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About gretchenwing

A high school English and History teacher for 20 years, Gretchen now lives, writes, and bakes on Lopez Island, Washington.

From the Author of Cloud Atlas, Another Ridiculously Good Read

Let me apologize up front for not writing about President Kennedy today. I figure others will pick up the slack. I need to write about a book.

I’d love to sum it up in a pithy, “Two words for ya–” but unfortunately, this book has a MOUTHFUL of a title. Ready?

The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, by David Mitchell.

Read this.

Read this.

Normally my “can’t-put-it-down” books are mysteries–especially ones by Elizabeth George. But this literary novel has me in its clutches, and not for the usual reasons.

Oh, it’s got the goods all right. Sympathetic hero with a blind spot? Check. Ridiculously authentic, obviously-well-researched setting (Japan circa 1800)? Check. Crackling dialogue (seamlessly “translated” from Dutch and Japanese yet!)? Sensory detail of the most intimate and unexpected kind? Aching love story? Political intrigue? Breathless plot twists? Evil villains? Check, check, check, check, check, and…check.

But here’s what really gets me about this novel, grammar nerd that I am: its simple declarative sentences.

An example, chosen randomly from page 194:

Uzaemon glimpses the enormity of the risk he is taking.

Would they bother with a warrant? Or just dispatch an assassin?

Uzaemon looks away. To stop and think would be to abort the rescue.

Feet splash in puddles. The brown river surges. Pines drip.

I think I’m in love.

…THIS JUST IN! I wrote the above before arriving at page 451. That’s where I found this paragraph:

Gulls wheel through spokes of sunlight over gracious roofs and dowdy thatch, snatching entrails at the market place and escaping over cloistered gardens, spike-topped walls, and triple-bolted doors. Gulls alight on whitewashed gables, creaking pagodas, and dung-ripe stables; circle over towers and cavernous bells and over hidden squares where urns of urine sit by covered wells, watched by mule drivers, mules, and wolf-snouted dogs, ignored by hunchbacked makers of clogs; gather speed up the stoned-in Nagasaki River and fly beneath the arches of its bridges, glimpsed from kitchen doors, watched by farmers walking high, stony ridges…

Do you hear it yet? Feel it? Read the passage aloud. 

It RHYMES.

And it goes on like this, this single paragraph, for nearly a page and a half, all gorgeous internal rhyme hidden amidst sense-snatching detail like some kind of literary sleight-of-hand. The final sentence of the paragraph ends this way:

…where their flight began, over the balcony of the Room of the Last Chrysanthemum, where a puddle from last night’s rain is evaporating; a puddle in which Magistrate Shiroyama observes the blurred reflections of gulls wheeling through spokes of sunlight. This world, he thinks, contains just one masterpiece, and that is itself.

I think I read that last sentence holding my breath, hearing the paragraph, like the gulls, wheel full circle back to where its flight began.

As far as I’ve noticed, this is the only paragraph in the book like this–and Mitchell throws it out there on page 451 like, “Hey, yeah, see what I could do if I wanted? I could write this whole book in rhyme if I felt like it. Dare me?”

I’m telling ya: this former English teacher and lifelong reader & writer gets chills.

But I need to finish this book, and it’s your turn now. Do you have a book which you love as much for its use of sentence structure or language as for the story? Should I read it? Tell, tell.

Nature Hates You? Seriously, Deer Really DO Hate Me

Who knew there was a whole YouTube subsection about the loathing Mother Nature exhibits towards us, her most rebellious citizens?

Looking for “Nature” videos like the sweet little tree-hugger I am, here’s what I found instead:

At first I was properly horrified. Watching Bambi’s mother die, for entertainment? Who is this humorless monster?

Then I drove to work Saturday morning.

Now, understand, I’m a BAKER. I leave for work at 4:30 am. (That’s in the off-season. Before October, it’s 4–but who’s counting sleep-minutes?) That cinnamon-roll dough ain’t gonna rise itself.

As usual, my headlights picked up the eerie glare of deer-eyes as soon as I pulled out of my rural driveway. As usual, half a mile down the road, a mother and mid-size fawn ambled across the pavement in front of me. Then the doe stopped and stared right through my windshield, and it hit me: that video’s right.

Deer DO hate me. They ARE murderous aliens from outer space. And…they know I know. That orangey stare? That was a warning.

Lucky for me, they just aren’t very competent murderous aliens. My high count for deer, on my 10-mile drive to town, is 25. Number of times I’ve had to stomp on the brakes? Lost count. Number of times I’ve had to manually “stomp” on my bicycle brakes to avoid hitting Bambi’s mom? Also countless. And yet…they haven’t managed to snare me. My front bumper and my nature-girl conscience are still clean. (OK, there was that one raccoon…but that’s a different post.)

Shotgun-hunting season, in our neck of the woods, ended this weekend. Bow hunting’s still allowed. I, Tree-Hugger Nature Girl, say “Go for it.” Let’s thin that herd before it thins us.

Because I know they know I know.

What about you? Any scary run-ins with the antlered demons? Like to hunt? Hate hunting? Find the whole Bambi’s-mother question too traumatic to discuss? Tell me anyway.

The Gift of Confidence: “Gretchen Wing with Chicken Biscuit” Now Feels…Legit

meThis is what I’m doing tonight:

This is my second annual “Gretchen Wing With Chicken Biscuit” concert. The year before we were simply Chicken Biscuit. Then I started writing songs, and something changed.The story’s a little longer than that, but I’ve told it before.

Right now, I just want to compare two Gretchens:

October 2012
Lopez Community Member: “So, you’re giving a concert?”
Gretchen: “Yeah, I know, it feels so weird, I can’t believe I’m actually asking people to pay money to come hear me, I’m just, you know, I’ve never done anything like this before.”

November 2013
Lopez Community Member: “So hey, another concert?”
Gretchen: “Yup! So excited! Hope you’re coming!”

What changed? I’m only a marginally better guitar player than I was a year ago, and I have a long way to go before I reach the level of the wonderful Biscuits who play with me. My voice is probably a little stronger, from a year’s worth of singing.

But the main ingredient of change is CONFIDENCE. By now enough people have told me I am a good singer and a good songwriter that I have finally stopped thinking they are all extra-nice folks with low standards.

I believe I’m good: therefore I am. WHOA. Talk about a life-changing Blinding Flash of the Obvious.

I could probably run with this theme, and who knows where it would take me? But I’m kinda in a hurry here…gotta walk the dog and get the house ready for the post-performance party before heading into town for set-up and sound-checks. (I meant to post this yesterday, but our internet went bye-bye…so it goes!)

So I’ll close with the obvious question: Have YOU had an experience where someone telling you you could do something made it happen? Are you having such an experience now? Please tell me all about it!

 

Happy Blogday To Me: Once-Reluctant Blogger Reaches 100 Posts

(orig. photo courtesy commons.wikimedia.org)

(orig. photo courtesy commons.wikimedia.org)

Happy Blog Day to Meeee….Wing’s World turns 100 posts today. I should buy myself a card.

Actually, I’m only half-joking. Given the number of people like me, mostly over-30s (OK, let’s be honest, even more of us are old enough to be the PARENTS of the over-30s), who have dived into blogging recently, Hallmark & their ilk could probably make a killing selling “Congrats! You’ve Reached Your 100th Post” cards. “From Your Sister-in-Law on Your 100th Post.” “To My Darling on the Anniversary of Her 100th Post.”

The cards could feature a long fence line, you know, made of…wooden…yeah, alright, you get it.

But none of us new bloggers would buy a paper card, would we? We’d be too busy showing off our mastery of the ecard. “Look at me, doing technology!”

Half the time, that really is what it feels like. When I was a little kid, my parents used to let me have a sip of their wine at dinner sometimes. I only took that sip after announcing, “Look at me! I’m drinking wine!” (Yeah, guess who’s the youngest in her family?)

Why this sudden upsurge? Because, like Mt. Everest, the internet is just…there? For some, I’m sure that’s true–reaching out with their thoughts is just a natural extension of, say, chatting to a stranger on a bus.

For people like me, though, starting to blog felt like signing up for a colonoscopy. “Do I really hafta? I know, I know, this is supposed to be good for me…How about if I wait a year and then do it?”

So fine: I started Wing’s World. But…starting to blog REGULARLY? “What does the world WANT from me?? Why can’t I just say my piece once a month and then retire with my dignity intact?”

I’ll tell you what got me going, and what probably motivated a whole bunch of my bloggin’ cohorts: FEAR.

What if I wrote a book…and nobody came?

A painter can at least put her masterpiece in a window for people to walk past and see, even if no one wants to buy. But an author? We have to PUBLISH. We have to get individual books before individual sets of eyes.

And that means we have to attract those eyes our way.

But eyes, it turns out, aren’t enough. In fact, if all your eyes saw were a stream of advertisements, “Buy my book! Buy my book! Buymybookbuymybookbuymybook…” stretching off into the sunshine like a line of fenceposts…you’d look away.

So my job is to get you to feel like you WANT to buy my book, because…drum roll!…you think I’m an interesting person, and you like the way I write.

And that, my friends, is why I blog. Or why I STARTED blogging. But an interesting thing happened on the way to the 100th post.

I began to enjoy myself. Turns out I really like talking with y’all.

So, here’s to Happy 100. Here’s to the next. Here’s to you, for reading, and to me, for writing, and…to whatever comes next as the line of posts marches into the distance.

How about you? Do you blog, happily or reluctantly? How many other blogs do you read? Do you sometimes suffer from “blog overload?” Do you wish the whole blogosphere had never been invented? Let me hear!

 

Diving In: Publication, Here I Come

Self-published. Independently published. Whatever you may call it, I call it: Time to Make a Book.

I’ve already written one. Two, actually. The Flying Burgowski introduces Jocelyn Burgowski, whose only solace from a family crumbling around her are her breathtaking flying dreams–until, on her fourteenth birthday, those dreams turn real and she launches into the sky…only to discover that supernatural powers are not always enough to heal the damage of old secrets. Book Two, The Flying Burgowski Sister, finds Jocelyn pitted against an enemy bound to destroy Flyers and anyone else who challenges “normality.”

Both manuscripts have been critiqued and revised and beta-read multiple times. The only thing holding them back from their “book” destiny is, I have discovered…my own fear.

What if I’m giving up too early on traditional publishing? What if I tried a little harder to snag another agent? (Used to have one; we parted company amiably; won’t bore you with the details.) What if my beautifully-crafted book gets lumped in with all the other books that show, shall we say, a little less attention to craft?** What if I can’t handle the technology of self-publishing? All that scary uploading! Eeek!

[**I just read this on someone’s self-pub blog: “I would spend some serious time revising your manuscript. You could also pay someone to edit for you. I didn’t, but…I felt confident that I had caught all of my grammatical errors and when I read through the book after receiving my copy, I was happy about the work I had done. Also–the book still had some errors. I had gone blind to my own work.” Grammatical errors–are you kidding me? What about the book’s content? Yikes. This is what gives self-pub a bad name.]

But this is the week where I finally tell those fears to shut up. I’m in. I’ve done my research. I have a terrific support system: my writing group; Kristen Lamb the WANA Mama and my WANA-peeps at WANA.com (shout-out to my WANA113 fellow Hotel Californians!); fellow writers from the Northwest Institute of Literary Arts. And let’s not forget you guys, my loyal readers! You’re ALL going to help me. Thanks in advance!

Nine months ago when I signed up for Kristen Lamb’s blogging class, I made these goals:

By the end of the class, I will not only be blogging 2-3 times a week, I will enjoy it.

In one year, my first book will be published, if not traditionally, then independently.

I’m right on track.

I’ve done my research, and I’m planning to go with Amazon’s CreateSpace because techno-wusses like me seem to find it pretty user friendly and, more importantly, it makes actual BOOKS you can hold in your HAND. I’m contacting a professional book designer, having been warned by my friend Iris Graville against using homemade art for the cover. I’m talking to my local independent bookstore about selling my books. And I’m telling YOU GUYS, so you can cheer me on and be ready to embrace Jocelyn when she makes her debut.

The day I made this go-for-it decision, I went for a walk in the coastal woods near my house. After several hours lost in cyberspace, reading self-pub blogs and Twitter advice, I needed a little reality fix. And I noticed this madrona tree, which I have passed dozens of times.

tree 1

tree 2

tree 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s supporting itself. That crazy branch makes a complete loop, then rests itself on its own coil, takes a breather…and keeps on growing upward!

I decided this was MY METAPHOR. After striving for traditional publication, after landing an agent only to see him lose heart in the shark-infested waters of New York, after quailing for so long at the potential stigma and the hard work of self-publishing…I have made that loop and I’m ready to support myself in growing on UP.

And you guys? You’re the minerals in my soil, ok, and the sun on my branches!

Seriously…Who do you count in your corner when it’s time to put on the big-girl panties and stride out into scary territory? Who are YOUR soil & sunshine? Or just let me have your thoughts on the whole self-publishing adventure. I LOVE hearing from y’all.

Why I’m Glad That Richie Incognito Isn’t Incognito

“Big man bullied: Jonathan Martin reminds us that victims aren’t always the little guys.” 

That’s NBCNews.com’s take on the current NFL scandal involving Richie Incognito. The article goes on to mention Martin’s 312-pound frame to underscore their point that bullying is more psychological than physical.

Point taken, NBC. But let’s look at the point you missed, shall we? This bullying was more about RACE than anything. Martin is Black; Incognito is White. The violent, threatening texts and phone messages received by the 2nd-year Miami Dolphins lineman were laced with vicious racial slurs and epithets.

That’s called hate, people. It might be combined with bullying, but it’s still hate. 

Laying the two men’s career paths side by side provides such a textbook good boy/bad boy template, it’s almost a caricature. Martin, the son of a professor, attended Stanford; according to National Public Radio, had he gone with Harvard (his other choice), he would have been the first 4th-generation African American to attend.

Incognito (according to Wikipedia) was suspended from the University of Nebraska team, transferred to University of Oregon, and dismissed a week later. Yahoo!Sports reports that at least two NFL teams had listed Incognito on their “DNDC” list:  “Do Not Draft Due to Character.” Nice guy.

(Courtesy ditlo.com)

(Courtesy ditlo.com)

When I first got wind of this story–not being the least bit of a football fan, but being married to someone who embraces ALL sports–I expected the usual “boys will be boys, hazing happens” kind of reaction among the NFL. At first, I wasn’t disappointed.

ESPN.com quotes New York Jets quarterback David Garrard, a former Miami teammate of Incognito’s, describing him this way:

“I would just say he’s a jokester kind of guy,” Garrard said. “A good guy, but like all of us, you want to have your fair shake of pranks and stuff like that. … It’s unfortunate. You never want it to get to a point where guys want to leave the team. You would hope other guys in the locker room would help police it. It’s one of those situations that’s sad to see.”(ESPN.com)

Yeah, real sad. Now can we get back to some football?

But here’s what’s cool. That sadly predictable reaction has been all but drowned out by the rest of the NFL, who are, to my amazement, taking this disgusting episode with the full seriousness that it deserves.

Take it away, ESPN.com:

“Incognito was suspended indefinitely by the Dolphins on Sunday night for conduct detrimental to the team. Meanwhile, the Miami Herald reported Monday that the team plans to cut ties with him.

“He’s done,” a team source told the newspaper. “There are procedures in place, and everyone wants to be fair. The NFL is involved. But from a club perspective he’ll never play another game here.”

In a statement announcing his suspension, the Dolphins said, “we believe in maintaining a culture of respect for one another and as a result we believe this decision is in the best interest of the organization at this time. As we noted earlier, we reached out to the NFL to conduct an objective and thorough review. We will continue to work with the league on this matter.”

Never thought I’d say this, but: You GO, Miami Dolphins.You actually get it.

That’s why I’m glad that Incognito, and the racist brutishness he represents, is no longer, well, incognito. When I grew up in North Carolina, segregation still flourished. I attended the first integrated school in NC because my parents co-founded it, not wanting their girls to go to segregated schools. They refused to accept the norm.

When I first taught English and we read To Kill a Mockingbird or The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn out loud, that ol’ n-word filled the classroom and we all just shrugged away anyone’s discomfort. Ten years later, we started challenging that norm, saying “n-word” instead. A few years after that, I instituted the phrase “black gentleman” as a substitute, to make an ironic point. My students, of all colors, loved killing that racist norm, one word at a time.

(Courtesy thestarlite.com)

(Image from To Kill a Mockingbird film, courtesy thestarlite.com)

Once upon a time, not that many years ago, a slug like Richie Incognito would have made barely a ripple in the news. Now he’s about to get fired by an organization that pays people to beat on each other. Weird as it sounds, I call that progress, and I thank Mr. Incognito for being so “out there” with his racism that we can now use him as a benchmark.

What do you think? Is this event a step forward for mankind, or backward? Want to weigh in with your thoughts? As always, I’d love to hear.

What’s Your Happy Song? Civil Wars’ “Barton Hollow”: Not Too Happy, But Boy it Works For Me

Do you have a happy song?

You know what I mean. That song that shoots a stream of energy into your blood and makes your body start moving no matter how tired you are at work, or how long you’ve been sitting in traffic.
It doesn’t have to be happy. Mine isn’t. For some reason, whenever my co-worker Ty plays his “Stompgrass” playlist in the bakery and “Barton Hollow” comes on, I have to dance in the middle of rolling out butterhorn dough. It’s a pretty bleak song. Doesn’t matter.

I’m not going to analyze a thing about beat or harmony or the effect of those Southern lyrics on my North Carolina soul. I’m just going to share the song and let you see what I mean:

And then of course I have to ask: What’s your Happy Song? Maybe I can get Ty to add it to his playlist.

Stand Up To Cancer, Or Stand Up To Bad Drinking Water: When a Good Fight Isn’t Glamorous

Even though I don’t exactly put the “fan” in “fanatic,” I consider myself a member of Red Sox Nation, so I’ve been glued to my tube this past week, watching the World Series. (Might I just add: YIPPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!) But don’t worry, Cardinal or Yankee fans, this post isn’t about baseball. It’s about something that occurred during Game Four, the Stand Up 2 Cancer Night.

Even given how little TV I watch, I had heard of SU2C, with its cool logo.

(courtesy S(arrow)2C shop)

(courtesy SU2C shop)

 

Founded five years ago and spearheaded by members of the media and  entertainment industry, SU2C’s mission (says Wikipedia) is “to cut down on the amount of time promising research takes in progressing from discovery through clinical trials and out onto the market.” In other words, to streamline the movement of donations to effects on actual cancer patients.

For anyone connected to cancer–which, face it, is ALL of us–this is a good goal. And on Monday night, the goodness of this goal was very much in evidence, when, during the Seventh Inning Stretch in St. Louis, every player, coach, bat girl, and fan stood up holding a sign with the name of the person(s) they were standing up for. “Grandma.” “My darling Teri.” “The Johnson Family.” These were some of the signs I read. Most moving of all, to me, was seeing a line of black-clad umpires, those impersonal beings, solemnly raising their signs.

I tried to find a public-domain picture of this for my blog, but all I could find were web connections. However, when I looked for images of SU2C, here’s what dominated:

(courtesty Shauna Evans, Pinterest)

(courtesty Shauna Evans, Pinterest)

(Courtesy SU2C Shop)

(Courtesy SU2C Shop)

Beautiful people and beautiful boots. This is a charity with high appeal, and you can see why.

and came upon her description of Friendly Water For the World. They’re a group of Quakers who raise money for low-tech filters for clean drinking water in parts of the developing world. In their words…

  • Every day, 2,000 children die from diarrhea caused by unsafe drinking water and poor sanitation.
  • Friendly Water for the World BioSand Water Filters offer an elegantly simple technology that can remove up to 95 – 99% of bacteria and viruses, amoebae, protozoa, and worms, as well as metals, providing clean water for the family. More than 3.6 million people now have access to BioSand-filtered water through installations in homes, schools, orphanages, hostels, and clinics in 66 countries.
  • After 70% of the residents in the Bomet Region of Kenya were able to access BioSand Water Filters, and combined with local community sanitation efforts, dysentery cases in the local hospital declined by 85%.
  • Filters are inexpensive, durable, and made of locally available materials (sand, gravel, and cement). A Filter that provides clean water for a family costs approximately $50 and will work for up to 30 years with almost no maintenance needed. Fabricating and installing BioSand Water Filters is a proven local micro-business that can and does create local jobs and generates needed income. We help people help themselves.
  • We currently have projects in Kenya, Burundi, India, Ethiopia, Afghanistan, Uganda, South Sudan, Zimbabwe, and Honduras, and we are expanding.

Here’s what struck me: no movie stars. No Friendly Waters Shop (although, if you donate $75 or more, they do promise you a handmade silk scarf if you want one). No national telethon. No World Series Stand Up To Dirty Water Night.

Trust me: I am NOT trying to take anything away from the value of involving people in the fight against cancer. We all have someone–close family member, friend, maybe ourself–directly involved in that fight. But the “fight” itself is so…nebulous. $100 for cancer research buys…who knows? Certainly it buys a good feeling, and fellowship in a wonderful, cross-cutting American community. But $100 for water filters buys water filters. Several of ’em, each capable of saving the lives of an entire family of children.

Am I saying don’t support SU2C? Of COURSE not. It does my heart good to see so many disparate people coming together to support something larger than themselves.

What I am saying is…Stand Up To Cancer, buy the shirt and the cute boots. (They are cute!) And then…keep your eyes out for other causes to stand up for–causes which might not have Katie Couric and the St. Louis Cardinals on their side. You might not always be able to buy cute boots in the name of helping your fellow humans. But your dollars might have a LOT more impact.

What do you think? Is there a spillover effect of mass-popular charities, or do you think they siphon attention and $$ away from other causes? Or is the psychic satisfaction of donating more important that the donation itself? Let us hear!

Why Barbara Kingsolver’s Flight Behavior Makes Me Wish I Were Back in the Classroom

First, a bit of irony: after dutifully writing and scheduling five posts so I could go away to Greece for two weeks without my blog curling up and dying, I come back home only to fall off my own schedule.

Turns out, jet lag + travel germs + 3 days in a row of staying up late to rehearse or perform music while having to get up next morning at 4 to bake = sore throat-drippy-nose-splitting-headache bad idea. If I had blogged in the past couple of days, it would have sounded like this: WHIIIIIIIIINE.

But I’m back! and excited to talk about a book I just finished, one that makes me wish wish wish I could have my old job back, teaching high school English.

First of all, it’s Barbara Kingsolver–one of my top ten current (as in, still writing) novelists. I taught The Bean Trees for years–practically memorized it–and used to love pointing interested students toward its sequel, Pigs in Heaven. (Couldn’t get that one past our school board; tad too much sex involved.) And I don’t know anyone who read The Poisonwood Bible who wasn’t blown away. (That one would have eaten up a whole semester.)

(Courtesy faber.co.uk)

(Courtesy faber.co.uk)

Without giving anything away, here are five reasons why you should go read Flight Behavior:

1. Through her characters, Kingsolver addresses the polarity of our country–essentially, the red/blue split, with emphasis on the income gap, religion, science, and community rootedness. But she does this so intimately, it is only after reading that one feels elucidated. “Oh, THAT’s why those people feel that way!”

In one hilarious-but-poignant scene, the protagonist, Dellarobia Turnbow, is confronted by a self-righteous outsider who wants her to sign a pledge to reduce her carbon footprint. As he reads aloud the steps she could take to be a better global citizen, both characters are struck by the pamphlet’s assumptions about opportunity.

“Okay,” he said…”Skipping  ahead to Everyday Necessities. Try your best to buy reused. Use Craigslist.”

“What is that?” she asked, though she had a pretty good idea.

“Craigslist,” he said. “On the Internet.”

“I don’t have a computer.”

Mr. Akins moved quickly to cover his bases. “Or find your local reuse stores.”

Find them,” she said.

Since Dellarobia can afford to shop nowhere else for her family…well, you get the idea. Kingsolver keeps her touch subtle.

2. Kingsolver also plays delicately with the reader’s expectations. Here we have a heroine who is beautiful, impulsive, feeling trapped in her marriage, and, in the very opening paragraph, “[knows] her own recklessness and marvell[s]…at how one hard little flint of thrill could outweigh the pillowy, suffocating aftermath of a long disgrace.” When a tall, dark, handsome stranger appears…what else can happen? Ah, what, indeed?

3. The prose is gorgeous. Just re-read #2, above.

4. If you like writers like Virginia Woolf or Ian McEwan who can NAIL never-spoken aspects of the human psyche in single, crushingly simple sentences…parts of this book will make you gasp in appreciation.

5. Finally–not really, I could go on, but 5 seems like a good place to stop–Flight Behavior functions as a call to action. Without pointing fingers, the novel reminds us that, just because we choose not to think about it, our responsibility towards our planet does not dissipate. As the visiting scientist, Ovid Byron, rants to a hapless TV reporter:

“What scientists disagree on now, Tina, is how to express our shock.The glaciers that keep Asia’s waterways in business are going right away. Maybe one of your interns could Google that for you. The Arctic is genuinely collapsing. Scientists used to call these things the canary in the mine. What they say now is, The canary is dead.”

If I had this book and thirty kids in a classroom, here’s what I’d ask them to do:

1. Find a scene in this book which you think perfectly illustrates the way prejudices form. Explain why. Then, explain how the scene relates to your own prejudices about people. Whom are you most sympathetic to in this scene, and why?

2. Some of the characters–evil mother-in-law, charismatic Southern preacher, out-of-touch scientist, slutty best friend–could easily be stereotypes. Choose two or three of these characters from the book and explain how the author keeps them from being cliches.

3. One of Kingsolver’s most powerful techniques is the long paragraph ended with a very short, simple sentence. Find one of these and explain how that technique increases the reader’s emotional reaction.

4. Think of a person you wish you could force to read this book, someone who might not want to. (It could be someone known to you personally, or not.) Why do you think this book might make them uncomfortable? Given what this book shows about the uselessness of being judgmental, how would you go about trying to interest that person in this book?

Again–I could go on. But I’m no longer drawing a paycheck for this sort of thing…sigh. And besides, it’s time for my next dose of decongestant.

(Courtesy David Govoni, Flikr Creative Commons)

(Courtesy David Govoni, Flikr Creative Commons)

But I have an idea. YOU go read the book and then check back in with me, OK? And if you already have, PLEASE weigh in. What was your own reaction? What discussion questions would you ask?

Fitness In Your Eighties: Keeping Up With My Parents

We just got back from vacation, and my husband and I are exhausted.

Not from the long flight back from Greece, although that took its toll. (I swear, jet lag should be declared an illegal drug: Just Say No.) We’re exhausted from trying to keep up with my parents.

It’s my own fault. This whole Cyclades Islands bike tour was my idea. “Let’s invite my parents,” I said. “We always have so much fun doing athletic things with them, and they won’t be able to do this kind of thing forever.” (Plus my mom is super laid-back and my dad grabs every check and pays for everything if you let him is super-generous.)

Mom

We are tired out from trying to keep up with Mom and Dad on all those hilly bike rides. Did I mention that my mom is 78 and my dad is 83?

They’ve always been terrific athletic role models, WAY ahead of their generation. My dad, a zoologist, got into distance running in the mid-1960s as the result of a near-death experience being chased down a beach by a bull elephant seal (at least the way he tells it, and hey, it’s his story, right?). My mom and my sisters got into running soon after. I wasn’t a huge fan, but I got into it in due time. (For more on this,  https://gretchenkwing.wordpress.com/2013/09/19/ill-put-a-gird…ok-maybe-years/

Mom became a running star almost immediately. Not that many women over 40 were running in the early 1970s, let alone racing, and mom was FAST. When she turned 45, she owned the national 10k record. Her picture graced the cover of WomenSports magazine in 1975–a journal that, sadly, did not survive into the 80s. Dad was never quite as competitive, relative to other men, since there were more of them. But he embraced each new age group eagerly, ready to face down his rivals.

P

Together, they dominated the roads of North Carolina, then branched out around the country, running marathons, 10ks, 5ks, plus one and two-milers on the track. They even attended the World Masters track championships. And they cleaned up annually at the Levi’s Ride and Tie, a crazy cross-country endurance race involving teams of 2 people plus a horse. (My sisters and I got free Levi’s all through high school thanks to their prizes. 🙂 )

These days they’ve slowed down–just a little. Mom’s had a tough time with soft-tissue injuries and spends more time biking, riding, and doing weights and pilates than running. Dad still runs a couple times a week, and usually bikes the six miles to his lab, but he’s considering buying an electric tricycle to help him get home when fatigue finally catches up to him.

As if!

Not only did fatigue not catch up to him on our bike trip, the rest of the tour members hardly could. My husband and I kept waiting for Mom or Dad to ride in the sag wagon that followed our bike tour. Never happened. They rode every hilly, windy kilometer.

Mom2

So I guess I just want to say Thanks. Thanks for being such great role models, not just for me and my sisters, but for everyone who sees you riding past, grey beard and grey braid flying in the wind. Thanks for showing the rest of us that a healthy old age may depend in part on good luck and good genes, but it DEFINITELY depends on hard work–work that doesn’t stop when the joints get creaky.

And yeah–thanks for the genes too.

P and M

How about you? Did you inherit any kind of fitness regimen from your parents, or were they your examples of how NOT to live? How do you find a way, in your super-busy lives, to model fitness for your children? Let us hear!