Daughter saves the show

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being yourself, express feelings, Jane Butler, Jane Paffenbarger Butler, parents, play, relationship

Last night my daughter complained that both my husband and I fell asleep at the movie theatre. (What are they putting in those loungy reclining chairs for anyway?)

“It’s like going to the movies alone,” she said.

I countered with, “You used to wet you pants, you know,” and that shut her down!

Thanks to her waking me several times though, I can report that Knives Out is a delightful show with an unexpected social commentary under all the fun.

I’ve suffered from emotions my whole life

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being yourself, inspire, Jane Butler, Jane Paffenbarger Butler, joy, movies, passion, relationship

This is me at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) this fall.

Movies for me have always been a secret way to spy on others. I’ve had emotions my whole life and it’s been a big problem because they weren’t allowed in my house growing up. Because I was isolated physically and emotionally, movies were one of the ways I discovered that other people suffered emotions too. I’d see how a mother and daughter might interact, or discover that crying was acceptable. I’d feel the validation that disappointment happened to others, and the acknowledgement that forgiveness is real.

Even the least popular movies were wonderful for me, because they suggested that there was no shame in having emotions. There they were, on display, larger than life.

That is why I willingly signed on to watch ten shows in the space of 72 hours at TIFF this year. I am a lifelong movie lover and this event did not disappoint. Some movies were great, some were weird, some were not good at all, but overall, the artistic endeavor to depict the human condition in whatever way offered, is fascinating to me.

My favorites this year:

Blackbird with Susan Sarandon, Sam Neill, Kate Winslet and Rainn Wilson, and

Dads, the documentary directed by Ron Howard’s daughter Bryce Dallas Howard.

Storytelling 101

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being yourself, express feelings, goals, inspire, Jane Butler, Jane Paffenbarger Butler, joy, passion, sewing, writing

A jeans pocket I embroidered circa 1974

I was watching Abstract: The Art of Design, a Netflix program, when Ruth Carter, the designer for those fantastic Black Panther costumes explained that it was not a love of fashion that led her there. My ears perked up when I heard her say that her heroes were authors, poets and playwrights, like Langston Hughes and James Baldwin. She considered them designers. And they inspired her. She says people think she sews, but that’s not it at all. Her work is an art form. A means of storytelling.

What?

Her Black Panther costumes apparently incorporate the history of African tribes. She selected a color palette to support the words and scenes of the script, and fabrics that mimicked the specifics of the landscape and of African traditions.

When I heard all this I felt like jumping off the couch. Because I used to sew. A lot. And I never once thought of my many hours at Mom’s Singer machine as a means of storytelling. I was supplying myself with clothes. Otherwise, my choices for what to wear included anything from my two older sister’s hand-me-downs. By the time I left home during the college years, I was splicing patterns together, custom fitting every project, and embellishing my work with embroidery, contrasting thread and button tricks.

But storytelling was not on my mind.

My work back then was literal. I sewed the straightest top-stitching around. By eye. And I measured three times before I cut once. My work was impeccable, skilled, practiced and I considered going on with it somehow. But the only idea I had was to become a tailor. I did not see the possibility of becoming even more creative in my sewing or to tell the stories I wanted to tell through this art form. So hearing Ruth Carter tell me that I could have, that she does, confirmed what I’ve learned about art in general since then.

It’s about expressing yourself and you can do it any way you want to.

So, I ended up writing a story to express my story. Being literal once again.

But the good thing about art is that the story is still the story however you tell it.

My conversation with Mark Twain

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being yourself, express feelings, goals, higher power, inspire, Jane Butler, Jane Paffenbarger Butler, joy, listening, love, mentors, teacher, words, writing

Mark Twain and I were chatting the other day when he said to me, “When in doubt, tell the truth,” as if I hadn’t heard THAT before.

What was he even talking about? Of course, I tell the truth, that’s the whole point of my memoir. But you can’t just tell the truth as if it is a finite thing, Mark. Nope, I’ve learned over the years, and it’s been a difficult surprise, that my truth is not necessarily your truth.

“If you tell the truth you don’t have to remember anything,” he explained.

Mark Twain seemed a little exasperated as he stared back, not even batting an eye. He sat still as a stone, a cold chill flying off his shoulder directly at me.

But you might consider, he continued, “It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.”

Thanks for that, Mark, but I can’t stop myself, I told him.

He seemed a little testy now.

Best I can do is be as honest as possible and hope others see that’s what I’m aiming for. I want to make a point, you know. About how we try to love each other and about how it doesn’t always work out that well.

Mark softened and I thought I saw him smile. His parting words, which I chose to interpret as supportive, were all I needed to head back to my desk and hit the keyboard again, back on my way after our brief interlude.

“All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence, and then success is sure.”

Thanks, Mark. Looks like I’m ready then.

Some books get more love than others

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being yourself, control, fear, goals, inspire, Jane Butler, Jane Paffenbarger Butler, security, teacher, words

Look at the place of honor my childhood etiquette book has on my shelf at home, right on top of old Charlie Brown comics and even Charlotte’s Web. I’ve always loved this book, set in rhyme, because it spelled out the expectations of adults. It seemed I was always getting everything wrong as a kid and this book held hope that if I only studied the rules I could lift myself into the world of those who knew how to behave. And even though it reinforced the gender stereotypes of the day it was still a book embued with hope.

There is plenty of advice in there about not bothering one’s parents and being nice to pets, lots of ideas that helped me learn to be civilized even when the world around me seemed less so. But this page seems especially sweet. I have shelves full of dear old books that have served me well over the years speaking to me with unqualified respect every time I open them.

I love books. But some are more special than others.

Reading with kids is a joy

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being yourself, Jane Butler, listening, reading, second grade, teacher

Today I started volunteering at a local elementary school, reading for thirty minutes separately with two second graders. I’ll be going every week throughout the school year to be their personal cheerleader in reading.

We had a lot of fun because discovering the story together, was a delight. Even though I know the story already, and even though I read it twice in one hour, it was a special experience each time. Each of the kids saw different parts of the story as significant and each was excited by different parts.

The little girl I read with was ridiculously cute, asking me when I would be coming back. She was clearly keeping tabs on me, calling out as she left, “See you next Thursday!”

Time to be a kid before it’s over

I heard something pretty unusual last night and I liked it. It was my daughter laughing. I guess I hadn’t heard that in a while because it cut through the air with a happiness that made me stop a moment and take note. She just recently decided not to continue on the travel softball team she’s been on, not that that was such an easy decision because she really enjoyed it, but I believe the weight of that decision and the weight of all the practices and tournaments has been lifted and there is room again for childhood fun. She’s seventeen and not quite an adult so the last vestiges of her childhood are hanging on for her to enjoy. And I think she saw that and didn’t want to go another year forgoing her life.

The travel team was actually a lot of fun. The families in it were great because they came from all walks of life and we met people we otherwise would never know. And everyone was fun to be with. The girls were great because they worked hard, grew individually, played so well they won far more than they lost and made the long hours of tournaments a lot of fun for the parents. My daughter did well individually too, improving her positions, her hitting, her fielding, everything got better because she put in the time and took it seriously.

That might have been the problem in the long run. It was pretty serious. You had to make all the practices, twice a week, or explain why you weren’t there. Your excuse had to be approved, because it was, after all, a team effort. The tournaments were serious too because everyone was counting on everyone else to make it a win. This was a showcase team so girls were being scouted by colleges in hopes of getting scholarships, and several on our team did. But my girl wasn’t even sure she wanted to play softball in college.

So when it came time a year after joining the team to sign up again and start a new season she told us she didn’t want to do it. It was a hard decision for her to make because being on a winning softball team had a lot of good in it but she told us that even though it was fun, it wasn’t enough fun. Enough fun for all the hours she put in. She’d rather do something else with those hours. And it’s not like she would be idle. She still has marching band, academic team, pit orchestra for the school play, softball for the school team, volunteer work at a horse farm, and as she told us, time with friends. And all of this is in addition to her honors classes and applying to college.

So that’s what I heard last night that sounded so unusual…laughing with friends. She and her girlfriend were singing their heads off with karaoke in the basement. I am glad to see her having fun and relaxing and enjoying the last days of childhood. She’s been playing tennis, and baking, playing piano and walking the neighbor’s dog. She’s been playing cards with us at home and going out for ice cream. She’s had time to do things that before just didn’t fit in.

Travel softball was fun, but for her it was too much pressure. Too much working for something she didn’t necessarily want to work so hard at, and all in favor of having the time to just be a kid.

Rugby selfie with Mom and Dad

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being yourself, Jane Butler, parents, play, relationship, rugby

Last Saturday at the college rugby game we went to see, one boy broke his nose and another broke his leg. Not among those tending to their bleeding children, I had time to pose on the sidelines with my son and husband for this selfie.

I’m learning a lot about selfies. Turns out they are not just about self-absorption as I thought, but instead according to my daughter’s research paper (tipped by a generous cousin at UGA) I learned that they have much to do with communication and self-awareness.

If I’d been my son taking this picture I’d have been full of pride at the idea I’d inspired both my parents to travel two hours south from their home to see me play with my team. I’d have felt pride in being part of a team, in being fit, in being alive on a spring morning. No idea what was actually in his mind when he snapped this but he was eager to share it, texting it to me moments after he took it. I, in turn was eager to text it to each my two other kids.

For me the unspoken message here may seem obvious to some, and some may take it for granted that this is how families behave. But for me the idea that we travel to see our kids, that we have fun together and take such spontaneous candid happy moments as evidence of that, is the grateful message in my texts. I want to encourage our family to stay together and have fun together and texting selfies is a way to do that. I communicate my joy of being with my son and the implied joy of being with any of my children, and I report my awareness of this happy time by sending it to my kids.

It is hard to have kids leave home and spend their time away, so meeting them and enjoying their company whenever we can is top on my mind, and funny, my son’s selfie helps me appreciate that and share that and hopefully create more of that for the future.

West Chester Story Slam diversion

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being yourself, blog, change, Jane Butler, writing

I certainly appreciate all of my readers here and especially those that are very loyal and offer comments, but you might have noticed I have slowed down my postings quite a bit. It’s because I have been changing my writing focus and trying to honor my own sense of what I want to write about. For a long time I’ve done talks to mom’s groups about the importance of playing with our children and actively developing relationships with them. I love doing this and I have tailored my blog to support that. And I will continue.

But I stumbled on the West Chester Story Slam in January and it has changed everything! See my Video tab above to see the stories I have told there.

As a writer I was taken with the opportunity to write a five-minute spoken story that could reach so many more people and get an immediate reaction from them. And, since I love addressing audiences, and since I love writing, I have been focusing all my attention there. This blog has been so satisfying for me as a place to carefully examine my feelings about families and children and, as my tagline suggests, things I am learning while growing up, but the one-way nature of it is isolating and quiet compared to the live audience at the Side Bar Restaurant downtown.

For example. Although I did well the first time I tried telling a five-minute story at the story slam, I tied for first place with two very good story tellers, the second time did not go as well. I attempted to tell a less funny and more serious story and halfway through lost my way and told the audience I had to ditch the effort because I couldn’t regain my footing. Amazingly the crowd yelled out for me to keep going, to try not to give up! They actually shouted for me to try again and not be defeated. I’d love to think that this was because my story was so fascinating but I am pretty sure it was because of the very supportive nature of the group and the spirit of the whole idea of sharing stories in this way. People wanted to see me succeed at what I had set out to do. It might have helped that I very sincerely told them that even I was disappointed because I’d been looking forward to sharing my story. So I did continue and although there was break in the middle while the audience offered counseling, I did complete the task, and felt a resolve to return the next month and get it right. (Which I did with a story about my dead cat.)

So the point is, that the story slam is a place where I have placed great effort in the last few months because I feel a connection with the crowd there. The immediate feedback from them is priceless as I stretch myself to try to tell more broader-based stories.

I’ve noticed that my stories there help me work on my larger project, my memoir, since the stories can be chosen directly from the memoir and honed both for the story slam and for the book. So if you like this blog and if you are out there, feel free to yell from the back row that I should not give up and that you appreciate what I do here, because otherwise I cannot hear you and I am afraid that at the moment the folks at the story slam have got my greater attention.

First annual ladies beach weekend

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being yourself, change, friends, Jane Butler, play

Years ago I tried something like this and it just didn’t work. I didn’t have real friends and I didn’t know how to treat them well. But today I am letting go of past fears. I am at the beach house my parents left me for the first annual ladies beach weekend, encouraging us all to enjoy ourselves and relax and share. Hard to believe there is a rule in my head that suggests I cannot do these things, but that’s the truth.

Enjoying myself, using the house for fun, these are not part of the history of my life. This time we are cooking for one another, talking about our families, learning about how brave we each have been in our lives, and so many other things.

I am proud of myself for getting this right. Once, years ago when I had friends stay with me, I got it all wrong. I was so afraid of my parents, who owned the house at the time, that I worried everything I did would upset them. They had many rules and I put them on my friends who visited. I insisted to my friend, who had three kids and a husband along, that she clean the shower stall top to bottom since they had used it once! I could see that she thought this a little extreme. But that’s how it was…since we rented the house it always had to be in ‘show’ condition.

It goes with out saying that this took away from the fun of the trip, worrying about the state of the house.
I passed on the issues I had with my parents to my friends. My relationship with my parents included me being afraid of them. Having to do everything to please them with no regard for how absurd it might be, or how degrading it might be. I was too afraid to stand up to them. Now I am valuing the fun of being together and putting that on a higher priority than whether the house is clean. It feels so much better to invest in the friendships than it does to invest in the property. Both have to be done, but I like the way friends talk back and show appreciation for our time together.

Thank goodness I have finally gotten this right. Using this house for fun and for friendship, for laughing and growing. Holding it as a museum to my past, to my parents who bought it, and to ideas that I have outgrown is over now.

Tonight we will have fun together and before we go, unlike last time, we will make plans to do this again.