{"id":21729,"date":"2024-11-27T00:41:22","date_gmt":"2024-11-27T07:41:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/?p=21729"},"modified":"2024-11-25T15:42:26","modified_gmt":"2024-11-25T22:42:26","slug":"listen","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/2024\/11\/27\/listen\/","title":{"rendered":"LISTEN"},"content":{"rendered":"

BY JOELLEN COLLINS<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"
JoEllen Collins\u2014a longtime resident of the Wood River Valley, now residing in San Francisco\u2014 is an Idaho Press Club award-winning columnist, a teacher, novelist, fabric artist, choir member and proud grandma.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

I <\/span>am learning a lot about the wonderful lives that some of my fellow residents have experienced. Often our conversations begin with a short description about what they did in their lives\u2014to some kind of vocation. When people ask me, I have always been proud to say I am a teacher, blessed to have been one. Now, as I recall, I think I would say that I am a storyteller. All my life I was encouraged to add to whatever was going on by a comment or an observation or a tale or some kind of reaction that was verbal. As a teacher, I encouraged students to support generalizations with specific examples.\u00a0 \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Now I\u2019m afraid that my long life of what I consider wonderful adventures takes a little too much time to relate to others. I\u2019d rather label myself not as a storyteller, but a reformed storyteller who wants to be known as a good listener, a \u201cstorylistener.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I can listen forever to interesting stories from my fellow residents. The wise doctor and his wife who survived the Hungarian revolution through escape and some measure of luck have brightened my days. A lively woman born of French parents in Vietnam made her way through many countries, learning several languages to get her Ph.D. at Berkeley and is an amazing conversationalist, full of stories of her travels in the world. One of my compassionate friends is a woman who had six children, five of the daughters I met at our annual big family dinner!\u00a0Her positive nature is reflected in the lovely women I could tell were well raised and much loved by their mother, and how much they loved her, a good reminder of the possibilities when one leads what is considered a \u201cnormal\u201d life without advanced degrees or accomplishments or fame. I would be proud to have had this legacy.<\/span><\/p>\n

At dinner last week two friends and I happened upon a conversation about childbirth. In the next few minutes we smiled, sometimes ruefully, about their experiences. One was stuck at home and couldn\u2019t get out and had her baby there with other children around and nobody to rescue her immediately. The other was in New York and had a very complex but wonderful time having children. I shared the story of my cousin who was on the freeway to Kaiser hospital with severe contractions, and her husband had to move to the center of the freeway. She had her baby in the car on the divider.\u00a0Even \u201csimple\u201d conversations often lead to giggles, rueful memories, and other conversations from people around me. I don\u2019t have to always pipe in.<\/span><\/p>\n

The other day I was sufficiently upset about tech problems that I mentioned my frustration to my friends at lunch. After my tirade, I apologized for taking up too much time with this issue. My friend Sara waved her hand at me and said, \u201cStop worrying, you\u2019re with family.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Now that was good listening.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

BY JOELLEN COLLINS I am learning a lot about the wonderful lives that some of my fellow residents have experienced. Often our conversations begin with a short description about what they did in their lives\u2014to some kind of vocation. When people ask me, I have always been proud to say I am a teacher, blessed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":16827,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"tdm_status":"","tdm_grid_status":"","_pvb_checkbox_block_on_post":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2,22],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-21729","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-commentary","8":"category-on-lifes-terms"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21729","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=21729"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21729\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21730,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21729\/revisions\/21730"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/16827"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21729"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21729"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21729"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}