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.

OMG We’re Marooned!!! Oh yeah–We Live on an Island.

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Did you see us on the news last week? When the Interstate 5 Bridge got KO’d by an oversize load and went crashing down into the Skagit River? Thanks be to all the gods, no one was seriously hurt, so now we’re left to enjoy our shock and awe…and traffic jams.

SO amazing no one got badly hurt!!

SO amazing no one got badly hurt!!

And emails from friends and family around the country who are worried about us.

My dad sent me one with the heading, “Marooned?” That was it–no text. At first all that attention fed my dramatic soul. “Why yes, yes we are Marooned. Cut off. We too are victims of something terrible happening, we deserve our rare place in the national spotlight!”

Then I remembered. I live on an island. I don’t have to drive Interstate Five. And if I did, I know shortcuts through the farmland that won’t take me anywhere near the fallen bridge and all its backed-up, detoured traffic.

Bridges? We don't need no stinkin' bridges!

Bridges? We don’t need no stinkin’ bridges!

So I’m saving my sympathy for those poor souls caught in that traffic. Especially truckers who don’t have a choice, and all those poor Memorial Day Weekend travellers.

Me–I ain’t goin’ nowhwere, ’cause I don’t have to. And I’ll happily cede the spotlight to some region who needs it, like poor old Oklahoma.

What about you? Do you sometimes fall victim to the drama of feeling like a victim, even when you aren’t? Where do you think that impulse comes from? Let me hear your thoughts. OR…Share your WORST TRAFFIC DETOUR STORY EVER.

Factoid #16: Tarantula Hairs??

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Mexcian Redknee Tarantula (courtesy WIkipedia)

Mexcian Redknee Tarantula (courtesy WIkipedia)

You know they bite.

But did you know that tarantulas can also get you with their tiny hairs? It’s called “urticulating.” They can either loose them defensively–kind of like a porcupine with its quills–or rub them off on you. These hairs contain tiny amounts of venom which can’t, of course, kill you (just as the tarantula’s bite can’t kill you, unless you’re a mouse–but you knew that, right?), but can be very painful and irritating.

BUT DID YOU ALSO KNOW that some in the medical community are investigating the use of tarantula venom for treating muscular dystrophy? Apparently they’ve identified a peptide in the venom that, when artificially produced, can improve muscle activity. At least in mice. So stay tuned about human health advances, and meanwhile…be nice to spiders.

Because you never know. Those urticulating hairs of theirs might just be worth harvesting someday.

Thanks to my baker-colleague Ben for sending this weird topic my way.

 

An Old Dog Teaches an Old Trick: the Solace of Poetry

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Always the queen of the house

Always the queen of the house

We lost Molly last week, just one month shy of her 15th birthday.

Don’t worry. For a 93-pound malamute, 15 is off-the-charts old. She had a great, vibrant life. Only in the past two months did her walks shrink to the size of our yard, and only in the last night of her life did she suffer enough to make us absolutely sure we were doing the right thing to give her peace. That certainty was her last gift to us, along with the comfort of knowing we were able to comfort her during her time of pain.

Then I shared my loss with my friends, and got another gift: poetry. My friend Lorna, who collects poems for occasions, sent me this:

Old Dog, by William Stafford

Toward the last in the morning she could not

get up, even when I rattled her pan.

I helped her into the yard, but she stumbled

and fell. I knew it was time.

The last night a mist drifted over the fields.

In the morning she would not raise her head —

the far, clear mountains we had walked

surged back to mind.

We looked a slow bargain: our days together

were the ones we had already had.

I gave her something the vet had given,

and patted her still, a good last friend.

I read it. I had another good, necessary cry. And then I saved this poem in my computer so I could share it with the next friend who loses a good old dog.

How I’ll remember her:

How I'll remember her

Then I started wondering: what other poetry angels might be out there, besides my friend Lorna?

Do any of you have special poems that you like to send to friends for certain occasions, sad or happy?

Could I talk you into sharing one of them here?

PS: Lorna, you know I don’t mean YOU are an old dog, right? 🙂

Is Harry Potter Immortal?

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untitledThe heroine of my novel has a thing for Harry Potter. So do a lot of us; we’re not ashamed.

That’s why I was a bit taken aback when one of my writing group members asked, when critiquing a chapter, whether I was “dating” my book with all the Harry Potter references. “Will future readers even know what you’re talking about?” she wondered.

My response: “Well, of course! Well, I should think so. Well, jeez. Well…”

I decided to try a little perspective, projecting myself

into the future. Kids now know all about the characters in Narnia and The Lord of the Rings, right? And those books were written long before I was born! (Not saying how long.)

But. Those books were made into movies within the last decade. The Harry Potter series was Hollywooded so fast, it’s already done. No new blockbusters will appear in thirty years to sweep new generations into Hogwarts Castle.

And Star Wars? Since there’s no original book involved, each generation can inherit its own new

What, no dementors? (courtesy Author Lynn Kelley, WANAcommons)

What, no dementors? (courtesy Author Lynn Kelley, WANAcommons)

crop of movies, to savor (young Luke Skywalker’s big baby blues!) and/or ridicule (Jar Jar Binks).

Which brings me back to my friend’s question:

Will kids still read or watch Harry Potter in 2057, 50 years after JK Rowling gave us The Deathly Hallows?

“Why WOULDN’T they?” my heroine would demand. “Who could ask for a better combination of imagination, adventure, good v. evil, coming-of-age, suspense and humor in a story?” I would add. “Not to mention all that free fake Latin you get to learn.”

A few clicks on the web shows we have plenty of company in this thought. For a taste, try http://www.mugglenet.com/

It contains recipes for Butterbeer, and tabs like “Alohamora Forum,” featuring such discussions as “Could a Patronus Be a Dementor?” 

And for the truly adventurous, steamy stories about Snape and Hermione. Seriously. There are some FANS out there.

But I couldn’t help noticing that, while the number of posts about Books One through Three totalled, 5,709, posts on Books Four through Seven totalled exactly…zero.

Maybe everyone was too busy reading about Snape and Hermione to bother checking in about the Deathly Hallows.Maybe my friend is right!

Of course, you can still weigh in on “What Would Your Animagus Be?” on Flikr: http://www.flickr.com/groups/harrypotter/discuss/72157622224595703/

But for how long???

Star Wars, meanwhile, is the gift that keeps on giving. Gotta love this tagline, “Your Daily Dose of Star Wars” on http://www.theforce.net/

So…doesn’t anyone need a daily dose of Potter?

I could just ask, “What do you think?” But I have a question that gets more to the heart of the matter, I think.

Who’s the most heroic hero: Harry Potter, Luke Skywalker, or Frodo? And tell me exactly WHY you know you’re right.

I’m hoping your answers will tell me if Harry is truly immortal.

Happy Mothers Day From Whatshisface

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These birds can all recognize their babies' voices. Not this chick, though. (courtesy AndreAnita, Shutterstock)

These birds can all recognize their babies’ voices. Not this chick, though. (courtesy AndreAnita, Shutterstock)

Actual phone conversation on Mothers Day:

Scene: My workplace, a busy, busy little bakery

[ring, ring]

Me: I’ll get it! Hello, Holly B’s, this is Gretchen.

Male Voice: Happy Mothers Day.

Me: Uhhh…Thank you.

[befuddled silence while I wait for Male Voice to tell me his special order, or ask me what time we’re open till]

Male Voice: It’s your son. Casey.

Me: Oh my god I’m the worst mom ever I don’t even recognize my child’s voice even after 21 years of practice! Oh. Hi, babe…

So go ahead, all you moms who got taken out to brunch, all you daughters and sons who bought flowers. Go on and brag on yourselves a little: what did you do? How wonderful was it? I’ll listen. I can’t really get any more embarrassed, so I might as well be happy for you!

If This Air Had Ears…

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I journal.

And just by writing that, I have betrayed my English-teacher sisters and brethren, because, according to my voluptuous Random House Dictionary, “journal” is seven different kinds of noun,* but it is NOT a verb. Yet.

*including this definition: “the portion of a haft or axle contained by a plain bearing.” Wow, who knew?!

Grammar and professional pride notwithstanding, I do write in a notebook at least twice a week, usually more often, and I have done for…hold on a sec…1975 to 2013 equals…38 years. OK, 37 1/2, ’cause my first entry (at age almost-14) was in October. And then there was that 18-month stretch in college where I gave up the notebook, thinking, “I can either live life or write about it, but I don’t have time to do both!” So let’s call it 36 years.

Guess what: I still remember that eighteen-month stretch as being the most morally confused and out-of-touch portion of my life. Hmm, wonder why?

So, yes. I have a lot of notebooks. Here they are:IMG_0264

To paraphrase that guy in Jaws, “We’re gonna need a bigger foot locker.”

Over the past 36+ years, I’ve had plenty of time to think about the reasons why I journal, in case anyone asks. In no particular order:

1. keeping a record of what’s happened, mostly in my life (GREAT for winning future arguments with husband), but also in the world (i.e., 9/11, the Arab Spring, etc.). Also functioned as a default baby book for my kids, since I’m not organized enough to keep baby books. (Somewhere in a couple of those notebooks there are snips of hair from my boys’ first haircuts.)

2. working out what to do about personal issues (moral dilemmas, problems with people)

3. CHEAP THERAPY. ‘Nuff said.

4. the feel of writing by hand (especially when I have new pens…oh, don’t get me started on my Uniball addiction)

5. re-living the joy of captured moments in all their emotional detail

6. increasing the joy of future moments by describing my anticipation

7. showing off my writing chops (to myself, yeah, but I’m a great audience)

8. working out plot and character issues in my novels

9. making resolutions and plans to carry them out

10. giving myself something to do (besides reading) when traveling

IMG_0265

All those moments…captured.

All good reasons, right? And there are probabaly more. Thing is, the past decade or so, I’ve found myself using walks, bike rides, and even runs to talk to myself before writing–a sort of open-air pre-write.

These days that “air-journaling” has assumed a weight of its own. When I lack time or privacy to talk aloud to myself for a few days, even if I’m writing, I feel like something’s missing.

Could this be a new phase? Maybe I won’t need that new foot locker after all. Although winning arguments with my husband would get a lot harder.

Source: someecards.com via Sarah on Pinterest

What about you?

Do you keep a journal? If so, what does it do for you? Can you think of another reason besides my list?

If not, have you tried journaling? Why didn’t it take? Or why do you choose not to?

Do you air-journal? Go on…admit it. You’re among friends here.

And…do you think “journaling” makes a good verb? Or should I be truer to my training?

Let me hear from you!

Ya feel me? (Did she really just say that?)

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More tissue boxes in more places (Finis)(courtesy vanherdehaage, FlikrCommons)

Okay, people. I got a sore throat last week, then the sniffles. They’re gone now, but I’m still recovering from the shame of no longer being able to brag claim that I CAN’T REMEMBER WHEN I WAS LAST SICK.

It’s true, I couldn’t–or, as they’d say back in NC where I’m from, I useta couldn’t. After a dozen years of teaching high school, handling germ-covered essays and having close conversations with people saying things like, “I’m really sick but my mom made me come to school,” I was IMMUNE TO EVERYTHING. My last six or seven years of teaching were a happy glide path. The only sick days I took were really nice, sunny ones, or else comfortable dennings-down in a Starbucks armchair with a day’s worth of grading. Hey, mental health is still health, right?

But now I can feel those little white blood cells slipping away. After nearly three years out of the classroom, I am losing my immunity. Last week was just the overture, I fear, to those timelss classics,The Twice-Yearly Cold, The Winter Flu, and everyone’s favorite, That Stomach Bug You Gave Me. Playing soon in a body very near me.

But that’s not the worst of what I’ve lost by leaving the teaching profession.

I’ve lost my fluency in Teenager.

My own kids are no help: they’re ancient 20somethings now. The high schoolers who work with me sometimes at the bakery, they try, but we all live on a teeny little island.

Who knows if they’d get laughed out of an urban high school just as much as I would if I said, “Ya feel me?”

DO KIDS STILL SAY THAT???

Source: someecards.com via Sarah on Pinterest

Help me, blogworld. Ask the hippest teen you know.  Then get back to me pronto. And if they laugh their heads off at you say no, ask ’em what DO teens say now when they wish to inquire about the level of someone’s understanding of one’s emotional statements if someone gets ’em. (Or, if you ARE that hipster, ask yourself.)

The best current translation of “Ya feel me?” wins a million bucks front-page status on Wing’s World, so let’s hear from y’all!

Imperfectionists Unite!

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auction quilt

SO not me. (courtesy normanack, flikr commons)

I have started making quilts. But I am careful NOT to tell people I’m a quilter.

Quilters choose patterns, or design their own. Quilters pay careful attention to color contrasts. Quilters cut cloth into little tiny pieces. Quilters MEASURE the heck out of those pieces as they stitch ’em together. Then they measure some more, because, to quilters, like carpenters, precision is everything.

I’m a lousy carpenter. So I never thought I’d make it as a quilter either, and I never tried. Till I discovered landscape quilts.

Landscape quilting is just what it sounds like: you create a landscape, like a painter, substituting appliqued cloth for paint. The effect can be as realistic or impressionistic as you choose. Me, I’m all about the impressionism. Who cares if that flower has eight petals in real life? On my quilt, it gets five, and it’s still pretty.

...or four petals. Who's counting?

…or four petals. Who’s counting?

Another way landscape quilting is like impressionist painting is in its wonderful, inherent sloppiness. Who cares if my stitches are uneven, or if I miss an edge here or there which might fray? Nature’s full of ragged edges, weird curves, asymmetry. It’s a gorgeous slop-fest out there! Too much precision = unnatural-looking landscape…or so says I.

Nice and sloppy, just like nature.

Am I making a virtue of necessity? Cheering myself up for being lazy, not to mention bad at arithmetic?

You betcha. But hey: I’m quilting, aren’t I?

Isn't it gorgeous??

Isn’t it gorgeous?

THIS is what I’m shooting for (someday!) These three come from Nancy Zieman and Natalie Sewell’s book, The Art of Landscape Quilting.

Yup, it's all cloth!

Yup, it’s all cloth!

I'll never be this good, but I can dream, right?

I’ll never be this good, but I can dream, right?

So what’s your version of landscape quilting? What’s something you have NO patience for, but have found yourself a better way around? Maybe you’ve discovered an ingenious way never to empty the cat box? Or a recipe for croissants that doesn’t involve sticking the dough back into the fridge every half-hour? Don’t you feel smart? Let me hear from you!

Wing Wecommends…

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cup of coffee

courtesy Author Lynn Kelly, WANAcommons

Okay, people. If you love any of the following…

1. space travel

2. coffee

3. The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell.

you have to check this out:

http://science.slashdot.org/story/13/04/29/2015237/space-coffee-just-the-way-you-like-it

Seriously, if you haven’t read The Sparrow yet–stop reading this right now, turn off your computer, and go find a copy. I’ll wait. Then come on back to this website. You’ll thank me later. (Three words: Jesuits in space.)

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=sparrow

For that matter, if you want to know more about this amazing anthropologist-storyteller who writes novels about space travel, Italian Jews in the Holocaust, Saudi Arabia in its infancy, and, of all people, Doc Holliday, check out her blog:

http://www.marydoriarussell.net/blog/

By the way, the Saudi Arabia one? Dreamers of the Day is going to be a movie! Think Lawrence of Arabia meets My Brilliant Career.

Factoid #15

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THIS JUST IN! Shocking news for us Northwesterners: The Douglas Fir is not–I repeat NOT–an actual fir tree.

I know. We’ve been living a lie.

For those of you not privileged to live anywhere west of the Cascade Mountains and north of the Bay Area, these trees are EVERYWHERE. Tall, dark and handsome. And everyone calls ’em fir trees (unless we’re like, “oh, look at that eagle in that pine tree–” but that’s a whole other issue).

courtesy Wikipedia

courtesy Wikipedia

Turns out the good ol’ Doug Fir isn’t even in the genus Abies. Nope, it’s a Pseudotsuga. All I can make of that name is that it’s a “kinda-sorta tsuga”–whatever a tsuga is.  The species is menziesii (so says Dr. Wikipedia), named after naturalist Archibald Menzies. Dr. Wiki says he was a “rival” to naturalist David Douglas, so I bet ol’ Archie felt pretty smug when he got that species name. Joke’s on him, though–no one calls ’em Menzie-firs!