Category Archives: Wing’s Words

Rainforest Patriotism

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Now THIS is a Fourth of July post. Love this guy.

A Naturalist's avatarPura Vida Stories

(Note: this post is a day late, owing to the below-mentioned thunderstorm)

Exactly one year ago, I had only been an intern at UGA for a week when I tried to plan a 4th of July Barbecue.  I got the go ahead, after explaining to the admins that anyone was invited and assuring the two anxious British interns that we weren’t going to be burning the king in effigy.  We were just going to drink beer and cook meat outside.  The purpose, I told them, was not to celebrate our independence from Britain, or even to be especially Patriotic.  There would be no flag-waving, no God Bless Americas, no guns.  For me, 4th of July is a day to not necessarily celebrate my nationality, but to reflect on it.  To recognize it, prides and shames combined.  And to drink beer and cook meat outside.

Which we did.  The…

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Igneous, Sedimentary & Metamorphic Rock: Why Grand Canyon Offers The Best Metaphor For Love & Marriage

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I adore geology metaphors. Plate tectonics, uplift, magma–are you kidding me? In Grand Canyon last year, even before this trip, I was struck by the way the three types of rock symbolize the growth of a long-term relationship. So struck, in fact, that I wrote a song about it. I’ll let the lyrics explain themselves, ok? It’s called…

Rocks of Ages 

When I first met you, I couldn’t get you

Into my arms fast enough

You said you adored me, you melted down for me

Hot lava lava lava love                  

Two igneous kids, swimming in bliss,

That’s what we were at the start

Now that we’re older, the magma’s grown colder

But we’re still rock solid down deep in our hearts.

[igneous, ok? Plenty of that around Lava Falls in the lower half of the river]

Hot lava lava lava love

Hot lava lava lava love

Rocks of ages, counting the stages

Life is what happens while you make other plans

After so many changes, the only thing strange is

How the earth still moves when you take my hand.

[That’s just the chorus. Now for the sedimentary, the layered stuff:]

Albums in piles, stretching for miles

Children and homes and careers

Stacking our cares and blessings in layers

Years upon years upon years

Life’s mighty stratified, but I’m nothing but satisfied

Let’s go ahead and grow old

Call us sedimentary, we must have been meant to be

‘Cause the age that we’re heading for is looking like gold.

Call us sedimentary...

Call us sedimentary…

Rocks of ages, counting the stages

Life is what happens while you make other plans

After so many changes, the only thing strange is

How the earth still moves when you take my hand.

[here comes the bridge…] 

Who could have seen us, all that passion between us

Living those promises of sickness and health?

I’d like to say I knew, when we said “I do,”

But you know I’d really just be fooling myself.

[and now, finally–metamorphic. Rock whose chemical structure’s been changed by pressure, heat and time. That’s marriage for ya!]

After so long, feelings so strong

Generate forces so vast.

Family pressures, too strong to measure

Uplift a life that will last.

We didn’t plan it, but our love is granite—

Yeah, we got metamorph hearts.

Love in our souls like diamonds from coal

Gives us riches to live on till death do us part.

Yeah, we got metamorph hearts

Yeah, we got metamorph hearts

[my beloved Vishnu Schist!]

Rocks of ages, counting the stages

We entered into with those golden bands

After all of our changes, the only thing strange is

How the earth still moves when you take my hand.

Rocks of ages, counting the stages

We entered into with those golden bands

After all of our changes, the only thing strange is

How the earth still moves when you take my hand.

Yeah, the earth still mooooves when you take my hand.                                 G. Wing, April 2015

See what I mean? 

Oh, want to hear what the song sounds like? Copy & paste the following URL into your browser (sorry, couldn’t get it to work as a link):

C:\Users\Gretchen\Documents\songs\RocksOfAges.MP3

Or maybe you want to share your favorite geology metaphor? Please, rock on!

 

Reason # 7,582 Why Grand Canyon is Just That: The Great Unconformity

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If you read my last post, you know how hard I’ve been grooving on Vishnu Schist, the somewhere-around-2-billion-year-old rock at the bottom of Grand Canyon. For all of y’all who aren’t quite as rock-geeky as I am, how about this to blow your minds: in this picture, I am spanning approximately 1,050,000,000 years (that’s 1.05 billion) with my thumb and forefinger:

And my fingers aren't even all that long.

And my fingers aren’t even all that long.

Huh?

Allow me to let the geology experts at LPI Education Resources explain for me:

An unconformity is a surface in the rock record, in the stratigraphic column, representing a time from which no rocks are preserved. It could represent a time when no rocks were formed, or a time when rocks were formed but then eroded away. 

The Great Unconformity (a.k.a. huge gap in the rock record) happens to exist between my beloved  Vishnu Schist (metamorphic, formed by pressure) and the sedimentaryTapeats Sandstone laid down (much later) above it.

For me, it’s one thing to contemplate the scale of millions and billions of years laid down in rock. It’s another entirely to contemplate millions and billions of years that AREN’T THERE.

Where did they go? Were they laid down, then eroded away? Why those rocks, those years, and no others? Or were they never laid down at all? Why on earth–or, more accurately, why NOT on earth?

I already want to come back in my next life as a geologist. Since this life is already too full, I think I’ll have to wait till then to fully explore those questions. Right now, I’m content just to groove. 

 

Schist Happens: How I Fell In Love With A Bunch of Rock

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It’s called Vishnu Schist. It’s estimated at 1.8-2.2 BILLION years old. It was waiting for me at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

So....black...

So….black…

It’s black–black as tar-covered ravens in a coal mine at midnight. It’s shiny. At river’s edge, it’s fluted into perforated columns I wanted to climb into.

So....shiny....

So….shiny….

This was, of course, impossible, because A) I was paddling past the schist with 6 other people, and B) since the air temperature was around 115 degrees, the schist would have branded me all over.

Still, what a way to go.

Know what else is amazing about schist, aside from its age and its looks? It’s made from metamorphosed limestone. Think about it: WHITE rock created from the bodies of once-LIVING sea creatures turns, with enough time and heat and pressure, into this:

There's even a word for that shine: "schistocity."

There’s even a word for that shine: “schistocity.”

Talk about a metaphor that rocks!

There are other rocks in Grand Canyon to love, and I will write more about them in the coming days. But right now I’m still reveling in the memories of that sleek, black, geological poetry.

Best Election Year Strategy Ever: Head For a Giant Hole in the Ground

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During the next two weeks, I’m planning to drop out of sight. Also sound. And touch.

I’m going back down into Grand Canyon with The Mate, Son Two, and some friends. The only things I plan to see, hear and feel are red rocks and stars; canyon wrens and rushing rapids; and hot sun  and dousings of cold river water.

This will be the third time down the river for my Mate and I, but the first time down the lower half. Both previous trips–one in 1989, one in 2004– involved putting in way up where the canyon walls are only 100 feet high, rafting for 6 days, then hiking out of the canyon’s deepest point, up this:

The Bright Angel Trail.

The Bright Angel Trail.

In fact, both previous trips involved hiking the 7.5 miles in full summer sun carrying the extra gear of friends who had been scorpion-stung, or were suffering from heat exhaustion, or both. Not the pleasantest way to end such an epic excursion. This trip? We’re hiking DOWN the Bright Angel. I. Can’t. Wait.

I'm coming!

I’m coming!

Now if only I could stay there until after the first Tuesday in November…

John Oliver Forgives Zombie Debt: Why This is Even More Awesome Than It Sounds

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Did you know that once you’ve amassed an unpayable debt due to–gasp–daring to need hospital care beyond your means, your debt can be bought by a debt-buying company? Which can then sell it to another company, and another company…all of which can come after you and threaten your family 24 hours a day to collect that FULL debt, even after you might have settled with the hospital, years earlier, by paying what you could?

John Oliver just aired a full-on expose of this disgusting practice. John Oliver is my hero.

I could keep on describing how awesome this is, but you’d really get more just watching it yourself.

After setting up a bare-bones website, Oliver said CARP was offered a portfolio of nearly $15 million in medical debt for just $60,000. “Last Week Tonight” was able to pay less than half a cent on the dollar for all that debt.

Oliver said CARP could have received a file that included the names, personal addresses and Social Security numbers of nearly 9,000 people who owed the debt it had purchased. He called that fact “absolutely terrifying, because I could legally have CARP take possession of that debt and have employees start calling people turning their lives upside down over medical debt.”

“There would be absolutely nothing wrong with except for the fact that absolutely everything is wrong with that,” Oliver continued. “We need much clearer rules and oversight.”

Don’t have the time to watch the show? I’ll skip to the ending. John Oliver’s Last Week Tonight staff forms its own company, buys nearly $15 million in medical debt for only $60,000…and FORGIVES it. All those poor folks are now off the hook to go on with their lives.

Oliver makes a big deal out of the fact that he did this partly to trump Oprah’s famous $8-million-dollar car giveaway. But he also did it because it’s the right thing to do. And look at that–here we are thinking about it.

Love ya, you crazy Brit. Keep it the hell up.

Confessions of an Imperfectionist: On Second Thoughts, I’ve Nothing to Confess

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I am proud to call myself an imperfectionist. Are you one too? Take this simple test to find out.

  1. When frosting a cake, do you skip the “crumb layer” and just start slathering that stuff on there?
  2. When sewing, do you skip the basting step, and use as few pins as possible?
  3. When doing carpentry, do you conveniently forget the mantra, “Measure twice, cut once”?
  4. When practicing a piece of music, do you more often than not say “good enough” and move on?
  5. Do you like yourself anyway?

If you answered No to any of these, congratulations–you have standards. If you said Yes, welcome to my world. Imperfectionists unite!

Nothing like working in the worlds of food, crafts, or arts to remind me how much I don’t care to push myself that extra step. After fifty-some years, however, I have found the one area where I can’t stop polishing, tweaking, fixing, de- or re-constructing: WRITING.

It’s hopeless. I’m a words girl. When it comes to words on the page, good enough is never good enough.

I think I know why. Writing was my first success, something people have told me I’m good at since grade school. Therefore continuing to improve has a high promise of reward, and I think the urge is deeply rooted in my psyche. Adult stuff like sewing? I’d have to work WAY too hard to get any compliments there.

(courtesy bernijourney.wordpress.com)

(courtesy bernijourney.wordpress.com)

Come to think of it, I’ve had compliments on my pies from a young age too. So there you go.

Yup--perfect.

Yup–perfect.

Am I on to something? Anyone else out there a perfectionist in only SOME areas? What are they, and what accounts for their special place in your otherwise imperfectionist life? Note: all you perfectionists out there, feel free to chime in too.

Starting My Day The Thoughtful Way: A Poem To Keep The Buzz At Bay

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I have more than one friend who has made the commitment to disengage from social media and screens last thing in the evening and first thing in the morning. While I admire the impulse, I found myself unwilling to make the same commitment, but feeling vaguely uneasy about my resistance. This internal conversation followed:
Me: Well, why shouldn’t I check email or Facebook before I go to bed? They connect me to people I love!
Myself: Yeah, but they also connect us to outside currents like ads and political struggles. Or they focus us way too much on the details of certain commitments, like articles we have to write or trips we’re planning. Is that really what we want to be thinking about while heading for bed, or clearing our mind from sleep?
Me: Nothing wrong with staying current, or being focused. But yeah, it’s true, I do get easily entwined in details–work and personal–at the expense of contemplation. So maybe what I need is not less social media, but more contemplative time.
Myself: Aha! And since we’re automatically drawn to the screen with that first cup of tea, why not make the screen our portal to deeper thought?
So that’s when I put Poetry Daily on my Favorites bar. Note: I did NOT subscribe, because then I’d only access it via email and distract myself again. These days email takes a back seat to poetry.
So now, I read the day’s poem. I think about it, and I think about what it makes me think about. As I used to tell my students to do, I notice what I notice. Sometimes I like the poem, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I send it to a friend, or my mom. Sometimes the poem disturbs me. Sometimes I think about their images or themes along my whole dark, hour-long ride to work.
Today’s poem, which I read on Memorial Day, made me think of the first time I visited the Vietnam War memorial in D.C.
Memorial from a Park Bench

Here’s an opened book.
Stranger you greet like a friend
with reciprocated kiss.
Here, touch is required.

Visitors descend to meet
names arranged in order.
A word loses its ability to conjure
trapped inside a black mirror.

The names could be lines
of poems or a grocery list.
They could be just lines
but even before
you’re close enough to read
you know they are names
because everyone knows
the names.

Here is name
stacked on names stacked
on panels of more.
Here are names and black stone
and your only reflection.

 

BROCK JONES

Cenotaph
The University of Arkansas Press

Each poem might not be "lovely as a tree," but they still make me feel like this.

Each poem might not be “lovely as a tree,” but they still make me feel like this.

Here’s what I noticed especially about Brock Jones’s poem: that last line. Sometimes, in a life full of busy detail, the morning’s poem is my “only reflection.” It is starting to feel as necessary to me as that first cup of Earl Grey.

Into the Teeth of Love: Why I’m Not Giving Up My Faraway Dentist

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Anyone else out there love going to the dentist? 

For me, it’s not about that silky clean-teeth sensation (that lasts all of about 36 hours), nor the goody-bag of miniature tooth care products that still makes me feel like a kid at a birthday party. Oh, I do love those things. I even love the excuse to lie there in a fancy recliner and shut my eyes, responsible for nothing but staying still and keeping my mouth wide. But not as much as I love my dentist.

Dr. Norooz is a total sweetie, from Iran. We share stories about our kids (since he’s fluent not only in English but in Say-Ah-Speak). He gives me tea from Iran–which stains my teeth, but then he cleans them again–and sweet dates his mother sends him, and inspiration about hard work and achievement in America.

His office is full of total sweetie hygienists from exotic places like the Philippines, Afghanistan, and Seattle. They’ve known me and The Mate and our kids for twenty years, and honestly, I feel like I know some of their kids too, even though we’ve never met, just from the stories and the pictures.

teeth

I know from several friends that we have a very nice, very competent dentist right here on Lopez Island. But I’m not ready to give up Dr. Norooz. So, twice a year, The Mate and I make the 4-hour trek via ferry and freeway down to Tacoma to check into our happy place…the dentist’s office.

How weird are we? Anyone else make stupidly long treks to visit professionals just because they’re special to you?

You Scratch My Media, I’ll Scratch Yours: Yin-Yanging in the Digital/Cable Age

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“So should I join Facebook?” The Mate mused a few weeks ago.

I was startled. “You?! Why?”

Him: Well, you do seem awfully caught up on things like babies and hospitalizations and retirements and stuff. I always have to find out from you what all our friends are going through.

Me: Exactly! You find out from me! So what would you need to join for? It’s perfectly obvious to me that Facebook would drive you mad with its stupid advertising, not to mention all its bells and whistles which even I can barely keep up with. You think I want to listen to you grousing about that?

[That last part was unspoken, you understand.]

Him: Yeah, guess you’re right. You can keep doing my Facebooking for me.

Which, it occurred to me the other day, is only fair, because The Mate does my Lamestream Media-ing for me. I can’t abide TV news in this day and age–sorry, my heart will always belong to Walter Cronkite. When Al-Jazeera America was on, I watched that pretty happily, mostly because they were so shunned by U.S. advertisers that most of their ads were for their own programming. But CNN? MSNBC? Faux “News”? No, no, and NO. Too much snark. Too much slant–even when it’s a direction I agree with, I don’t like feeling the bias. And WAY too much focus on stupid stuff, like Donald Trump rallies, than on real stuff, like what the hell is going on in Venezuela anyway?

(Orig. photo courtesy Wikimedia)

(Orig. photo courtesy Wikimedia)

But I do appreciate knowing what’s going on. NPR only covers so much, and I only have the radio on occasionally, like when I’m making dinner or driving to town during the hours of Morning Edition or All Things Considered. [Given my 4 a.m.-1 p.m. work hours, that doesn’t happen very often.]

Enter The Mate. He watches CNN and MSNBC daily, during his morning and afternoon workouts. (Also a lot of ESPN, which can sometimes get pretty political in itself.) Thus…

Me: [arriving home from work mid-afternoon] Hey, babe, how’s the world been going today?

Him: Well, the House and Senate passed Zika virus funding bills, but they don’t match up, so they’re going to conference. And Puerto Rico’s still broke. And there was a big plane crash in Egypt. And…

Me: [thinking about all the advertising, snark and slant I didn’t have to expose myself to]: Ahhhh….

So here’s to Media Buddies. A whole new definition of marriage. 🙂