when Momma was young. All the townsfolk did use that river bed for all kinds of good things. But now, the river was wet, wild and hard to cross. The rules about river use were very different now with all that water just flowing freely and fast.
"Momma, the river is full of water and the cat will drown, or at least tear me up something fierce when I drag it in the water. Momma, are you sure that's what you want?"
His Momma was angry. "Jack, are you back talking me? That's the second time this month I had to tell you to just ignore them rumors about there being water in the river. Dragging things down the riverbed is the way we have always done things. Jack, hush your rumor-mongering mouth! Go get that cat!"
And with that, Jack's Momma went into their little house, closed the door and wouldn't let Jack say another single word.
So, Jack dutifully dragged that kitty down the river, getting all scratched and bitten along the way. But at least now, Momma had a five-foot-five length of rope. She used that rope to hang up a sign that read, "Jack is a Bad Boy for Spreading Rumors."
And Jack wasn't sure if he really wanted to bring home his next day's wage.
And here is one more little story. When Jack got the kitty home, he named it "Pyxidis." When he told his Momma that this was the Latin word for "box," she grew very angry. She told him to just call the animal "kitty" and would never let Jack name another animal again without her approval.
The official blog for K. Sean Buvala, storyteller and storytelling coach.
Showing posts with label fairytale. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fairytale. Show all posts
Friday, February 22, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Once
Two nights ago, when I was telling my version of Iron John, I began by saying, "Once." Suddenly, I was overcome by the possibilities of the word. I had to pause and even said to the gathered group, "For some reason, suddenly, the word 'once' is taking great root in my brain at this very moment."
In my singular moment of the word "once" I thought of Hawaii teller Jeff Gere who tells a story about a king who wanted to know the essential nature of time. In that story, he sticks his head in a bowl of water and lives a lifetime before being snapped back into this world, nearly avoiding drowning. When I had that "once" moment on Monday night, I suddenly understood Jeff's story. Inside that moment of "once," I remembered all the stories that I have told. I remembered the possibilities of what "once" means. I thought that just that simple word can mean so much before and so much yet to come.
I thought about the other times I have told Iron John, a story I developed for my work with adolescent boys. I recalled one of the first times I told the story and then debriefed with the boys after it. The kid who had the most to say in that conversation was one that everyone else thought of as a problem boy. "Problem boy" of course meant that his teachers said he did not sit still in class and as an adolescent was too big to try to control in a typical classroom. However, in this discussion of Iron John, he was all over and immersed in the story. He caught nuances that I had missed, found connections others could only shrug at. Amazing kid.
I thought of my gig this weekend where I will be working with freshman boys (14-15 years old) who are working through a spiritual development process. I thought about how honored and lucky I am to not only use my storytelling as "business storytelling" but to be part of an opportunity to engage in a "touchstone" with 40+ young men and their leaders. I'll be telling them the whole version of Iron John.
I looked at the people gathered to hear me tell my story. Many I knew well. I had to stop and say, "I can't tell you how much that one word, 'once,' just meant to me." For them, it was fleeting. For me it was a very long "once."
I know that this is an ethereal post. But it is what happened to me. It is in these moments that I really remember what "once" drew me to this art form. It's who I am.
The official blog for K. Sean Buvala, storyteller and storytelling coach.
In my singular moment of the word "once" I thought of Hawaii teller Jeff Gere who tells a story about a king who wanted to know the essential nature of time. In that story, he sticks his head in a bowl of water and lives a lifetime before being snapped back into this world, nearly avoiding drowning. When I had that "once" moment on Monday night, I suddenly understood Jeff's story. Inside that moment of "once," I remembered all the stories that I have told. I remembered the possibilities of what "once" means. I thought that just that simple word can mean so much before and so much yet to come.
I thought about the other times I have told Iron John, a story I developed for my work with adolescent boys. I recalled one of the first times I told the story and then debriefed with the boys after it. The kid who had the most to say in that conversation was one that everyone else thought of as a problem boy. "Problem boy" of course meant that his teachers said he did not sit still in class and as an adolescent was too big to try to control in a typical classroom. However, in this discussion of Iron John, he was all over and immersed in the story. He caught nuances that I had missed, found connections others could only shrug at. Amazing kid.
I thought of my gig this weekend where I will be working with freshman boys (14-15 years old) who are working through a spiritual development process. I thought about how honored and lucky I am to not only use my storytelling as "business storytelling" but to be part of an opportunity to engage in a "touchstone" with 40+ young men and their leaders. I'll be telling them the whole version of Iron John.
I looked at the people gathered to hear me tell my story. Many I knew well. I had to stop and say, "I can't tell you how much that one word, 'once,' just meant to me." For them, it was fleeting. For me it was a very long "once."
I know that this is an ethereal post. But it is what happened to me. It is in these moments that I really remember what "once" drew me to this art form. It's who I am.
The official blog for K. Sean Buvala, storyteller and storytelling coach.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Today was Probably the Last $65 I Will Send to Tennessee
A Fairy Tale for the Beaten, the Bored and the Board.
Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Votary. Her mother had died and left her alone with her father and her younger sister.
The father grew in love with another woman who also had two daughters just a bit older than Votary. The father married this new woman and they blended their families together to create a new family in the woman's house that was tucked away in the middle of nowhere.
Votary was no slouch. After her mother had died, she learned many skills to the running and tending of a household. Because of this, she joined in happily with the new household and worked with her new step sisters under the directions of her new stepmother. They all lived together for a while in their very small house.
Things did not stay so smooth. Each day Votary was told to drag water to the house in buckets. Each day, she brought in 65 buckets of water! One day she said to her step-mother, “Mother, right near the river is a huge house. It has rooms for all of us and even some space to grow. Since it is near the river, we would be able to get water to the house faster and even more frequently. Think of the things we could do being so close to the water and in a much a larger house.”
“Silly young child,” replied the mother. We cannot move. There is so much history in this home, why would we want to be anywhere more convenient? Isn’t this enough? Now, hush, silly one, and go fetch some water. We’ll dry up without that water. By the way, have I mentioned to you that we seem to have a leak in the barrel? Please be sure to bring some extra water, too.” And with that, the mother smacked Votary on the behind with the broom.
Votary tried to carry on. One day, while she was cleaning out the fireplace, she discovered a new way to complete the job. It was not only faster, but the results were a much cleaner fireplace. As she shared her idea with her step-mother, the mother replied, “Oh, so naive you are. I’ve had your sisters look at the problem. I had a meeting with them while you were off doing something else. They can’t find a single thing to change. As you know, they have been here since the house was built from the bones of dragons. You couldn’t possibly know more than them, they are so wise, being your elders and ancestors. But, if you like, you may have that little space outside, on the fringe of our land, to try out your new idea. Don’t make too much noise and remember to always be a lady. Run along, so that I and my daughters may talk about the past.” And with that, the mother smacked Votary on the head with a piece of kindling from the fireplace.
Votary was sad and sat outside on a tree stump. One of her step-sisters came to her and placed an arm around her shoulders. “Dear,” she said, “ do not worry about the needs of the fireplace. I do think your idea is wonderful, but my sister has been cleaning out the fireplace for so long that there is no way we could possibly let you make that change. Here, have some sweet chocolate. You’ll feel better I am sure.” With that, the older sister patted Votary on the head and walked away, leaving the chocolate bar on the stump. Votary picked up the chocolate and took a bite. Ouch! And with that, she cut her tongue on a sliver of ground glass inside the chocolate.
The next day, as Votary carried one of her buckets of water to the house, she dropped it! It fell to the ground, spilling the precious water everywhere. Votary carried the bucket to the house and asked her step-mother if she knew how to fix the bucket. “Yes, of course I do. Someone long ago wrote down the instructions and I have them here in the house, in the magic box in my bedroom.” replied the mother.
“Oh, what a happy day! May I read the instructions so that I may repair the bucket?” asked the broken-bucket girl. The step-mother replied, “Of course you can. You must first bring me another 25 buckets of water and you must clean out the sink twice a day. Once you have done that I will let you have access to that page of the magic book. If you’d like to read anything else, you’ll need to bring in more water.” And with that, the older woman poked Votary right in the eyes with her fingers. Votary, however, was able to find the instructions she needed at a neighbor’s house and she did not need to bring any extra water at all. When she told the step-mother of this, the step-mother changed the requirements to only 5 buckets of water and the cleaning of the bird cage. Votary rarely read from the magic box.
The next day, Votary’s step-sisters could be heard clapping and cheering. As Votary stepped outside, she saw that her young twelve-year-old sister was carrying a small bucket of water from the river to the house. The older sisters cheered at the youngest sister, shouting encouragement and suggestions. Each day this repeated, each day the little sister becoming better at carrying her bucket of water. However, one day, the little sister dropped the bucket and yelled out, “Damn!” The older step-sisters were shocked. The youngest sister looked at them and said, “I am sorry, I was distracted. I met a boy down by the river and we spent the afternoon together....” Votary was captured by the words her sister spoke, finding joy in her sister’s new discoveries of life.
“EEEK!” cried the step-sisters. “Stop! Do not talk like that! What happened to the cute little girl?” they asked in unison. And with that they cast a magic spell together which caused the littlest sister to fly up in the air and land in a locked tower far away. The sisters cast such a powerful “evasion spell” that the little sister would not be able to come out of the tower for eighteen more years. When the sisters cast the spell, sparks flew from their fingers. And with that, Votary was struck in the face with fire which left scars upon her visage.
Votary’s father, who was often away, caught up with her the next day. “My dear child! My wife and her daughters tell me of your sour nature. They say you have burns upon your face, bloodshot eyes, a vicious tongue, disheveled hair and dust upon your backside. I must insist that you have more decorum. Don’t you know that these relationships take time? Isn’t your new family full of nice people? Please be polite and clean up your act.” He quickly jumped on his horse. His horse then reared up and galloped away. And with that, he left Votary in a cloud of choking dust.
Votary took the words of her father to heart. She returned to the home and worked as she was told. She developed an idea to cook their dinners faster and easier. She was told that meals could only be made one way and any other method would not create real food. Her step-mother threw the cold meat at Votary, hitting her squarely and painfully in the back.
The very next day there was a grand party in the neighborhood. Her step-laws created fine foods for the party using the very methods Votary had suggested. “Look everyone! Look at our new meats and cheeses! Enjoy the fruits of our labor!” When Votary picked up the meat, the searing juices burned her fingers.
Her mother-in-law saw the pain on Votary’s face. “Oh, dear one. I am sorry that you are so hurt. Perhaps you just need to know how much we love you. Listen as I say it again: I- l-o-v-e -y-o-u. Today, and today only, you just need to bring 50 buckets of water to the house. I hope that eases your pain.”
At last, with her sister locked away, her body burned and battered, her contributions denied, her labor increasing, Votary could take it no more. She packed her bags and set out from the house.
“What is this?” screamed her new family members. With anger they continued, “You must have a secret, you must be out to cash-in on all you have learned with us. How can you leave? You ungrateful wretch. We gave you chocolate and everything.”
Votary walked down the road as one last tomato came hurling at her and splattered across the back of her head. She heard her step-mother yell, “We’re tired of you and your secret agendas!”
Votary walked on from her house tucked away in the middle of nowhere.
The step-family and even her father have provided the moral of the story: Votary is a witless, selfish oaf. She should stay where she is loved by the elders who hit her. Maybe if she just tried harder they wouldn’t have a reason to hurt her. She is a self-centered, angry, blood sucker whose motives are unclear. Maybe once she is 50 she’ll understand that she got hurt because they loved her so much.
...or maybe they are wrong.
The official blog for K. Sean Buvala, storyteller and storytelling coach.
Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Votary. Her mother had died and left her alone with her father and her younger sister.
The father grew in love with another woman who also had two daughters just a bit older than Votary. The father married this new woman and they blended their families together to create a new family in the woman's house that was tucked away in the middle of nowhere.
Votary was no slouch. After her mother had died, she learned many skills to the running and tending of a household. Because of this, she joined in happily with the new household and worked with her new step sisters under the directions of her new stepmother. They all lived together for a while in their very small house.
Things did not stay so smooth. Each day Votary was told to drag water to the house in buckets. Each day, she brought in 65 buckets of water! One day she said to her step-mother, “Mother, right near the river is a huge house. It has rooms for all of us and even some space to grow. Since it is near the river, we would be able to get water to the house faster and even more frequently. Think of the things we could do being so close to the water and in a much a larger house.”
“Silly young child,” replied the mother. We cannot move. There is so much history in this home, why would we want to be anywhere more convenient? Isn’t this enough? Now, hush, silly one, and go fetch some water. We’ll dry up without that water. By the way, have I mentioned to you that we seem to have a leak in the barrel? Please be sure to bring some extra water, too.” And with that, the mother smacked Votary on the behind with the broom.
Votary tried to carry on. One day, while she was cleaning out the fireplace, she discovered a new way to complete the job. It was not only faster, but the results were a much cleaner fireplace. As she shared her idea with her step-mother, the mother replied, “Oh, so naive you are. I’ve had your sisters look at the problem. I had a meeting with them while you were off doing something else. They can’t find a single thing to change. As you know, they have been here since the house was built from the bones of dragons. You couldn’t possibly know more than them, they are so wise, being your elders and ancestors. But, if you like, you may have that little space outside, on the fringe of our land, to try out your new idea. Don’t make too much noise and remember to always be a lady. Run along, so that I and my daughters may talk about the past.” And with that, the mother smacked Votary on the head with a piece of kindling from the fireplace.
Votary was sad and sat outside on a tree stump. One of her step-sisters came to her and placed an arm around her shoulders. “Dear,” she said, “ do not worry about the needs of the fireplace. I do think your idea is wonderful, but my sister has been cleaning out the fireplace for so long that there is no way we could possibly let you make that change. Here, have some sweet chocolate. You’ll feel better I am sure.” With that, the older sister patted Votary on the head and walked away, leaving the chocolate bar on the stump. Votary picked up the chocolate and took a bite. Ouch! And with that, she cut her tongue on a sliver of ground glass inside the chocolate.
The next day, as Votary carried one of her buckets of water to the house, she dropped it! It fell to the ground, spilling the precious water everywhere. Votary carried the bucket to the house and asked her step-mother if she knew how to fix the bucket. “Yes, of course I do. Someone long ago wrote down the instructions and I have them here in the house, in the magic box in my bedroom.” replied the mother.
“Oh, what a happy day! May I read the instructions so that I may repair the bucket?” asked the broken-bucket girl. The step-mother replied, “Of course you can. You must first bring me another 25 buckets of water and you must clean out the sink twice a day. Once you have done that I will let you have access to that page of the magic book. If you’d like to read anything else, you’ll need to bring in more water.” And with that, the older woman poked Votary right in the eyes with her fingers. Votary, however, was able to find the instructions she needed at a neighbor’s house and she did not need to bring any extra water at all. When she told the step-mother of this, the step-mother changed the requirements to only 5 buckets of water and the cleaning of the bird cage. Votary rarely read from the magic box.
The next day, Votary’s step-sisters could be heard clapping and cheering. As Votary stepped outside, she saw that her young twelve-year-old sister was carrying a small bucket of water from the river to the house. The older sisters cheered at the youngest sister, shouting encouragement and suggestions. Each day this repeated, each day the little sister becoming better at carrying her bucket of water. However, one day, the little sister dropped the bucket and yelled out, “Damn!” The older step-sisters were shocked. The youngest sister looked at them and said, “I am sorry, I was distracted. I met a boy down by the river and we spent the afternoon together....” Votary was captured by the words her sister spoke, finding joy in her sister’s new discoveries of life.
“EEEK!” cried the step-sisters. “Stop! Do not talk like that! What happened to the cute little girl?” they asked in unison. And with that they cast a magic spell together which caused the littlest sister to fly up in the air and land in a locked tower far away. The sisters cast such a powerful “evasion spell” that the little sister would not be able to come out of the tower for eighteen more years. When the sisters cast the spell, sparks flew from their fingers. And with that, Votary was struck in the face with fire which left scars upon her visage.
Votary’s father, who was often away, caught up with her the next day. “My dear child! My wife and her daughters tell me of your sour nature. They say you have burns upon your face, bloodshot eyes, a vicious tongue, disheveled hair and dust upon your backside. I must insist that you have more decorum. Don’t you know that these relationships take time? Isn’t your new family full of nice people? Please be polite and clean up your act.” He quickly jumped on his horse. His horse then reared up and galloped away. And with that, he left Votary in a cloud of choking dust.
Votary took the words of her father to heart. She returned to the home and worked as she was told. She developed an idea to cook their dinners faster and easier. She was told that meals could only be made one way and any other method would not create real food. Her step-mother threw the cold meat at Votary, hitting her squarely and painfully in the back.
The very next day there was a grand party in the neighborhood. Her step-laws created fine foods for the party using the very methods Votary had suggested. “Look everyone! Look at our new meats and cheeses! Enjoy the fruits of our labor!” When Votary picked up the meat, the searing juices burned her fingers.
Her mother-in-law saw the pain on Votary’s face. “Oh, dear one. I am sorry that you are so hurt. Perhaps you just need to know how much we love you. Listen as I say it again: I- l-o-v-e -y-o-u. Today, and today only, you just need to bring 50 buckets of water to the house. I hope that eases your pain.”
At last, with her sister locked away, her body burned and battered, her contributions denied, her labor increasing, Votary could take it no more. She packed her bags and set out from the house.
“What is this?” screamed her new family members. With anger they continued, “You must have a secret, you must be out to cash-in on all you have learned with us. How can you leave? You ungrateful wretch. We gave you chocolate and everything.”
Votary walked down the road as one last tomato came hurling at her and splattered across the back of her head. She heard her step-mother yell, “We’re tired of you and your secret agendas!”
Votary walked on from her house tucked away in the middle of nowhere.
The step-family and even her father have provided the moral of the story: Votary is a witless, selfish oaf. She should stay where she is loved by the elders who hit her. Maybe if she just tried harder they wouldn’t have a reason to hurt her. She is a self-centered, angry, blood sucker whose motives are unclear. Maybe once she is 50 she’ll understand that she got hurt because they loved her so much.
...or maybe they are wrong.
The official blog for K. Sean Buvala, storyteller and storytelling coach.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
New Video: Rapunzel
Courtesy of the good folks of the Talk Story Festival in Hawaii, I've got a WHOLE bunch of new videos to share with you. So, bandwidth be damned, here is the first of several I can offer you. DON'T repost this, but feel free to have others come here to see it. My take on Rapunzel is here for you now in a video that is compatible with Ipods, Itunes and QuickTime, which is probably on your computer at this very moment. Get the video by clicking on this link right now. WAIT for it, it's a huge file. Patience.
More about TalkStory in a future blog.
More about TalkStory in a future blog.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
September 2007 Podcast from Storyteller.net
Our latest Storyteller.net free podcast is now available. The podcast features excerpts from Storyteller.net director Sean Buvala’s keynote presentation to the Avondale School District’s Staff Gathering. Some 700 people enjoyed Sean’s stories and commentary. The September 2007 podcast includes the stories "The Emperor and the Dragons," "Catching Fire," "The Story that Does Not End," "Crow can Taste Good." There’s a "coaching moment" on how to get people to turn off their cell phones, too. Sponsored by Storytellingproducts.com. This pod cast features storytellers Sean Buvala and Buck P. Creacy.
Listen in when you click here now. You can find the podcast at Itunes. You can find our previous podcasts at this link here.
The CDs and books mentioned in the podcast can be found by clicking these links:
Eleven Nature Tales by Pleasant Despain
Three Minute Tales by Margaret Read MacDonald.
Heart Stories From the Wrong Side of Town by Buck P. Creacy
Seven Ravens: Unvarnished Tales from the Brothers Grimm by K. Sean Buvala
Listen in when you click here now. You can find the podcast at Itunes. You can find our previous podcasts at this link here.
The CDs and books mentioned in the podcast can be found by clicking these links:
Eleven Nature Tales by Pleasant Despain
Three Minute Tales by Margaret Read MacDonald.
Heart Stories From the Wrong Side of Town by Buck P. Creacy
Seven Ravens: Unvarnished Tales from the Brothers Grimm by K. Sean Buvala
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