The Kipper/Tiger Balance

My husband and I watch "Kipper, the Dog" with our grandchildren and have learned a lot from Kipper's positive, relaxed attitude.
He has a Scotty dog friend, Tiger, his antithesis, a Type-A personality, who always has the latest gadgets. When Tiger goes "on holiday", he carries excess stuff, and even his picture postcards show his attempts to "have fun" kick back.
When I was "on holiday', in my home town in Wisconsin, it occurred to me that having fun and presenting a gig meant establishing a balance between the two dogs.
I was proud that I'd reduced Tiger a bit on the second trip. The minute I received word they'd like me to return, I asked the Chamber Coordinator if she wanted:
* the same
* something similar, or
* a whole different program.
The second time, I booked my motel right away, backtracked to the proper bus that lined up with the ferry schedule, then booked the ferry. I had learned a hard lesson the year before.
* If you wait, even a week, you have to get a more expensive motel, farther away from the festival.
* In Spring, the ferry has only two travel times,
* So you have to book the charter bus.
After I did all that, I emailed my affirmative, then, fell into a heap. After this, Kipper took over for awhile.
But then, it was time to get up and research more Scandinavian stories, which
I incorporated into the program.
I got new luggage this time, and the puppet/prop case in it had wheels.
That seemed a bit Tiger-like, but the year before, I'd battled traffic and parked cars to deliver a hard little rectangular case to headquarters beforehand.
Grabbing a Folktale book, and Storytelling Magazine, I put the magazines in the new carrying case. On the ferry, I met a lady with a Kindle and discussed its assets and advantages for traveling rather than carrying the above.
However, if I hadn't "happened" to stuff an NSN magazine in my carryon, and it "happened" to be the right one, I wouldn't have had the guidelines available from the Story Biz Handbook, by Diane de Las Casas, to re-read, especially "pacing and flow", for further preparation, care of the throat, (a problem that came from
a dusty motel heater, but was quickly cleared up: I chose no heater the next night.) accepting mistakes, improving, refining, documenting, and most of all, making the audience happy.
The second time around, I knew to park my brother's car at his house before the parade began. The year before, I tried to park the huge monstrosity in a literal sea of cars. No one had treated me as special, saying, "Ah, you're a performer! We'll provide you with a parking space."
Then, I wheeled my little puppet/prop bag the rest of the way. Like Tiger, if I noticed a classmate I knew, I couldn't stop to chat, but a classmate with her daughter and grandchildren appeared at the performance.
The custodians had made sure the microphones were set, and I got through the grotesque "Butterball' story, about a hag with her head tucked underneath her arm,
I'd recently told for a mother-daughter banquet that at an E.L.C.A. Church. To avoid West Michigan "Troll-a-phobia" before presenting, I naively asked if there were Scandinavians among them. The lady minister responded, "Better to ask who's not".
After the Wisconsin presentation of this story, I quickly lightened up the preceding story with and improv I call, "The Troll in the Well".
This year, I added a full costume for a very tiny boy, a white curly wig and a monster costume. At first the little boy was shy and hesitant, but I could tell he enjoyed "grrr...ing" in the well, and chasing the two little girls away.
Everybody knew how Iceland had made the news, with volcanic sky interference, (the BIG NEWS just a SHORT time ago) so I told a tale of an Icelandic hidden person, a Finnish tale of a lobster tailor, which was a new "untested" one, but I had laughed out loud while reading it, so I chose that, and added a lobster mask/puppet. The others included: "Tatterhood" from Norway, "Ten Fairy Servants" from Sweden, and finally, the "House Mouse and the Country Mouse" which I'd learned was a folktale from Norway. I added two mouse-eared and one cat-eared little actor
participants in mini-costumes, with noses and tails.
After a little shopping at the Nordic Nook where I asked questions of a bonafide Swede and bought Swedish artifacts, I met up with my employer, who was wearing her Norwegian Bunad. We stood on a triangular median in the middle of traffic, as we discussed business. Unlike last year, she and I had already arranged that the cd player be left at the school in safe keeping, since my puppet bag no longer had room in it.
The connections on the way home were pretty tight, but I'd arranged with my original cabdriver that he pick me up and get me to the dock. In the nick of time, I stood at the desk as the ticket lady begged the computer to print out my boarding pass. We made apprehensive faces at each other, but I finally joined the end of the line and was off to Michigan!

Fairy Fun*

Crushing the can, Houdini looked forward in anger at Conan Doyle.
“Arthur,” he grimaced, “is there no end to your gullibility. If you put this in the Strand, people will think you a fool…Fairies…Now, I’ve heard everything!”
“These are harmless little girls,” Doyle responded, “innocent as doves…cousins, who didn’t know each other well at all, before this.”
“Clever little rascals, I'll wager,” replied Houdini, skeptically.
“I’ll be happy to introduce you to Frances and Elsie. Elsie’s brother, Joseph, passed away,” said Doyle, “and her mother was disconsolate.”
“So,” Houdini deliberated, “the mother turned to Spiritualism like you, Spiritualism without evidence. I’ve been searching for my mother’s spirit for years and have met up with nothing but magician frauds.”
“It gives one hope,” Doyle said, and comfort that someone like my late son can communicate.”
“So now, fairies give you hope as well?”
“The unseen world gives one hope.”
“It does not give one hope when every trickster takes advantage of your grief!”
The door creaked open. Two girls, Elsie, 10, and Frances, 16, stood in the doorway just before the threshold. Harry Houdini looked up. His countenance changed at the sight of them. Surely, these two enchantresses were the most charming darlings he’d seen yet. Theirs was not the picture of the table thumping con artists who insisted on darkened rooms with whom he’d dealt, from one disappointing seance after another.
“So,” he responded, “You two have seen fairies?”
“We’ve taken pictures of them, Sir,” Elsie offered.
Houdini put his head in his hands, trying to stifle a laugh.
“Now, Harry,” Doyle interjected, “surely you don’t think these young ladies have any malice.”
“Arthur,” said Houdini, “excuse yourself.”
Doyle graciously left the room.
“Now, girls,” said Houdini, “truly, you’ve captured the imaginations of the English people.”
“Yes, Sir,” said Frances.
“For what purpose?” inquired Houdini.
“No purpose at all,” said Elsie, “We’ve been enjoying the fairies at Cottingley Beck (Stream), and we want to share the fun of it.”
“I see,” said Houdini, “You want to entertain folks…sort of like me.”
“Yes,” said Elsie, “it’s ever so much fun!”
“And I’ve even taken a picture of Elsie with a gnome,” said Frances.
Houdini raised his eyebrow, “A gnome, you say?”
“They live to be 400 years old, so they’re very wise,” said Elsie excitedly.
“Yes, you can find their homes in the moss at the foot of trees.” Frances joined in.
“Well,” said Houdini, shaking his head and smiling, “far be it from me to spoil the fun.”
*(a spontaneous writing based on Wikipedia & Movie, “Fairy Tale, a True Story”.)