『In this Story... with Joanne Greene』のカバーアート

In this Story... with Joanne Greene

In this Story... with Joanne Greene

著者： Joanne Greene
無料で聴く

このコンテンツについて

 Joanne Greene shares her flash nonfiction, each essay with custom music, showcasing tales and observations from her animated life. Her book, "By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go" is now available as a paperback, e-book, and audiobook from Amazon, Audible, Barnes & Noble, and your local independent book seller.GreeneCreative 社会科学
エピソード
  • The War on Zoom

    The War on Zoom
    2025/06/27
    In this story...The war on Zoom. I’m Joanne Greene.It started slowly, tentatively. Those of us living outside of Israel had joined a zoom call to support our friends, fellow writers with whom we’d been meeting virtually since the start of Covid. We’d become a community and had been present, to hold one another through tough times – the loss of a grandchild, the end of a marriage, the crime of a brother-in-law, the passing of a beloved grandfather, the horrors of October 7th. We’re Writers Near and Far, mostly living in the U.S. and Israel, with origins ranging from Italy to South Africa. We are women, celebrating the joys and milestones in our lives, juggling relationships, and health concerns, triathalons, and flower beds, and all the while creating beauty, when we find the time and the inspiration, with our words. But this meeting was different. Five of us showed up to listen, to nod empathetically, to give our exhausted friends, who’d been running in and out of safe rooms in the middle of the night for a week, as the Iron Dome beat back many of the ballistic missiles Iran was shooting at Israel. One by one, four of us entered the Zoom room from Israel, all relieved to share both the horrors and the tender moments they’d been experiencing. For Dori, this was it. Born in Israel to an Israeli Yemenite mother and an American father, Dori had been drawn back to her native land after October 7th yet now, after two years of the atrocities in Gaza and now this second war with Iran, she is finished, fed up with this government. When her mother recovers from surgery, she’s taking off, again, with no firm plan. When asked if they, too might be ready to give up on Israel, at least for now, the others all shook their heads. “I chose to move here from South Africa,” said Gaby, “and I’m committed to remaining in this, my homeland.” “Let me put it this way,” said Stephanie, who shuttles back and forth between her home- town of Berkeley, California, and Jerusalem, where three of her six children have put down roots.“In Berkeley, I wear a baseball cap to cover my hair and hide my Star of David under my shirt. Here, I proudly wear my head scarf and Magan Daveed. That difference, the tacit permission to be who I am here means everything to me.”Traveling each year between the city of her birth, Philadelphia, and Tel Aviv, where she currently resides with her husband, Caroline has often considered leaving Israel, perhaps for Rome or elsewhere.“But not now,” she says on our call. “I’ve considered leaving for personal reasons but not because of war.”And then she grabbed her cell phone, a look of alarm on her face, and abruptly jumped from her seat and out the door.We were stunned, at first, knowing full well that this could happen at any moment. We concluded that a siren had gone off, leaving Caroline seven minutes to grab her phone and head across the street to the underground parking garage which was now serving as her safe room. She and her husband had been sheltering in a room in their building, but this parking garage was less claustrophobic. Her dog could run around with the other dogs. There was even food being provided on one of the floors. Israelis are nothing if not adaptable, practical, built to survive. Apparently, this siren had only gone off in Tel Aviv, which was why the other Israelis remained on the call.I kept looking at Caroline’s square, the rooms we’ve come to know in each of our homes. Not having time to close her laptop, we were watching her room grow darker as the sun was setting. She, we assumed, had fled to relative safety. It was eerie to see her empty room and know that bombs were flying. Her empty room enabled us to share the horror of war in real time.Two of Caroline’s adult children live in the U.S. and are unlikely to return. What does that mean for her future? She doesn’t know. Gaby lives on a kibbutz in the northern part of Israel and shares that some people in her community continue to go about their business during this frightening time, while she chooses to limit her movement, to feel safe, not to tempt fate.Everyone in Israel has family members who’ve been called up to the military. Everyone knows someone who has been killed in Gaza, in the war that seems to have no end. A second war, and a government she cannot abide, have pushed Dori over the edge. The rest of us shake our heads, unsure of what to think. Was it right for Israel to bomb Iran now? Who knows? Was this the moment for the U.S. to step in and try to help finish the job, with bunker busting bombs? Perhaps. “Death to Israel. Death to America” have been the chants for far too long and a nuclear Iran is a threat, not just to us, but to the world.In the meantime, we listen. We show up as our humanity dictates. We read and we watch, we hope, and we pray, for our friends and for all people to be safe and at ease.Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go...
    続きを読む 一部表示
    6 分
  • A Nearly Extinct Private Language

    A Nearly Extinct Private Language
    2025/06/10
    In this story, a nearly extinct private language. I’m Joanne Greene.
    Every family has its special phrases. You know, the ones that crack you up while everyone outside of the immediate circle tilts their heads like a dog saying “huh”?
    Can you ever agree on whether it’s mischievous or mischeivious? (The former.) Is it “on accident” or “by accident”? Clearly, the latter.
    In 2002, years before my sister Rayna was too sick to laugh, her husband created a lengthy document entitled The Joys of Raynglish, “the language of Rayna Gay Rosenzweig Rodvien.”
    To begin, everyone in Rayna’s life had a series of nicknames. Our mother, Irene, was also known as beans, ahrene, beans a roo, beans terrific, and of course ahrennee gabeenee.
    I was affectionately referred to as jo, Jo Mamma, josphesus , Mademoyzel, Josephine, and simply, the plumber (with a Boston accent, plumah). (Some of you might remember Josephine the plumber.)
    Phrases like “What’s your story, morning glory?” What’s your matter? And How are you this very morning?” were her frequent salutations.
    If you were running late, and God help you, she’d say “Yo! Move it or lose it!” “We’re late, for a very important date!” “Get crackin’” or “Hoof it to poof it”
    When her memory failed her in the moment, she’d refer to nouns as whootsa matootsies, thingamajiggy, whatchama call its, whoozie whatsits and the ever populular whatcha ma floozy.
    Other notable Raynglish words and phrases: Correctamundo! Hold your pants! Whoop de do!” Don’t staht with me Busteroo!”, You ain’t whistling dixiola and Let’s blow this pop stand; we’re outa here.
    And if you think I’m running out, perish the thought. From my big sister I learned
    “What part of the word NO don’t you understand?
    “I’m not deaf, I’m just ignoring you”
    And “Any port in a storm”…that one is so useful.
    I miss all the Yiddish we used to share – chatchkees, fapootsed, shilpkes, ungapachkeyed, mishegass and Shayna panemal…madela, punim or tatela.
    Chocolate – milk, never dark – was Rayna’s love language. She proudly described herself as a tootsaholic – someone who would start popping tootsie rolls before 10am. Here motto: chocolate: It’s not just for breakfast anymore. Once her cancer was stage four, she’d order hot fudge sundaes as her main course for lunch. And heaven help the waiter who didn’t bring it with everyone else’s salad, or worse, tried to pass off chocolate syrup as hot fudge.
    Children were Rayna’s favorite people – Most were munchkins; all were cutesy tootsy.
    And when her children mispronounced or misused a word, that’s it. It was now part of the lexicon. Thus, United Market became Mynited. Grandma Essie didn’t live in Miami; she lived in her ami. If more than one phone call came in for someone, they were POPLEAR. A homerun or extra credit was FABLEEOS.
    So many words and phrases acquired their own suffixes. For instance, if someone said the word Life, Rayna would add “to life, to life, l’chayim!” If she heard someone referred to as rude, she’d respond by saying “rude, crude, and socially unacceptable.” To “you got it”, she’d add “Totoya”… Progress would then necessitate her adding “is our most important product.” And “I don’t know” would elicit “That makes two of us.”
    And finally, her verbal love language…
    Topogeege….(you might remember the mouse on the Ed Sullivan show)
    Mista Pista
    Swootzie
    And Tootsie me doots.

    I’ve got places to go, people to see, she’d say…. F you and the horse you rode in on! And her signature display of gratitude, THANKING YOOM!
    Thanks to Bob for gathering all of this and so much more in one place. Here’s hoping that your private language brings you joy.

    Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go” is now available from your favorite online book seller. Stay tuned to hear if Joanne will be speaking at a bookstore near you. If you’re interested in having her come to your local bookstore, contact her directly at joannergreene@gmail.com or get updates on her website at joanne-greene.com and make sure to sign up for her newsletter!
    続きを読む 一部表示
    5 分
  • Sleep Interruptus

    Sleep Interruptus
    2025/05/16
    In this story, sleep interruptus. I’m Joanne Greene.
    When I opened my eyes, I noticed that I was in a very comfortable bed, my son’s bed, that is my son and his wife’s bed, the fourth bed I’d slept in that night. This nighttime bed hopping is part of my role as grandma. Yoyo, they call me. It’s a moniker first shared by my great nephew, now 25 years old.
    The night began with a reading of Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile, a classic story that teaches acceptance of differences, kindness, tolerance, and flexibility, with a healthy dose of humor. Axel was a very tired four-year old, after a day at the STEAM festival, operating a flight simulator, drilling with safety goggles, building a small wiggle bott, assembling a light switch, reading books at the library, and completing a transportation puzzle. I lied next to him in his bed until his steady breathing let me know that he was, in fact, asleep. Then I snuck out of the room for a break until I would be inevitably called to do the same with his older sister, Lisette, once her aunt said goodnight after listening to her read Shel Silverstein poems. Predictably, she requested that Yoyo come up and stay with her for a while.
    After watching the final quarter in which the Warriors won their playoff game, I got into bed to read. Ten minutes later, I was fast asleep. And it’s a good thing because, an hour later, Axel arrived to join me in bed. He fell back to sleep; I did not. When Fred arrived, he was shocked to see a sleeping child and kindly agreed to carry him back up to his own bed. Finally, sleep returned for me. But not for long. When Lisette arrived and shook my arm, I startled.
    “Why do you always jump when I wake you up?” she asked. Apparently, her parents are so accustomed to being awakened this way that they just open their eyes. She crawled into bed between us but then reported that she felt squished. And so, I walked her back upstairs and, in hopes of returning to sleep as quickly as possible, I got into her bed. But she was coughing intermittently, and squirming around, and it was both too light in her room due to the projected stars on the walls and ceiling, and too warm for me. And so, when she calmed down enough for me to escape, I did.
    Returning to my original bed felt great, until Fred started snoring, and then cracked his knuckles. I hate the sound of cracking knuckles. And then I felt sorry for myself, wanting only some peace and quiet. I tapped him on the arm and said that I was going up to our son’s room and hoped to sleep in. And, by that I meant that I’d like not to be disturbed, at least for the first morning shift.
    About an hour later, I heard the pitter pat of little feet. The door to my son’s bedroom, my temporary sanctuary, was opened and closed. Loudly. Axel then went downstairs to sleep with Grandpa, after hearing why Yoyo wasn’t in the bed.
    I awoke at 6:58am, which may sound early but, in fact, was a relatively civilized time to arise when in charge of the littles. I stumbled downstairs in search of coffee, a veritable lifeline, and began making their breakfasts. How is it that I love everything about this so much. I can sleep next week when we’re home. Or maybe even here tonight, when their parents will be the first line of defense. Sleep, for the most part, is overrated.

    Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go” is now available from your favorite online book seller. Stay tuned to hear if Joanne will be speaking at a bookstore near you. If you’re interested in having her come to your local bookstore, contact her directly at joannergreene@gmail.com or get updates on her website at joanne-greene.com and make sure to sign up for her newsletter!
    続きを読む 一部表示
    4 分

In this Story... with Joanne Greeneに寄せられたリスナーの声

カスタマーレビュー：以下のタブを選択することで、他のサイトのレビューをご覧になれます。

Audible.co.jp

Amazon.co.jp
レビューはまだありません。