Ira Joe Fisher - The Professional Speaking Coach

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Ira Joe Fisher - The Professional Speaking Coach

Ira Joe Fisher is a nationally known broadcaster of radio & television (NBC, CBS, ABC), stage & scr

06/29/2025

A sad poem…

08/23/2024

My August began with a Speaking Fearlessly seminar at RVNAhealth. It was attended over four days by twelve brilliant caregivers. They told stories of their mission … of the people they serve and of the colleagues with whom they share that mission. Their stories are moving. Their work is compassionate and vital and kind. It builds on the touching history of RVNAhealth in Ridgefield and through Fairfield County. It was an honor to be in the company of these friends, these noble people. Thank you for gracing Ridgefield. Thank you for blessing my life …and those of our neighbors. With your smiles and your healing.

10/06/2021

How's Your Business?

IraJoeFisher.com

07/08/2021

A day of rain and thunder. Not thunder crashing, scolding, just thunder near and grumbling. Rain as soft as spots on a fawn. Rain plunking on my parked car’s roof. Rain sketching little circles in puddles that weren’t there in the sun.
Rain and no wind to toss the trees. A dream, not a storm. A needling smile, a million-noted hymn to give the day its green and a drink. And wide enough in its rain-reach to sparkle the dark of the night.

06/18/2021

Shelly, our brother Bob, and I slipped into the sunny spring afternoon-to-evening for a charming CHIRP concert in Ballard Park. We munched and hydrated and swayed to the music of ADAM EZRA Group. A touch of Dylan, a smattering of Tom Petty, and originals by the group. Such a moving, musical Thursday. Smiling with Ridgefielders (including CHIRP's founding force, Barbara Manners) in soft June time. Good to be outside. Good to be together. In 06877.

06/08/2021

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03/27/2021

The Saturday sun sets with a blush from the dear day it burnished. The warming is tentative. The sky’s blue is soft. Spring is a shy season. Its morning fog ushers the snow from bank to patch to lawn. From glory to grit to gone. The scrape of the plow? Silenced. Scarves and mittens and boots? Closeted. Bird song? Trilling now in the trees. And the wind? The wind is soft and hair fluttering and coaxing the shy season’s leaves to appear and unfold. To green the day. Spring is a shy season. But it grows braver every day.

03/07/2021

The sun awoke and rose this morning. It wove through the trees and over the sinking snow. From the blue around it, the sun awoke and brought a sparkle to the day. Now night darkens a little later and lightens a little earlier. Twilight bears a bit of gold and dawn comes to gild the trees and the sinking snow and to sigh at winter leaving and spring making green just beyond the near hill.
Winter knows it must go. And it will. Spring readies its warming as it slips north from the south. It’s all in the theatre of the seasons. Each knows the script and each has a cue. When to enter. When to exit. No season is a villain, just an actor on the stage to charm us. And the curtains never close.

02/12/2021

The reaching trees against a blue sky. An icicle hanging outside my window. The air is chilled at ten degrees. Squirrels are tucked and sleeping in their leafy nests. Birds are south or silent huddling beneath their wings. The snow below sits all asparkle in the sun of morning and the shadows upon it are blue.
This icicle and every icicle always make a point: “I’m here because it’s winter. But I’ll be gone come spring.”

02/06/2021

When a theatre closes for a day of rest or a play ends its run, it’s said to “go dark.” When a friend dies, your heart goes dark. With grief.
The world lost a grand and shimmering star of an actor today. Christopher Plummer. He graced the stage and the screen with his transformations into the characters he fleshed from script to performance with compassion, depth, insight, impishness, humanity, kindness, wisdom, awareness, and that quality of being unforgettable …a quality that he infused into every role, every syllable, every glance or glare; every grimace or grin.
We became friends thirty years ago at a charity fundraiser that was holidaying with Christmas trees. What do you first notice when you meet a legend? With Chris it was his crinkle-eyed smile and the ease with which he generated warmth. Sincere warmth. We spent time together in front of an audience. And time together away from spotlights. Just talking. He spoke of his birth-town Toronto and growing up in Quebec. There was royalty coursing in his veins. There was an egalitarian spirit glowing in his countenance, in his humanity. Stories. Reminiscences. Plays. Poems. All uttered with gentle or wry humor and a keenness that was as much a part of his conversation as it was a part of his stardom.
He knew everyONE. He performed everyTHING. And he delighted in his memorable spin on the planet. That orbit touched audiences. And it touched my life with his friendship. Christopher Plummer was part of the world’s good. Now he is part of history. Talent? Boundless. Gravitas? Abundant. Wit? Paralyzing with laughter. Friendship? Present and cherished. Christopher Plummer left today. And those who saw him and those who knew him have gone dark.

02/01/2021

This is the Connecticut (and eastern seaboard) scene on Groundhog Eve. And here is how it began nine hours ago:
2 a.m.: Ah, now the snow is snowing. It began as a weak black-sky wobble. A smug, reluctant nod to gravity. But the wind woke to the snow and stirred up a game of laugh-and-leap. The house roof is no safe place for the snow to rest. The wind wooshes it off in broad, rowdy featherings. Tree limbs can’t yet capture this chilled winter spark. The lawn is heaping and heavy-ing.
That deviling wind takes the flakes and makes the flakes flutter and flip in the porch light (the storm’s only calm). Uncharted snow. Reveling in a winter storm. Listening to nothing. Listening to nothing but the beat of each flake’s small and sparkling heart.

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Ridgefield, CT

Website

http://www.IraJoeFisher.com/

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