Mariachi Flor de Toloache: Watch For That “Colbert Bump”

Posted on September 21, 2015 by gretchenwing

My friend Beth is one proud mama. Her daughter’s band, Mariachi Flor de Toloache, is set to play The Late Show with Stephen Colbert this coming Friday, September 25.

In case your vision of mariachi is limited to portly gentlemen in tight-fitting suits, take a look at Flor de Toloache, the only all-women mariachi in New York City:

(Courtesy latino.foxnews.com)

OK, the tight-fitting suits part was correct.

Flush with the glory of their recent Mexico tour–the only all-female US mariachi group ever to do so–Flor de Toloache has thrown themselves into their new project, playing both warmup AND backup for The Arcs, the new band formed by Black Keys’ Dan Auerbach.

What’s funny is, Mr. Auerbach had no idea he was about to change his whole band’s sound when he asked his manager to hire a mariachi band. Beth says no one told him the band was all-women–not to mention all-gorgeous. Even funnier, he hired them to play. Only after realizing he dug their instrumentals did he happen to ask, “You guys don’t happen to sing, do you?”

Do they!

So now The Arcs are scheduled to play for Mr. Colbert and his shiny new Late Show next Friday, and guess who will be featured? I’m not really a Late Show person (though I do love Stephen). I’m not really a mariachi person either. But these women are DYNAMITE, so not only will I be watching them and cheering them on, I hope a whole bunch of you guys tune in too!

Then tell me what you think, eh? Ai-ai-ai-ai-ai!!!!

Grandparenting Practice: Bring it On!

Posted on September 17, 2015 by gretchenwing

The Mate and I are not grandparents–unless you count our grandsnake (although Son One gave him to a school a couple of years ago). Or the grandgarden Son Two planted at our place this summer. Maybe I should just say, we don’t have any grandkids…yet, anyway. (No pressure, guys. Really. No, REALLY.)

But this is all the more reason why I’m looking forward to joining my Mate down in the Bay Area this weekend. Yesterday he flew down there to see his nephew through hip replacement surgery. I’m joining him this weekend. Oh, the nephew’s not that tough a patient. It’s just that he’s the dad of two year-old twins.

Two year-old. Twins.

Said nephew’s wife keeps telling us how happy she is that we’re coming. And I actually believe her. Did I mention she has two year-old twins?

Lucky for us, they are SUPER CUTE. Oh, I know they’ll probably be pretty shy at first. We might just end up doing errands and cooking for the time that we’re there, or taking care of Dad while Mom takes care of kiddos. We are thrilled to be able to finally participate in something we’ve always watched from afar: being there to help our adult “kids” take care of their kids. A.k.a., grandparenting.

Except for one grandma, my family was always strictly nuclear, no extended family around. I always felt a little envy when I heard my friends say, “Oh, we’re just leaving ’em at grandma’s for the weekend,” or, “Oh, my folks’ll stop by to help.”

Now we get to be the “folks.” And I can’t wait!

How many of you have played the grandparent role for your family members, or had them do it for you? Would love to hear.

Music as Short Story: Why Mark Knopfler is Still My Guitar Hero

Posted on September 13, 2015 by gretchenwing

Before you ask, “Mark who?” I’ll refresh your memory: Dire Straits. You know–“Money for Nothin”? “Sultans of Swing”? That band. That guy. Those guitar riffs. He’s always been my favorite singer-songwriter–and not just because his weird last name is nearly identical to the one I was born with (Klopfer–but that connection helps).

I clearly remember the first time I heard Dire Straits. I was a junior in high school, back in 1978, cleaning up my room, when “Sultans of Swing” came on the radio. I stopped dead and asked aloud, “Who’s that?” Maybe it was the guitar licks, maybe the unusual lyrics: a song about under-appreciated jazz musicians in the time of rock ‘n’ roll? Whatever. I was hooked. I still am.

This weekend I got to see him live (for only the second time), and my admiration’s only grown. First of all, he’s superbly professional. He walks onstage with no fanfare and no warm-up band, and plays a straight 140-minute set with only one break to introduce his fellow musicians, most of whom have been playing with him for 20-35 years. Secondly, he’s a guitar master, someone who single-handedly converted me to the idea that an electric guitar could make music as complex, nuanced, and, well, classical as a violin.

And then there are his songs. MK tends to write from the point of view of working men, in an astounding array of roles. Off the top of my head, I can think of Knopfler songs in the POV of a trucker, a sailor, a boxer, a racecar driver, a farmer, a bricklayer, a ballad-writer from the 1800s, a pawnbroker/Holocaust survivor, a painter, and a sculptor. Some of his songs are from the mind of the bad guy: a snake-oil salesman, a mobster, a bank robber. He’s written songs about historical figures: Elvis Presley, Sonny Liston, even Mason & Dixon. One of my favorites, “Baloney Again,” presents the perspective of a Black, staunchly Christian musician on the road in the segregated South.

Ironically, Knopfler’s most popular mid-90s numbers, like “Money For Nothin,” are my least favorite, but even that one’s misunderstood. If all you hear is “money for nothin’ and your chicks for free,” you might think MK’s a chauvinist pig, when in fact that song’s written from the POV of a working stiff, who has to “install microwave ovens/custom kitchen delivery,” complaining about rich rock stars.

Songs as short stories, with a range of instruments like Irish pipes and accordion playing background to jaw-dropping guitar-picking? That’s why MK’s my guy.

I am not the type of audience member to take pictures, much less video, during a concert. I prefer to be fully in the moment. But if you want to hear for yourself, this shaky video captures MK’s finale song pretty well: “Piper to the End.”

Favorite Knopfler song you’d like to share? Or do you have your own guitar–or piano, or whatever–hero or heroine? Tell me why.

Gratitude to First Responders: Y’all Amaze Me

Posted on September 9, 2015 by gretchenwing

“Thank you, Firefighters” read sign after sign in Twisp, Washington, where the Mate and I just attended a wedding. Stark and plain on local marquees and readerboards or hand-lettered on cardboard or bedsheets hung at the ends of driveways, that’s how the folks of the Methow Valley are making their gratitude known. And now that I’ve seen how close they came to devastation, I understand that gratitude even better.

(Courtesy crosscut.com)

As it happened, I forgot my camera last weekend. But I wouldn’t have taken pictures of the devastation even if I could have. Biking along the lovely Twisp River, we passed an intersection with a steep gravel road marked with an American flag and a pile of flowers. I stopped to say a prayer for the three firefighters who died up that road. Then I rode on, sobered.

At the wedding we attended, we got to see the Methow’s finest in action ourselves–but because of wind, not fire. The ceremony and dinner were set in a beautiful, golden mountain meadow, and the wind was having a field day. Suddenly a vicious gust blew down the tipi-style tent under which several of us had taken our seats for dinner. The groom’s aunt was struck in the face by a wooden pole, knocked cold for a minute, and bleeding. Even though we were high up on a gravel road, even though he’d probably been first-responding to exhaustion point through weeks and weeks of helping firefighters, the first EMT was there within fifteen minutes. The ambulance itself, with full crew, followed ten minutes later. By the time the wounded guest was loaded up for hospital, she was chatting cheerfully with the medic, and everyone felt hugely reassured.

Wow, people. After this summer of destruction and death, to see you operate with such calm competence–well, it leaves me speechless.

So this is me, making my gratitude known. Blessings upon all first responders.

Best Love Poem For a Wedding? One That Tells the Truth

Posted on September 5, 2015 by gretchenwing

Best way to celebrate your wedding anniversary? Attend a wedding. Especially a wedding between two young people whose future seems so promising, their union seems like a gift to the rest of us.

So when The Mate and I witness these young folks saying “I do,” we’ll be holding hands and getting misty, thinking over our past 28 years together. (Actually, it’s 36 and a half ’cause we lived in sin for quite a while before marrying, but who’s counting?)

We don’t have a role in this wedding except to witness (and eat and drink), so I don’t know why poetry popped into my head. It’s not like we have to read anything out loud. Nevertheless, I found myself thinking, “What would be a great poem to read at a wedding?” and this one floated out of the memory banks.

Love Poem
by John Frederick Nims

My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
Whose palms are bulls in china, burrs in linen,
And have no cunning with any soft thing

Except all ill at ease fidgeting people:
The refugee uncertain at the door
You make at home; deftly you steady
The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.

Unpredictable dear, the taxi drivers’ terror,
Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime
Yet leaping before red apoplectic streetcars-
Misfit in any space. And never on time.

A wrench in clocks and the solar system. Only
With words and people and love you move at ease.
In traffic of wit expertly manouver
And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.

Forgetting your coffee spreading on our flannel,
Your lipstick grinning on our coat,
So gayly in love’s unbreakable heaven
Our souls on glory of split bourbon float.

Be with me darling, early and late. Smash glasses–
I will study wry music for your sake.
For should your hands drop white and empty
All the toys of the world would break.

My former AP Literature students should remember this one well. We talked about its irony (“clumsy” in a love poem?!), its beautiful use of onomatopoeia (“all glasses chip and ring”), its sudden shift from criticism to praise (“no cunning with any soft thing/Except all ill at ease fidgeting people”).

“What do you notice about the way the poet uses sentence structure?” I would ask. “Those long, complex sentences, then that one, short outburst–‘And never on time’–like this husband is spouting his exasperation for the umpteenth time. Can’t you just hear them argue? Anyone ever heard their parents argue like that?

“What do you notice about that line “A wrench in clocks and the solar system”? The scale suddenly grows from household size to the whole universe, doesn’t it? What kind of statement is that about the breadth, the everything-ness, of this guy’s love?

“And that last line? If her hands fell white and empty–yes, it means what you think it means–not only would the joy go out of his life, the joy would go out of the WHOLE WORLD. “All the toys” would break. He admits she’s clumsy, messy, late…and he still adores her. Now THAT’s love, right?”

My Mate’s not a poet. If he were, he could easily write a poem like this about me–except for the lipstick part. And if he did, I would swoon. THAT’s love.

But he doesn’t need to write this poem. It’s already written. And this weekend, he’ll find another way to tell me his version of what Nims told his love.

Happy Anniversary, babe.

What poem would YOU read aloud at a wedding, I wonder?

In Praise of Rain in the Great North-wet: Damp Again and Loving it, Thanks

Posted on September 1, 2015 by gretchenwing

When the rains returned

the trees and I lifted our palms

in celebration.

A wee haiku to honor the weather gods’ sudden recall that our neck of the woods, the Pacific Northwest, is supposed to be dripping and soggy a good portion of the time. Instead, it’s been so dry this summer that even our rain forest caught on fire. We feel like we’re turning into California. (And California’s turning into Arizona. What, I’m afraid to ask, might Arizona be turning into?) In the past couple of weeks, taking my shoes and socks off after a run or a walk in the National Monument land behind my house has revealed filthy feet: the dust is ground so fine it seeps right through.

But now the rains are back!!!! Praise be! Tiny grass points are already poking their way through the dust! And the reindeer lichen, crispy and fragile since May, is squishy again!

(orig. photo courtesy Wikimedia Commons)

To all my friends suffering under the downpours of Hurricane Erika, my condolences. But I don’t feel your pain. I miss rain so much I can barely imagine–no, I can’t imagine–feeling negative about it.

Of course the place that needs precipitation most is the eastern half of Washington, suffering from the worst fires in our state’s history. We lost three good, young firefighters there. So, rain, I love you, but please, if you can, move east. Then come back and stay a while.

And to my fellow Northwet-erners, a word of caution: I’m a nonviolent person, but if I hear anyone complaining about the rain in the next month or so, I’m going to feel like slapping some sense into that silly person.

Please let your weather thoughts, prayers, and propitiations rain down on me!

Farewell to August, the Nuclear Month: A Brush With Death I Never Knew I Had

Posted on August 28, 2015 by gretchenwing

I’m a child of the Cold War, but I never realized just how true this was until I read an opinion piece in Al Jazeera America which argues that the real nuclear threat does not come from Iran or North Korea, but from the two original nuclear powers. Yup–Russia and good ol’ us.

Despite radical cuts to our mutual arsenals, we superpowers still stand guard over a combined 14,600 nuclear warheads, signed, sealed, and ready to deliver. And even though those nukes are far from the headlines, they’re also far from rusting in peace. The article mentions one very close call that came as recently as 1995, well after the communist state had crumbled:

In January 1995, a global nuclear war almost started by mistake. Russian military officials mistook a Norwegian weather rocket for a U.S. submarine-launched ballistic missile. Boris Yeltsin’s senior military officials told him that Russia was under attack and that he had to launch hundreds of nuclear-tipped missiles at America. He became the first Russian president to ever have the “nuclear suitcase” opened in front of him. But Yeltsin trusted U.S. officials, and he was confident that there was no hidden crisis that might prompt a surprise attack by the U.S. With just a few minutes to decide, Yelstin concluded that his radars were in error. The suitcase was closed.

But the close call that chilled me the most was an incident I had never even heard of, that struck–LITERALLY–very, very close to home:

In 1961, a B-52 carrying two armed weapons broke apart over Goldsboro, North Carolina. Two bombs dropped from the bomb bay. One bomb’s parachute deployed and carried it safely to the ground. The other fell all the way down. All of the weapon’s safety mechanisms failed, save one. A single low-voltage switch, the technical equivalent of a light switch, prevented a hydrogen bomb from destroying a good portion of North Carolina.

Goldsboro is 80 miles from the farm where I grew up. If that “light switch” had failed, even if a nuclear blast had not resulted, at the very least a lethal dose of nuclear contamination would have been released into the air and carried all over the state, including my parents’ farm. In 1961. The year I was born.

Courtesy Wikipedia

Here’s some more detail of the event, provided by Wikipedia:

The second bomb plunged into a muddy field at around 700 miles per hour (310 m/s) and disintegrated without detonation of its conventional explosives. The tail was discovered about 20 feet (6.1 m) below ground. Pieces of the bomb were recovered.^[12]^{[page needed]} According to nuclear weapons historian Chuck Hansen, the bomb was partially armed when it left the aircraft though an unclosed high-voltage switch had prevented it from fully arming.^[8] In 2013, ReVelle recalled the moment the second bomb’s switch was found. “Until my death I will never forget hearing my sergeant say, ‘Lieutenant, we found the arm/safe switch.’ And I said, ‘Great.’ He said, ‘Not great. It’s on arm.’”^[13]

I know the Cold War, and the ongoing danger of nuclear proliferation, isn’t all about me. Except that it is. It is about me. And you. And you. All of us. Whether ground zero or “only” downwind, every human being is a potential victim of any kind of nuclear accident or misdeed.

So, as Congress prepares to debate the nuclear deal with Iran, my prayer will be more general. August 6 and August 9 still haunt me with images of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Nuclear weapons still haunt us all. I pray that those in power continue to do everything in their power to keep those weapons safe, while finding ways to keep future farm girls, and everyone else, from being haunted.

America’s National Parks: Big, Beautiful, and…Downright Un-American: Ever Wonder Why?

Posted on August 24, 2015 by gretchenwing

Hey, I’m back. Just spent a wonderful four days wandering with my besties from high school through Olympic National Park–which should be called Olympic National Parks, it contains so many different ecozones. From the giant cedars and spruces of the rain forest to the wild waves and fantastical drift logs of the Pacific beaches, from the azure shores of Crescent Lake to the glint of Blue Glacier shining across to Hurricane Ridge–all in four days!–we luxuriated in accessible diversity and diverse accessibility.

And I noticed something I’ve noticed many times before in national parks. We met lots of people–people of all colors speaking Dutch and Chinese and Hindi and English. Except the English speakers were not exactly ALL colors. We met very, very, very few Black folks. And that reminded me of this article I’d recently read on Al Jazeera America.com about just this topic.

According to the article, my perceptions are sadly borne out by statistics:

According to a 2009 survey by the University of Wyoming and the National Park Service (NPS), whites accounted for 78 percent of the national parks’ visitors from 2008 to 2009; Hispanics, 9 percent; African-Americans, 7 percent; and Asian-Americans, 3 percent.

When compared with their share of the U.S. population, white park visitors are overrepresented by 14 percentage points, whereas African-Americans were underrepresented by 6 percentage points. Whites are overrepresented not only as visitors but also as park employees. According to a 2013 report by the nonprofit Partnership for Public Service, 80 percent of NPS employees were white. And the National Park Foundation’s 22-member board, whose mission is to support the NPS through fundraising, has only four minorities.

The article goes on to emphasize that this issue isn’t simply one of Black folks not being particularly drawn to natural beauty. Ironically, the National Park Service itself appears to be contributing to African Americans’ feelings of unwelcome in our parks:

Last month we learned firsthand about the racist mistreatment of African-American park visitors during a scholarly event at Yosemite National Park in California. By inviting a diverse group of women to the park, we inadvertently carried out a study of racial profiling by park gate agents.

As part of our event, eight female academics — four of them white or Hispanic and four African-American — drove into the park. The organizers told participants not to pay the entrance fee and to inform gate agents that their fees were waived because they were visiting the research station.

The white and Hispanic drivers gave the agents the information as directed and were welcomed and waved through. The four African-American scholars entered the park at different times and entrances and gave the same information. In all four cases, the African-American professors were extensively questioned, made to fill out a superfluous form, which required extra and unnecessary effort and a check-in with the research center staff, and reluctantly let into the park.

One of the black professors was questioned about her college degrees, the title of her research project and her university affiliation and was asked to provide a faculty ID. The agents appeared incapable of imagining that a black woman could hold a Ph.D. and visit a research station for a scholarly event. (The Yosemite National Park Service has since opened an investigation into the incidents.)

I’m glad to see that Yosemite is investigating this incident. I hope the whole issue gets more attention. My recent re-affirmation of a lifelong love affair with our national parks reminds me: these parks belong to ALL of us. But until ALL of us go there, they won’t be truly national.

Care to weigh in with your own experience? I’d love to hear.

Dog Days Indeed: Taking a Blog-Break

Posted on August 17, 2015 by gretchenwing

Back from a quick backpack trip with my Ironwoman goddaughter, straight into a Bakery Blur, and tomorrow I’m off again for my annual Girliepeep Get-together. I could blog, or I could pack. You know what? I’ll see you in a week. Be well and happy, everyone!

And the Winner Is…My Book; Now, How Much Do I Owe You?

Posted on August 14, 2015 by gretchenwing

The Dante Rossetti Awards recognize emerging new talent and outstanding works in the genre of Young Adult, T’weens, New Adult, & Children’s fiction. The First Place Category Winners will be recognized at the Chanticleer Authors Conference and Awards Gala held in late September 2015.

The DANTE ROSSETTI FIRST PLACE 2014 Award Winners are:

Steampunk: Padgett Lively for Odette Speex: Time Traitors, Book 1
Contemporary: Gretchen Wing for The Flying Burgowski
CyberPunk: Jesikah Sundin for Legacy: The Biodome Chronicles, Book 1
Romance: Roni Teson for Twist
High Fantasy: S.A. Hunter for Elanraigh: The Vow
Blended Genre: Nely Cab for Fruit of Misfortune: Creatura Book 2
Science Fiction: Chris Pawlukiewicz for Dreams of a Red Horizon
Dystopian: Scott Smith for An Outcast State
Mythological: Stephanie Keyes for The Star Catcher
Lighthearted/Humorous: Elizabeth Barlo: Ruth 66
New Adult: Tiana Warner for Ice Massacre
Teen Fantasy: Elisabeth Hamill for Song Magick
Tweens : Mark Murphy for The Curse of the Thrax

Children’s: Kirsten Pulioff for The Escape of Princess Madeline
Manuscript: Ben Hutchins for The Lackawanna Prophecies: Black Shadow
Honorable Mentions: P. J. Martin for Riding with Crazy Horse (manuscript)

See my book? I highlighted The Flying Burgowski in red just to make her stand out.

This is great news. I’m totally ~~bragging on myself~~ announcing this to everyone I know.

The email goes on to wish all the winners luck in competing for the Grand Prize, and to invite us to the conference and Awards Gala:

Good Luck to the Dante Rossetti First Place Category Winners as they compete for the Dante Rossetti Awards 2014 GRAND PRIZE position!

The 2014 Dante Rossetti FIRST PLACE category winners will be recognized at the Chanticleer Authors Conference and Awards Gala that will take place in September 2015. The Dante Rossetti 2014 Grand Prize winner will be announced at the Awards Gala.

But there’s a teensy catch: $$$$. I won’t go into details about how much this conference costs, even with the discount given to winners. I can’t fit a weekend conference into my current work schedule, so I’m thinking of just attending the final day, with the cocktail party and awards gala…and even that price tag makes me choke a little. I know, I know, these events are expensive to put on. And I really can’t pass up this opportunity for mainstream exposure for my book. And I’m super excited and grateful for being chosen.

It’s just…yikes. That’s a lot of money for one day. And I can’t help but notice that the organizers have misspelled Dante Rosetti’s last name on their invitation. Makes me a little uneasy.

My question for Wing’s World, then, is: should I attend? Anyone have any experience at these events? Worthwhile? Bad idea to miss? Missable? I would love some input here.

Wing's World

Will Backpack For Chocolate

Category Archives: Wing’s Words

Mariachi Flor de Toloache: Watch For That “Colbert Bump”

Grandparenting Practice: Bring it On!

Music as Short Story: Why Mark Knopfler is Still My Guitar Hero

Gratitude to First Responders: Y’all Amaze Me

Best Love Poem For a Wedding? One That Tells the Truth

In Praise of Rain in the Great North-wet: Damp Again and Loving it, Thanks

Farewell to August, the Nuclear Month: A Brush With Death I Never Knew I Had

America’s National Parks: Big, Beautiful, and…Downright Un-American: Ever Wonder Why?

Dog Days Indeed: Taking a Blog-Break

And the Winner Is…My Book; Now, How Much Do I Owe You?

The Dante Rossetti Awards recognize emerging new talent and outstanding works in the genre of Young Adult, T’weens, New Adult, & Children’s fiction. The First Place Category Winners will be recognized at the Chanticleer Authors Conference and Awards Gala held in late September 2015.

The DANTE ROSSETTI FIRST PLACE 2014 Award Winners are:

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The Dante Rossetti Awards recognize emerging new talent and outstanding works in the genre of Young Adult, T’weens, New Adult, & Children’s fiction. The First Place Category Winners will be recognized at the Chanticleer Authors Conference and Awards Gala held in late September 2015.

The DANTE ROSSETTI FIRST PLACE 2014 Award Winners are:

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