• In this Story... with Joanne Greene

  • Written by: Joanne Greene
  • Podcast

In this Story... with Joanne Greene

Written by: Joanne Greene
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  • Summary

  • 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
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Social Sciences
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Episodes
  • Taking Our Temperature

    Taking Our Temperature
    Feb 21 2025
    In this story, we take our temperature. I’m Joanne Greene.
    Now I understand why the elderly have always worn cardigans. They’re easier to put on and take off when our collective thermostats die.
    Case in point. This morning. There was frost on the ground, so I bundled up before taking my dog and grand dog for a forest therapy walk in the woods. Gloves, a beanie, and a parka seemed about right. And it was. For about 10 minutes. Then, off came the hat; I’ve never liked things on my head. Fifteen minutes later, the gloves came off…and I don’t mean that metaphorically. It was actually warm, in the way that California sun can trick you into believing that summer is approaching, even when plants are frozen. Eventually, dogs bounding around, in and out of mud puddles, off leash, it occurred to me that I had to keep track of all the items I was holding….gloves, hat, leashes, phone, headphones. You get the picture.
    It made me think of yesterday, when the family room felt so cold that I pulled a big cushion up to the fireplace and flipped the switch to get the fire going. I know…is it really a fire when you don’t need kindling? Answer: yes. We live in fire country. Case closed.
    I warmed up in minutes and, soon, was losing layers. Too hot. Too cold. Why can’t I seem to get it right? Did I worry about any of this when I was younger? Absolutely not. I grew up in freezing conditions and we wore knee socks and skirts walking to school in the winter. Did we talk about frigid thighs? Never. We just took it for granted that that’s how we were supposed to feel in winter. And then there was summer, which brought not just heat but stifling humidity…the kind that has you showering multiple times a day because as soon as you dry off, you’re bathed in perspiration again. Boys sweat; girls perspire. What?
    My husband’s hands and feet are always cold. It’s the price he pays for low blood pressure which, on balance, is a good tradeoff. But the downside is that we’re regularly negotiating about room temperature, when to turn the fire on and off, whether to leave the glass door in our bedroom open – just a sliver – when he says it’s unacceptably cold. Some couples have issues over money. Not us. We see eye to eye on just about everything, except for the damn temperature. “Is it hot in here?” I ask. Again. And again. And again. He arrives in the kitchen, having crossed the garage from his office to get there, and 9 times out of 10, he’s shivering. Are we going to have to heat the garage? Buy tiny heating pads for his feet? Install fans on every side table so that I don’t have to run out into the backyard mid-streaming show to feel a breeze? I don’t think so. Instead, maybe we just stock up on cardigans.

    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!
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    4 mins
  • Shameless Maternal Pride

    Shameless Maternal Pride
    Feb 7 2025
    Safe to say, we all want the same for our children – that they feel loved and valued, that they respect themselves and others, and that they be resilient. If you’re lucky enough to see your child become a parent, you’re in for a treat. You get to watch from the sidelines as they learn what it means to give selflessly, to love from the very deepest place in their hearts, and to hopefully practice the best of what you strove to impart.
    My older son spent a month at his in-laws home in San Malo, France recently, and toward the end of the month, he wrote his ten month old son a letter. He was kind enough to let me share it with you here:

    Luca my boy.
    What a wonderful trip we just had together. You were a bit sick when it started. You had an ear infection and lots of wax in your ears. Your teeth have been coming in. You have two top and two bottom now. Changing timezones is never easy and it took you a while to adjust. But when all of that was over, you again shone as your happy self. We got to spend a lot of time together, especially in the mornings before the rest of the house was awake. Your mother needs her sleep. When I would hear you whimper or cry, sometimes waking me up, I would come into your room and pick you up out of your crib, still in your sleep sac, and you would nuzzle against me, happy that I was the one to get you and confident that a bottle was near. Well, sometimes not so patient if you were really hungry. But more often I recall you giggling as I made the bottle. After some milk, I would change your diaper and dress you, we’d go back into the kitchen where I’d put you on the floor to crawl a bit and say hi to your stuffed animal friends. The bear. The otter. The lamb. But you were more interested in the wicker baskets with the chestnuts, turning them this way and that as you lay on your back. You have a strong grip. One day you reached for a weight used for an old scale that I hadn’t even noticed. You pulled it off the shelf, allowing it to fall the 4 or 5 inches to the ground, thankfully not onto your hand or fingers. It was surprisingly heavy and would have undoubtedly broken some bones. Was another lesson for me in paying attention to your new abilities and wide-eyed curiosity. But on an average morning, I would make the coffee, maybe sweep the floor, put away the dishes… I would pick you up and we would open the curtains as the darkness outside began to turn to light. One day I explained the passage of days and years by circumnavigating the dinning table with you in my arms, spinning around and around. We’re the earth and every time we see the table it’s like the sun coming up and night turning to day. You liked the spinning, or maybe just being in my arms. I loved spending the mornings with you. Eventually it was time to wake up mommy. We would go into the bedroom and I’d put you in bed next to her and you would reach out to touch her face, never gently. Doucement, doucement, comme ça, she would say as she took your hand and stroked her face with it. If I remember nothing else from this trip, may it be these mornings.

    The world can be burning or flooding due to climate change, while wars and dire poverty bring undue suffering to millions…yet, sometimes, somehow…I'm lucky enough to bask in the pleasure of moments like this.

    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!
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    5 mins
  • Day One at the Jive 95 - KSAN San Francisco

    Day One at the Jive 95 - KSAN San Francisco
    Jan 24 2025
    The contrast between working conditions at KRE and those of the typical San Francisco radio station in the mid 1970’s was stunning. KRE’s door was never locked. Messages were written on a pad of pink “While You’re Were Out” paper and stuck on a spindle on the front desk. We replaced the typewriter ribbons ourselves and there was no hot running water in either of the bathrooms. Our General Manager and sales staff negotiated trade agreements with local restaurants - ads for food, basically - so a big perk was periodically getting to feast on the salad bar at the El Cerrito Station. For four years at KRE, I honed my skills and periodically interviewed for jobs in the city at radio stations that offered far more in the way of decor, professionalism, and salary but a lot less in terms of soul. And then I heard about an opening at KSAN, the legendary rock station whose claim to fame was not only the music but the news. It’s where every young person in the San Francisco Bay Area turned for the truth and the KSAN News delivered. There were no stories from the police blotter; that was better left to local television. The KSAN News team curated the news, focusing on issues that had impact, often covering only a few stories in a five minute newscast when there was a lot to say. Rather than reading from a script as was and continues to be standard practice in radio news, KSAN news people told you the news. They spoke directly to you - one on one - often bantering back and forth with a co-anchor or even the on air jock.My first day of work on the KSAN News team was a bit traumatic. I arrived at 345 Sansome Street with some anxiety, having never anchored news before. I went directly to the newsroom and found some piles of torn wire copy from the Associated Press and Reuters news services and no sign of a human being. “Excuse me, I’m Joanne Rosenzweig, the new news person. Do you know where Dave McQueen is?” I asked someone who happened to be passing by in the hallway. Dave was the News Director and my co-anchor for the noon news.The guy in the hall looked at his watch and grinned. “Oh, Dave’s probably asleep on the couch in the front office. That’s generally where he is between nine and noon.”I gulped and slowly nodded, wondering how I was supposed to prepare the newscast without any direction. OK, I thought, I’ll just read over all of the copy that he pulled for the morning drive casts and continue to rip updates from the wires.An hour passed and my heart rate was gradually increasing, as I ran back and forth from the newsroom to the tiny area that housed the wire machines – checking on updates from Associated Press and Reuters. What the hell? Why isn’t he here to welcome me and tell me what he expects? Isn’t there any training?I’d been hired by Abby Melamed, the Program Director, and she was out at a meeting. I went into the Production Room and asked Rick, the Production Director, what he thought I should do.“It’s after eleven-thirty,” Rick said, sympathetically, “I think it’s fine to go wake him up and tell him you need to figure out the noon news.”“He won’t be angry?” I asked, hoping that Rick would offer to go wake him up and save me the awkwardness and potential humiliation.Rick shrugged and smiled. I had the immediate sense that Rick would be a friend and ally, even though he wasn’t making the morning any easier for me.With trepidation, I began walking toward the front office. Peeking in, I saw Dave, asleep on a couch, his long brown hair strewn across a throw pillow. “Dave,” I whispered. No response. “Dave,” I said, a bit louder this time. Still no sign of life. I held my breath for a moment, wondering what I’d done to deserve this, and said in a somewhat louder voice “David!” That did it. He moved, opened one eye, and started to stretch. And then he continued to stretch until, gradually, he began to sit up. Then, he grabbed a hair brush from the table and began to brush his nearly waist-length brown hair, bending his head down and flipping all of his locks back over his head, brushing it from the other side. Was this his ritual upon waking up? He didn’t seem like a fastidious person and yet this hair brushing seemed to go on and on. I stared, in disbelief, and started babbling.“I cleared the wires and read over what you’d done in the morning newscasts, but I’m not sure how you want to handle the noon. It’s 11:40 now, maybe later, and I’m starting to get concerned that we need time to prep.”Dave continued to brush his hair, not yet responding to my semi-panicked diatribe.When he finished stretching, yawning and brushing, he walked out of the room and down the long hall to the newsroom. I followed wondering how, in hell, we were going to properly prepare to deliver a newscast. Maybe my notion of “properly” was about to go out the window. Man, did I have a lot to learn. Upon entering his sanctuary - a small room with ...
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    7 mins

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