tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33153477948418864502024-02-28T15:43:24.652-08:00Improvising our lives . . .musings on the ordinary from a retired drama professorPatricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.comBlogger555125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-29216235340241760252024-01-02T13:46:00.000-08:002024-01-02T13:46:46.483-08:00The Yelp of Yesterday: People<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> <span style="text-align: center;">“Soon enough, nobody will remember life before the Internet. What does this unavoidable fact mean?”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Michael Harris, <i>The End of Absence </i>(2014)<i>,</i></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The Yelp of Yesterday</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Harris’ profound book is a wake-up call to those of us “of a certain age.” He points out that at 77 I fall into a demographic that has lived as an adult through both a life with <i>and</i> without the Internet. “If we’re the last people in history to know life before the Internet, we are also the only ones who will ever speak, as it were, both languages. We are the only fluent translators of Before and After.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> The story of my midlife trip around the world, without a phone, seems more important in the light of his observation. No one born today or hereafter can ever take a trip around the world without a phone . . . even if they don’t carry one themselves. So it falls to me to tell the story of what that was like.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I arrived on a night bus from the Phuket airport to the coast side town. I spent my fortieth birthday alone on Kata Beach in Thailand. There were no birthday greetings since I was 3000 miles from home and there was no telephone service of any kind or post office in the beachfront town where I had rented a thatched cottage by the beach. Facebook wasn’t even a twinkle in someone’s eye and there was no such thing as Wi-fi anywhere. Anywhere. On that December 3 day, I watched a sunset break over the ocean so pink and peach and lavender spectacular that I can still remember it. My diary noted that the only person I had spoken to all day was a waiter who brought me grilled fish. I did a small watercolor painting in my journal to commemorate that sunset.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The year was 1982 and I was six months into a trip around the world. I was alone, carrying one small brown suitcase and I was without a phone. It was as close to paradise as I can imagine. The place was actually called Shangri-la, if you can believe it. I was surrounded by solitude, nature and what Michael Harris calls “absence.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I’m not here as a crusader about the “good old days” to compare the magic of traveling without Yelp or a GPS. Recounting the trip does point out that attention was a more natural exercise without the constant distraction of our devices.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">When I wanted to know something, I would ask someone or if the question was factual I would go to a library and stand in front of long rows of wooden drawers filled with cream colored index cards: the card catalogue. These cards, which were carefully indexed by subject, name or author, were just the first step in acquiring what was needed to answer a question. Once a likely book was identified there was the issue of getting the book. Perhaps it was in the stacks above or it may have been housed in another library. I might need to fill out a request for an interlibrary loan, wait two weeks and then return to have a look at the book. When I was able to get my hands on the book then I needed to read it, cull the information, formulate an answer to my query and jot down the findings on some 3 X 5 note cards that I kept in a little green tin box. Research.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">No future generation will ever go through this procedure. It would have seemed like science fiction to imagine typing a question onto a computer screen or speaking the question out loud and having the answer appear instantly. Research. Really? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Actual humans were the Yelp of yesterday. As I traveled the world and wanted to know a good place to crash or a reliable bus route or the best local fish I would ask someone I met on the road. Strangers became the links to places, goods and services. I kept a tiny notebook in which I would record recommendations gathered along the way. In Nepal it was the Kathmandu Guest House or K. C.’S Restaurant and on Bali it was Murni’s Restaurant where I’d go to get the scoop on travel tips. I learned to trust the network of travelers I met. On the road to Pokhara I met someone who had just come from there and had a suggestion for a good place to sleep. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The key life skill that was needed was the ability to pay attention to reality, to stay alert to all that was happening and to the people I met and the advice I gathered. Attention became my best friend and the biggest challenge as I traveled. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">From my diary of December 5, 1982 <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“I realized that traveling well takes real alertness, attention, mindfulness and a high degree of tolerance and flexibility. I'm gaining these skills. Spacing out is not allowed. In transit I must stay clear. That's probably why traveling is such real work. There is no time to go slack.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-80773222991521052222023-10-30T10:24:00.001-07:002023-10-30T10:24:50.741-07:00Patricia Ryan Madson . . . Early years. 1942 - 1965<p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Beginnings<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> I have a clear memory of a vocabulary lesson in sixth grade English: the word was "pragmatic." I loved the word immediately. I have always been drawn toward utility. For me the useful and the beautiful are one. I prefer any gift that is useful over something strictly decorative. Baskets, boxes, bags and small holders of things are appealing to me. Art is best, I think, when it teaches something important about living or can be used in daily life. I am drawn to calligraphy for the message that infuses the artwork and to beautiful pottery in that can be used to hold food. Textiles that cover the body, warm the bed or cover the floor interest me. The highest compliment I know as a teacher is that some teaching has proven useful to a student. Utility, the<i> summum bonum</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> I have a reverence for the practical . . . the pragmatic. I don't know where this deep sense comes from. It seems that I have had it from earliest memory, and it forms the basis of my personal values. This attraction led me into theatre. Theatre offers a concrete form for expression, for community. It provides something that we all need- scheduled community organized around work that results in a gift. I loved studying theatre in college because it gave me a place to go every evening and be with others in a way that was not merely social. We did something together; we expressed ourselves to one another using a playwrights words. When we had finished the process of rehearsing we invited a big group (the audience) to our party and played for them, with them, in front of them. And then we closed up our work, struck the set, put away the costumes, wiped clean the makeup tables, threw away the wilted flowers from our admirers, and celebrated with a cast party where we ate, danced, sang and congratulated one another for our mutual work. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> I've often thought I was in it for the parties and the unique sense of belonging that develops within the cast of a play. I liked having a fixed ending: closing night. This "family" then went its separate ways. A new community formed with each new project. Because the act of creating theatre together meets so many human needs -- community, expression, order and celebration--it is a form worth preserving and developing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> It was unexpected that I became a Drama teacher. Professor Raymond Hodges, Chair of the Theatre Arts Department of what was then called Richmond Professional Institute (now Virginia Commonwealth University) called me in to suggest that I apply for a job as the Drama teacher at St. Catherine's School for Girls in Richmond, Virginia. He had seen in me something that pointed toward this calling. I had no training as a teacher. Literally the thought had not crossed my mind. I was interested in Theatre but mainly as an actress. I knew hardly enough about this wide and deep profession to act in it. Soon I would be teaching it to others.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> We sometimes teach out of our own ignorance and as the writer of Jonathan Livingston Seagull pointed out: "We teach what we most need to learn." That was indeed my case. St. Catherine's School hired me in the summer of 1964 to begin as "the Drama teacher" for the whole school. I even had my very own theatre, McVey Hall, a sturdy proscenium house that seated four or five hundred students. In addition to the formal school auditorium, McVey Hall had an office for the Drama teacher and an entire Costume Shop behind it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> The Costume Shop was packed with dusty boxes filled with an overabundance of used articles given by the Jr. League after they were rejected at the church thrift sale. Weekly some lady would appear at the back door with a "donation to the costume shop." There were also old costumes that had been sewn for school plays going back at least 50 years. My predecessor had been a round faced white haired woman who had lovingly cared for these garments, collecting them over the years and cataloging them in boxes labeled "Hats, Men, felt, fedoras (1930's)" and in crayon handwritten on the same box "Archies' bowler." <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> I maintained that wilderness of cloth and gilt and memories during my two years as a resident teacher there, chain smoking menthol cigarettes in my office when I wasn't teaching or directing. It fell to me to direct the annual St. Catherine's Day pageant, an event that honored the Senior girl who most personified the qualities of the school's namesake. It was an odd ritual to my mind. Poor St. Catherine died having been tortured on a wheel. I can't remember ever knowing what her crime was, but I do remember clearly that the Lower school girls all did artwork for the big day rendering their youthful vision of what it looked like to be tortured on a rack. All along the wall of the Lower school were appalling pictures, stick figures and some better, of a woman with blood gushing out of her, spread eagle, nailed to a giant wheel. Early porn as far as I could tell which everyone took very, very seriously. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> The pageant itself was a big deal. The entire school got to vote on who would be "St. Catherine" and her maid of honor or I think it was called the "Standard Bearer" (the runner up). As the Drama teacher I was the very first to know the name of the chosen since it fell to me to outfit her to appear on stage in a tableaux as the martyred Saint. There was a box marked "St. Catherine's Day - Costumes" In it were a series of costume pieces and crowns and props used every year for this event. It was a tradition that the girl chosen as St. Catherine would wear the same dress that had been worn by all the other St. C's from beginningless time. When I pulled out THE DRESS I was horrified to see that it was literally falling apart. It had been altered so often that the seams and darts were shredding and the waistline had pulled apart from the shirt. It was probably a size 7 in today's measure and perfect if you were doing a wax figure of Mrs. Amersham, the old woman who at 94 was still waiting for the groom to arrive amid the cobwebs in the Gothic novel.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> What needed to be done was to design a new gown for St. C that "fits all sizes". So I created a design of a flowing "mu-mu" garment held together by a golden cord at the waist which crossed the body decorously. I cut a piece from the heirloom dress worn by 50 years of St. Catherines and sewed it into the hem of the new costume to honor the tradition. I considered those young women to come over the years and future Drama teachers who would be saved the long night of alterations of the old gown. I wonder if that costume survives? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-26536396231037563192023-08-03T10:09:00.000-07:002023-08-03T10:09:39.922-07:00Improv Game: Random Acts of Kindness<p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in; text-align: right;"><b><span style="color: #333333;">Random Acts of Kindness Introductions</span></b><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in; text-align: right;"><b><span style="color: #333333;">The Improv Game created by </span></b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/appliedimprov/permalink/10156040180790571/"><b><span style="color: #6699cc;">Nat Tsolak</span></b></a><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in; text-align: right;"><b><span style="color: #333333;">August, 2015</span></b><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Random_act_of_kindness"><span style="color: #6699cc; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">From Wikipedia:</span></a><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">“Random act of kindness</span></i><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">A <b>random act of kindness</b> is a selfless act performed by a person or people wishing either to assist or to cheer up an individual person or people. The phrase may have been coined by </span></i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_Herbert_(writer)"><i><span style="color: #215c96; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">Anne Herbert</span></i></a><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">, who says that she wrote "Practice random kindness and senseless acts of beauty" on a place mat at a </span></i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sausalito"><i><span style="color: #215c96; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">Sausalito</span></i></a><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;"> restaurant in 1982 or 1983.</span></i><i><sup><span style="color: #215c96; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">[1][2]</span></sup></i><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;"> Either spontaneous or planned, random acts of kindness are encouraged by various communities.”</span></i><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">One of the perks of being a member of the </span><a href="http://appliedimprov.ning.com/"><span style="color: #6699cc; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">AIN</span></a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;"> (Applied Improv Network) is meeting others around the world involved in using improvisation tools to help people. Nat Tsolak from the UK (London) has a background in both Psychology and business as well as comedy improv. We have never met, but reading his posts on Facebook I’m sure that we’d be great friends if our paths do breach the big pond someday. </span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">A few weeks ago I was intrigued by an announcement that he had created a new game that he calls: “Random Acts of Kindness.” His purpose, he states, in coming up with the game was to find a way to build trust between strangers that didn’t rely on true personal revelations. And also to give new players a chance to practice making up improvised stories.</span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">So, the basic game, as I understand it, is for a member of the group to introduce another member by telling an improvised story which features their subject having done a “random act of kindness.” The real value, as I see it, is to speak about someone in a wholly positive light, raising his status by sharing the little known fact. E. g. “I’d like to introduce Jason. Very few people know that he always pays for the guy behind him when he crosses a toll bridge or paid freeway.” “Meet Selena. She collects water in a watering can in her shower and everyday waters her neighbor’s flower garden. With the California drought it has made a difference.”</span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">The idea is to simply endow someone as having done a kind and thoughtful deed that benefits others. There is no need for the story to be wildly creative or fantastical. (Although it can be.) The key thing is for us all to see that person (that character) in a positive light. I think an added benefit is that these ideas fill the room with warm pictures of human actions that help others. </span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">A development of the game is to have the recipient agree to the story and add a detail from their perspective. To illustrate this (Jason above) might add: “Yes, and one day a lady was so charmed by my paying her toll that she rushed to catch up with me, jumped out of the car at a stoplight where we were both stopped and gave me a rose!”</span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Baskerville SemiBold", serif;">Clearly, this game (as is true for most games) can be used for other purposes. A lot depends upon what the early examples are. It’s certainly possible to use the prompt as a way of coming up with the most elaborate and hysterical “act”, and thereby turn the game into a comedy creation session. For my money, striving to make the endowments into wildly silly actions subverts the game. Then, participants get the idea that we are trying to create “crazy stuff ” and may miss the point of making their partner look good. When I teach this I always remind them that simple, ordinary examples of a “random act” are terrific. We aren’t trying to outdo each other with cleverness. Our purpose is to make up a story that tells of a positive action someone did. The person receiving the story about them should feel great! Maybe that’s the measure of the game. </span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-11300975209554193112023-05-20T15:09:00.001-07:002023-05-20T15:17:55.620-07:00Thoughts on becoming a better partner<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtUm7QmPygBNgl_qmkW-_7S4hLbTZmNWd-gG0hr0FcriWyD4d-wmpSJ3jmk2MsPBlv1bT7CarGbN7ga731lfu9jHxyewu094keu4BONaPvqLyhalyLw88K4tCxYRvwey3AxNhkgP4nACe6QDfdMBOCSuZoZV3CyYF-EZ3Bh95uW0JLHw0nkFxOeQbRuw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1576" data-original-width="1653" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtUm7QmPygBNgl_qmkW-_7S4hLbTZmNWd-gG0hr0FcriWyD4d-wmpSJ3jmk2MsPBlv1bT7CarGbN7ga731lfu9jHxyewu094keu4BONaPvqLyhalyLw88K4tCxYRvwey3AxNhkgP4nACe6QDfdMBOCSuZoZV3CyYF-EZ3Bh95uW0JLHw0nkFxOeQbRuw=w326-h310" width="326" /></a></div></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">A Better Marriage: </div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Five Ways to be a good husband or wife</span></div><div><p></p></div><i>
Constructive Living </i>reminds us that we can only improve ourselves. We can’t “fix” other people no matter how long or hard we try. So give up effort in trying to change your partner. If you want a better marriage do things that make <i>you</i> a more loving and thoughtful wife or husband. <div><br /></div><div>Here are five practical techniques: </div><div><br /></div><div>1. <b>Become a world class listener. </b> When your partner speaks shut down your inner monologue and respectfully really listen to what they are saying. Pay special attention if they mention likes/dislikes so that you can act on these when you can. Never interrupt. </div><div><br /></div><div>2. <b>Create family rituals/routines </b>and do them together. E.g. Make the bed together each morning. Hold hands when you say a grace or blessing. Create a “Friday night Pizza and Movie”. Go to the Farmer’s Market together on the weekend.</div><div><br /></div><div> 3.<b> Give to your partner. Give gifts,</b> especially handmade (favorite cookies, a night at their favorite restaurant), <b>Do “Secret Service”</b> These are little surprises like filling up the car with gas, noticing that he/she has run out of a favorite soap and replacing it. Take care of something without mentioning it or taking credit. (An unpaid bill) If you “get caught” it’s okay to fess up. <b>GIVE time</b> to help them with projects. <b>GIVE “Thanks”</b> . . . . notice and thank specifically for little things as well as large. A wise man once said: “Give what you want to get.” </div><div><br /></div><div>4. <b>Touch</b>.: Hug, kiss, hold hands, Massage feet and shoulders. </div><div><br /></div><div>5.<b> Offer to help them</b> with their purposes. E.g. . . . wash his running clothes, buy her some special art supplies, etc. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>All these suggestions are within your power. You don’t have to wait for your spouse to change. The simple act of really listening can open new lines of communication. Don’t assume because you’ve heard this story before that you know it’s importance. Ask questions to discover why they love to tell this story.
It is also a thoughtful thing to always consider the convenience of your spouse. Give them the tastiest piece of meat, the best seat at the table and the choice of what show to watch together.
The more you focus on <i>what you can give</i> your partner I predict the stronger your marriage can become.</div><div><br /></div><div> Patricia Ryan Madson </div><div>El Granada, CA </div><div>May 20, 2023</div></div>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-13730621378993507892023-04-20T08:46:00.000-07:002023-04-20T08:46:07.045-07:00The Culture of Improv <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4fZOU16WXXcwmq2ctBQGbnUrkmFeVQqp448wq9YyXTswrFIdwYjLFq_pvjXgADV41solt4UeEX1V1co7p2l_rmBV3wdd2QqYLqpLKXM3S_iFOyISf_U6bqer8D6ziOVc63jCRN_JP7XBYKcbW23R9oxA_GhXqhhpANE6-ZoEm85iwRYSgFmWGWGcIw/s6300/2023-4-15%20Simps%20Reunion-Group%201.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4200" data-original-width="6300" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4fZOU16WXXcwmq2ctBQGbnUrkmFeVQqp448wq9YyXTswrFIdwYjLFq_pvjXgADV41solt4UeEX1V1co7p2l_rmBV3wdd2QqYLqpLKXM3S_iFOyISf_U6bqer8D6ziOVc63jCRN_JP7XBYKcbW23R9oxA_GhXqhhpANE6-ZoEm85iwRYSgFmWGWGcIw/w593-h395/2023-4-15%20Simps%20Reunion-Group%201.jpeg" width="593" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Our Culture of Improv</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">What do we all need? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">To belong. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">To be safe. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">To be valued. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">To feel free to be yourself. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">To create without fear of judgement. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">To be surrounded by people who support you. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">To laugh uncontrollably at things that are genuinely funny.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">To do all this with no special equipment or training. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">I just spent a weekend at Stanford when all the above were in play. The occasion was the 32nd year Reunion of the Stanford Improvisors (Simps), a group I started in 1991 that thrives into today. The most recent count shows 376 members.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">Thanks to the heroic work of three former Simps, Jessia Hoffman, Will Setrakian and Megan Calfas former group members from all over the country left their kids and day jobs to show up at the Elliot Program Center on campus. This simple, empty space with only metal chairs and folding tables became a sanctuary for connection and joyous reunion. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">On Thursday night we were feted with a delicious Mediterranean meal and the chance to mingle, hug and discover the names of old and new compatriots. As we introduced ourselves in a quick “go around” we discovered Philosophy, Film, Engineering, Design and English professors, a Minister, a Pediatrician, a Primary Care Physician, Writers, Actors, a Climate change specialist, an Assistant US Attorney, a scientist working to make AI safer . . . and a host of other valuable professions. It seems that improvising at university had prepared a gaggle of graduates to meet many of the needs of the world.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">We came together because the culture of improv we learned and practiced while at Stanford as a part of this group had implanted in us life skills that addressed those “needs” mentioned in the first paragraph. The cardinal rule of improvising is to say YES to life, to accept and build on others’ ideas. It’s impossible to imagine a more positive and uplifting assembly.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">All day Friday we were treated to workshops that ranged from Playful Mindfulness to Puppetry. After a wonderful Asian Box lunch, I held court to riff on the history of improv at Stanford and my delight in being with the new members of the group.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">On Saturday there was an all-day marathon Theatresports tourney that featured 16 teams. Eight matches were played and adjudicated by triads of solemn judges. After a sumptuous dinner of Thai food, we all attended the Final Championship round of the four highest scoring teams. Each team was given one scene for their bid for the Champion title. After some truly awesome improv, the team “THE FOUR PACK” (Lisa Rowland, Jenn Chou, Matty Merrill, and Max Sosna-Spear) won it ALL. Their “Scene, within a scene, within a scene” rocked it!!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">What made this weekend magical? It was the experience of living and playing in a unique culture. From the outset—<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"> the SIMPS have embodied a particular variety of improv culture. It was (and continues to be) one of kindness. While it is not unusual for any improv group to be agreeable folks, playful and talented at making up stories, what defines SIMPS is a way of working and playing that is unique. Years ago, the group traveled south to LA to take part in a California improv festival. When I spoke with one of the coordinators to check on how the group had performed, he said: “The Stanford Improvisors are the nicest group any of us have ever played with.” I can’t think of a higher compliment. The nicest group. Wonderful. Over the years this ephemeral quality has prevailed. I don’t know how one teaches this, but clearly it has been passed along through the culture of kindness.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">I can’t take any credit for this. I simply planted a few seeds over thirty years ago. The garden has been thriving. I marvel that we seem to have created a new species of flower: the culture of kindness. Thank you, SIMPS.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">Patricia Ryan Madson<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">April 18, 2023<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-39899862550636860372023-03-17T13:22:00.002-07:002023-03-18T10:34:05.330-07:00The passing of a mentor<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhUKbmPcuoYB3kBK6A73ethKZ3TTRHb1Lj3HvlOvwDj8WeFIDm5qIsGd-muOeLJVlNisLGHjZYBmHlPWOpe3eYOxYFtdZPlrq134sZ-hmSdux_fC7Z3SNSo37gOEldXviqjhbxDaw4z7wsw_9loQbvlKElaJ-fKccC7gZcptMEWmU4YIpf0_H11Fpz5BA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfd-y-bQsTATF8FHBptSe_CSohkbAvc2H4wiLY8FJe3B7qTqO4rypiyoLqPVkn0q8wnyO0c5Uh83JKZXGMaeCHQ4Ayv2MVLkVOFtGpkz-jdXAikWM7A4yBf8mdlIJ4z0t3SALeYvEjVsA81hy7RSKAFkmheZbdYceFjNj03O_lGGoB6dttEx4e07Xjog/s3359/3631A681-9714-432A-9D80-FB572CCD5584.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3359" data-original-width="2561" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfd-y-bQsTATF8FHBptSe_CSohkbAvc2H4wiLY8FJe3B7qTqO4rypiyoLqPVkn0q8wnyO0c5Uh83JKZXGMaeCHQ4Ayv2MVLkVOFtGpkz-jdXAikWM7A4yBf8mdlIJ4z0t3SALeYvEjVsA81hy7RSKAFkmheZbdYceFjNj03O_lGGoB6dttEx4e07Xjog/s320/3631A681-9714-432A-9D80-FB572CCD5584.jpeg" width="244" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">“When the student is ready, the teacher will appear. . .”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">In the summer of 1980, I attended a Tai Chi workshop at Esalen with my teacher, Chiang Liang Al Huang. Al was fond of inviting other interesting teachers to join him and do their thing to break up the day of dancing. I was delighted to discover that his guest partner this summer was a charming Brit named Keith Johnstone who had just published a new book, <i>Impro</i>, in 1979. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">As the newly appointed head of the undergraduate acting program at Stanford in 1977 my most puzzling problem was how to get my bright young actors “out of their heads” and into their bodies and imaginations. Johnstone’s fresh take on acting descended precisely on cue in my life. I stayed up all night reading IMPRO. It changed everything. The workshop was memorable and in a short time Keith and I became friends. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">I reveled in the chance to drive him around the Bay Area introducing him not only to theater people buy also to a few Zennies. Various groups adopted him. A notable workshop in the early ‘80’s was at the San Francisco Zen Center. I’ll never forget Keith side coaching me and Reb Anderson playing the “hat game”. Reb became the Abbot a few years later. These were also the years that BATS was coming into being. In that decade I used every means available to bring Keith to the Bay Area to continue his lively work. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">Keith even flew in from Calgary to attend my wedding in St. Helena in 1989.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">In the summer of 1993 Keith came to Stanford to hold court every morning as the featured professor for a weeklong Improv intensive. It was such a success that Keith came again in 1994. Engineering professors attended these workshops and word spread fast that something special was happening over in the Drama Dept. Members of the BATS school joined the fun teaching specialty classes in the afternoon. The summer intensive idea was then adopted by BATS who continued the tradition of a Keith-centered course. The BATS summer school, featuring Keith, had become a centerpiece of their year.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">It was always a happy moment when Keith would shuffle into the theater, sit on the edge<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">of the stage and sigh deeply as he surveyed the audience. Looking slightly lost he would mumble something like: “You guys already know everything, so I don’t know what to teach you. (sighs heavily). I suppose if you want to work on relationships or stories we can do some stuff.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">I just need a couple people up here.” And, off he’d go telling witty stories of people he knew or films he’d seen or read while side coaching the actors to “be average.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">Keith was an original. He was one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. I believe that he finished his work on earth by seeding a thousand teachers of his life affirming notions of how theater should delight us and embolden the actor to give up fear of not being enough. Keith was enough . . . and then some.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">Patricia Ryan Madson<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">March 17, 2023, St, Patrick’s Day<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p></o:p></p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span> </span><p></p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-58855182772001763002022-08-28T10:36:00.012-07:002022-08-28T10:45:58.912-07:00Long form theater at its best. The Bechtel Test August 2016<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdlmVz-NhIuQcuoCpv5luuCbY2IA6y4ZcClZpSY4fyhCg-ke4ov3ZoocFvqtZhXuiXEc2XOE9EaDIwJ9ltmDRYrU-lSlgMMxLyWcnretLtxWgOI55kRrD-UVhs4o-OyeOAO28bfkbW3AZ6HtgvyT-DQUmPG1Vx59XxYRbzXMD5scvBtA__wxHkgqElQ/s960/20C4A633-1226-4DC4-B270-5F9FD0986908.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdlmVz-NhIuQcuoCpv5luuCbY2IA6y4ZcClZpSY4fyhCg-ke4ov3ZoocFvqtZhXuiXEc2XOE9EaDIwJ9ltmDRYrU-lSlgMMxLyWcnretLtxWgOI55kRrD-UVhs4o-OyeOAO28bfkbW3AZ6HtgvyT-DQUmPG1Vx59XxYRbzXMD5scvBtA__wxHkgqElQ/s320/20C4A633-1226-4DC4-B270-5F9FD0986908.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy5H8du-tEKPhCrQRNSFjLa6jDV3XctGwA_aD58qNfwkvuH6SGe0ry2pqmlX4EjhR1USLs8KYYs-UiQScQPx987HWdhNA52KUY86jcM1xPLlOmf9XXBKJebjjodPLvImz8ygt0ig8Z0UnvkNJm4mfRepSYIOvsyBAfFDV8LBULZU3vK2fcMZ6ABM2WHQ/s960/764DB252-0B57-4476-A3F2-6E1865354BD9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy5H8du-tEKPhCrQRNSFjLa6jDV3XctGwA_aD58qNfwkvuH6SGe0ry2pqmlX4EjhR1USLs8KYYs-UiQScQPx987HWdhNA52KUY86jcM1xPLlOmf9XXBKJebjjodPLvImz8ygt0ig8Z0UnvkNJm4mfRepSYIOvsyBAfFDV8LBULZU3vK2fcMZ6ABM2WHQ/w330-h248/764DB252-0B57-4476-A3F2-6E1865354BD9.jpeg" width="330" /></a></div><br /> Reflections . . .<p></p><p>Stories Starring Women The Bechtel Test </p><p>Celebrating the Everyday life of Women</p><p> BATS Improv August 26 and 27, 2016</p><p>Something monumental in social and artistic history happened last night. Despite my body being on Greenwich Mean Time from a month in the UK I awoke before dawn in California this morning with the sure knowledge that I needed to write about last night’s triumph at BATS.</p><p>Lisa Rowland, fast becoming a major voice, player and teacher of improvisation on the west coast and internationally, produced and directed a two night run of improvised stories about women. She assembled a seasoned and talented cast of seven improvisers, including veterans Rebecca Stockley and Barbara Scott. Representing the Millennials was Lisa herself and Rebecca Portesky and Kimberly Maclean. As supporting members of the ensemble she chose Dave Dennison and William Hall. Seven improvisers bounded on the BATS stage with the promise of exploring how a few guidelines which tilted the balance of power in the direction of women might result in an evening’s entertainment before a live audience.</p><p>For anyone reading this who is a follower of improvisational theater in the Bay Area (and worldwide) knows there is groundbreaking artistic work being done here. Among the dozens of long form theater groups experimenting and evolving new forms are the notable “3 for All,” “Awkward Dinner Party,” “The SF Improv Playhouse,” the LA based ”Impro Theatre” and “Noir Unscripted.” These currently active groups are part of a succession of twenty years of development in theatrical forms preceded by “True Fiction Magazine” and “Pulp Playhouse” to name only a few. Someone needs to write the history of this movement, which is largely unknown to the wider theater going community. Even in enlightened environments such as Stanford University “improv” is still looked upon as that comedy stuff. This is a topic for a longer piece, but I need to return to the purpose of this essay: to talk about Lisa Rowland’s experiment this weekend.</p><p>Her company of improvisers, including the legendary musician, J Raoul Brody and lighting improviser Ana Nelson, did something last night that I had never seen in 50 years of theater going. I may overstate this when I say that the “holy grail” of long form improv is to create authentic theater capable of bringing an audience to tears, touching the heart and mind and delighting us all with its freshness and clarity. In the past year I have seen increasingly skillful work that has moved the genre of long form into a new level. Last night tears flowed as I watched a group of ordinary characters, women, who were struggling with everyday challenges. In the two-hour performance no one got shot or blown up. No one screamed and raged for attention or power, and mostly everyone got along. The agonies and triumphs were little things . . . like overcoming social anxiety or accepting the imperfections of ones parents. Characters talked to each other, often quietly. I never once noticed an improviser going for the quick joke or laugh. What was riveting to me was just how dramatic ordinary life (among women) could be. </p><p>There was a kind and persistent boyfriend played by William Hall who gently worked to give his intended “space” in order for their relationship to continue. In another simple scene Daisy (Kimberly MacLean) has an audience with a kindly banker, played by Dave Dennison. She is seeking a loan for a business venture to build a community center for at-risk youth. Her unabashed surprise when she gets the loan of $40K was moving. Characters mostly helped each other and listened to one another. The entire arch of the show was character rather than plot driven. This choice provided spaciousness for everyone to be themselves and share the stage with a series of “ordinary miracles.” </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Rebecca Poretsky’s character, Wally was a scientist with a lot of control issues. A particularly skillful scene was a meeting with her graduate assistants to discuss research. Each character seemed fully developed and involved.</p><p>Near the end of the story a particularly moving scene involved the two aging sisters, Annie (Rebecca Stockley) and, I think it was Maureen played by Barbara Scott. Maureen leads Annie into her room with the line. “Come sit down, I need to ask for your help.” After a long pause, she continues: “I’m dying, Annie. And, I need a kidney. You are a match because of our DNA.” And, Annie throwing her arms around her sister, begins a deep and soulful acceptance of this offer. “Of course I will. You NEED me. That is the most important thing in life: to be truly needed (sobbing into her lap)” (I fear I do disservice here to the actual dialog but I hope you will forgive me.) It appeared to me that Rebecca’s character had real tears flowing too.</p><p>And, before I leave the impression that crying on stage or in the audience is the summum bonum let me say that this emotional reaction is just a measure of the kind of human story that was unfolding on stage. Lisa’s show parameters provided a crucible for these kinds of stories to be told. In the after show talkback we learned that the “rules” governing this run were simple and hearkened to the Bechdal Test.</p><p>1. These would be scenes and stories by and about women who talked to each other</p><p>2. The structure began with three monologues </p><p>3. All characters would be living in the same contemporary time zone</p><p>4. The two men in the cast would play supporting roles only</p><p>The result of these restrictions was dynamic. Until we encounter its opposite we cannot really know how a cultural bias (e.g. Dramatic stories are about men.) is skewing the onstage world. </p><p>The improv stage for long form ensembles has always struck me as a political space. Five players get an audience suggestion and begin constructing a play in our presence. Who becomes the hero, the villain, the sidekick, the foil? Usually in the first five minutes of a show there is a subtle power grab for who will dominate or control the evenings destiny. Over the years I have watched with interest how some actor/improvisers are “drivers” . . . that is, they tend to dominate the space. Over time it has been a pleasure as an audience member to see many of these “givens” change. What fun to see a player who usually grabs the spotlight now “hang back” and serve the narrative as a support instead of a primary. Looked at carefully all of this jockeying for control onstage is a natural part of the art form. In “The Bechdel Test” last night the two male cast members were simply instructed: “Play support.” William Hall mentioned that this instruction gave him a new perspective. As a performer he could actively choose NOT to take control, no matter how interesting his idea might be. “Stay in your place” was a helpful guideline. And, once this agreement was in place the five women could breathe deeply and see what developed between them as the stories unfolded. The result was deeply satisfying.</p><p>Perhaps as a woman audience member I’ve had a longing for women’s stories that I didn’t even know existed until last night when this dream was fulfilled. Thank you Lisa for your vision and for creating an environment for us all to see the power of women’s stories honestly told. Looks like you got an A+ on your Bechdel Test. I’m looking forward to seeing more.</p><p><br /></p><p>Patricia Ryan Madson</p><p>El Granada, CA</p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-35884698339304080602022-06-24T13:42:00.001-07:002022-07-07T14:49:41.913-07:00The Thirteen Maxims Etegami Cards<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh94mkmlbcvIhpfztIT1Oeum4r31W7aKzmZKZTCuBlpUWXBdfmmoJfYS5Hnnh-jYhKEjSeBGkri0pLHWWJU2t3ojtwvdMJ_d4nu8urqYvhJ8EJRz-cySod2OdiOx5wG7pyRS9tTPrxIwlGMBVYG5Enit1pXuINujyJTqimThBu02k1J6GMcJTJgPDX77Q/s1589/patricia_tree_13pics%202.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1589" data-original-width="1579" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh94mkmlbcvIhpfztIT1Oeum4r31W7aKzmZKZTCuBlpUWXBdfmmoJfYS5Hnnh-jYhKEjSeBGkri0pLHWWJU2t3ojtwvdMJ_d4nu8urqYvhJ8EJRz-cySod2OdiOx5wG7pyRS9tTPrxIwlGMBVYG5Enit1pXuINujyJTqimThBu02k1J6GMcJTJgPDX77Q/s320/patricia_tree_13pics%202.png" width="318" /></a></div><br />When I published my book, <i style="font-weight: bold;">Improv Wisdom, Don't Prepare, Just Show Up </i>in 2005 there were no graphics or images connected to the book. Just this year the Chinese edition is being revised to include these thirteen cards, each representing one of the Maxims. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Many of my friends encouraged me to copy the cards and make them available as a set. I've been able to have them reproduced by a wonderful company called Moo.com.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">They are available for sale. A single set, including postage costs $25US. Additional sets are $20. To order a set, message me via email improvwisdom@gmail.com. Payment can be made via VENMO. @Patricia-Madson or via PayPal using the improvwisdom@gmail.com. address. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These are a limited edition, so if you'd like them, I encourage you to order soon. </div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div></blockquote></blockquote><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS02Txyi3MmnTcBB7M9ZWHJHl8Aml7KR580ynOij9eTRnVZA-cvCmmNv6AgwKmoXD42ZnnKb8oAMrEk0QuhaOEU5UgZCjRE8ij64rXQ32EqweN0f3R2QTK8x7yFm9mrNqNhfp4LeMyZfLpYR9XBojYzdQYVphha940c-iXozH-3CgcPs0a1nNkb57PUQ/s3888/IMG_9224.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2324" data-original-width="3888" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS02Txyi3MmnTcBB7M9ZWHJHl8Aml7KR580ynOij9eTRnVZA-cvCmmNv6AgwKmoXD42ZnnKb8oAMrEk0QuhaOEU5UgZCjRE8ij64rXQ32EqweN0f3R2QTK8x7yFm9mrNqNhfp4LeMyZfLpYR9XBojYzdQYVphha940c-iXozH-3CgcPs0a1nNkb57PUQ/s320/IMG_9224.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpx-cpz2_Wp5T95b4-4x__Pl_9Uplx4CmXP95Fih7oQgMQDv4RU_wRRomNQqx8MJu2oowFnL_zzAv7qfnU1kDGUQBp4gdsWNp-Tznb1QMIpQ9d2S6-9kFNWzRfIkAnpRQb5R8dznXtbqPRFCfPOncpLL7yTG_AMQYHTRYc4OIPBo-C_rCzKEZ-AfZvA/s320/IMG_9436%203.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-80388930164886915922021-12-06T12:48:00.003-08:002021-12-06T14:22:33.008-08:00Shall We Improvise?<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLXKdo3rUZ-_9MIxO6QeAI8QwCRmwUkXF-7s8hSLTa1Wuv1E-YAxnAINownNdtzFPM9H_YXl3-QbfzrW9DvoJXqxEZ5KgMWL7R2rcpQWYumMgQ3imLzmYrxNUWrH6gQ93dkSKuipeGBD2LSba7quGL-c4crFywDHwVH_0eT9i-oMKW9xSWwPsAfg6HkQ=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLXKdo3rUZ-_9MIxO6QeAI8QwCRmwUkXF-7s8hSLTa1Wuv1E-YAxnAINownNdtzFPM9H_YXl3-QbfzrW9DvoJXqxEZ5KgMWL7R2rcpQWYumMgQ3imLzmYrxNUWrH6gQ93dkSKuipeGBD2LSba7quGL-c4crFywDHwVH_0eT9i-oMKW9xSWwPsAfg6HkQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;"> “In the long history of humankind (and animal kind, too) those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively have prevailed.” ― Charles Darwin<b><br /><br /></b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;"> Shall We Improvise?<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">Dreaming of a well-organized life, stress free? When was the last time that everything went <i>exactly as planned</i>? Good luck. And in our crazy, cattywumpus Covid world there is very little that is stable and predictable. The reality is that we <i>are</i> improvising most of the time. So, why not take a few tips from the professionals? <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">I’ve spent a wonderful career teaching improvisation around the globe and across ages and professions including thousands of Stanford students. I’m not talking about improv <i>comedy, </i>although some study this work to perform on stage. Improvisors are able to create full length plays without a script because they are operating on a few simple, yet profound maxims. My tilt is using the foundational principles of improvisation as a Mindset for a meaningful life. These principles can help you become a better listener, a more grateful partner and a more confident you. Here are the four pillars of improv:<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">Attention<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">Acceptance<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">Appreciation<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">Action<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">Attention</span></b><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;"> is our superpower. Never take it for granted. Use it to improve your life. Begin to take control of what you are noticing. <i>Notice</i> what you notice. And if your mind drifts off into rumination, anxiety, or daydreams return your attention to the world you inhabit. Notice the detail of that world. And, if you can, savor the moment. Isn’t this tangerine succulent? What a nice breeze this afternoon? “What am I doing right now? Scrambling eggs. Don’t they look delicious.” It is common to walk around lost in thought. Start the habit of noticing more. Shift your attention from self to other. Become a better listener. Observe your world more deeply.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">Acceptance </span></b><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">is the foundation of a satisfying life. The improvisor’s basic rule is to <i>say yes</i> to all offers. Of course, this isn’t the same thing as <i>liking</i> whatever comes your way. Acceptance implies a default perspective of opening to what life brings. We say yes—AND. This means to build upon the reality you find yourself in. Life may bring you an unexpected illness or professional surprise. The improvisor says: “Now how can I work with this? How can I find the good and make this into something interesting--even a win? We build upon our capacity to take a constructive and positive attitude toward life. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">Appreciation</span></b><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;"> is the capacity to “find the good and praise it.” This is the life skill of constantly asking the question: “What am I receiving now and from whom?” I am a great believer in radical gratitude. This involves more than the current fad of thinking of ‘three things I’m grateful for.’ Ordinarily we only feel gratitude for things we like or that make us happy. What about all of those services and things that keep our lives going? Even the ones we pay for . . .<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">Thanking people for work well done and for things we like and to those who are nice and cheerful and thoughtful should be a no brainer. What I’m suggesting today is something fundamental; I want us all to take a deeper look at the support we receive—all the time—from countless individuals. Who or what makes your life possible right now? This computer allows me to write this article. Thanks to those who designed and created it, and thanks to my husband who gave it me as a gift. When we really start to notice our world (see Attention above) we can discover that we are “thirsty, swimming in the lake” . . . that is, everything we need is around us if we simply pay attention to it. Appreciation takes an ordinary life and makes it extraordinary.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">Action </span></b><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">creates our world. What we do matters. While we can’t control feelings <i>per se</i> we can always control our behavior. Feeling a little grumpy and sad? Try doing something physical . . . clean out one shelf in the pantry. Sweep the sidewalk. Fold the laundry. Take a long, spirited walk and notice the colors of the season. Or turn your appreciation into action: write a thank you note by hand and mail it. Improvisors know that we can take a step into the unknown to <i>discover </i>where we are going. We can act without knowing the outcome; and by starting anywhere we get the engine running and in no time we find a direction. The improvisors' motto is : ready, <i>fire</i>, aim! Maybe it is not so crazy to begin something without a clear or complete plan. If we take a first step in any direction we are in a new position to see what is possible. Uncertainty is natural.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">The practice of improvising our lives teaches us to trust reality and have confidence in our ability to manage challenges. And, in the act of improvising we are likely to make some mistakes. This is natural. Applaud yourself when it doesn’t work out. Learn something from it and redirect your focus. Mistakes are so often our friends.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">And a final piece of improv advice is to “aim for average” . . . Use your ordinary mind to do or create what is obvious to you. Relax your “clever” muscles. You will do better if you give up trying so hard. Be average. It’s enough.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">I’ve found that the maxims of improvising turn out to be valuable life advice. You might seek out an improv class to test this thesis. Even if you are sure that you have no talent for improvising you will likely be surprised when you try. Or you may find some ideas and exercises in my book, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Improv-Wisdom-Dont-Prepare-Just-ebook/dp/B003CIQ4XY/ref=sr_1_2?crid=3ADRJP7FLNEL8&keywords=improv+wisdom+don%27t+prepare%2C+just+show+up&qid=1637442378&qsid=145-1015584-5864055&sprefix=improv+wi%2Caps%2C222&sr=8-2&sres=1400081882%2C7560994636%2CB091YZX51H%2CB07PX3X5WL%2CB09DTCGHVZ%2CB01ALHAEWA%2CB07JZTBV9C%2CB079997BXY%2CB08Q328L76%2CB07Z5BRRF7%2CB0749N1XBN%2CB01FST8A90%2CB008MJ62PI%2CB015G0F03U%2CB0087GB08U%2CB07CV48SKD&srpt=ABIS_BOOK"><b><i><span style="color: #428bca; text-decoration: none;">Improv Wisdom, Don’t Prepare, Just Show Up</span></i></b><span style="color: #428bca;">, 2005, Bell Tower Books, Random House.</span></a></span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;"> It’s available as an audio and Ebook and it’s in nine languages. It’s full of tips and exercises.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">And you have my wish for a life of many happy improvisations. Keep on saying YES to life.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><o:p> </o:p></p></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" class="placeholder" id="f09357c55291f" src="https://www.blogger.com/img/transparent.gif" style="background-color: #d8d8d8; background-image: url('https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/i/materialiconsextended/insert_photo/v6/grey600-24dp/1x/baseline_insert_photo_grey600_24dp.png'); background-position: 50% 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat; opacity: 0.6;" /></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-68304808938471446492021-10-15T13:17:00.005-07:002021-11-17T09:37:04.692-08:00The Moffles<span style="font-size: medium;">
<br /><br />The talented artist and Family Therapist, Mikenda Plant of the U. K. specializes in helping children who are adopted or have experienced trauma. She has done me the honor of using the Maxims from Improv Wisdom as advice for kids. Thank you Mikenda. Find her work online at <a href="https://moffles.com/about-the-moffles/">TheMoffles.com.</a></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie5pTXmHBHPG8u-aC8llCwGRHoc8yuyL0AZZfBI8UGJH2FaPeEXzjvIyUTe-bKcTPbnCFdMQROCsxyi4QF2QEa54KJ1kzSosc-Y__Hde9R1pJr9MoHUkrR5aX5NLoS6LdtMOmOmud4xfDh/s1280/Mikenda+Plant.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie5pTXmHBHPG8u-aC8llCwGRHoc8yuyL0AZZfBI8UGJH2FaPeEXzjvIyUTe-bKcTPbnCFdMQROCsxyi4QF2QEa54KJ1kzSosc-Y__Hde9R1pJr9MoHUkrR5aX5NLoS6LdtMOmOmud4xfDh/s600/Mikenda+Plant.JPG" width="600" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGTV4cdAu4_iAv6gebDU2cDvO8fltYpHv9PnIL7lzWb8vZ6vK0BP8we5zZl-sB_ZQuSeYoDjjgidCXt0Dxble1Mf0KQoVogBI_C2q45fdtvp1XmOxOtPE6kJXfltmwbWD5sCkBfFjm8_tq/s2048/BE026699-7260-4D9A-872C-BB63CA32FA7C.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGTV4cdAu4_iAv6gebDU2cDvO8fltYpHv9PnIL7lzWb8vZ6vK0BP8we5zZl-sB_ZQuSeYoDjjgidCXt0Dxble1Mf0KQoVogBI_C2q45fdtvp1XmOxOtPE6kJXfltmwbWD5sCkBfFjm8_tq/w640-h640/BE026699-7260-4D9A-872C-BB63CA32FA7C.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9whK0p2eqQdq4FowwWMRJ9ayuiJuVz6q000u4vCEa30Xod5pFEmc11QmI4GZyXAet3Yr2B6C8F_EN-RAmKnpW5s2tGKr_P2cwXK_mxtqke4NOznO2jPwsvQ594bEKVan6yX_rO09Bwv8W/s2048/F727A68B-886A-4000-AFCF-0BC2A7AFA6A8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9whK0p2eqQdq4FowwWMRJ9ayuiJuVz6q000u4vCEa30Xod5pFEmc11QmI4GZyXAet3Yr2B6C8F_EN-RAmKnpW5s2tGKr_P2cwXK_mxtqke4NOznO2jPwsvQ594bEKVan6yX_rO09Bwv8W/w640-h640/F727A68B-886A-4000-AFCF-0BC2A7AFA6A8.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4z63HhyphenhyphenazNIZCr0S-NzSsZ9X61GoAqQbaWTuh3O6KvsCccFOXmyS84OcPLBkzRE8VDskYt4miEMRYa0f3puAspTnYXPufARlGeSwh3DYyhlWd6HsUYJ11CNy_atthKXetkgwPNJE7Yr0/s2048/improv+wisdom+4+photo+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4z63HhyphenhyphenazNIZCr0S-NzSsZ9X61GoAqQbaWTuh3O6KvsCccFOXmyS84OcPLBkzRE8VDskYt4miEMRYa0f3puAspTnYXPufARlGeSwh3DYyhlWd6HsUYJ11CNy_atthKXetkgwPNJE7Yr0/w640-h640/improv+wisdom+4+photo+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie5pTXmHBHPG8u-aC8llCwGRHoc8yuyL0AZZfBI8UGJH2FaPeEXzjvIyUTe-bKcTPbnCFdMQROCsxyi4QF2QEa54KJ1kzSosc-Y__Hde9R1pJr9MoHUkrR5aX5NLoS6LdtMOmOmud4xfDh/s1280/Mikenda+Plant.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><br /></a></div>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-36718730883268167542021-08-31T14:16:00.001-07:002021-08-31T14:16:57.329-07:00Theatre that changed everything . . .<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-align: center;">December 31, 1965 The Martin Beck Theater, New York City </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdisNZ6q14TiKFIZpxOOtDIuXFUo59EdjuDDoniBIqafPxCfO2OK5XmynDJ3g-hllcfCmRh8HOp87GSjVly4AE_yiIJGJsvkZA-3KqPVYWUAioXfNo0crD8riE4A8OAJTH9NbNjRIHIUU/s381/MaratSadePlayCover.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="381" data-original-width="261" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdisNZ6q14TiKFIZpxOOtDIuXFUo59EdjuDDoniBIqafPxCfO2OK5XmynDJ3g-hllcfCmRh8HOp87GSjVly4AE_yiIJGJsvkZA-3KqPVYWUAioXfNo0crD8riE4A8OAJTH9NbNjRIHIUU/s320/MaratSadePlayCover.jpg" width="219" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">It was New Years eve over fifty years ago. I remember it clearly. The new year 1966 was about to be heralded in all over Manhattan. Outside Times Square was packed for the dropping of the ball. But I was not out celebrating. I was sitting in my third row center orchestra seat in the Martin Beck Theater on Broadway ten minutes after the house had cleared. The orchestra was now empty following the performance. An occasional usher was checking under the seats for programs or debris. I was still sitting sobbing gently and my whole body was shaking. Trying to understand my state the word ‘catharsis’ came to mind. I felt fundamentally changed. The theater as a vehicle for transformation seemed obvious now. What had happened? The final notes of Richard Peaslee’s music still hung in the auditorium. Kokol spoke directly to me and screamed: “When will you learn to take sides?” I found this a personal message.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I<i> had</i> to speak with someone connected with the production. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Still shaking and with tears running down my face I made my way outside and to the backstage door and knocked. A stage manager opened it and seemed surprised on seeing a 23 year old woman, clearly in extremis. “Can I help you?” he said, with concern in his voice. “I need to speak to somebody in the company please,” I begged. I expect that my emotional state was justification for him to invite me backstage. He ushered me down the hall toward the dressing room for Patrick McGee and Ian Richardson, the stars of the play, <i>The Persecution and Assassination of Jean Paul Maret as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum at Cheranton under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade </i>which had been directed by the incomparable Peter Brook. The play was in its final week of previews and I had scored a ticket out of great good luck or by providence. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ian Richardson opened the door to his dressing room and seeing me still sobbing, almost shouted: “What happened to <i>you</i>?” . . . “I just<i> saw</i> YOUR PLAY,” I blurted out. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">He and McGee actually laughed and then he said: “Looks like you need a drink.” And he went over to a bottle of Scotch and poured some into a paper cup. I think I began babbling something about how much this had affected me. I didn’t stay long and I don’t remember much more about that moment except to say that these two world famous actors were very kind to this crazy lady who was still under the spell of their profoundly disturbing and inspiring production. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">It’s not hyperbole to say that this play “changed my life.” The injunction to “take sides” led me to become actively involved in political action around the civil rights struggle that was going on in the South were I lived. Segregation was being challenged, and I knew that I had to go back to Virginia and do something to help the cause. I chose to put together a mixed race acting company to perform a Readers Theater production of “In White America,” a docudrama about civil rights issues. It was intended to instruct as well as open up the conversation about race. Just traveling together in the same vehicle provoked stares and the occasional rude remark or gesture. Lunch counters were still segregated in most of the South, so our little group of integrated players had many challenges. I had to take sides.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was in graduate school at the time all this happened, and I was making decisions about what to do with my life. This experience of feeling the enormity of theater in <i>Marat/Sade</i> was the cause of my decision to pursue theater as a career. From a meta perspective, I learned that theater could have the power of atomic fusion. And so strong was my interest in this particular theatrical event that I chose to write my Master’s Thesis on the achievements of Peter Brook, who was then a rising star at age 43. Peter’s father, Simon Brook kindly invited me to his home to peruse his mountain of scrapbooks with articles about his son. Enclosed in this bag is an envelope with a USB drive containing the manuscript of the unpublished Thesis. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">A few years later I met up with Brook at the Roundhouse when he was in the final stages of rehearsing <i>The Tempest</i>. I made the acquaintance of Yoshi Oida with whom I studied in Paris in the summer of 1984. A few years later I marveled at the magic of Brook’s <i>A Midsummer Night’s Dream </i>and the spiritual message of his <i>Mahabarata </i>which I saw in LA.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the nearly half century since I saw <i>Marat/Sade</i> the world has spun on a new axis. I wonder what we would make of this experience if the play were produced today? I know it still speaks to us. I have a deep gratitude to Peter Brook for his visionary leadership. I admire that he has always been a seeker. His work raises the level of the art into the realm of the spirit. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you, Peter Brook, my own career was inspired by your work. I am grateful.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">With appreciation and respect,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Patricia Ryan Madson</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">April 21, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">El Granada, CA 94018<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-11783562937530348812021-08-21T17:21:00.008-07:002021-08-21T17:40:20.113-07:00Musings on food and the joys of sharing it . . .<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjV_Q3FdDGsvAWrSfmPGFc3CNGdonaNcHF_7RXVaYo1Lyq7Kx5X2HlzLyWZCmCd4mgL_0tYjldhLcPXmBgfEkhAajFVw7CGF19DxsraW4x1BH-JX2rkE30HEV0h-S6b1o4fVzC6CYub40F/s2048/IMG_8175.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjV_Q3FdDGsvAWrSfmPGFc3CNGdonaNcHF_7RXVaYo1Lyq7Kx5X2HlzLyWZCmCd4mgL_0tYjldhLcPXmBgfEkhAajFVw7CGF19DxsraW4x1BH-JX2rkE30HEV0h-S6b1o4fVzC6CYub40F/s320/IMG_8175.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Off this morning to the Coastside Farmer’s Market. There are still a few weeks to acquire the perfect heirloom tomatoes. And the Cipponeri Family Farms in Turlock, CA have their luscious peaches and other stone fruit in abundance now. Tricolor corn from the local fields is in my basket today along with some dark green kale, cucumbers, a dozen perfect tomatoes and a loaf of artisanal rye/multigrain sourdough bread. Lunch today was a slice of that good bread with some Dijon mustard and some fresh ham and a tangy swiss cheese. A really good bread can make a meal. And, one of the peaches was at its point of perfection. Nothing was needed to make that peach a taste memory. “Do I dare to eat a peach?” declared Mr. Prufrock. Indeed. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWhQk48BThqp9tMpQG42rifinOt7m9MwQZgofhKWkQjxiz3-qWkvhBI2cJVQgZmNthXcnsqJMkKdqZX-x4f433ZhjJZgUtkg1pzZVG0OS7asfamYkelNy3MQQ2dvpXWjkX1GqmkJeaEz_/s2048/IMG_8173.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="401" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWhQk48BThqp9tMpQG42rifinOt7m9MwQZgofhKWkQjxiz3-qWkvhBI2cJVQgZmNthXcnsqJMkKdqZX-x4f433ZhjJZgUtkg1pzZVG0OS7asfamYkelNy3MQQ2dvpXWjkX1GqmkJeaEz_/w301-h401/IMG_8173.jpeg" width="301" /></span></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>My friend, JD Hixson and I are exchanging thoughts on food and the good life. He speaks of a </span><span>Gourmet Paradigm, a mindset around food that involves harmony, evolution, and sustainability as foundations of the philosophy. Until reading this thoughtful essay I had not considered food to have a “mindset”—but of course, it does, whether or not we are conscious of it. So, I began to ponder: what are my values around food acquisition, preparation, cooking and sharing? </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">My first teacher was a remarkable woman, friend and mentor, Josephine Landor. Her husband, Walter, a highly cultured German gentleman founded Landor Associates in San Francisco, a global leader in brand consulting and design located on a ferryboat docked in the San Francisco Bay. They had homes in the city, Kenwood in the wine country and Puerta Vallarta. My wedding was at their St. Helena, CA estate. Josephine seemed to have been born with elegant and discriminating taste. I learned from her a basic respect for and care of ingredients. When we brought home a fresh head of lettuce, romaine, for example, she always carefully washed the lettuce, discarding any blemished leaves, then drying the leaves and placing them in either a plastic container or bag lined with a paper towel. The towel would absorb any excess moisture. She kept this in the refrigerator. So when we went to make a salad in the evening our lettuce was crisp and clean and ready for mixing and serving. I have continued this tradition and I’m fond of adding a crisp salad to many evening meals. I learned from Ed Brown of the Zen Center that you could make a great variety of salads by using this basic guidance: <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">1. Fresh lettuce or greens (kale, spinach, endive, etc. watercress, etc)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">2. Vegetables (tomatoes, carrots, squash, cucumbers, green onions, celery)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"> OR a single fruit<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">3 Fruit (apple, mandarin oranges, grapes, peaches, pears, kiwis, watermelon, etc.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"> You can experiment with having fruit and some vegetables together, but not all are happy bedfellows. Best to separate. Tomatoes are technically a fruit, but according to a reputable source:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; vertical-align: top;"><span style="color: #202124; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #202124;">“Tomatoes are botanically defined as fruits <b>because they form from a flower and contain seeds</b>. Still, they're most often utilized like a vegetable in cooking. In fact, the US Supreme Court ruled in 1893 that the tomato should be classified as a vegetable on the basis of its culinary applications.”</span><span style="color: #202124;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">4. Nuts or seeds (walnuts, pecans, cashews, almonds, sesame seeds, etc. Glazed nuts are very nice.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">5. Cheese. (Blue cheese or Gorgonzola, Parmesan, Asiago, Gouda, etc.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Hence a green plus a fruit, plus a nut/seed, plus a cheese . . . invent your own.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Or, of course, if you have something as precious and seasonal as an heirloom tomato, then perhaps forget all of this lettuce formula. Nothing beats a ripe heirloom with the tiniest drizzle of a fine olive oil and a sprinkle of white balsamic. Or simply serve it au natural.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-85007790581246193842021-02-19T16:26:00.002-08:002021-06-20T12:44:21.241-07:00Anatomy of an Improv Workshop Failure<p>This essay was written on June 19, 2015 but it seems worth telling again. Be wary of ballrooms</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXCc1hp2kaMzPn5Yawvns7Wqkq5sA1Bqkz2TKE4lrh-DaWawTb1mNVBZ7zrLEEKNmUAZ5eH6ItGtjEbwCt6O82H7sU03k0i4oAXcWzsXxNfrYAtzNorGr8nzo6HWZOOY5MJN2_RVxlcHC/s2048/7B476DF1-E2E0-4C20-A55B-8A5F2A92698C_1_100_o.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXCc1hp2kaMzPn5Yawvns7Wqkq5sA1Bqkz2TKE4lrh-DaWawTb1mNVBZ7zrLEEKNmUAZ5eH6ItGtjEbwCt6O82H7sU03k0i4oAXcWzsXxNfrYAtzNorGr8nzo6HWZOOY5MJN2_RVxlcHC/s320/7B476DF1-E2E0-4C20-A55B-8A5F2A92698C_1_100_o.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Anatomy of an Improv Workshop Failure<o:p></o:p><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">The Tyranny of Tables<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">By Patricia Ryan Madson</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;">I’m an improviser so nothing really seems an obstacle to me when I consider the location for an appearance. I have given workshops in a wide variety of physical setups and I’ve always found a way to work around a less than optimal working space . . . until this time. My husband is fond of reminding me that my anxiety and sleeplessness the night before I’m going to teach or present is just a fact of life. I can’t remember a time when my phone call home immediately <i>following</i> an engagement didn’t begin with: “It went great!! Until yesterday. Instead my reply was: “It was a disaster. Everybody rolled their eyes and reached for their cellphones. I could not find a way to salvage it.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;">I’m going to keep the details of this particular engagement anonymous so that I don’t appear to cast blame on the client. As the featured presenter it’s my job to “prepare” something suitable for the client. This event was a weekend retreat to celebrate the accomplishments of educators who were supervisors and principles in a specific region of the state. These men and women sit in the trenches all day in school admin offices likely hearing complaints from staff, teachers, parents and children. They are “where the buck stops” in most cases. This particular event, staged at a very elegant winery complete with gourmet meals and wine tasting, was capped with an evening of awards and thanks. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;">For the two days leading up to the awards banquet, the 300+ participants had been sitting in a 6000 sq. foot dining room with fifty round tables facing the podium and a medium sized screen for the projection of the obligatory Power Point that by law, I think, must accompany all presentation events in the twentieth century. My hostess had inquired the day before I arrived if I would like to send my Power Point for inclusion to their website. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;">Truth be told: I hate Power Points. Their linear composition is ANTI Improv, if you think about it. However, in the past, when I’ve had the poor judgment (or greed) to accept a gig as a Keynote Speaker rather than a workshop leader I have done the occasional Power Point of slides that provide graphic support to such ideas as Say YES, Try Stuff, Really Listen . . . etc. Recently I’ve been creating these mindless backups as little colorful artworks on my digital app. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSztJ9zliX9i3FEcWe8-gzYqJJq9tIv1dDcuaj9X35o7tqD3gzczTH9gHs0wwYbcNIzIils1mU5Q5JR5llEW7RvShne8Vpa_RfFkXwPw3dTziC3TuYa0OtkqXYS1kvfE7yzG-LE0z2tTvw/s2048/Already+Improvisor.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSztJ9zliX9i3FEcWe8-gzYqJJq9tIv1dDcuaj9X35o7tqD3gzczTH9gHs0wwYbcNIzIils1mU5Q5JR5llEW7RvShne8Vpa_RfFkXwPw3dTziC3TuYa0OtkqXYS1kvfE7yzG-LE0z2tTvw/s320/Already+Improvisor.PNG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;">Okay, so I sent my Power Point via email to the event organizer and carried my laptop to the event in case I’d need to plug it in. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;">I arrived two hours early to spec out the location in an attempt to figure out a strategy for managing a workshop in a less than desirable space. And, by the way, the optimal space for teaching improv is a semi-empty room with a circle of chairs that can be moved and rearranged. It needs to be large enough that the full group of folks participating in the workshop can stand in a circle or four or five circles and be able to see each other. This was not the case here.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;">I should have known I was in trouble when I was greeted with the news that my “presentation” would be held in the large ballroom with the fifty tables. There was a small ring of space around the perimeter of the room. I asked my host if it would be okay to move some of the tables to provide an open space to assemble people to do exercises and try things. The reply was, “no, I’m sorry, we really can’t move any of the tables . . . there is an event immediately following yours that needs the setup just as it is.” Okey, dokey. So, we will work with that. Hmmmmm<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;">My hostess introduced me as an important professor from Stanford who was a “<i>serious researcher” </i>in this field. (Really, these were her words.) And not to expect any fluffy, airy fairy kinds of games, etc. Indeed they were to be assured that no one would have to do anything and would not be called on to make a fool of themselves. Welcome, Dr. Patricia Madson.” (Quickest PhD in history . . .)<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;">Oh, and when I suggested that the random 89 people scattered at the fifty tables all move closer or together so that they were sitting in groups, she said: “No, they aren’t going to do that.” Mama mia.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;">So, here we go. Slide one: “Trust your own voice. “ As I looked out onto the scattering of people all around the room . . . sitting mostly near the exits and walls I tried one futile suggestion. “Hello, how is everyone today? How about those of you sitting alone or in the back to move forward so that we can work together better. “ I shouted encouragingly About six people moved a few inches closer. “How will I ever get people to work together in this setting? At least in a large auditorium you have shoulder to shoulder proximity and a way to “turn to a partner.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"> I am now milling around the tables with a hand held mike smiling and trying to seem encouraging about a workshop that it didn’t appear anyone was pleased to be attending. Okay, lets try this: “Three things in common!” (This is Rebecca’s great beginning to get things moving and laughing.) Okay: GO, find three thing things in common not connected to work. Go) Mild roaring for a while. So then I started going around to each table to get the results. I told everybody who was also included to shout out: ME TOO!! First table: “Clothes, shoes, we have kids.” Okay. So, you all have on clothes! (Everybody that does too, shout: Me Too) Two people say Me Too in a monotone. Next table: “We have kids. We like travel. We have shoes on.” I continued to try and get the whole room roaring Me TOO over some obvious thing, but it wasn’t happening. I kept trying to salvage the game and as I roamed around the tables folks just seemed mildly annoyed at this stupid exercise. Lordy, I am dying here, I thought. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;">I wish I could say that I somehow turned it around. I wasn’t about to simply give up the idea of a workshop in favor of me just talking about improv for an hour. So, I lead every exercise I could mange to organize with this setup. I gave up wondering or worrying over what someone without a partner would do. Most of them used the occasions to check their messages. I led listening exercises. I led group YES games, planning a meeting first with blocking, then with Yes-And! I demonstrated and cajoled the “Reminisce” story game. Whenever the participants were supposed to be doing one of the partner games I noticed that only about half of the group were actually trying the game. And once this became the norm there didn’t seem to be any way to get everybody doing anything! Some would try the game, others looked on apprehensively, a few quietly left the room. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;">At the end I said that I wanted to finish our session by giving everyone a gift and I invited them to “see” the gift in front of them. I asked each of them to open the package and lift out what they found. When I encouraged them to “share what you received” at least one person at every table said: “There was nothing in my box.” Nope. Nothing. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in;">And, that’s the way it was. Nothing in my box. Mercifully the hour ended and I thanked everyone for their “participation” <i>such as it was. </i>Lordy how those ballroom tables can kill connection. So, be wary, my friends, and tuck some strategy away, or simply announce at the outset: This isn’t going to work. Want to join me doing something different? <o:p></o:p></p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-5162120786608962172020-11-20T11:31:00.000-08:002020-11-20T11:31:13.739-08:00The Ultimate Bad Hair Day<p> </p><p><a href="https://open.spotify.com/episode/43MnaQGXxQJvUbkGYQ9MOi">https://open.spotify.com/episode/43MnaQGXxQJvUbkGYQ9MOi</a></p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-80047131516596881052020-09-20T20:42:00.003-07:002020-09-21T13:19:20.412-07:00You are Perfect Just As You Are<p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOY9zAOnN6ABjxWqJbs7igvYNkq89RiYYYtq9c8mIiiCURJYgXmcpo79F5e708DHvWhY5yktjv24L1pHxIWzUaZkHJwRywuaX-7e8uiQtIz8R5I9sPfHHtFdgnHW_RjnLgcH25PT38U15q/s3982/IMG_0815.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3982" data-original-width="2987" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOY9zAOnN6ABjxWqJbs7igvYNkq89RiYYYtq9c8mIiiCURJYgXmcpo79F5e708DHvWhY5yktjv24L1pHxIWzUaZkHJwRywuaX-7e8uiQtIz8R5I9sPfHHtFdgnHW_RjnLgcH25PT38U15q/s320/IMG_0815.JPG" /></a></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;">You are Perfect Just As You Are</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.8px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;">In a good improv class you can discover a new sense of confidence. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This happens over time as you and your classmates experiment doing things, creating stuff, making mistakes, picking each other up and moving forward together. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>What begins to happen is a growing understanding that you are okay. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This is an ordinary okay. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Playing games together brings out the body knowledge that when the chips are down you have what is needed. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>John Tarrant’s said it perfectly: <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“What if you already have what you need?” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Experiencing this truth is fundamental to an improv education. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.8px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;">When we begin to succeed at solving problems on the fly, when we discover that a useful word emerges when you need it we begin to develop “reality confidence”—that is, we discover that we can rely on the world around us. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I learn that when I merge my intelligence with all the incoming data and offers to solve a problem or come up with a useful idea. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Improvising when the stakes are low (in a class, for example) creates confidence in our ability to act “in the real world.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.8px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;">Beyond the discovery that we can act “on the fly” is the body knowledge that there is always something to work with. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Each of us has a light within. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The Japanese poet Linji said it well with this koan:</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.8px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.8px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;">There is a solitary brightness without a fixed shape or form</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;">It knows how to listen to the teachings.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;">It knows how to understand the teachings.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;">It knows how to teach.</span></p><br /><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;">That solitary brightness is you.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.8px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.41px;">That “solitary brightness is you.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Shine your light. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>No one else can. Trust the light. You are perfect just as you are.</span></p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-26806872165912486482020-09-11T17:15:00.000-07:002020-09-11T17:15:09.287-07:00FINDING THE RIGHT IMPROV TEACHER <p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> </span></span></span></span></span></span>FINDING THE RIGHT IMPROV TEACHER</span></p><div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Since improv is trending in the media now and in pop film culture I thought I'd say a few words about finding the right fit. If you are considering taking an improv class here are some thoughts on finding a teacher:</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I’m fond of saying that selecting an improv coach/teacher is very much like finding a therapist. One size doesn’t fit all. And there are hundreds of reasons to commence a class or workshop with improv in the title, and there are at least as many teaching styles and purposes. And, truth be told, anyone can call herself an “improv teacher.” There is no formal or even informal certification of those who put out the IMPROV shingle. I’ve known a young woman who had taken a single improv class, found it exciting, and then made up flyers to announce that she was teaching a six week class. And, I suppose it’s possible that she had a natural talent for understanding improv and that the class was terrific. Regardless of clocked hours or training and experience as an improviser, the measure of the value of an improv class is often personal. The operative question to ask an improv leader is: “What is your purpose in teaching this class?’ The answer will be revealing. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I recently attended a high level conference at Stanford University where I had taught for some years. The conference leader announced that there would be a session on improvisation following lunch. This pleased me, as a little dose of improv wisdom would be welcome at this rather academic day, curiously, on the topic of innovation. The young leader introduced herself and told us all that she was new to this, that she had never done this game before and was experimenting. Fair enough, I thought. I like it when improv teachers are themselves improvising. We all filed into a large open space in an adjoining room. We were given instructions to find a partner and to face each other and then take turns leading and following while making random movements. (This is the classic Mirror Game used for decades in actor training.) After a minute or so we were instructed to join with another pair making a foursome, still mirroring. “Add some noises,” she coached. This continued until the large group of 60 was in one big circle all mirroring. And, then abruptly, the leader said: “thank you.” It was all over. We all applauded as if we had done something extraordinary. That was the end of it. The organizer announced that the next session would start in ten minutes across the hall.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">What had happened? The leader had simply set this activity in motion. Period. Besides “doing the Mirror Game” I don’t think our young leader had any purpose for this odd activity. What struck me was the waste. This game can teach a plethora of life lessons about self-other-power-control, and most of all about attention. At the very least it can be a jumping off place to discuss our fear of being observed or judged. (Everyone feels silly doing this at a conference.) What makes no sense is to simply do the game, sans instruction or debriefing. The game is not improv. We might as well have been playing hide and seek . . . which is at least a proper game. No doubt this young women had been introduced to this game by some acting or improv teacher and was confusing a tool with the learning. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">For my money a good improv class has a balance between experience and reflection, with the emphasis on experience. Improv isn’t psychodrama, but failure to take note of the implications of what happens to us when we jump into the pool and try out new ways of thinking and doing is a missed opportunity.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">For most of my beginning classes I invite the group to form a standing circle, take a moment to look around at who is in the room and then shake their bodies lightly. This is followed by a game called Sound Ball in which I begin by miming throwing a ball to someone in the circle accompanied by a random sound. “Whoosh,”. . . I shout (pretending to throw a ball) at Tom. Tom is instructed to catch the ball in real time while repeating the sound that I threw. “Whoosh,” says Tom, pretending to catch the ball. Then Tom needs to make eye contact with another player across the circle, and throw some new random sound, miming the pitch. “Burrrumph,” calls Tom, throwing to Adele. Without a beat, Adele, shouts, ‘”Zzzzing” miming throwing to Sam. “Oooops, Adele,” I counsel, “you forgot to catch first.” “Oh, she observes, “right,” and she makes the correction. “Burrumph” says Adele and then, turns back to Sam and continues the new sound: “ZZZZZZing.” And so on. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I pace the game to get faster, and within minutes I throw in a second Sound </span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Ball, just to up the anti. Everyone laughs as they realize what is happening. “Oh, no, two balls!!” someone inevitably yells out. “Right!” I reply, “you can count on chaos! I want it to be a challenge.” </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And on we go continuing to toss and catch noises, and later words and phrases. The game, the activity of throwing and repeating sounds, is simple enough to understand. Most new students struggle with it . . . for a variety of reasons. These “problems” become the lesson. “So, what were some of the issues that made this a challenge?” I ask. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">“I had trouble finding someone to throw it to. No one was looking at me.”</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">“I wasn’t sure what the sound was.”</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">“I was trying to ‘come up with’ a good sound nobody had used.”</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">“I was feeling stressed because it was so out of control.”</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">“I had two balls at the same time!”</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">“These are terrific problems. They are all natural, by the way. It’s normal to try and ‘be prepared’ when we have to do something. However, if you are using your mind to think of a ‘good sound’ it is likely you aren’t paying full attention to what’s coming at you. Most of us are busy preparing how we will react (what sound to use) and its easy to miss what is coming at you,” I counsel. How much are we missing in life while preparing what we will say next?</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Of course, each of us is wrestling with his own demons, and problems with the work varies. A skillful teacher is noticing what parts of the simple process unleashed by the game need attention and correction. What is key here is to underscore that beginning improv work is all about process and not about content. We are free to utter whatever smart or nonsense sound appears. We begin to exercise the spontaneity muscle and execute before we’ve “decided” what is a good idea/word/sound. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Adam Tobin, a former student who is now the head of the Screenwriter’s Program at Stanford had this insight about teachers of improv. Each of us is teaching with a unique voice. The same game taught by different instructors yields different life lessons. Our “voice” in the classroom reflects our values and our purposes. There are many insights that can emerge from playing the same game. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It’s wise to check out the teacher’s voice to see if it resonates with your purposes for studying improv. A good fit can produce profound learning.</span></div></div>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-46658492313477952892020-09-01T16:41:00.002-07:002020-09-21T13:19:50.406-07:00Teaching Kindness<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx1UOZlWZ8R6qZkoCtUUhoUIC8CDnc0Piaz1tEgHFtxGQV8hJ-1WBxwg_-9C2MHuLgPi35bfPmWxkPo0zctDLc-CDQWCetGyr21pv_fKOCqysLnO-ypbtC0Ols02S_pMdZLjeaX6kDCqGX/s2048/IMG_1152.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1368" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx1UOZlWZ8R6qZkoCtUUhoUIC8CDnc0Piaz1tEgHFtxGQV8hJ-1WBxwg_-9C2MHuLgPi35bfPmWxkPo0zctDLc-CDQWCetGyr21pv_fKOCqysLnO-ypbtC0Ols02S_pMdZLjeaX6kDCqGX/s640/IMG_1152.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> <span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; text-align: center;">Teaching Kindness – Improv, a Venue for Values</span><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">On a cool December night, the line outside of the Noh Stage Theater was long waiting to get in to see <i>Awkward Dinner Party, </i>an unusual long form improvisation format with a three-person cast. The lady standing behind me struck up a conversation. She wanted to sing the praises of Lisa Rowland, one of the principals of the improv show-- “She is really brilliant as a teacher and more importantly I admire her <i>as a person.</i> I mean, she is just so good, so kind and so positive. Lisa is an amazing teacher, and an awesome human being.” I nodded agreement, mentioning that she had been one of my students at Stanford. We were both fans.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lisa comes from the crucible of the Stanford Improvisers, a group I founded in 1991. They have the reputation of being “<i>the nicest</i> group to play with.” I was always pleased and flattered by that appellation. More important than being funny, is being kind, nice, easy and thoughtful to play with. Yup, the SIMPS were the <i>nicest</i> group at any tournament. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">At the heart of our work as improv teachers is the possibility to change the world. We do this both by modeling the behaviors we want to teach as well as finding ways both indirect and direct to teach them. Whether we acknowledge it or not <i>all </i>teaching is value laden, so why not teach the virtues our society needs? Everyone wants to have more positive social and interpersonal interactions, but they don’t know how. Many of us are stuck in old patterns of reacting. Improv provides a canvas upon which we can teach people how to listen better and be kinder to each other. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">I teach a workshop called: “Working with difficult people.” Everyone shows up for this. And, then there’s a bit of bait and switch. Once in the room I tell everyone that the only difficult person they can change is <i>themselves.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s easy to see that selfishness and self-interest is at the root of many of our social problems. Everyone wants a more satisfying life. How does kindness fit into this? Improv can be both a metaphor and a tool to discover a kinder version of youself. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">As a tool the games can be used to lift others up or cut each other down. If you study comedy, you’ll soon discover that the quickest way to get a laugh is to put someone else down. “Hay, there, fellow, that’s a nice dog you’ve got there. That’s no dog, that’s my wife.” <span style="font-family: "Apple Color Emoji";">🤣🤣🤣</span> (a double put down.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">I once taught an offsite workshop to a group of middle managers at a famous tech company in Silicon Valley. Team building was the subject of our work together. The leader had warned me that they were unable to agree on anything. And, it seems that improv was the only workshop that they did not reject. They thought it would be fun at least.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">On the Saturday morning of our off-site workshop we all showed up at the fancy hotel conference room, replete with the obligatory deluxe breakfast buffet. After the mingling about and swilling down coffee and smoked salmon on bagels we got the workshop going. “If you’d please join me now in a circle we can “let the games” begin. I often start with a simple game called “Sound Ball” where we pretend to throw a sound (miming the action of throwing a ball). The person that it is thrown to mimes catching the ball and repeats the sound that was thrown. Then the receiver throws a new sound to someone else, etc. and the throwing and catching continues. It’s a very simple game but brings up lots of issues typically. As we played, I side-coached. I’d suggest: “Become a good catcher.” Pay more attention to receiving than to sending something creative. It’s common for folks to think ahead to come up with an interesting sound when it came their turn. This act of “choosing a good sound” commonly interferes with the attention needed to catch or field the balls. So, from time to time in the game I’d cheerfully make suggestions about shifting one’s attention from self to the others in the circle. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Half an hour in, at a break, the man who had hired me to lead the workshop took me aside to give <i>me</i> some instructions: (I’ll never forget his words.) “Nix on all that good advice, lets get on with the fun and games.” He simply wanted to do improv games so that they could make jokes and one-up each other. They were actually skillful at putting each other down. Cooperation seemed like some distant dream. (Think our current political divide.) Since he was the boss I pulled back on the “good advice” part of my teaching. Sad really. Improv could help a situation like this. In my introduction class I remind us that sarcasm, which is a common form of “clever exchange” is a kind of poison in an improv world. Its function is a put down. It can create comedy, but rarely good-will. I once saw a bumper sticker that read: : “Tact is for people not witty enough to be sarcastic. Sarcasm is for people not intelligent enough to be tactful.” If we encourage or foster sarcasm, we are in danger of giving them strategies for cruelty.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">An improv class is a place to build trust and safety. We learn to eschew the easy laugh that comes from blocking an offer<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Over time improv can turn a group of normal, selfish bozos into a team of agreeable, cooperative, resourceful bozos. Self interest is normal. With improv games we can make interest in one’s fellows into something that is attractive, productive and doable.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">What are some strategies for teaching kindness? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Status games that focus on raising the status of the other person<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Games that focus on “thank you” and “I’m sorry” (Do as a circle)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">a. “Thanks to whom are we here today” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Random Acts of Kindness Stories<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->4.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Any game can be debriefed with instructions that focus on ‘taking care of the other person.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->5.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Teambuilding games ( the A B C game—sharing control)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->6.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Ball Games can be debriefed to suggest that we “focus on being a good receiver, smile to make others feel good and never correct.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Have a discussion about how self interest is normal, and how shifting the attention to your partner produces good will and cooperation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Kindness can also be manifest in the kinds of characters that we play in scenes. Suggest that characters can have high moral standards. Good stories often have villains or “bad guys.” But don’t confuse this with just being stubborn or argumentative. Keep your humanity. Chose to play heroes. We all love heroes. The best heroes aren’t the superhero brand, but ordinary folks. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-7222586615118092092020-08-11T16:14:00.007-07:002020-08-11T16:24:19.593-07:00The Yelp of Yesterday<p> </p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; text-align: center;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1_XRwgg_N8UV1s_ItECN7M3ZeTUkpJgEks4MZI5aZv9Lbl29_SxuRQJ_RPAvfkt8eWSygm-S08vgE7iTr1cBY9TlHcMutRlFDjEKB3aoqvDE_Y0l94dulp83rZAvxl9bsffsYYyLI5qGS/s1477/8A6E3593-CE54-4F8D-ABCA-11AE24126D4E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1477" data-original-width="1075" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1_XRwgg_N8UV1s_ItECN7M3ZeTUkpJgEks4MZI5aZv9Lbl29_SxuRQJ_RPAvfkt8eWSygm-S08vgE7iTr1cBY9TlHcMutRlFDjEKB3aoqvDE_Y0l94dulp83rZAvxl9bsffsYYyLI5qGS/s640/8A6E3593-CE54-4F8D-ABCA-11AE24126D4E.jpeg" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; text-align: center;">“Soon enough, nobody will remember life before the Internet.</span><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; text-align: center;"> </span><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; text-align: center;"> </span><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; text-align: center;">What does this unavoidable fact mean?”</span></span><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif;">Michael Harris, </span><i><span face="">The End of Absence </span></i><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif;">(2014)</span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;">The Yelp of Yesterday<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Harris’ profound book is a wake-up call to those of us “of a certain age.” He points out that at 77 I fall into a demographic that has lived as an adult through both a life with </span><i><span face="" style="font-size: 14pt;">and</span></i><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> without the Internet. “If we’re the last people in history to know life before the Internet, we are also the only ones who will ever speak, as it were, both languages. We are the only fluent translators of Before and After.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> The story of my midlife trip around the world, without a phone, seems more important in the light of his observation. No one born today or hereafter can ever take a trip around the world without a phone . . . even if they don’t carry one themselves. So it falls to me to tell the story of what that was like. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I arrived on a night bus from the Phuket airport to the coast side town. I spent my fortieth birthday alone on Kata Beach in Thailand. There were no birthday greetings since I was 3000 miles from home and there was no telephone service of any kind or post office in the beachfront town where I had rented a thatched cottage by the beach. Facebook wasn’t even a twinkle in someone’s eye and there was no such thing as Wi-fi anywhere. Anywhere. On that December 3 day, I watched a sunset break over the ocean so pink and peach and lavender spectacular that I can still remember it. My diary noted that the only person I had spoken to all day was a waiter who brought me grilled fish. I did a small watercolor painting in my journal to commemorate that sunset. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;">The year was 1982 and I was six months into a trip around the world. I was alone, carrying one small brown suitcase and I was without a phone. It was as close to paradise as I can imagine. The place was actually called Shangri-la, if you can believe it. I was surrounded by solitude, nature and what Michael Harris calls “absence.” </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I’m not here as a crusader about the “good old days” to compare the magic of traveling without Yelp or a GPS. Recounting the trip does point out that attention was a more natural exercise without the constant distraction of our devices.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;">When I wanted to know something, I would ask someone or if the question was factual I would go to a library and stand in front of long rows of wooden drawers filled with cream colored index cards: the card catalogue. These cards, which were carefully indexed by subject, name or author, were just the first step in acquiring what was needed to answer a question. Once a likely book was identified there was the issue of getting the book. Perhaps it was in the stacks above or it may have been housed in another library. I might need to fill out a request for an interlibrary loan, wait two weeks and then return to have a look at the book. When I was able to get my hands on the book then I needed to read it, cull the information, formulate an answer to my query and jot down the findings on some 3 X 5 note cards that I kept in a little green tin box. Research.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;">No future generation will ever go through this procedure. It would have seemed like science fiction to imagine typing a question onto a computer screen or speaking the question out loud and having the answer appear instantly. Research. Really? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Actual humans were the Yelp of yesterday. As I traveled the world and wanted to know a good place to crash or a reliable bus route or the best local fish I would ask someone I met on the road. Strangers became the links to places, goods and services. I kept a tiny notebook in which I would record recommendations gathered along the way. In Nepal it was the Kathmandu Guest House or K. C.’S Restaurant and on Bali it was Murni’s Restaurant where I’d go to get the scoop on travel tips. I learned to trust the network of travelers I met. On the road to Pokhara I met someone who had just come from there and had a suggestion for a good place to sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;">The key life skill that was needed was the ability to pay attention to reality, to stay alert to all that was happening and to the people I met and the advice I gathered. Attention became my best friend and the biggest challenge as I traveled. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 14.666666030883789px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 20.53333282470703px;">From my diary of December 5, 1982 <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 14.666666030883789px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 20.53333282470703px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 14.666666030883789px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 20.53333282470703px;">“I realized that traveling well takes real alertness, attention, mindfulness and a high degree of tolerance and flexibility. I'm gaining these skills. Spacing out is not allowed. In transit I must stay clear. That's probably why traveling is such real work. There is no time to go slack.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="" style="font-family: timesnewromanpsmt, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-62914834084236075802020-08-06T16:31:00.001-07:002020-08-06T16:31:39.461-07:00Some of my art work . . .https://sites.google.com/site/patriciaspaintings/Home<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfums3vu3mvNoWKUahzIGNjSEEVbOkx-ERoTFEaQIi3lOB4pr0ZSeOuVUbeIqYSnSfpdaC-VVUoCbcE0mmRtx7NfwAu0x9BVe7MdOSxQ495ZmhFMwc0pH6pm4p4tUX8rz7AYSmHnBLXcie/s800/A+Botanical+Art-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfums3vu3mvNoWKUahzIGNjSEEVbOkx-ERoTFEaQIi3lOB4pr0ZSeOuVUbeIqYSnSfpdaC-VVUoCbcE0mmRtx7NfwAu0x9BVe7MdOSxQ495ZmhFMwc0pH6pm4p4tUX8rz7AYSmHnBLXcie/s640/A+Botanical+Art-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_kObXfeK07Q8v3uZlTnVZYF_fi8qtME88RYQKtCM753ErzpUkz2NPNcgMgSKmMjGqplZGkNuzEqiXs9HDgJOCx6ylmbZlfhyphenhyphen4JfY0pHLkUL_HQPMJ0fSTAd1-2ojvyq6vaZxo3k23Karh/s2048/CattleyaOrange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1342" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_kObXfeK07Q8v3uZlTnVZYF_fi8qtME88RYQKtCM753ErzpUkz2NPNcgMgSKmMjGqplZGkNuzEqiXs9HDgJOCx6ylmbZlfhyphenhyphen4JfY0pHLkUL_HQPMJ0fSTAd1-2ojvyq6vaZxo3k23Karh/s640/CattleyaOrange.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZuYWxOytDRpA8twYYntLEM0ESO5Sk0FZMIUVJlAlqpC3d5Zncb5E3a-kFgcmcSNE9-240rp41TVcjWjSAa945wsQOKfTR5gEOHToOnoUQDtlkr4-oFhrqNdruMGNJQlN2SNwbA3Hweds0/s1536/Channel+Islands0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZuYWxOytDRpA8twYYntLEM0ESO5Sk0FZMIUVJlAlqpC3d5Zncb5E3a-kFgcmcSNE9-240rp41TVcjWjSAa945wsQOKfTR5gEOHToOnoUQDtlkr4-oFhrqNdruMGNJQlN2SNwbA3Hweds0/s640/Channel+Islands0002.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSckVM5LsqelRrhyMy9UkrR0DYgoZFAU9YArwNwLB3ZD2TC97120HwXk8ulVs-iXsyRx9s-A_m3JOMYMaKFPmWp1WCFTcIfE5lVklmbqouueB6QJbjceqfP6GydhdznmDtPdPeUeRdGnK4/s1312/Feilden+Arms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="848" data-original-width="1312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSckVM5LsqelRrhyMy9UkrR0DYgoZFAU9YArwNwLB3ZD2TC97120HwXk8ulVs-iXsyRx9s-A_m3JOMYMaKFPmWp1WCFTcIfE5lVklmbqouueB6QJbjceqfP6GydhdznmDtPdPeUeRdGnK4/s640/Feilden+Arms.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2y3hqaOaZvHmWfA51mH3UbUms0F3ATBiMwZLx_2lkiNH5PNQTqaGQtq7dS3YrHu12ddtRVOXaxHHfB_BRUlk-JWvhFjc_vMMROWiqvQtbRd-SVndW9K__lb9zuMlEagfq0OidwPV5PtWM/s1860/Nasturtiums30001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1860" data-original-width="1262" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2y3hqaOaZvHmWfA51mH3UbUms0F3ATBiMwZLx_2lkiNH5PNQTqaGQtq7dS3YrHu12ddtRVOXaxHHfB_BRUlk-JWvhFjc_vMMROWiqvQtbRd-SVndW9K__lb9zuMlEagfq0OidwPV5PtWM/s640/Nasturtiums30001.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJQ80hvajK3Q8odEGdlITNOUG7aYPYNLWyyAs7E2YFcbjDwizWVd8haBvuqqwVV5nujGamQP-nJpUFNARRKOX0XQTEojWkPgDs55Ax3E83W6kxDqX7RqTxM_iuDbVaoG8nJk_RlrCsIQu/s1120/Near+Sawrey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="848" data-original-width="1120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJQ80hvajK3Q8odEGdlITNOUG7aYPYNLWyyAs7E2YFcbjDwizWVd8haBvuqqwVV5nujGamQP-nJpUFNARRKOX0XQTEojWkPgDs55Ax3E83W6kxDqX7RqTxM_iuDbVaoG8nJk_RlrCsIQu/s640/Near+Sawrey.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-51905030992968636912020-06-10T15:22:00.000-07:002020-06-10T15:22:21.210-07:00ELM Magazine in Finland celebrates ImprovElm magazine in Finland caters to elders with thoughtful articles on aging. They interviewed me on Zoom a few weeks ago. Here is the link:<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666984558105px;"><a href="https://elmmagazine.eu/theme-issue/adult-education-and-the-unexpected/" style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666984558105px;">https://elmmagazine.eu/theme-issue/adult-education-and-the-unexpected/</a></span>Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-56934150419492652462020-04-05T12:20:00.002-07:002020-04-05T12:24:37.699-07:00Improvising in Changing Times<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
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Improv Wisdom for Our Changing World<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Worrying is like praying for something that you don’t want to happen.” Okay, so I don’t have a magic pill that dissolves worry. We are all uncertain of the future. But that is not new. Life is at all times uncertain although we carry around the illusion that we have it “under control.” When improvisors bound on stage to create a story they have no idea of where it might go. They fundamentally trust Reality and take a step in some direction. Then, things have a way of working out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Today a great many of us are living with new restrictions. We are at home keeping social distance. This new circumstance may lead us to spend a lot of time listening to the news and following social media. Perhaps there are better ways to use this precious time. I teach improvisation, not as comedy, but as common sense. Some of the guidelines we use to make stories happen onstage are applicable to our current conundrum. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Robert Poynton, an Applied Improv wizard has given us some wise tips for the improv stage. I have modified his three instructions to improvisors. <o:p></o:p></div>
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1. Let go.<o:p></o:p></div>
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2. Appreciate more.<o:p></o:p></div>
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3. Use everything.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Let go<o:p></o:p></div>
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What does it mean to “let go?” If you are like me your mind likes to spin future scenarios. “Given the current statistics and predictive charts, etc. what is going to happen? Well, the one thing we <i>can</i> know is that if we don’t pay attention, we will miss the life we are leading <i>now</i>. This crisis with all of its unknowns and unpredictability is the ideal time to work with our minds to set aside or redirect future speculation. We have to <b>let go </b>of story-making about possible futures. My advice: First: TURN OFF THE NEWS. Second: Take a long, deep breath and look around at the world you inhabit. Notice it as if for the first time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The trees outside my window give no thought to the virus. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As you work with your mind try substituting “I notice . . .” for “I wonder?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I noticed that in the grocery store today people were kinder and more respectful.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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Instead of “I wonder when this all is going to end?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Appreciate more<o:p></o:p></div>
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With our more limited physical world and our slower pace of living it is a perfect time to begin (or reinforce) practices that foster gratitude. I love the practice of Naikan in which I ask and answer the question: “What am I receiving from others?” This invites me to look at all the benefits in my life. I can rejoice in the thoughtful and kind customer service I just received from a domain name service. Charlie worked with me for over an hour setting up domains and web hosting. Our neighbor is bringing our mail from the post office. The UPS truck is busy delivering all the things we normally “run to the store” to buy. Those nurses and doctors sporting clumsy protective gear are all working to help us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Perhaps you have a place in your journal or on your computer where you make notes of things you are grateful for. Why not stop right now and write down three things you are grateful for. And, then keep adding to the list. Observing your life from the vantage point of your many blessings rather than from the restrictions you’re facing now is a good starting place.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Notice the good and praise it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Use Everything<o:p></o:p></div>
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In my lifetime I can’t remember a more perfect time to bring your creativity into play around your everyday needs. All of us who are self-isolating are figuring out ways to eat well and manage our daily household requirements. What a perfect time to explore the canned goods or frozen foods in our refrigerators and pantries. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I just remembered that a simple can of Tomato Soup makes a wonderful lunch if I add a spoon of tarragon. Let’s get creative with leftovers. And, what an ideal time to get back to baking. There are few things nicer than the smell of cookies or muffins baking. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Perhaps you don’t have any special disinfecting wipes. I’ll bet you have some old towels or pieces of cloth. A bit of bleach solution or some alcohol makes a fine cleaning tool. The cloths can then be thrown in the wash. If you’re an artist this is a great time to pull out some of your art supplies that haven’t yet been explored. How about making a card to send in the mail to someone who needs cheering? <o:p></o:p></div>
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This is of course a perfect time to fill those leftover grocery bags with Goodwill items. Each day select a drawer or shelf and give it a good purge and cleaning. Now might also be the time to use those little hotel shampoo bottles in the bathroom drawers. “Use everything” is a marvelous mantra. Another premise of improv is that “you have what you need.” So the next time you feel a pull to run to the grocery or drugstore see if you can’t find a substitute that works as well . . . maybe even better.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When we improvise our lives we always remember to “take care of our partners” . . . this means to notice who might need a cheering word or call. Our lives are truly amazing. Let’s share our stories of how we are improvising our lives in this time of change. I’d love to hear from you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Patricia Ryan Madson<o:p></o:p></div>
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improvwisdom@gmail.com<o:p></o:p></div>
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4/4/20<o:p></o:p></div>
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Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-69504097629557825822019-07-31T16:54:00.001-07:002019-07-31T16:54:16.091-07:00Please wait . . . help is on the way.<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Please wait. . . Help is on the way.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW4uA73YaoyRyVgJpPaC7qQHqpKUlgx3pQH_wvCds7DerH49oAQikaCngCIkDnk73gutgyQSukWzOyK2u4lXY2PT1DhgF1p7PrvaiSwOmhz_VI3Z04Oe6Xw8fwU-iAFdxtGF1-JI11UuUQ/s1600/fullsizeoutput_5257.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW4uA73YaoyRyVgJpPaC7qQHqpKUlgx3pQH_wvCds7DerH49oAQikaCngCIkDnk73gutgyQSukWzOyK2u4lXY2PT1DhgF1p7PrvaiSwOmhz_VI3Z04Oe6Xw8fwU-iAFdxtGF1-JI11UuUQ/s320/fullsizeoutput_5257.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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We normally go through the standard check out lane at Safeway. Today Ron thought it would be fun to try out the “do it yourself” check out stands. Increasingly retail stores like Home Depot and grocery chains are trying out these cashier-less stations. Each stand has a scanner, computer read-out and place to land the grocery items for bagging. Once all of the items have been scanned successfully and paid for you are given permission to bag. Seems straightforward enough . . . if it weren’t for produce. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Produce needs to be identified and then weighed of course. You’re out of luck if you don’t know the name of the vegetable or if the item is being sold by unit instead of weight. We got stuck on a single cucumber. I remembered that they were on sale at 3 for $5. But the computer system needs to grok all of that. We had a total of about 30 items, half of them produce. Each time we did something wrong or didn’t know how to proceed, the computer program would stop everything, and a soothing voice recording would chime out: “Please wait . . . Help is on the way.” It repeated: “Please wait . . . Help is on the way.” And, sure enough a helpful clerk would sidle up to our station and assist in correcting whatever was wrong. She would show us how to type in the vegetable name, then put it on the scale to be weighed and then notice how it had processed. Finally we could put it on the shelf for later bagging. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For weeks after this adventure the calming voice over: “Please wait, help is on the way . . .” has been playing in my brain. During the Safeway checkout I noticed that this reassuring message really did help to ally anxiety over being stuck unable to leave the supermarket. In just the time it took to hear these words I noticed that my reaction was to take a long, deep breath and look around. And sure enough, within seconds usually, a kindly clerk would appear and provide a solution to our conundrum. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Isn’t life just like this? Usually. If we can develop the habit of taking a breath and simply waiting help has the space to find us. Our world is inhabited by helpers all around. We have policemen, firemen, medical professionals whose sole job is to provide “help on the way.” And, then don’t forget the friends and family who at the drop of a text or call will show up to help. Humans are helpers by nature. It’s quite likely that you have been one of these helpers when a call came your way. So, when we find ourselves in a moment of despair, it’s good to remember the Safeway message: “Please wait, help is on the way.” You betcha.<o:p></o:p></div>
Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-43834808202954130742019-05-15T15:26:00.000-07:002019-05-15T15:26:18.307-07:00The Meaning of Life: Repost from the Excellence Reporter<header class="masthead" role="banner" style="background-color: white; border-top-style: none; caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: "Libre Baskerville", serif; margin: 0px; padding: 30px 0px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><div class="container" style="background-position: 0px 0px; margin: 0px auto; max-width: 1280px; padding: 0px; width: 1235px;">
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<article class="post-1243 post type-post status-publish format-standard has-post-thumbnail hentry category-academia category-excellence category-inventioninnovation tag-authors tag-professors tag-teachers layout-horizontal-left" id="post-1243" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 30px; padding: 45px 20px 20px; position: relative;"><a class="post-lead-category" href="https://excellencereporter.com/category/academia/" style="background-color: #cccccc; box-sizing: border-box; color: white; display: inline-block; left: 0px; letter-spacing: 0.1em; margin-bottom: 15px; max-width: 100%; padding: 5px 20px; position: absolute; text-decoration: none; text-transform: uppercase; top: 0px; transition: all 0.3s ease-in-out;">ACADEMIA</a><h1 class="title" style="color: #1a1a1a; line-height: 1.1667; margin: 0px 0px 5px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Patricia Ryan Madson: The Meaning of Life and Joining the Chain of Givers</span></h1>
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<span class="text-by">BY</span> <span class="author vcard"><a class="url fn n" href="https://excellencereporter.com/author/excellencereporter/" rel="author" style="color: #1f0e12; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.3s ease-in-out;" title="View all posts by Excellence Reporter">EXCELLENCE REPORTER</a></span> <span class="text-on">ON</span> <a href="https://excellencereporter.com/2015/04/11/patricia-ryan-madson-joining-the-chain-of-givers/" rel="bookmark" style="color: #1f0e12; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.3s ease-in-out;" title="1:41 pm">APRIL 11, 2015</a></div>
<section class="entry"><blockquote style="background-color: #f2f2f2; border-left-color: rgb(31, 14, 18); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 3px; margin: 0px 0px 30px; overflow: hidden; padding: 10px 20px; position: relative;">
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<strong>I can never repay all of those who create the conditions of life, but I can do a small part in giving something back to the world.</strong></div>
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<img alt="Trinka's Nice Smile" class="alignright wp-image-1244" data-attachment-id="1244" data-comments-opened="1" data-image-description="" data-image-meta="{"aperture":"0","credit":"","camera":"","caption":"","created_timestamp":"0","copyright":"","focal_length":"0","iso":"0","shutter_speed":"0","title":"","orientation":"0"}" data-image-title="Trinka’s Nice Smile" data-large-file="https://excellencereporterdotcom.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/trinkas-nice-smile.jpeg?w=576" data-medium-file="https://excellencereporterdotcom.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/trinkas-nice-smile.jpeg?w=300" data-orig-file="https://excellencereporterdotcom.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/trinkas-nice-smile.jpeg" data-orig-size="576,480" data-permalink="https://excellencereporter.com/2015/04/11/patricia-ryan-madson-joining-the-chain-of-givers/trinkas-nice-smile/" height="356" scale="2" src-orig="https://excellencereporterdotcom.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/trinkas-nice-smile.jpeg?w=427&h=358" src="https://excellencereporterdotcom.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/trinkas-nice-smile.jpeg?w=427&h=356" srcset="https://excellencereporterdotcom.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/trinkas-nice-smile.jpeg?w=427&h=356&zoom=2 2x" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: block; float: right; height: auto; margin: 10px 0px 15px 30px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px;" width="427" />What is the Meaning of Life?</div>
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Meaning is a concept that humans have created. <em>We</em> give meaning to behavior or events. Do plants or animals have “meaning?’ However the question is a worthy one. Allow me to revise it: “What is the purpose of life?”</div>
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The purpose of life is to uncover and execute the purpose of life. For me that purpose has been to learn that life is an unfathomable gift. Each of us is the recipient of countless gifts moment by moment. And, one of the ways to understand these countless gifts is to <em>count</em>them. I first encountered this through a Japanese practice called Naikan.</div>
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Take a breath, look around and begin to innumerate what you are receiving at this moment. The wind cools me as I sit on the porch on a comfortable chair designed and fabricated by people I’ve never met. This computer assists me in gathering and storing these words compliments of a word processor that corrects my spelling and saves these thoughts. Someone spent great effort to create and execute this technology. Right now an electric oven is cooking potatoes to nourish me for lunch. Farmers planted and harvested these potatoes. In the distance I hear a foghorn that signals location for fisherman and boaters on the ocean nearby. A fleece blouse keeps me warm and fashionable. This blouse has a chain of makers and movers who brought it to me in the mail. People working in the Social Security Administration who sent me a check this month have allowed me to pay for this blouse.</div>
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I believe that the purpose of life is to come to know the myth of the “self made person.” No one has ever ‘done it on her own.’ Every human continues to live thanks to the efforts of others who make things and do things that support life.</div>
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Once I began to see this realistically I was moved to join this chain of givers in contributing something back that is useful or helpful. I can never repay all of those who create the conditions of life, but I can do a small part in giving something back to the world. I can use my daily calories to either contribute to the solution, or if I am mindless to the problem.</div>
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The Dalai Lama wrote: The True Meaning of Life: “We are visitors on this planet. We are here for ninety or one hundred years at the very most. During this period, we must try to do something good, something useful, with our lives. If you contribute to other people’s happiness, you will find the true goal, the true meaning of life.”</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><strong>~Patricia Ryan Madson</strong></span><span style="font-size: small;">, author, professor Emerita from Stanford University.</span><br /><a href="http://www.improvwisdom.com/Welcome.html" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: #1f0e12; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.3s ease-in-out;" target="_blank">www.ImprovWisdom.com</a></div>
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Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-26192035424712129732019-03-31T14:54:00.000-07:002019-05-15T14:43:54.235-07:00Naikan at Senkobo 1987<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Naikan at Senkobo<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Patricia Ryan Madson</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> My journey began at Kyoto station on the morning of July 8, 1987 as I boarded a sleek air-conditioned bus and watched the Japanese countryside fly by on my pilgrimage to Kuwana. I changed from the bus to the national railroad train at Nagoya and finished my journey with a taxi across rice fields which took me to Senkobo, a rare combination of Zen and Shinshu temple set inconspicuously in a farming area. The head of Senkobo is Reverend Shue Usami. He recently completed koan training and is qualified to practice both Shinshu and Zen Buddhism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> As the taxi pulled into the courtyard of the monastery Mrs. Usami, the priest’s wife, appeared full of smiles to greet us. A forty-eight-year-old retired American surgeon named Malcolm accompanied me to do the practice of Naikan. I proffered a kilo of banana as a small offering. Our bags were taken from us and brought along.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> We entered the monastery compound via wooden sliding doors. Over the entrance were crossed a Japanese and an American flag. I was moved by this thoughtful welcome. We were led into a reception room where a second set of flags was hung to greet us. Okabe San, our young translator, sat down with us on the <i>tatami</i>and pulled out a large white pad of paper. It would be used to write our questions and comments to assure that we were clear in our communications. This system of writing was used throughout the week for all communications except the <i>mensetsu</i>, or formal interview itself. We were never asked to write down our Naikan reflections.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Mrs. Usami appeared with a tray of tea cakes made from red <i>adzuki</i>beans and two bowls of the thick frothy green tea used in the Tea Ceremony. There was a refreshing cube of ice in each bowl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The mood gently shifted to one of business. We were given some instructions handwritten in English. Our passports and valuables were collected for safekeeping. A rule sheet read: “Manners: There are two very important rules during Naikan. Never talk to others and don’t get up or walk around unless there is a specific purpose. Please keep these two rules.” We were further instructed that we would be told daily when to come to meals, when to bathe and when to go to bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> We next considered the way to practice Naikan. Naikan is a form of self-reflection, a system designed to look at reality from a unique vantage point: that of our indebtedness. By the practice of systematically recalling the past from a new purview we may come to be less egocentric and have a more complete perspective on our lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> After the tea and instructions, I expected to be shown to my sleeping place and allowed to unpack and relax after our long journey. Instead we were taken directly to our meditation cubicles bounded by <i>byobu</i>screens and instructed to begin our Naikan practice immediately. My first assignment was to reflect on my relationship to my mother from my birth until age six. The reflection was to take the following form: I should contemplate specific examples of 1. What I received from her. 2. What I returned to her and 3. What trouble and bother I caused her during that period of my past. I was told that the <i>mensetsu </i>or formal interview in which I would report on my reflection would be held in one and half to two hours. I was given a small thin square pillow and left alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> It was somehow like the thunderous sound of a cell gate being closed and locked. At this instant I knew that I was in both heaven and hell. There was no going back on the path that I had chosen. The knowledge which I was about to receive would change me profoundly. I experienced a deep sense of grief over the notion that in this practice I was somehow dying to my old picture of myself. I would never again be able to crawl inside the simple self-centered view of myself in relation to my parents or to anyone else in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> My personal environment was stark. I occupied a small defined space in a large shrine hall before a low window facing out onto the side courtyard of the monastery. Directly below my window was a basin. Occasionally I would see other <i>Naikansha</i>(those doing the practice of Naikan) washing their hair or doing laundry during their brief personal time. When I faced out from the wall I was looking toward the open floor of the shrine hall with its fifty or sixty <i>tatami </i>mats (each three feet by five feet). To my left was the central altar with a large statue of the Buddha, flanked by two minor deities. The altar contained numerous offerings, including my small gift of inexpensive chocolates. This meager gift sat proudly on the altar all week to remind me of how little I was giving back to those who were devoting their lives to assisting me in this practice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The perimeter of this large shrine room housed the <i>Naikansh</i>a. Each participant had his or her own space. These were demarcated by vertical cardboard screens placed at 6 foot intervals. There were eight cubicles overall in this space. Elsewhere in the monastery was a large dormitory-type room that was used for Naikan practice. Indeed, few spaces went unused. <i>Naikansha</i>were placed along the walkways outside the building, as well. They were awaiting their chance to be admitted to the temple to do formal Naikan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> At Senkobo Naikan practice runs parallel with Zen practice. An assistant directs the practice periods and administers the calls for <i>zazen</i>and <i>kinhin. Zazen</i>is the sitting meditation form practiced in Zen, and <i>kinhin</i>is the walking meditation form. The assistant Takano San was a small Japanese man of indeterminate age, perhaps 53 years old, who customarily sat in the cubicle opposite mind during <i>zazen.</i>When not sitting he did various routine jobs such as clapping wooden blocks to announce walking practice. He announced the time of formal <i>mensetsu</i>each evening and he sat at the head of the table during the brief ritualized meals, leading the recitation of <i>sutras</i>. His attention, efficiency and implacable face were noteworthy. He lived the quality of alertness associated with sincere Zen practitioners. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Alone in my tiny empty space, I began Naikan. The shock of actually being there gave way to a wave of fears and doubts about my ability to go through with this endeavor. I was committed to a week of 15 hours a day sitting and reflecting upon my own selfishness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> My body started to rebel. Even with some training in <i>seiza</i>, the formal sitting posture in Japan, I was certain that a backrest would be necessary in time. Indeed, the entire question of the possibility of physical comfort began to dominate my thinking. During the next week I would learn a great deal about the myriad ways the mind would attempt to divert itself from this practice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Over and over again I brought my mind back to the question; what have I received from my mother from birth to age 6. Of course, I owed her my birth. My birth… My birth… what could I remember of my birth? I have been told that I was born in a black-out during the war and that my mother first saw me by flashlight. And then I recalled that my mother had a <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Cesarean section to give me a birth. She had been cut open just to give me life. To this day she carries a scar on her body which was caused by my birth. When this memory burst upon me I began to sob.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I remembered also being washed in the kitchen sink and looking at a rainbow, crawling on the floor in the kitchen while my mother stood cooking at the stove. Other memories surfaced. Mrs. Usami came to receive my first collection of memories. As I recounted my list to her I was unable to hold back my own tears. She listened with empathy while making small noises of understanding. We finished our session with formal bows and she gave me the next assignment: to continue this practice on my mother for the next three years. She left, and I faced my thoughts again. Night fell, a three-quarter moon appeared behind the glass of the window in my cubicle. I squirmed. I was angry at sitting so long. My legs and back hurt. I overheard the sound of those doing the walking meditation practice behind me. At about forty-five minutes intervals the assistant rang a bell. Then he and a few others would do <i>kinhin</i>for several minutes. The room was dark now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The dinner bell rang and the other <i>Naikansha</i>shuffle to get in line for the meal. The entire meal period form took no more than five minutes. We recited a meal chant in Japanese (we have been provided with a phonetic translation), ate our food rapidly and silently, cleaned out our bowls with a pickle, passed the dishes up to the head of the table, recited a closing chant went back immediately to our cubicles. We were instructed to continue Naikan at all times, even when eating or going to the bathroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I continued my reflections. Around 8:30 p. m. the last <i>mensetsu</i>of the day was to be given by the Rev. Usami himself in his study. Giving Naikan to Rev. Usami was somewhat frightening. He sat in his black robes like a stern-faced Buddha. On hearing my confession, he responded in clear and measured English: “Please continue Naikan on your mother for the next three years. Do you have any questions?” I had none.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I was directed to a small room that was used normally as an infirmary. There was an examining table and several acupuncture charts along the walls. To my delight an aging air conditioner hummed proudly from a transom. I was very grateful for this kindness. July in Japan can be brutally hot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The second day began at 4:30 a.m. I was permitted to delay my first session in order to get physical exercise. After rising I washed my face and dressed. I went outside and took a wonderful forty-minute walk along paths by the rice paddies. On returning to my room I did yoga stretches and wrote a few lines in my journal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> At 6:00 a.m. I was seated in my cubicle thinking about my mother. At midmorning there was a 45-minute worship service lead by Rev. Usami. We assembled into rows sitting <i>seiza.</i> The assistant hit several resonant wooden gongs to signal our attention. We recited a sutra and then turned our attention to the daily sermon. After speaking briefly in Japanese, Rev. Usami turned on a small tape recorder and we all listened to a five-minute dharma talk in English. The first talk was a well-known Zen story about a learned teacher who guides his new students into receptivity by filling his teacup to overflowing. When the student protests this action, the teacher points out that one must be like the empty cup in order to be ready to receive knowledge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Immediately following the service, we returned to our cushions to continue Naikan. The first day was interminable. My brief notes at the end of the day began “Everything hurts.” My lower back is aching, and I experienced a bone tiredness. I wondered if I would ever survive the week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Day three began with a long early morning walk. At 6:30 a.m. I was on my cushion reflecting on what I had received from my mother from age 22 to 24. This day was surprisingly different. A deep calm and peacefulness fell over me as I sat focusing on the face of my mother. It was as if the struggle of the second day had been resolved. Something within me had accepted the reality of doing this practice. I was no longer tortured with thoughts of resistance. Indeed, there began a feeling of pleasure at the simplicity of this world. My memory seemed to improve. The initial sense that I couldn’t remember anything about this period disappeared. I felt myself walking down corridors of the mind, opening doors long closed from memory. Because the mind has been instructed to look only for that which I had received from my parents, the memories were often drenched in happiness. I found myself crying from joy and gratitude several times each day. The sounds of muffled sobs of those in nearby cubicles could be heard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> At Senkobo <i>Naikansha </i>wore a folded scarf tied around the forehead, the scarf was often pulled down to cover the eyes partially or completely. On the fourth day I tied a cotton bandanna around my own forehead to see if this emblem had any practical significance. My Naikan became “deeper” in that I was able to concentrate more consistently and access memories in greater detail while wearing the blindfold. It was also a badge, identifying me with the group.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Each day revealed a unique schedule. There was never any certainty about the exact times of eating, bathing or the interviews. On the evening of the day I arrived dinner was at 6 p.m. On subsequent days the dinner bell rang as late as 7:50 p.m. This “never knowing” occupied my thoughts. It intensified the sense that time was important and that we must never waste it. The third day’s <i>dharma </i>talk concerned the precious nature of time. Each day and each instant count. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I found myself angry about the emphasis on using time well. This eternal diligence seemed too much to bear. I wanted some rest and recreation from my labors at Naikan. Instantly I recognized the old habit of selfishness rising to the surface. Three days of Naikan had sensitized me to my own egocentricity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The fourth day dawned muggy and rainy, too wet for my walk. I enjoyed a period of lying down, resting. From the third day I joined the walking meditation with the other students. When the assistant rang a small bell a few of us rose from our cubicles, bowed together and then joined him in the slow walking practice. The practice lasted only three or four minutes, but it was very valuable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> At the conclusion of the first pass over my life with respect to my mother and father I was assigned the theme of “lies and stealing” beginning with first memories and continuing in three-year periods throughout my life. “Lies and stealing” were to include those occasions in which there was any disparity between thought and deed: for example, at times when I might have been saying prayers but thinking of something else. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Dreading this assignment, I undertook it, finding in every three-year period instances of my own immorality. I came to look at the Patricia Ryan who is greedy, selfish and deceitful. It was not a pleasant picture, but it was instructive. As I listed each moving picture of myself as troublemaker from the archives of memory I found another process ongoing, I was able to take in these truths and accept them. Further, at some level I felt myself forgiving myself for these actions. Notice I wrote “forgiving” not “absolving.”. The quality of forgiveness was simple acceptance. I swallowed and owned this information and felt more human for doing so. Painful honesty heals. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> On the fifth day of Naikan I completed the reflections on “lying and stealing.” At approximately each hour-and-a-half interval someone came to hear my recollections. Often it was the tireless Mrs. Usami. Sometimes former <i>Naikansha</i>volunteered their time to come and receive my reflections. I was causing them considerable trouble by speaking English. I was touched by the fact that some volunteers came great distances after a long work day just to sit and listen to my Naikan. I was told that they did it in gratitude for their own Naikan experiences.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> On the fifth day I was permitted to select significant others in my past on whom to reflect. I chose two beloved friends who had been like adopted parents to me. It gave me great joy to enumerate the gifts and kindness that had come to me form them. Doing Naikan began to feel like a great privilege, albeit hard work. I could see how a longer course of practice would provide benefit. Some people apparently do brief Naikan daily for the rest of their lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> After the final Naikan interview of the day we were summoned for a small celebration. The flags of Japan and the United States were the centerpiece. There was a tray of gifts, including the small box of candy that I had brought on my arrival. Mrs. Usami brought refreshments. We opened our presents. Mine included a beautiful cloisonné pencil tray. I felt overwhelmed and embarrassed that after a week of receiving everything: meals, lodging, laundry service and the hourly gift of receiving my Naikan I was once again receiving gifts from Senkobo. This outpouring of gifts and kindness mirrored the discoveries that had surfaced in Naikan. I knew without question or qualification that I continue to be loved and cared for with a bounty that is incalculable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> On the sixth day at Senkobo I was up at 5:30. I took one last morning walk to stretch my legs and say goodbye to the large lotus pond in the neighborhood. Even though I would be leaving in a taxi at 9:00a.m. I was required to go to my cushion at 6:30 to continue my Naikan reflections. At around 8:00 a.m. Okabe San came to receive my last formal <i>mensetsu. </i>After the final bows he instructed me to continue doing Naikan throughout my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> We were served a special breakfast in a dining room separate from the other <i>Naikansha</i>, and our baggage magically appeared at the front door. Our passports and wallets were returned. A taxi waited in the courtyard. At this moment I assumed that we would be saying our farewells, but to my surprise Rev. and Mrs. Usami and Okabe San all jumped in the taxi with us. Further they not only accompanied us all the way to Nagoya where we were to catch the “bullet” train to Tokyo for our flights home but insisted on paying for our taxi and local and express train tickets!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> This final generosity was overwhelming. I had planned on making a donation to Senkobo and had set aside money which I placed in a gift envelope and offered to the Reverend just as I was boarding the train. He flatly refused the gift, putting the envelope back into my handbag, saying quite emphatically: “Foreigners do not pay for Naikan at Senkobo.” We shook hands (the Japanese farewell) and hugged awkwardly but sincerely (the California farewell) and boarded the train to take our reserved seats. As the train pulled out we all waved furiously. Tears of gratitude filled my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Sitting on the train, a young Japanese woman in the next seat handed me a tissue. Again and again the world was given to me. Malcolm, who was writing in his journal, leaned over to ask if I knew how to spell “Buddha”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I wrote in my journal as we neared Tokyo: ” I have learned at Senkobo that there is no resting on this path, and that the gifts of life are endless and abundant. Even in the midst of suffering there is a kind of joy that comes from the sure knowledge of the treasury. At the very least we can do our part by recognizing these unparalleled gifts and their givers. How wonderful it is to be alive and to have the chance to give something back to the world. Today is the day to start.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> There is no question that the experience of doing Naikan at Senkobo fundamentally changed my way of looking at the world. I came to see my own selfishness as a kind of giant iceberg. Naikan was the flamethrower that began the melting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The flame also cast a sharp light on my greed, gluttony lust, envy, sloth and indifference. It was more powerful because no one but I passed judgment on these findings. No one set for me definitions of what I have received or what I had stolen. I left Senkobo with a deep desire to begin to repay the world. The ledger showed my unmistakable debt. There was a great deal that needed to be done. I could hardly wait to begin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Patricia Ryan Madson<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This article was first published in the 1989 edition of <i>Flowing Bridges, Quiet Waters</i>, edited by David K. Reynolds for SUNY Press, Albany<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Patricia Ryan lives in San Francisco and teaches drama at Stanford University. She is certified to practice Morita guidance.</span></i></div>
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Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3315347794841886450.post-79167400584375778692019-03-14T15:27:00.003-07:002019-05-15T14:44:27.390-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOk31IaACW7SWvDu6XfgA1Z0A1_yFhPsE_8yka805DPAK4DP6bmHuoqu3RPWeGafdWAxbzssNLbPgkcNcvfImbK9DSEtEeKX6zr0E3LyKsVODe-gWs4dpE2WLKGBT_ea-xwMU4eEmwsU9a/s1600/IMG_2077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1164" data-original-width="1600" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOk31IaACW7SWvDu6XfgA1Z0A1_yFhPsE_8yka805DPAK4DP6bmHuoqu3RPWeGafdWAxbzssNLbPgkcNcvfImbK9DSEtEeKX6zr0E3LyKsVODe-gWs4dpE2WLKGBT_ea-xwMU4eEmwsU9a/s400/IMG_2077.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Mind Mending<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">“If something is not to your liking, change your liking.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Rick Steves</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The first thing I noticed as I swiped my entry key into the Snap Fitness Gym this morning was that “<i>that</i>guy” was on the treadmill again today. He’s the one who pounds the moving tread at a ferocious beat for over an hour whenever he’s in the gym. His footfalls are so loud and jarring that everyone in the gym takes note of his sweaty workout. You can’t even hear the blaring elevator rock and roll they play when he’s running at top speed. It’s very annoying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">And my reaction to that annoyance is what this essay is about. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Life seems to come at me with discreet valences. Without actually thinking about it I seem to code the moment with a score. This coffee tastes good. This bagel is stale. I’m not interested in that reporter’s story. I’m happy that the sun is out. I’m perturbed that my husband has his music turned up loud. Without even being conscious I notice that my preferences/likes and dislikes are always at work. There’s a plus or a minus or a neutral sticker on everything. It’s virtually impossible to experience life in a mindful but not judgmental way or to let the world in without a score. In particular those events, experiences and people who are in the minus column seem to loom large. A stranger’s behavior, like the heavy-footed jock in the gym, can put me in a lousy mood in no time at all. A thoughtless driver pressing on my bumper can fill me with black thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Until this morning it never occurred to me that I may be able to do something about this. While I can’t change or stop Mr. Pounding foot, it may be possible to change how I react and even <i>how I feel</i>about this. So, I did an experiment today. I wanted to see if I could turn around my annoyance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">John Tarrant, Zen teacher and enlightened author poses the koan: “What if there’s nothing wrong?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">In order to change something about how I feel or think first I must notice what is going on. This may take the form of stepping back and putting a name on my feelings. Something like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">1. “I notice that I am feeling tense and annoyed and even a little bit angry over this fellow’s behavior. His loud pounding of the treadmill offends my ears and disturbs my concentration and enjoyment of my workout.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">2. Having identified the pile of negativity growing in me I am able to separate these thoughts and feelings. I can step back or lift off from them. I can examine them. It might be something like “I notice I’m getting angry over this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">3. Instead of entertaining the annoyance and building details I apply the Tarrant koan: “What if there is nothing wrong?” I let this proposition ruminate for a bit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">4. I notice a shift in the voice that had been burning with annoyance. The gym mate is still pounding the treadmill loudly but now it is simply part of the ambient noise of the gym. It is no longer a personal assault on my wellbeing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">5. I turn my attention to my own workout and observing the morning news on the monitors. My anger has been neutralized. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Rick Steves’ sage advice to “change your liking” now becomes a real possibility. Try it sometime: Getting angry? Lift off and suggest whatever is happening is simply happening. It’s not about you anyway. “What if there’s nothing wrong?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">March 14, 2019</span></div>
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Patricia Ryan Madsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719484543862133758noreply@blogger.com0