Using Your Outside Voice

Before publishing my very first blog post, I ran it past my teenaged daughter Bea.

She said, “Mom, you’re using your storyteller voice again.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Oh, you know…narrative, formal, soft and wise. You might think like that inside your head, but it’s not the way you talk.”

“How do I talk?”

“You’re funny.  And sassy.  Mom, your idea is good.  Just say the same thing, only write like you’d say it. Write in the same voice you used to write Real Troopers.”   Out of the mouth of babes.

How many times were we told as children to use our Inside Voice, the demure, soft, polite, quiet voice that will offend and disturb no one?  I’ll tell you: LOTS.  Now my own child was urging me to use my Outside Voice, that of the goofball, smart ass, class clown.

It’s the sometimes-too-loud voice that spills out of my mouth when I’m with trusted family and friends. As Bea observed, it’s the voice I use in my novel-in-progress, Real Troopers.  Maybe I struck the right chord in Real Troopers because it’s about sassy funny Girl Scout leaders, written from the point of view of a middle-aged woman who is desperately trying to find her real voice.

So I turned that first post into more of a conversation than a story, and Bea was right—I like it so much better.  I’m happier when using my Outside Voice, in my backyard, in my living room, and in my writing.

Or perhaps I should say, ‘When I allow my Inner Voice to go Outside to play.’

All I need now is to make my readers a virtual cup of coffee, and come to the table–or the computer–in my jammies for an early morning chat.  Hey, got a minute? Wanta cuppa? Cream or sugar?

All words and images copyright Naomi Baltuck

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Photo Challenge: Express Yourself.

BTW: Adventures in Hats is my daughter Bea’s writing blog.  I won’t embarrass her by telling you she’s won awards for her poetry and her stories.  But I will say that I can almost hear her voice when I read it, and her illustrations are delightful.  If you drop by, tell her I said ‘howdy!’

Testing One’s Mettle

“What are you afraid of?” author Bob Mayer asked at a writing conference, “because that’s what’s holding you back as writers.”

At the time, it was social media–mastering new technology, committing to cranking out a weekly post. But I started a blog, and am glad I did.  Since my first blogpost I’ve made new friends, discovered photographic storytelling, which I love, and crossed a whopper off this writer’s to-do list.

Marriage was another commitment that terrified me, but I faced that fear too.

It took seven years before Thom and I felt brave enough to assume the awesome responsibility of parenthood.  It’s the most joyful, most difficult, most rewarding, and most important undertaking we’d ever signed on for, or ever will.

Whether we choose them ourselves or take what fate throws our way, the most daunting experiences are often the most edifying.

The most challenging ones tend to be the most rewarding.

With the toughest climbs come the best views.

After the kids were old enough to change their own diapers, we thought could rest on our laurels, but there was an unexpected twist to the parent/child relationship.

We raised kids who challenge themselves.  Bea watched her big brother do his math homework, and designed her own “Really Hard Math Problem.”

As they tested their own mettle, and created their own challenges…

…we were forced out of our comfort zones just to keep up.

Thom and I would never have chosen to go to the Amazon jungle if the kids hadn’t been keen to go.

It was hard to watch my kids twist and turn like little spiders on a web as they climbed 200 feet up into the canopy to zipline.  And for the first (and probably last) time in my life, I went ziplining too.  You never know when someone might need a bandaid or some bug repellant.

Only for my kid would I board a hot air balloon in Cappadocia, another thing I swore I’d never do. But it’s good to feel a fire in your belly and rise above your fears.

We are not extreme travelers.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: most of the adventures I have are in my own mind.  But for the sake of my kids, I’ve put on my big girl panties and donned a hard hat once or twice.

Sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind.

 I appreciate people who can lure me out of my comfort zone.

Sometimes it’s good to commit to a path with unexpected twists and bends.

I’m sure I’m a better person for it. And if nothing else, Life Outside The Comfort Zone provides great material for a writer.

All images and words copyright 2014 Naomi Baltuck.

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Photo Challenge: Twist.

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Island Time

Little pockets of Britain, such as Gibraltar, can be found in the most unexpected places.

You will know them by their breakfasts.

Their mailboxes…

Their unique signage…

And their excellent thrift stores…

…which are staffed by the friendliest most helpful people, like Thelma and Kathy with a ‘K’.

In Britain, thrift shops are centrally located, often on the high street, each dedicated to a worthy cause: for the poor, cancer research, head injuries, or mental illness.  Thelma and Kathy, Hospice Shop volunteers, saw us trying on Queen Mum hats and took it upon themselves to outfit us.  Each time Kathy handed a new outfit into the fitting room, she said,  “My talents are wasted in the office!”  And we had to agree.

Our Channel Island adventure actually began with last month’s trip to Belgium.  My sister Constance and I had both enjoyed reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.  While we were on that side of The Pond, we decided to visit at least one of the Channel Islands.

Jersey Island is home to the famous Jersey Cow…

…home to the famous Jersey Royal Potato…

…and home to author Roy McCarthy, who has written several books set on Jersey.  He is an expert on Jersey history, a blogging buddy of mine, and he offered to show us around.  Who wouldn’t pick Jersey?

But first, you may ask, how does Jersey, which is spitting distance from France, come to be so very English?

Back in 1066, after William the Duke of Normandy conquered England he changed his name to William the Conqueror and expanded his job description to include ‘King of England.’

The Channel Islands were a possession of Normandy long before England was, and remained so until 1214, when King John of England (aptly nicknamed ‘John Lackland’) lost Normandy to France.  The islanders picked up their marbles, cast their lot with England rather than France, and were rewarded for their loyalty with privileges other English possessions did not enjoy.  To this day they are “bailiwicks’ of England, possessions of the crown, but separate from Britain, with their own financial, legal, and judicial systems.  This, BTW, is why financial business is Jersey’s main industry, and the per capita income is much higher than in most countries.  And why, Thelma explained, the thrift stores have such great merchandise.  They can afford to wear it once to a wedding and give it away!

Roy started our tour here.  On June 28th, 1940, the Nazis preceded their occupation of the Channel Islands by bombing this harbor.  He showed us bullet holes in the stone wall from machine gun strafing and, sadly, a memorial to the dead.

Signs of the German occupation remain all over the island.  It was one of the most fortified German holdings in Europe, far out of proportion to its strategic value.  Hitler, disappointed at his failure to conquer England, took particular satisfaction in occupying the Channel Islands, and he meant to keep them at all costs.

The Jersey War Tunnels are a huge complex of underground tunnels built by the Germans during the occupation, using slave labor.  The Germans maintained a hospital there for wounded German soldiers.

The tunnels, like the history, seem to go on and on forever.  The museum established in the tunnels echoes with footsteps and voices from the past.

They pull no punches, telling both the good and the bad that occurred on the island.

At first there were only a few hundred Germans, who were told to keep relations with the natives civil.  Being stationed on Jersey was like a picnic to the Germans, with merchandise on the shop shelves to send home to their families, no bullets or bombs to dodge, and little resistance.

Below are just two of the museum mannequins that came to life and spoke in English with German accents, trying to engage us as they might have done to islanders in 1940.  He was the enemy, the occupying army, and had the power of life and death over you, and then there were the stories of Nazi brutality that had preceded the soldiers.  With all that in mind, would you respond to a German soldier if he shouted a cheery greeting to you, or could you ignore him?

Would you do his laundry if he offered you extra food rations?  What if he said your child looked like his little boy at home and offered to buy him an ice cream?

As the war proceeded, conditions worsened.  Thousands more soldiers came, as many as one German soldier for every two islanders.  Rules tightened, food and supplies grew scarce, civility waned.  Owning a radio was a crime punishable by death.  One woman was shot for rejecting the advances of a German soldier.  Other women had affairs with them, were judged harshly and called “Jerry bags” by the islanders.  Some escapes were attempted, but few were successful; those apprehended were shot or deported to Auschwitz, where most perished.  Some people sheltered fugitive slaves, shared their resources, or found other ways to resist the Nazis.   Also on exhibit were letters sent anonymously by islanders to Nazi commanders betraying their neighbors’ transgressions.  Why?  To settle old scores or to curry favor or simply for financial gain.  It happened all over Europe, but it was still sobering and sad.

Eleanor Roosevelt said that a woman is like a teabag–she never knows how strong she is until she gets into hot water.  I think that’s true, and it is in times of war and desperation when your true colors show.

The occupation of Jersey is the subject of Roy’s book, Tess of Portelet Manor.  

“In pre-war Jersey, Tess Picot is young and in love.  Living with her mother in a cottage on idyllic Portelet Common, the days are sunny and long.  But can it last? Soon the clouds of war approach and the Channel Islands are occupied by Hitler’s Nazi troops.  Tess’s heart has been broken, maybe beyond repair.  But like the cottage on the common Tess grows stronger as the long years go by.Follow Tess Picot as she battles through the harsh Occupation years, loses friends and tries to love again. Will she succeed? The journey is a remarkable one with an unexpected ending.”

We took a hike…

…and saw the raw beauty of the island.

…with stories to be discovered everywhere, from many different periods in history,

…or legends based on natural features, such as The Devil’s Hole.

All of it was pure gold.

Roy pointed out the places we had read about in his book. This was the beach Tess walked on, until the Germans mined it.

Here was the hotel where the Nazis set up their headquarters.

And here it is today, just around the corner from where my sister and I were staying.

I can’t remember whether Tess and her mum came to this pub for a pint, but we did.  It was the perfect way to top off an incredibly full day.

As our ferry pulled away,  Jersey faded into the fog, but the island’s stories and histories remain vivid, colorful, and compelling.

c2013Naomi Baltuck

Click here for more interpretations of the Weekly Photo Challenge: The Hue of You.

As I Was Going Up the Stair…

Yesterday upon the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there.

 

He wasn’t there again today.  Oh, how I wish he’d stay away!

photograph c2013 Naomi Baltuck

This is the first stanza of Antigonish, written in 1899 by Hughes Mearns.  It was inspired by rumors of a ghost roaming the stairs of a haunted house in Antigonish, Novia Scotia.  It inspired a popular Glenn Miller song in 1939, with vocals by Tex Beneke.

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Photo Challenge: UP.

Click here for more interpretations of Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Stairs and Steps.

Benchmarks

A bench is like an old shoe.  Whether in use at the moment…

…or long since abandoned…

…its former occupants leave their mark.

All over the world, these are the true thrones of the people.

They provide company…

…entertainment…

…a sense of belonging…

…a place to rest…

…to reflect…

…to escape the worries of the workaday world…

…or not.

Oh, the stories they have heard…

The sights they have seen…

Those benches have been warmed by the flesh and blood of people who have loved…

…and sometimes lost. Who’s to say?


But the next time you see one, sit and rest a spell.  As you take the bench, and watch the world go by, don’t judge too harshly.

Listen to the stories it has to tell.  They won’t be so very different from your own.

All words and images copyright 2013 Naomi Baltuck.

Click here for more interpretations of Travel Words Bench Series#9.

Click here for more interpretations of the Weekly Travel Theme: Benches.

Colores Locales

Wherever we go, there is color all around.  Sometimes the colors are muted, but still, they are painting our world beautiful.

In Mexico, color is a feast for the eyes, a celebration…absorbed through all the senses.

From the jungle parfait…

..to the pink cotton candy clouds.

We could hear colors in the music.

We saw it in the art…

…and in their traditional dress.

We tasted it in the wine…

…and felt it in the colorful characters we were fortunate enough to meet.

…including some we will never forget.


I’ve never seen water so intensely blue.

Or skin so intensely red…

…flora so purple…

…leaves so green…

Colors were hiding everywhere, just below the surface…

…ready to burst out and surprise us.

And everywhere we turned, there were rainbows.

We love Seattle, our silver city by the sea, but long after we had flown back north….

…Long after our footprints had been washed away in the sand…

…to tide us over on those cold and gray Seattle days, we carried a bit of the Mexican rainbow home in our hearts.

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Travel Theme: Colorful.

Click here for more interpretations of   The Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge: Color.

All words and images c2013NaomiBaltuck

Beating Montezuma at His Own Game

Did your mom ever tell you that the best revenge is living well?  Mine did. I mention this because we were in Mexico over spring break, living very well…

…and then you-know-what happened.  Not to me, but to my husband Thom.


I was so wary of getting sick that I rinsed my toothbrush with bottled water, and kept my mouth shut in the shower, even when I forgot my towel and wanted to holler for a towelgram.  When the water quality is in question, I don’t drink anything that doesn’t come out of a bottle or a can.  Well, for the most part.

After snorkeling by the second largest coral reef in the world, we came ashore and the boat crew opened up the bar.  Thom brought me a Diet Coke on ice.  Horrified, I immediately scooped out the ice cubes, dashed them to the sand, and sanitized my hands.  (Just kidding, but I DID remove the ice from the cup.)  Not wanting to waste all that Diet Coke, I asked the barkeeper to add two shots of tequila to the concoction to kill any microscopic critters in the cola.  Thom obviously didn’t have enough to drink, because I felt fine afterwards (A childhood diet of hot dogs and Franco-American Spaghetti left me with an iron stomach), while his intestines were definitely unhappy.  Of course, it might’ve been The Lemonade of Unknown Origin Thom had consumed the previous day, which, ironically, is the opposite of making lemonade out of lemons.  In any case, we were not going to be redeeming our coupons that night for free margaritas at the mariachi party.


Thom rested and read, while I ran to the store for sick person food.  If you’re a traveler or a parent, you probably know about the BRAT diet.  In the aftermath of intestinal upheaval, Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, and Toast are easy on the system.

The hotel store didn’t stock applesauce.   I bought four Granny Smith apples, bread for toast, bananas, and a bottle of vino.  Back in our room, I had a glass of wine, just in case.  I peeled the apples, threw them into a pan on the stove, and Holy Montezuma, Batman!  It’s homemade applesauce!

Thom didn’t feel up to eating that night, but applesauce is what the dear lad broke his fast on the next morning.

He was in no condition to hop on the ferry to Isla Mujeres to go snorkeling.  But we had a lovely walk on the beach just outside our hotel.

Watching the pelicans diving for fish…

…was almost as good as doing it ourselves.

And the People Watching was even better.


When you’re traveling, smooth sailing is a bonus, not the rule.

We followed the example of the iguana outside our hotel.  After an obvious run of bad luck, his could’ve been a very sad tail indeed.   But he is giving himself the gift of a happy ending.

Besides, my mom also used to say, “Leave something for the next time, so you have a reason to come back.”

All words and images c2013 Naomi Baltuck.

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Photo Challenge: Oops!

A Few of My Favorite Things

Sixteen months ago, I wrote my first blog post.  Since then, I’ve met fascinating people, made many friends, and discovered a new form of storytelling.  I’m like the Tortoise, not the Hare–slow and steady. Finally, I get to post for the hundredth time!

Through this blog I share my passion for travel, photography, writing, storytelling, and that which I hold dearest, my family. But if not for you, this blog would not exist.  There is an Armenian folk saying…

Three apples fell from heaven.

One for the teller,

One for the listener,

And one for the one who took it to heart.

Thank you for being here, for reading, for caring enough to follow this blog, and for sharing your thoughts, your stories, your lives with me through your blogs.  To mark this milestone, here are a few of my favorite posts from the past sixteen months.

Sunday Post:  Doors

Weekly Photo Challenge: Forward Movement

Oceans (and the Irish Coastline)

Sunrise in Gibraltar

Flowers (are like people)

One Village

Weekly Photo Challenge: Create

To Shorten the Road

Reflections (On Life and the Art of Aging)

Where Are We?  Where’s Walter?  And Where is That Fleeting Moment?

Editing Monet’s Garden

All words and images c2013 Naomi Baltuck

Prepare to Be Boarded

Recently my daughter Bea declared her major at Stanford: Privateering.


Her friends Ben and Michael signed on as awkward incompetent first mate and shoulder parrot.  So my sister Constance and I decided to try our luck as chief cook and bottle washer, and cabin boy.

Bea was flying home for spring break. We went to meet her at Sea-Tac airport.  We picked up a cart, to carry our booty.

Not only did Bea immediately don the captain’s hat and coat we brought along, just in case Cap’n Bea was traveling incognito….

 

…but from out of her pack she pulled out her very cool pirate goggles to top off the outfit.

 

The next best thing to a contract signed in blood, we press-ganged an innocent bystander to photo-document the deal.

 

I have proven once again that it is impossible to embarrass Beatrice.


But we can just keep trying.

Unless otherwise stated, all images and words cNaomi Baltuck.

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Travel Theme: Hats.

Click here for more interpretations of Cee’s Odd Ball Challenge: Week 9!

Warning: Mature Subject Matter

I have two sisters with very different attitudes towards aging.  One plucked out every gray hair as it came in, until finally she realized she’d have to dye it or go bald.  The other said, “I earned every one of those!”  And she wears them proudly.

When I went out for fish ‘n’ chips with my friends Pat and Sharon, I was a little shocked when the guy behind the counter offered me the senior citizen discount.  No mistake!  I qualified for the 55 and older 10% discount!

Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve been carded.  Worse than that, the guy took my word for it!

Mom once told me she was riding the escalator at Hudson’s department store in downtown Detroit.  She saw her mother riding down the other side and waved before she realized she was looking at a giant mirror, and was waving at her own reflection.  She said it was always a surprise to look in the mirror and see an old woman, when inside she still felt like twenty-five.

But my mom was always young at heart, brave and adventurous.  When suddenly widowed with seven young children, she packed us into a VW van and drove us up 1200 miles of gravel road on the Alcan Highway through the Yukon to Alaska.

She had an open heart and an open mind.  She never stopped learning, she traveled at every opportunity, and never took herself too seriously.  She set herself challenges, read everything she could get her hands on, learned new pieces on the piano, played Trivial Pursuit.  At fifty, she memorized The Iliad, in Greek!  It all kept her young.

My mom, when she was terminally ill.

We have choices.  I’ve heard it said that life expands or contracts in direct proportion to one’s courage.  We can live in fear of old age, and watch our world shrink.  Or we can find new ways to savor it.   I know someone who resumed smoking cigars and eating sausage at eighty.  I’m not judging him.  Well, yes, I am.  I think it’s great.  I want to grow old, you know, wearing purple and enjoying my Good ‘n’ Plenties.  When my knees go, I’ll find other ways to travel.  When I can no longer walk, I won’t be an armchair traveler.  Like my Aunt Loena, I’ll be a wheelchair traveler.  The world is full of stories, and I want to hear and tell them all.

All photos and images copyright Naomi Baltuck

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Photo Challenge: Inevitable.