One of our neighbors put on the most amazing fireworks display Saturday night. It was an hour long grand finale. He told Kip he has done this for the past thirteen years. What an awesome thing to do for the neighborhood.

When I saw those fireworks exploding in the sky, I thought about the meaning of the Star Spangled Banner. Our flag made it through the perilous night, the rockets red glare and the bombs bursting in air, and still waves over the land of the free.

And then I thought about how beautifully Renee Miller, a Murdo girl, sings our National Anthem.

Happy Independence Day!

In our minimalizing process, I ran across tons of pictures of our pets. Our little Westie was one of my very favorites.

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My name is Sadie. When I was just a pup, a really nice lady picked me out of a litter and took me home. I loved her from the start and she loved me. We lived in Loveland, Colorado.

 

This is a picture of my nice human lady and her human son.

Did her human daughters love me? Not so much…They called me the dog from hell. You see, my human’s husband got pretty sick and she didn’t have much time to teach me things like, don’t run and jump on everybody. I ruined some of the human daughter’s clothes and my running and jumping made them not like me. I was just a puppy.

This is the human daughter that said I was like a dog from hell.

When I got a little older, I quit running and jumping so much because I got fat. My human lady fed me lots of food and treats. She was just showing me how much she loved me. Oh, I forgot to tell you I barked  alot too…at everything.

My barking got so annoying that my really nice human lady bought a blue box that made the awfullest noise. It took a while, but I finally figured out she told that box to make that sound only when I barked. I was so scared of that thing, I ran and hid when I saw it. I was too worried to bark.

One day, when I was about four years old, and it was just the two of us, my nice human lady came home from church and I could tell she wasn’t feeling very well. I stayed right by her and wished there was something I could do. She went to sleep and a little while later, some people took her to the hospital. She never came back home. All of the family came to our house. I heard them say, “I wonder what Sadie did. Poor Sadie must have been beside herself. Whatever shall we do with Sadie?”

My human lady’s son and his wife came all the way from Texas. I wasn’t so sure I liked the human wife at first. She tried to get me to walk around the block. I knew that wasn’t going to happen. When I’d had enough, I just sat down and didn’t budge. She had to pick my little fat self up and carry me home. The next time, we just walked a little ways. That wasn’t so bad.

Well, the human son and his wife put me in my sleeping crate, loaded me up on a big bird and flew me to Texas. I was glad someone took me because I missed my human lady and I realized I needed more humans. I was in for a big surprise.

When we got to their house, another dog greeted us at the door. Talk about wild. She bugged the heck out of me. She was weird too. She ate her food from a bowl that was on sort of a ladder thing. She had to stand on her back feet to reach her bowl. I found out she was born without the muscle to shove her food down her throat so she had to eat this blended up stuff from a bowl up on a ladder or it wouldn’t go down. Guess what? I had to do that, too and I was just a short fat thing. McKenzie (that was her name), was a wiry fox terrier.

Guess what we got for our treat? Yogurt!! I learned to love it.

 This is McKenzie and me one Christmas. I’m sitting on the human wife’s lap and McKenzie is sitting on the human son’s lap.

I hadn’t been in Texas very long when the mailman came and brought a big box to the door. The human son opened it up and guess what was in there? First they pulled out all of my toys and that was good. Then they pulled out that scary blue box that makes a bad sound when I bark, and that was bad. I ran and hid.

I heard the human wife say, “What is that thing. Sadie is scared to death of it.”

The human son said, “It’s that thing Mom was using to train Sadie not to bark. It looks like we won’t even have to push the button. The sight of it will be enough to make her quiet down.”

Some of my favorite spots. My super favorite spot was lying up on the back of the couch, but my human wife can’t find any pictures of me there.

I didn’t always act the best, but I was better. I remember one day that didn’t go too well. My new humans had some people over and while they sat around the table and talked, I noticed a bag on the floor beside the stranger lady. I wondered if there was gum in the bag. I loved gum. Well, I had to take everything out before I finally found the gum. I kind of made a game out of it. I hid that stranger lady’s stuff all over the house.

When the stranger lady and stranger man got ready to leave, the lady picked up her bag and there was nothing in it. I didn’t know what to do because I couldn’t remember where I hid all that stuff. I decided not to wait for the blue box. I ran and hid. All the humans scurried around and finally found everything and after the stranger humans left, and my humans settled down a little, I came out. I couldn’t believe they were laughing. I was so happy. I got my gum and didn’t have to face the blue box.

In Texas, you have to have two names. The human son gave me the middle name Ruth which was my lady human’s middle name. They called me Sadie Rue.

As I got older, I had a few health issues. I had to have my ACL repaired twice and I lost most of my teeth. Along about the time I was fourteen I thought I might be headed toward doggie heaven, but it wasn’t my time yet.

When I turned fifteen, my humans had a big birthday party for me. Yes, that’s really me in the picture. The human wife had what she called a photo session with me. I got all kinds of soft bones and no yogurt.

After we blew out the candles on my cake, they put my life jacket on and we went out on the boat. I never let them know I wasn’t crazy about swimming, even with a life jacket on, because I loved being with all my humans.

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Sadie Rue left us about six months after the big birthday party. She died the day we went to California for our daughter’s wedding. Kip and I decided to keep it to ourselves until after the wedding, because we knew how much everyone loved Sadie and she wouldn’t have wanted any of the family to be sad that day.

I wish I could have seen the reunion at rainbow bridge, when Sadie met that wonderful human lady in the land where there is no pain, and there are no blue boxes.

 

What makes a story reach the level of greatness? What transforms the story from ordinary to memorable and makes it go viral? Is it the talent of the teller or the uniqueness of the story?

I have no idea. I’ll give you my thoughts on the subject, anyway.

I have made some observations as I have listened to others tell their stories. These subtleties elude many tellers of stories and often keep them both from reaching their full potential. I know a good story when I hear one.

I have outlined a few things that can tank an otherwise good story.

My family is full of storytellers. Let’s start with Grandpa Sanderson. He had thousands of stories that he liked to tell thousands of times. I can’t remember any of them, but most were about fishing or hunting…I think. What mattered in his case was his love of telling them. I don’t remember him ever saying, “Stop me if I’ve already told you this.”

I don’t like two people who both know the story to be present at the time of the telling. One will get to the interesting part and then stop the whole flow by saying something like this: “What was the name of that street? Was it Elm? No not Elm, but I think it started with an E. Or was it an S?” Then the other knower of the story will say, “It wasn’t a street, it was a culdesac.”

About that time I want to scream, “IT DOESN’T MATTER!” It usually has no value to the one who is listening, and you can be sure a few more sentences into it, the tellers will struggle with trying to remember another unimportant detail. It ruins the timing and therefore, the story. Remember that.

Go on. I’m listening

Mom’s stories were good no matter how many times she told them for two reasons. She never told it the same way twice and she always acted it out. She could mimic the way someone walked and the expression on their faces to a T, and her stories were always entertaining. It didn’t really matter if they weren’t entirely factual, you always wanted to believe they were true, because they were so good.

Humorous stories should be humorous to both the teller and the hearer. Don’t anticipate what’s ahead and start cracking up before you get to the funny part, storyteller. The funny part might not live up to the expectations you have unwittingly built up. It could fall flat, and you’ll be hard pressed to find an audience for your next tale.

Beware of the spoiler. The spoiler is the person who is reminded of a story they want to tell and can’t wait for you to finish so they talk over you. I once had someone tell me to be quiet please, because they were tired of talking over me. Can you imagine? The best thing you can do is stop telling. Do not waste a good story. It takes a tremendous amount of self-control (so I’m told), but if you don’t have the full attention of your audience, you won’t get the full effect. Or is that affect? On the other hand, if it’s the second or third time you have told the story, you can make the call. If the other storyteller is telling a better story, laugh (a little) and move on. If your story is better, it might be worth it to wait, laugh politely when he or she is finished, and tell your tale.

This goes without saying and I don’t want to talk down to you, but please…don’t tell a story if you don’t remember the punchline. And speaking of appropriateness, which we weren’t, consider what you are telling to whom. If you can’t adjust your stories to your audience then, sadly, you are not a storyteller, so take up some other hobby that doesn’t involve talking like painting or collecting water towers.

I think that’s enough for today. I don’t want to overwhelm us.

(Our granddaughter, Charlie, was here over the weekend and she is quite the storyteller. They never end. She tells them in three parts. Here she is telling Cyndie a story.)

Happy storytelling…