Storytelling is a sadly neglected art, especially the oral tradition. A web page does not lend itself to that type of telling, but here I will tell tales on myself.

The story of how I acquired the nickname, LaPhyg, which I use in these pages and how it has morphed from the simple beginnings of Psycho Hippie Grandma to its present anagramatic form is a three part story. It begins with field school escapades which include the manner in which I earned the original monicer, and continues with the recounting of how the project leader, Dr. Hanson came to understand, and felt the impact of my unique climbing abilities that earned me the nickname given to me by the younger, by decades, student anthropologists. Finally there is the recounting of how the original nickname got anagramized into its current form, by myself and others, not a brief process by any means. It has taken eight years for the nickname to transform itself, from first aquisition to current form. Dozens of people helped to generate and transform the name and the story. The telling will therefore, not be brief, so please be patient while I attempt to create in written text, a story best told in the oral tradition.

There are also, of course, stories behind most of the poems I write. For example, the poem entitled "Unintentional Four Letter Words"  presented on Poetry - Page One recounts an incident which occurred when as a child of 12, while living in Izmir, Turkey, my father sent me to buy peaches from a street vender. His instructions were very clear, point at the fruit desired and state, in Turkish, the quantity desired. Well, children will be children, and I did not follow instructions exactly. The result was a very distressed vendor. The poor man knew I was an American child and did not understand my offence, and so he backed away from me, cart in tow. Of course I followed, continuing to repeat the phrase "Iki kilo peaches" as we proceeded down the hill, he pulling his cart, me following. When my father finally came to find me, two blocks and ten minutes later, the poor vendor was very relieved to see me go. The rest of the tale is clear from the poem. Upon perusing the Turkish/English Dictionary, I learned of my grevious and offensive mistake. My parents never again sent me after produce by myself.