I've been working on a script with a producer named Eli.

I'm going to perform a show made from pieces of columns I've written over the years. I've been looking for themes and ideas and stringing them together, and I thought I'd done a pretty good job, so I sent off a draft to Eli.

"This is not what we talked about!" Eli told me.

I was hurt. When we first spoke, I wasn't sure what to write. I had a lot of ideas about different things. But, since then, I'd read a bunch of books about how to write a script properly, and everything I read said I needed to be focused. I needed to know exactly what topic I wanted to talk about and stay on track.

Staying on track is sometimes hard for me when there are so many enticing bunny trails along the way. So I'd spent the last few weeks tossing out all the stray ideas. I made the whole thing one streamlined thesis, and I was pretty pleased with myself -- until I talked to Eli.

"You were going to write about all kinds of things, not just one subject!" he went on, not sounding happy with me at all.

"Well, yes," I admitted, "but that was before I understood how important it was to find one main topic and stick to it and ..."

"I like the other idea better!"

I didn't know what to say. I don't know Eli very well, but I respect him a lot. I thought he'd be pleased I had done all this research and was so much better organized.

"But the 'other idea' wasn't really an idea!" I told him. "I just had a picture in my head of a lot of stories about different things that may or may not be connected."

"I like that better!" he said.

So then I had to think. And I've been thinking ever since.

Because Eli wants this script to be something bigger than a few funny stories. He doesn't want a single, easy-to-digest theme. Eli wants the whole shebang. He wants me to tell a story about how I see the world and why. He wants me to take the happy and funny and sad and the painful and mix them in a way that makes sense of them as a whole.

And he's made me realize that we are all storytellers, telling ourselves our story every day.

We take stories from our youth and struggles we've had as adults and heartache and disappointments and moments of indescribable joy, and we make sense of them in a way that defines us -- to ourselves. All the happiest parts and all the hardest parts and every part in between, all the things that happened to us and what we thought about them afterward and how they changed us, become the story of who we are.

And Eli is right.

There is no point in trying to tell one piece of the story. The advice from the books I read would be great if I had some terrific new idea about how to do something faster or cheaper or more efficiently -- but I don't have any ideas like that.

I just have this idea that it's good to embrace our stories -- because they are ours, because we have the power to tell them in a way that allows us to change and grow. We can use our stories to make the rest of our lives a little better and more compassionate.

So now I'm rewriting my story for Eli -- and for me.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos and other things can be found on Facebook at CarrieClassonAuthor.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION

My dad doesn't like asking for help.

He told me this recently when he asked if I could help him put out the dock. His knee was bothering him, and the dock was pulled up on shore at a steep incline. The dock frame was rolled into the water and then the boards of the dock were laid into place. It was a good job for two people and two sets of hands, especially since my dad's knee is bothering him and he's been legally blind for a number of years.

My dad doesn't like asking for help, he told me. But lately he needs more of it than he used to. I know this embarrasses him. My dad is the kind of guy who can do a lot of things and solve a lot of problems. He built his house by himself -- only getting assistance with the foundation and the roof. Everything in between, from the cabinets to the plumbing, he did himself. If I ask my dad how to solve a problem, he'll take a pause as he visualizes what will be needed. He may not get back to me for a day or two. But when he does, he's got it all worked out in his head. He must know that I have always admired him for the many things he can do and how well does them all.

But my dad turned 90 this year, and he's had some heart troubles. His eyes have been a problem for years, and now this knee is acting up. It takes a toll on him. I know he gets tired of it and worries he'll be able to do less and have to ask for more help.

"How does it feel, seeing your dad like this?" he asked me.

I didn't know how to answer, because it feels good to see my dad whenever I see him, and I am glad I can help. Usually, I don't feel I can do much to help my dad.

And I'm not sure he realizes he has been teaching me by his example all his life, and those lessons have not ended.

When I see him ask me for help -- knowing it is hard for him, knowing he wishes he did not have to do it -- he is teaching me another important lesson. It's a lesson I need today. It's a lesson I will need more in the years to come.

It is hard to ask for help, but it shows wisdom to ask when you need it. Asking in the way my father does makes it feel like a privilege to be helpful. I hope I can be as gracious when I need help -- tomorrow, and for the rest of my life.

We put the dock together in no time. The perfectly spaced boards were easy to slide into place because my father had built them in his woodshop, taking care they would not fit too tightly or have too much space between them. It felt good to stand on the newly assembled dock, ready for another summer of listening to loons, and keeping track of who is on their pontoon boat and watching the summer sun go down late at night, so far north.

I wish I'd had a better answer on the tip of my tongue when he asked me how it felt to see him asking for help. I wanted to say it made me admire him more. It made me hopeful that someday I might be as patient and dignified as my dad.

Happy Father's Day,

Carrie

Photos and other things can be found on Facebook at CarrieClassonAuthor.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION

I'm about the only person I know without a tattoo.

Well, this is not true. My parents don't have tattoos, and I don't think most of their friends do -- although I've not done a close inspection. That would be hard to do, and probably not very polite.

But among people my age and younger, I've become something of an oddity, yet I can honestly say I've never considered getting one. This isn't because I have anything against tattoos. I've seen some that were beautiful. But I've also seen some that read "Forever Young" or "No Regrets," and I wonder if this will always be the case.

And that's the problem.

I don't think I've ever been sure enough of anything to ink it on myself permanently. I remember having a conversation with a man who had a lot of tattoos, and I expressed this concern.

"How do you know you'll always think that way and want that on your arm?" I asked.

"Oh, I probably won't!" he answered cheerfully. "But that's not the point. The tattoo is a reminder of where I've been, not necessarily where I'm going."

This made sense to me but didn't solve the problem. I've gone through a lot of changes in my life, and I have a lot to say. I'm afraid I'd run out of available space in a hurry.

What if there was no writing space left and I still had years to go? I'd have to write very small, to make sure I had room for major life events. Since I have no idea how big each event will be -- or how many of them I will have -- this seems challenging.

And I honestly don't mind not having a tattoo. I figure they are like every other kind of fashion and will come and go. If I manage to live long enough, not having tattoos will probably be cool, allowing me to be a very cool nonagenarian. I have that to look forward to.

Instead, when I am in Mexico, I go to a fellow who makes bracelets. He weaves them by hand and ties them onto my wrist. He will write anything I want (provided it is not too long) in the colors I choose. I imagine I would have had a tattoo reminding me of these same things -- if I were not so cowardly.

I had one bracelet made that said, "Act as if."

I was trying to remember to behave as if I was already the person I wished to be, not always waiting around for "someday." When the bracelet did not seem to be doing the trick, I had another one made in a different color, and one more after that. Eventually I was wearing three bracelets. I have to say, I have been doing a much better job of living in the moment of late -- although I'm not sure I can give the bracelets all the credit.

But bracelets are not tattoos and, when they eventually got shabby, I cut them off. Now I am back to a wrist without slogans, and that might be for the best.

Because once a reminder is with me long enough, it stops reminding me, and I suspect it would be the same with a tattoo. If I can't rely on a bracelet for instructions, I don't think a tattoo would help, either.

Instead, I take a long walk every day, and at some point, I am reminded that I am a very lucky person. And I start acting as if I am. With or without tattoos.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos and other things can be found on Facebook at CarrieClassonAuthor.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION