Author Archives: gretchenwing

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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.

Spirituality on the Radio, a.k.a. Shame-less Self-promotion

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A sweet guy from Wisconsin interviewed me for the radio a few weeks ago. Since I live in Washington (which, granted, has a few similarities with Wisconsin except that they don’t call their U of W “You-Dub” like we do, and our hills are a tad higher), this really is as random as it sounds.

The sweet guy is Mark Helpsmeet, who turns out to be aptly named. He runs a radio program out of Eau Claire, Northern Spirit Radio, which focuses on non-denominational spiritual journeys. Its offshoot, Song of the Soul (title taken from a Chris Williamson song), deals with the musical side of that issue. A friend on my island who had previously been interviewed for Northern Spirit gave Mark my name. After Mark You-Tubed a couple of my very amateur performances, he decided I was a good fit for his program and gave me a call.

Random photo of Mt. Baker at sunrise, inserted because, well, it seems kinda spirity...

Random photo of Mt. Baker at sunrise, inserted because, well, it seems kinda spirity…

I sent him MP3s of some of my songs ahead of time. Then we spent a cheerful hour-plus  phone conversation discussing my music. Since I consider myself an accidental song writer (see https://gretchenkwing.wordpress.com/2013/08/26/sure-i-have-a-website-just-a-sec/   for more on this) this was an easy conversation.

Mark: So where’d you get the inspiration for that term you use, “sufferometer”?

Me: Oh, I just made that up.

See–not exactly Bob Dylan.

So a few days ago Mark sent me the link: “Gretchen, your Song of the Soul is up!” and encouraged me to send it to everyone. He needs to promote his radio program even more than I need to promote my music. Much, MUCH more…since I’m really not feeling any need to promote my music.

So here’s my dilemma. I do want to share Mark’s program for those who are interested, and I do want to share my interview, because, let’s face it, it was FUN to be interviewed for the radio–in WISCONSIN!–while sitting out on my own sunny deck with my dog.

But the program is about spirituality, and the intro, if you listen to it, is VERY, well, spiritual-sounding. NOT churchy, NOT preachy, just…spiritual. And, well…this is my blog. I try very hard not to alienate folks who wander into Wing’s World. My rule is, if I wouldn’t have brought it up in my classroom, I wouldn’t bring it up here.

Here’s what finally weighted the scales: Mark is a great guy who reached out to me. I’d like to help him promote his work. I’m just attaching this caveat so no one thinks, “Wait…WHERE is she headed now, and do I really want to go there?”

The interview itself? Not “spiritual” at all–unless by “spiritual” you mean family/social/political influences such as everyone has.

So, with me so far? Then here’s my suggestion: check out my interview at http://www.northernspiritradio.org/index.asp?command=showinfo&showid=631911164185

Then, if this is your kind of thing and you want to know more, check out the rest of Northern Spirit Radio at its main site, http://www.northernspiritradio.org/

You’ll be glad you did. Mark’s a good guy.

This post does give me the excuse to bring up this question, though, which is one I certainly would have asked my students: What does “spirituality” mean to you anyway? Give me your best definition. When handled respectfully, this is a wonderful topic to share, and it has nothing to do with self-promotion. 🙂

Life of Pi…Why?

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Hey, I’m in danger of turning into a curmudgeon and I need your help.

It may already be too late. I keep wondering why they had to make Life of Pi into a movie.

Oh, I know. It came out ages ago. And no, I have not seen it. So why even bring it up?

Well, see, last month I finished reading Cloud Atlas. I can remember my reaction, because I wrote it into my journal, though I cannot reproduce it here verbatim: “effing BRILLIANT.”   Then I recalled that the reason I had read it was that my book group grew curious after the movie came out last fall, and that started me wondering: why make a movie out of this book?

(orig. photo courtesy foundwalls.com)

(orig. photo courtesy foundwalls.com)

(courtesy Pinterest.com)

(courtesy Pinterest.com)

The whole brilliance of Cloud Atlas is in its narration. The nested stories, jumping ahead in time, then falling back, revealing hidden connections, stimulating thought  And yes, I know that stories told visually can do this too, but they miss a key element: writing style. The way that Mitchell’s style changes with each of the six stories is what raises Cloud Atlas above the level of a great story, and turns it into something scintillating.

The potboiler tone of Luisa Rey’s tale, which we later learn is the manuscript of another character; the painfully gorgeous imagery of Sonmi 451 as she discovers real life; Zachry’s chopped and stunted syntax in the brave new tech-less world of the future…how can a movie capture these?

(orig. photo courtesy my.hsj.org)

(orig. photo courtesy my.hsj.org)

(courtesy samuel.ward.com)

(courtesy samuel.ward.com)

I remembered thinking much the same thoughts when Life of Pi came out the year before. That book captured me with its tricky narrative, the way the truth of the story itself is left hanging at the end. The way the whole thing begins as a memoir and only gradually reveals itself as a novel (or maybe I’m just slow). Yes, the visuals must be stunning. Didn’t it win an Oscar for that? (Note to self: start caring enough to google that.)  But Life is Pi is way more than visuals. If folks only see the movie, they’ll get something out of it, no doubt. But if they see the movie and forego the book, they’ve missed out big time.

I can certainly think of some books which were vastly improved by becoming screenplays: Schindler’s List and Chocolat are two that come to mind (the latter written by my college roommate’s husband, Bob Nelson Jacobs :)).

But I need some convincing here. Life of Pi–worth the celluloid (or pixels, or whatever they use these days)? Cloud Atlas? Can you think of other movies which add to the impact of their original books, or even surpass them? Or do you, bless your heart, actually agree with me? Are you a curmudgeon-in-training too?

Happy Anniversary to My Ever-Lovin’ Cradle Robber

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We thought we were pretty darn scandalous, back when we started. He was a teacher, I was a student. He was 32, I was 17.

OK, I am milking this just a bit. My hubby was a teacher…of law students, and I wasn’t one of those, as I was too busy being a Senior in high school at the time. So he wasn’t MY teacher–duh. And, yes, he was, and, amazingly, still is 15 years old than I am, but, as I’ve always told people who gasp, “But doesn’t the AGE DIFFERENCE make things tough?”: “Actually, no, he was always very mature for his age.”

Still, we kept our relationship secret for two thrilling months. Then, when I finally confessed our relationship to my mom, she said…

“Ah, yes. I thought so.” So much for scandal.

Today my cradle-robbing sweetie and I celebrate our 26th anniversary. (If you count from when we started our relationship, it’s actually been 34 1/2 years. We’re not the rush-into-marriage type, obviously.)

Still goin' strong after 34 1/2 years

Still goin’ strong after 34 1/2 years

A year ago, we celebrated by renewing our vows. Our sons were both there, and let me tell you, there ain’t NOTHIN more precious than listening to your kids make funny-sweet speeches at the wedding of their own two parents.

I don't mind violating my husband's privacy, but you'll just have to imagine our sons off to the side, making us laugh & cry.

I don’t mind violating my husband’s privacy, but you’ll just have to imagine our sons off to the side, making us laugh & cry.

So what about that age difference? The only weirdness I can remember is when my own sons reached that age-17 benchmark and started imagining how they would feel if their female friends were dating a 30-something. Their reaction was pretty much, “EWWW.” Of course I assured them that my 17 year-old self was far, FAR more mature than their own friends. 🙂

Ken’s on Medicare now; I have to buy my own insurance. He’s retired; I’m still working. Of course he works harder in retirement than he ever did for a paycheck–yup, I married that kind of guy–but it’s all work he wants to do, like building me a special rack for my earrings, made out of a myrtle branch.

We will have our unique challenges as he ages before me. We know it’s unlikely that he’ll ever have much of a relationship with any grandchildren our sons may someday produce. We know I’m likely to outlive him, maybe by 15 years or more. On the other hand, as Ken points out, I could walk in front of a bus tomorrow–or, on our island, a deer. We’ll take what comes, and feel ridiculously grateful for it.

So, tonight? We’re going on a picnic. He’s not a big flowers-and-jewelry guy, but when I worried that our picnic might be nixed by rain, he said, “So what? We’ll wear rain gear.” Now that’s MY kind of romantic.

And our special dinner? Well, when someone says, “How you doing? Need anything?” Ken’s always responded, “A steak sandwich and a root beer float would be nice.” So guess what we’re having. I’m gonna go pack it all up in ice right now and stuff it into my knapsack.

But don’t tell Ken. It’s a surprise. Happy Anniversary, babe.

So…what’s the age diff in your relationship? Anyone beat 15 years? Any women out there older than their male spouses? What’s that like? I love when you share!

Teach Your Children Well…and Others’ Children Too

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Teach your children well

Test them like hell

Till the last bell sounds to free you

Learn ten dozen names 

And coach their games

Trying to sustain what it means to be you…

That’s the chorus to my latest song (with an ironic-but-grateful nod to CSN), a gift to my former fellow teachers heading back into the classrooms this week.

Or last week. Or last month. I had a former neighbor call me a week ago from Phoenix for homework help for her seventh-grade daughter. (My neighbor escaped communist Czechoslovakia in her teens and wasn’t feeling too confident about responding to an American teacher’s demands for a perfect Thesis Statement.) When I told the girl, “Wow, an essay in your first week back?” she informed me she’d been in school for a MONTH already.

So, kudos, y’all, students & teachers & exhausted parents alike. Rah! Go get ’em. Another school year begins.

Can you tell I’m feeling just a wee bit guilty nostalgic?

I’ve heard it said there’s no such thing as an ex-addict. I’m pretty sure this applies to teachers as well. It’s a permanent condition. Our teacherly hormones are hard-wired to the rhythms of the school calendar. November, January, May, we feel the thickness of the universe closing in–phantoms of past grading periods. Summers, we relax. And around Labor Day, our pulse quickens once more.

I don’t have any slick photos or videos to snazz this post up with. (Well, I have tons of photos of past students, but I’m not about to violate their privacy like that.) Instead, I thought I’d toss out a few vignettes from 20 years in the classroom, each a little “window” into that world that most adults leave behind at age 18, except for the occasional parent conference and graduation ceremony.

Me: How was your Thanksgiving, Grant?*   (*all names changed to protect identities)

Grant (an 11th grader): Awesome! We went to Canada to see my grandpa.

Me: Canada, wow. What part of Canada?

Grant: This place called Lopez Island.

Me: Umm…Grant, that’s not in Canada. I was on Lopez Island too. It’s in the U.S.

Grant: Really? But we watched Canadian television…

 

Miranda (a 10th grader): Oh my GOD, what is THAT??? 

Me: What, the thing in the cage?

Miranda: What IS it? It just moved!

Me: Miranda, that’s my chinchilla, Chiquita. She’s been there all year. Since the start of school.

Miranda. Whoa. I never noticed her before. (Note: this conversation took place in APRIL.)

 

Me: (after repeated, increasingly impatient requests for student to stop talking to his seatmate) John, shut UP. (yes, those never-to-be-spoken words did cross my lips)

John (12th grader repeating 10th grade English for 3rd time): YOU shut up.

John & I, out in the hallway, then had one of the most honest and sincere conversations about the importance of mutual respect that I’ve ever shared. I don’t remember the details, but you don’t need to hear them to know that sometimes gifts can come wrapped in the unlikeliest packaging.

 

These are the funny ones. Some vignettes are more poignant:

The Korean exchange student giving her oral report on How to Make Delicious Kimchee, followed immediately by the sixteen year-old American on What It Was Like To Have My Baby (now a two year-old).

 

“Steve” explaining his one-day-on, two-days-off pattern of attendance: “When my mom’s drunk, I have to watch my baby sister.”

 

“Brandon:” Why do I have to learn to write a f—ing essay? No offense, Ms. Wing. I just want to work on cars with my dad.

Me: I don’t know, Brandon. Sounds like a pretty good life to me.

 

I could go on, but right now I’m too busy getting lost in memories too layered or fleeting to share. I loved almost everything about teaching: the kids, the material, the rhythm of the year, the creative autonomy, the occasional treats in the staff room. I did NOT love faculty meetings, not being able to reach parents by phone, and grading essays on weekends. (My husband once told me, “I’d be more excited to see you without essays than without clothes.” Of course I put that line into my song.)

I walked away from teaching well before retirement age, because the timing was right for my husband and me. I’m avoiding the local school here, knowing that even occasional subbing would suck me right back into that happy/heartbreaking/exhausting/rewarding vortex when I am trying to stick to my new career as writer/baker.

But in September…I hear those sharpening pencils, and my heart beats a little faster.

What does back-to-school mean to you? Freedom, doubt, hope, dread? What memories does it conjure up for you? Let me hear!

 

 

 

 

 

That Rings a Bell: Birmingham Still Echoes at the March on Washington

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I was still in diapers when it happened.

The bombing of that church in Birmingham, Alabama. September 15, 1963. You know–the 16th St. Baptist Church. The one on the corner of the square where the German Shepherds and the firehoses were turned on the peacefully assembled people.

(courtesy bplolinenews.blogspot.com)

(courtesy bplolinenews.blogspot.com)

(courtesy engineerfloknowledge.blogspot.com)

(courtesy engineerfloknowledge.blogspot.com)

(courtesy pinterest.com)

(courtesy pinterest.com)

The one where those four little girls died.

Watching the 50th Anniversary of the 1963 March on Washington this past week brought it all back. Not because of the speeches or the music, however inspiring. It was that bell that did it for me.

At noon, right after an impassioned speech by one of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s daughters, and right before the appearance of our nation’s first Black President, they rang the bell that had been salvaged from that bombed church all those years ago. And I started to cry.

(courtesy dailymail.co.uk)

(courtesy dailymail.co.uk)

I am a 51 year-old privileged white woman, but I am a child of the Civil Rights Movement.

In 1957, my parents moved from California to North Carolina to start my dad’s career and raise a family. They were horrified by what they found there. You don’t need me to describe it for you: the “Whites Only” signs, the “Colored” drinking fountains. You’ve seen it all before, in documentaries if not the actual news of the time. Maybe you’ve even lived it.

My parents didn’t want their three little girls going to segregated schools. So they, as part of the Durham Friends Meeting, started the Carolina Friends School, the first integrated school in the state. And they got involved in the sit-in movement.

Three years after the first, spontaneous sit-in at the lunch counter of the Greensboro Woolworths, and a year after the bombing of the church in Birmingham, my dad got arrested, along with a few others, trying to desegregate a Howard Johnson’s in Durham.

His case went to trial. The jury couldn’t reach a verdict, so a mistrial was declared. The state prosecutor compelled my dad not to leave the state until the new trial, but at the same time refused to set that new trial date. My dad was trapped. As a young professor of zoology, he could not travel anywhere for his field research, or to attend a professional conference. North Carolina had imposed a kind of in-state house arrest.

So he took the state to trial. And lost. He appealed to the State Supreme Court…and lost again. The Court agreed that my dad had, in theory, the right to a speedy trial, under the 6th Amendment, but that he couldn’t force the state to prosecute him because…wait for it…the 6th Amendment did not apply to the states, but only to the federal government.

So…on to the Supreme Court. I’ll skip to the happy ending. In 1967, the Supreme Court sided with my dad and said, yessiree, the states do too have to give people their 6th Amendment rights, just like they have to give you due process and equal protection and all those other wonderful rights from the 14th Amendment. (Can you tell that one’s my favorite?)

If you want to be a Super Legal Geek like me, you can read about the case here:

http://caselaw.lp.findlaw.com/scripts/getcase.pl?court=us&vol=386&invol=213

You can probably tell that I’m skipping over a lot of anguish and fear from the time, as well as deep guilt from my family’s knowledge that our whiteness was a protection that my dad’s Black colleagues did not have. Take all that mix of emotions, insert it into childhood, and voila: memories and images from that time period still make me cry.

Here’s another example, from Birmingham itself. My husband and I drove through a couple of years ago on a cross-country road trip, and stopped at that famous park to make a pilgrimage.

Then…

(courtesy amistadresource.org)

(courtesy amistadresource.org)

…and now:

DSC02248

Let me tell you, I had to force myself to walk between those snarling dogs. And they were only bronze.

So that’s why that bell gets me. Because it was THERE. Like those brave folks, who continued facing down the Birmingham police and the Klan even after that murderous bombing, it survived. It RINGS.

Do you have memories of that time? Or images that get you right in the heart? Or does it all seem too long ago and far away? I am so very interested to know how the images of that time work on you. Let me hear!

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle…on the Catwalk

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High Fashion made a grand entrance to Lopez Island last week, and got dumped.

Literally. The Second Annual Trashion-Fashion event is a fundraiser for our beloved Dump, and all outfits must be made from materials gleaned either there or at the Thrift Shop. And boy, were they ever.

I didn’t get to go last year, but I had seen some of the winning entries displayed at our library, so I couldn’t wait. And I was NOT disappointed. I knew we had some amazingly creative folks around here, but this blew me away.

The decor alone, featuring chandeliers of found objects, was jaw-dropping. Here’s a taste:

Bike tire rims, lamp shades, neckties...you name it, they chandeliered 'em. (All photos courtesy Anne Whirledge-Karp)

Bike tire rims, lamp shades, neckties…you name it, they chandeliered ’em. (All photos courtesy Anne Whirledge-Karp)

As for the outfits…I think I’ll give the ol’ adjectives a rest and let the visuals do the work for once:

Ever wonder what to do with that old Twister game in your closet?

Ever wonder what to do with that old Twister game in your closet?

Isn't she ADORABLE? Those are CDs on her head. She could belly-dance, too. Definitely a prize-winner.

Isn’t she ADORABLE? Those are CDs on her head. She could belly-dance, too. Definitely a prize-winner.

Not even a broken leg could keep Sheila off the catwalk. She ditched the wheelchair and used crutches to model her bead-curtain Cleopatra ensemble.

Not even a broken leg could keep Sheila off the catwalk. She ditched the wheelchair and used crutches to model her bead-curtain Cleopatra ensemble.

Isn't this outfit the last straw? Seriously, she must have used every last straw in the dump. It's ALL straws!

Isn’t this outfit the last straw? Seriously, she must have used every last straw in the dump. It’s ALL straws!

A grand prize winner...made of deer fencing! Not too comfy, but Maria wore the hell out of that dress.

A grand prize winner…made of deer fencing! Not too comfy, but Maria wore the hell out of that dress.

...and a lil' something for the ladies too!

…and a lil’ something for the ladies too!

I wish I could say these designers and models inspired me to make my own outfits out of castaway stuff, but the closest I’ve ever come to that kind of creativity is sewing old Levi’s pockets onto the back of my green jeans for patches. Sigh. At next year’s Trashion-Fashion event, I will be happily occupying my rightful place in the audience once more.

But I’ll bet I have some creative readers out there. What’s the coolest item you’ve ever re-purposed? Brag a little!

(And thanks again to my friend Anne Whirledge-Karp for all the great photos. Next year I’ll bring MY camera!)

Sure, I Have a Website…Just a Sec…

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Last week I launched my nation-wide radio career.

Well, that may be a TEENSY bit of overstatement. But I did do a radio interview with a lovely man named Mark Judkins Helpsmeet, who produces a show out of Eau Claire, Wisconsin, called Song of the Soul. http://www.northernspiritradio.org/  He played a half-dozen of my songs, asking me about each one, and about my journey as a songwriter. A journey that is just beginning, I might add, as in–18 months, give or take. An unplanned, and so far, mostly unguided journey, with no particular destination in mind. Especially not national exposure.

Which may explain why, when Mark asked me if I had a website, I choked.

First I said, “No.” Then I quickly amended with, “I mean, yeah, I do…I mean it’s not a songwriting website or anything, but I do have a blog…I mean, I’m a writer, that’s my real career now, so, yeah…” Then I blurted out the URL.

Mark (kindly): Ah, are you sure that’s correct? URL’s don’t usually have @ in them.

Me (not at all flustered, on national radio): Oh. Yeah. Right. I mixed it up with my email. My website is…just a sec…

When I told this anecdote to a friend later, she asked me, “So if you’re starting to get attention as a songwriter, why DON’T you use that to promote your writing career?”

Ummm…because I’m new to the whole idea of self-promotion and still finding my way in the dark an idiot?

So now I’m thinking: Yeah, why DON’T I? The whole singing-songwriting thing is beginning to generate a life of its own. I’m putting myself out there on the stage, relying on a decent voice and a darn good writing style (I’m certainly not relying on my guitar skills!), so why NOT put myself out there in cyberspace as well? Let’s see what happens, shall we?

So, to begin: here are two clips from a recent community concert on Shaw Island, the next ferry stop over. I didn’t realize, when I accepted the invitation to participate, just how GOOD the other musicians were, and I had the interesting luck of following a FOURTEEN YEAR-OLD future phenom onstage–which explains the intro of this first song. My friend Bruce got totally jostled while trying to record me, so if you can’t handle the jumpy camera, just close your eyes and listen, ok? It’s a good song.

The second song’s intro got cut off, but I have to sneak it in here ’cause I’m proud of it. I said, “I wanted to write a good ol’-fashioned My-baby-left-me song, but my baby never has left me, so I had to use my imagination.” 🙂

So, hey. Whether you listened to the songs or not (how’m I gonna know? It’s not like I count YouTube hits or anything), I’d like to hear from you. Why is self-promotion so hard? Is it harder for women, do you think? Does it get easier? Or maybe it should never get too easy? Let me hear!

Invasion of the Sk8terbois, Part II

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In the end, we all agreed the skaters were pretty cool.

Yes, my friend Ron, who owns the 40-acre field where “Camp Skatelite” set up to house a possible thousand skaters and BMXers, said they woke him up at midnight with loud music. But he wasn’t bothered by it. “They were just having fun,” he told me.

And in our little village, this is what we were treated to:

(all photos courtesy Anne Whirledge-Karp)

(all photos courtesy Anne Whirledge-Karp)

DANG.

DANG.

He actually landed this.

He actually landed this.

I didn’t get to see much–I had to work. BUT, when all the professional skaters and BMXers and all the amateur-but-still-amazing boys (yup, all boys! come on, gals, where were ya?) took off on Sunday, this is what the Skatelite company left behind as a permanent gift for our island kids:

Pretty sweet, huh?

Pretty sweet, huh?

2-5,000 people? More like a thousand. No one got seriously hurt. All-night partying? Yeah,the Seniors whose housing abuts the half-pipe venue lost some hours of sleep most likely, but they’ll recover. Some local businesses did well–the soda fountain–and some, like my bakery, not so much. (This crowd seemed to prefer tacos to croissants, although they did snarf up all the peanut butter cookies. Go figure.) But most Lopezians I talked to seemed to enjoy the exposure to this chunk of mainland culture.

Any lessons learned here? Only the obvious ones: people are people. Don’t sweat the small stuff. It takes all kinds.
Sometimes cliches are cliches for a reason.

Which brings me to my question: what super-obvious but super-true cliche do you find rolling off your tongue on a regular basis? I love knowing what good ol’ phrases sustain people, so let me hear.

Invasion of the Sk8terbois

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My lil’ island is about to have its population doubled this weekend, and the newcomers are going to halve our average age and double our clothing-per-capita yardage. They’re skaters.

First of all, you can't even see the rocky coastline from the skatepark...well, maybe the guy doing the 360 can. (courtesy bmx.transworld.net)

First of all, you can’t even see the rocky coastline from the skatepark…well, maybe the guy doing the 360 can. (courtesy bmx.transworld.net)

More specifically, they are professional skateboarders and BMXers, and an estimated 2,000 of their fans, coming tomorrow to “The Retreat at Lopez Island.” You know what? I’ll let the Skatelite Retreat website tell you:

More than 15 of the world’s top skate and BMX athletes will escape the mainland on August 17 and converge on Lopez Island in Washington State’s San Juan Islands to relax after the X Games, session on their own terms and hang with the locals. It’s called The Retreat presented by Skatelite®, the world’s premier manufacturer of skate ramp surface materials made in good ol’ Tacoma, USA. The Retreat is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to skate, ride and party with the best when they’re off the clock in one of North America’s most spectacular and relaxed landscapes.

As a former English teacher, I can’t help zeroing in on some of those verbs: “converge on?” “Hang with?” “Party?”

Ummm…has anyone told these folks that Lopez has only one restaurant & bar that’s open till midnight? Or that most of us consider a good, brisk walk with our dog to be a full day’s excitement?

Sorry, sorry, sorry. I should have started with the good news. That is the fact that the owner of Skatelite and Richlite, a wonderful man from my wonderful former town of Tacoma (no, I am NOT being ironic, thank you very much, I LOVE Tacoma), is donating an entire, brand-new skate park to Lopez Island. He’s been coming here every summer since he was a child, and he wanted to give something to our community. Skateparks are what he does, so skateparks are what he gives. It will be wonderful for Lopez kids to have something to do here during their free time other than marvel at the scenery. (Did I say wonderful enough?)

I love philanthropy. I thank our donor. His heart is in the right place.

But, speaking as one of the “locals” with whom the skaters and their entourages are coming to “hang with,” I’m a little nervous.

That top area, above the building? That's where the park's going. (courtesy bmxworld.net)

That top area, above the building? That’s where the park’s going. (courtesy bmx.transworld.net)

 

Here’s the pitch, again from the Skatelite Retreat website, about the tent city they’re setting up for all the skateboard fans:

Nothing beats camping in the San Juan Islands unless you’re camping at Camp Skatelite. We have reserved a 10 acre field of dreams for tent campers to create their own festive environment beyond the confines of The Retreat activities. Make a reservation. Bring all of your gear and get ready to party or sleep soundly in your own corner of the makeshift campsite. Bring your own food, beverages and entertainment for the off hours. Groceries are available on the island if you don’t want to pack it all in. Enjoy the luxuries of port-a-potties, water, and some food options on site coordinated by Skatelite. And don’t be surprised if one of your favorite pros shows up to hang out.

Interestingly, Camp Skatelite’s “field of dreams” surrounds the 100 year-old farmhouse where Lopez’s small community of Quakers meets every Sunday morning for an hour of silence. I’ll be curious to see what kind of music might be competing with our silence this weekend, or if the skater-fans’ “off-hours entertainment” has ’em still snoozing at 10 a.m.

I’m not a skater-hater. I have respect for any athlete, and I’m a pretty rabid sports fan myself, so I get that too. I just have my fingers crossed that this mainland, teen-marketing-driven approach doesn’t spill over in any damaging way. If we all lose a little sleep due to music this weekend, we’ll live. If the local restaurants, including my bakery, end up losing money because the skater-fans all bring their own food–oh well.

But if I see someone BMXing out on the rocks where endangered orchids grow, look out. Someone’s getting a good talking to.

I’ll get back to y’all on how this all works out. But meanwhile, any predictions? Should I just lighten up? Will a splendid time be had by all? After this weekend, do you think I might be struck with the desire to learn to skateboard?

World of Warcraft With a Side of Butter

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Those of you who know me, in real life and/or through this blog, know that I’m a complete fossil not the most current in areas of popular culture. So you might be surprised to learn that I now know all there is to know…a ton…quite a bit…something about World of Warcraft.

"Yup, Gretchen's in my Guild. Why's that so hard to believe?" (orig. image courtesy ivy.com)

“Yup, Gretchen’s in my Guild. Why’s that so hard to believe?” (orig. image courtesy ivy.com)

Why this sudden interest in something I’ve previously only made fun of, in a baffled, old-fogey way? It’s all because of my sleep schedule.

Tuesday night I stayed up till midnight, first playing in a community concert on another island, then riding the late ferry home. Wednesday morning I got up at 4 a.m. to bake.

So: 4 hours’ sleep. At my age, not too many brain cells are ready for minimal function with that kind of rest, let alone following recipes. I had to do SOMETHING to keep myself alert.

So I asked my colleague Ty to explain World of Warcraft to me.

Now you might think this would cause either a) a spontaneous nap, since I couldn’t relate to anything he was telling me, or b) disastrous distraction from my baking, resulting in salty brioches or eggless muffins. But, to my amazement, and probably to Ty’s, a third result occurred: focused fascination.

Every time Ty would answer one of my questions, two new ones would pop up, Sorcerer’s-Apprentice-broom style. Example #1:

ME: So…When you join a Guild, you sort of protect each other?
TY: Yeah, there’s usually someone whose job it is to take the Damage, and someone else to Heal, while…blah blah blah (you don’t think I actually remember this stuff, do you??)

ME: Do you have to agree on those roles in advance? And what if someone says they’re on your team but it’s really just a trap so they can attack you?

Example #2:

ME: So you can choose to be, like, a good guy or a member of the Horde?

TY: Yeah. Kinda depends on how aggressive you like to be…

ME: But even if you’re a troll or an orc or something, you can still be a hero, right? You still have a back story and a conflict and a quest to fulfill just like any other character, right? Wow, this sure turns the fictional model of monolithic antagonist on its head! (yeah, you’re right, I didn’t really say it like that. But that’s what I was thinking, or at least what I started thinking about later once my entire brain got out of bed.)

My point is, it was INTERESTING. The morning flew by. My brioches and muffins came out fine. And my brain has been darting around these questions ever since–questions like:

  • how much internal conflict is necessary to create a well-rounded character? Can your WOW avatar just act and react without you needing to know why s/he acts that way?
  • what does your choice of avatar say about your hopes & dreams & general psychological makeup, including your willingness to put that out there for others to wonder about?
  • if antagonists are the heroes of their own stories, does that fundamentally change the nature of an antagonist?
"I'm SO conflicted!" (orig. image courtesy chromeposter.com)

“I’m SO conflicted!” (orig. image courtesy chromeposter.com)

So, lesson learned: asking about popular culture can be at least as fun as plain old getting involved in it. Try being a cultural anthropologist sometime in something you’re a complete moron about–True Blood? manga? dim sum?–and see how much fun you have.

In fact, why don’t you tell me: if there was one bit of pop culture you could get someone to explain to you, what would it be? What–or whom–would you ask?