I made a frog pond

Hey, this is my first re-blog ever! But I think I picked a good one. This is the coolest kid ever–look what she’s done to help Save the Frogs!

jojofett's avatarAnimals and Art

Last year our house was getting built. There was a puddle with a million tadpoles in it near the garage. The water was black there were so many tadpoles. Then it got  hot and the puddle dried up. I was sad when I saw it. All the tadpoles died. But Frank the guy who built our house told me he scooped up a bunch of the tadpoles when he saw the water going and he put them in the spring. He saved some!

Now we live in the house. The puddle came back. This year I didn’t want any of the tadpoles to die. My mom and dad (and Erik) helped me make a frog pond.

I read about frog ponds at Save The Frogs click here and I read some books about frogs too.

First we dug out the area where the pond was going to go. Frogs like…

View original post 292 more words

Got Weeds? Pull a Modern Tom Sawyer: Try Garden Fairies

The Garden Fairies are back. 

I blogged about this a year ago, but it’s that season again. So for all of y’all who didn’t know Wing’s World in 2013, let me paint a quick picture.

My friend Susie has a HUGE, GINORMOUS garden. It’s actually a labyrinth whose winding paths enclose multiple circles of beautiful flowers and healing herbs. But the garden fairies are really only interested in the growing things, not the shape of their beds.

040

Like any gardener at this time of year, Susie struggles to keep her flowers one step ahead of the weeds. Like any gardener, Susie wishes she could find someone to help her with this endless-seeming chore.

But Susie is smarter than most gardeners, including myself. Susie doesn’t ask for “helpers” to “weed.” Susie invites “garden fairies” to a “garden fairy party.” Where we weed.

How brilliant is that? What woman doesn’t want to be a fairy, at least for a couple of hours?

044

We weed, we talk, we feel good about ourselves, and then we have a potluck lunch. (These fairies need more than nectar, ok?)

Last year, after a few Garden Fairy Parties, I decided our fairy wings needed to be more than imaginary. So I got us some.

Gretchen fairy

 

Hey, we’re not just doing grunt work here. We’re FAIRIES!

036

OK, truth be told, we don’t actually don our wings every time. They’re kind of a pain to pin on, turns out. But…we feel ’em anyway.

033

So think about it. Tom Sawyer made whitewashing a fence seem like the most fun a boy could have in the world. Susie makes weeding into a fanciful party. What sneaky crafty technique could YOU use to lure invite your friends into doing your humdrum work for with you?

U-S-A! U-S-A! Uh…What Game Are We Watching Again? The World Cup & the Joys of Fair-Weather Fandom

I can feel it happening again. That un-earned pride. That need to boast. 

“Did you SEE that goal against Ghana?

In the first MINUTE? Yeah, that was Clint Dempsey.

Yup–plays for Seattle. He’s our boy.”

Like I’ve ever been to a Sounders game! Or any pro soccer game! Hey, I mean to, I really do. Just haven’t gotten around to it yet. But that doesn’t mean my pride in Team USA, and its northwestern components, is any less real.

(orig. image courtesy Erik Drost)

(orig. image courtesy Erik Drost)

Most English-language news stories I’ve heard about the World Cup have centered around the fact that this game seems to finally, maybe, perhaps, at last be catching on with TV viewers: a record 11 million-plus watched that first game, according to ESPN and Forbes. And they’re right, that is a story, though I’d be curious to see an ethnic breakdown to find out how much of that viewership is Mexican by heritage. Either way, it is indisputable that soccer is more popular as a TV sport now than ever before.

But that 11 million? It didn’t include me! I was traveling and didn’t even watch the game. A fact that takes nothing away from my ridiculous sense of pride in the victory. What IS up with that?

Personally, I think the real evidence that Americans have embraced the sport will be when our announcers start referring to the teams in the plural, like the English do: “Team USA have fought bravely tonight…” Could be a long wait.

But meantime? I’ll be happily tuning in, or NOT tuning in and feeling just as good when “my” team wins–especially on last-minute headers by 21 year-old bench players. It worked for me with the 2001 Seattle Mariners when they won 116 games, and again this year when the Seattle Seahawks won the Superbowl. My fair-weather bandwagonning doesn’t seem to hurt anyone, and if it’s annoying, well, no one’s told me yet to my face, so I’ll keep on cheering from the sidelines…kinda-sorta.

USA soccer? What’s it doing for you? Notice any changes in your fellow Americans? Please share!

 

Banana Slugs, Graduation, and Why I’m Not Blogging Today

Really, I’m not. I wrote this a few days ago and scheduled it, knowing I’d be a little busy on my usual blogging day…

…watching my youngest son graduate from college.

Casey

I know, he’s changed a little since then. But it still feels like that.

Casey’s graduating from UC Santa Cruz, home of the Fighting Banana Slugs. Yup.

There are some pretty wild college mascots out there.I’ve heard of the Pomona Sage Hens (cheer: CHIRP!), and who could forget The Evergreen State College Geoducks? (For those of you non-northwesterner, a geoduck is a large, tasty clam–pronounced, for some reason, “gooeyduck.”)

(orig. image courtesy sites.psu.edu)

(orig. image courtesy sites.psu.edu)

In honor of college graduates worldwide…what’s the weirdest mascot you know of? Please share!

Celebrating World Cup Futbol: You HAVE to See This

I know, I know–whenever anyone emails or Facebooks me and includes “have to see” in the heading, I automatically trash it.

But seriously. You have to see this. I have my reasons.

#1. La Copa Mundial, the World Cup, kicks off (pun intended) this week. Unlike baseball’s “World Series”–please!–or even the Olympics, this event involves a sport that is played by people in every country on every continent–yes, including Antarctica–, and is thus followed, fanatically (again, pun intended) by said person on said continent. Isn’t that worth celebrating?

#2. Young people tend to underestimate, if not disregard, if not disrespect, old people.

#3. You can do THAT with a soccer ball??!!

So here’s the setup for this clip, as explained by KSL.com in Utah:

MEXICO — When an older man invites himself onto a field for a pick-up game, you don’t usually expect him to steal the ball and the show. Freestyle soccer champion Sean Garnier followed the example of “Uncle Drew” and donned an old man disguise to give spectators and fellow players a performance they’re sure to remember. Garnier starts off slow to give the illusion that he is old and feeble, but eventually picks up speed and dances around his opponents with ease. He nutmegs the same guy four times in a row and takes every opportunity to fake the opposing team out — even if it involves stuffing the ball in his jacket. The 29-year-old French man originally dreamed of playing professional soccer, but was forced to change paths after suffering a string of injuries, according to his bio. Eventually, he came to develop his own mixture of break dancing and soccer and won the first Red Bull Street Style World Finals in Sao Paolo, Brazil, in 2008. His newest video was released just in time to get soccer fans pumped up for the World Cup, which begins Thursday. Now watch this:

I KNOW, right???

Your turn: What, if anything, does the World Cup mean to you? Should it mean anything? Spout off, please!

What is a “Clean Read”? Walking That Fine Line We Call a Book Review

A modern-style friend of mine (meaning someone I’ve only met online, although we seem to share a great deal) recently paid me a big compliment: she featured my novel on her blog about books for Tweens, Bookworm Blather. Since Michelle Isenhoff has over 3,200 book-loving followers, this is a great shot in the arm for me and The Flying Burgowski.

Michelle, the author of several series for Tweens, has the goods. So far I have only read the first two books of the Mountain trilogy, Song of the Mountain and Fire on the Mountain,

Book One now available FREE on Kindle and Nook!

Book One now available FREE on Kindle and Nook!

and I found them to be strong examples of the classic Quest book for young readers, along the lines of The Black Cauldron, mystical enough to intrigue, but peopled by real-life characters with real-life yearnings.

I have not yet read her tween sci-fi series,

Book One also now available FREE!

Book One also now available FREE!

but it’s on my list. She has an historical fiction series too. (Really, when does this woman sleep?)

Michelle did not tell me she was reviewing my book until after she was done, and frankly, I was pleasantly surprised at the positive review.

Gretchen has a natural talent—a very distinctive voice, great timing and a good punch, creative imagery, and a super sense of humor. I absolutely loved the story. And I have to admit, I didn’t see the ending coming. 

I was surprised, not because I doubt my own writing chops–people, please!–but because the one area in which Michelle and I differ widely is in the political. 

From each other’s postings, Michelle and I can easily tell where each other stands on certain social issues that tend to divide our society. And in such sensitive territory, certain words, or avoidance of them, tend to wave like red flags to readers: “I’m on YOUR side!” or, “Don’t read this–it stands for everything you despise!”

Bookworm Blather is a blog that tends to promote “clean” books for kids–no sexual situations, no profanity, and, as far as I can tell, no gratuitous violence.

Profanity–or, as reviewers diplomatically put it, “language”–this can be one of those parental red flags.

I struggled with the decision to include swearing in my book, which I knew was aimed at ages 11 and up. In the end, the artificiality of non-cussing teenagers just seemed too weird to stomach, so I minimized the blue language, made fun of it where possible (“But at least he did say ‘frickin’ this time”), and, when I deemed it necessary for authenticity, I used dashes (s—, f—) and let folks deal with it as they’d deal with profanity in real life.

Here is how Michelle handled this issue in her review: “I do want to give moms a content advisory: there is quite a bit of mild language and some teen subject matter.”

Notice how she walks the line? The warning is there, but couched in very non-judgmental terms. “Mild,” in fact, bends over backwards to reassure. I wish all reviewers of “clean reads” would do the same.

Full disclosure: as applied to books, “clean” is a red-flag word for me. 

I dislike gratuitous sexual scenes, profanity, and above all, violence probably as much if not more than the next reader. There are certain scenes stuck in my head–some written by Stephen King excellent authors, that I wish had never been written so that NO ONE would have such images in their gray cells.

But sometimes bad stuff happens to good people, and they have to deal with it. In my book, a character the protagonist is close to is almost raped. To depict that scene without profanity would be to scrub it of its full horror. Not to write that scene at all would be to soften the harshness of the world in which my heroine must learn to operate. She has a pretty good life, actually. But millions of kids don’t. I like to think I’m writing for them–as well as for those kids who might not be able to relate, but need to learn empathy for those less fortunate.

Speaking of fortunate, I feel lucky to have “met” someone who can get beyond the red flags in the world of literature.

Do you have literary red flags? Are there certain “types” of books you find yourself avoiding because you think they will rub you the wrong way? Or…how do you feel about profanity in young adult literature? Go ahead–Wing’s World is open for comment.

Move Over, Hogwarts: These Students Really Are Getting Their O.W.L.s

A funny thing happened to me on my way to the classroom the other day: I got bowled over by watching high school students LEARN Spanish.

So what, you say? Ah, but pay attention to that verb. Ask nearly any high school student in the U.S.–I don’t care if it’s P.S. 392 in New York City or Snobster Prep in Massachusetts–what their classes are, and they’ll say this: “I’m taking Spanish [or French, or Japanese, or whatever].” TAKING. Not LEARNING. 

Translation: “I have to do this because it’s a college requirement.”

“I’ve only been taking it since 9th grade because that’s all our district funds.” (OK, maybe not at Snobster Prep.) (…this when ALL the research shows that the best years to learn languages are the early ones!)

“I don’t bother to speak with a proper accent, because when I do, the other kids call me a brownnoser.”

“As soon as I’ve fulfilled the requirements of my school/college/parents, I’ll stop ‘taking.’

So, you’re fluent in Spanish now? “Um, not exactly. We didn’t really speak Spanish, y’know. But we did take it.”

Can you tell this has been a bit of a sore spot with me? And I’m not even a World Languages teacher!

But: a few days I had the opportunity to visit my old high school, Franklin Pierce (home of the Cardinals) in Tacoma. And at lunch one of my former colleagues told me, “You have to see something.”

Her next period was free, so she took me to the room of the teacher next door. There I witnessed a minor miracle. I’m going to get all teachery here for a sec and focus on OBSERVABLE BEHAVIOR, as though I were an evaluator.

  • Every single student had his/her assignment in his/her hands without being prompted: a hand-drawn map of a typical Mexican town, showing names of buildings, i.e. Correo (P.O.) and Panaderia (bakery).
  • All students sat in a giant circle of chairs without desks. As soon as “el Profe” directed, each student turned to the one sitting adjacent and took turns conversing on the assigned topic: “Tell your partner the name of your town, and the size of its population.” “Tell your partner which building in your town is the most important, and why.”
  • From the moment the bell rang, I heard not a word of English.

Did I mention that this was a first-year Spanish class in a mid-sized public school with a free-and-reduced lunch student population of over 50%? And that this was not an Honors class? If you are not, like me, amazed not to have seen a single student try to worm his/her way out of this assignment, or drag his/her feet, or otherwise try to hijack the teacher’s attention onto anything but learning Spanish, well…let’s just say you haven’t been hanging around schools or teenagers as much as I have.

These kids were not only learning, they were having fun. They were proud of themselves. (I heard one kid, dressed in classic slacker mode, describe how in his town, “Robertlandia,” the most important building was the statue of himself in the center of the Plaza. But he said it all in Spanish!)

Turns out this miracle has a very real source: The Organic World Languages program, or OWL. Their website says, We believe in movement, 100% immersion and an emphasis on the importance of creating community in the classroom. This was very evident, as we all moved and switched partners twice during the 20 minutes I was there. (Of course El Profe didn’t let his visitors sit quietly on the sidelines–we got to participate! Turns out I can speak enough Spanish to converse with first-years, but only just.) So, we spoke. We laughed. And we learned.

If only I could go back to high school and start over!

Want to see what I mean? Here’s a short video from OWL that explains its history, emphasizes its effect on test scores, and shows its work in action:

So, I’d like to hear about your own experience with learning another language. Did you? Was it because of, or more despite, your school experience? (If you were raised bilingually, I’m totally jealous, but go ahead and brag.)

Paddling With Orcas: Why This Post Isn’t What You Think

If it sounds like bragging, I’m sorry; this is not my intention. But I’ve just checked something off my life list of hoped-for experiences: kayaking with orcas. 

If you’re expecting a polemic about whale-watching or the Marine Mammals Act, this is not that post either. I have strong feelings about whale harassment, but as someone who has, in the past, paid to follow whales in a motorized boat, I’m no one to cast stones.

What else is this post not? A travel brochure for the San Juan Islands. A reverie on the joys of career-switching. A love poem.

Actually, that last one? It kind of is.

Here’s what happened. The Mate and I just spent the night camping on San Juan Island, the “Big Island” of the San Juans (compared to our little Lopez, which is more potluck than sushi restaurant in culture). Being Wings, we got up early to go paddling.

Our boys will tell you that the family mantra is, “If we get up early, we might see a moose!” (They will also tell you that said moose, if seen at all, was just as likely to be seen, after our return from our early-morning hike, in the parking lot hanging out with those tourists who had slept in.)

But my point is, we were out on the water before 7:30. So we had the Salish Sea all to ourselves. Heading toward Lime Kiln Point on San Juan’s western shore, we knew we were in the home waters of the resident pods, but we tried not to get our hopes up. After all, it was a gorgeous morning. The sun made the flat water sparkle. Giant madronas leaned over the dark rocks high above us. As if cued by a Nat Geo director, an eagle dived for a fish. All this arrayed before a backdrop of white-draped Olympic mountains, in the company of each other. As the Passover service says, “Dayenu”–it would have been sufficient.

And then the orcas came. Or rather, we came to them, or we came together, just as I’ve always dreamed about.

(Orig. image courtesy Wikimedia)

(Orig. image courtesy Wikimedia)

OK, not exactly. In those dreams, the orcas surface next to my kayak and look me in the eye. But, seriously? Those critters are HUGE!!! I was just as happy to view them from a safe distance of 75 yards. Plus I could feel smug about following the rules and trying to stay out of their way, or, ahem, at least not paddling toward them.

We paddled in slow circles for a while, resisting the attempts of the current to sweep us past the pod, whose vigorous leaps and splashes spoke of breakfast, or happiness, or both.  Three? Five? Four! Oh my, the SIZE of that dorsal fin!! And when the pod–oh look, a BABY!!–headed north, we turned around and kept pace with them for the next twenty minutes, marveling over every shining curve of black and white, every blast of breath.

 

(Orig. image courtesy Wikimedia)

(Orig. image courtesy Wikimedia)

(Of course as soon as we got home, we called up our kids and reminded them that, if you get up early, you can see a moose. Or the marine equivalent.)

So what is this post about? Blessings. Gifts. From Nature, God, the gods–pick your word. It’s about feeling overwhelmed by beauty and power and plain old good fortune. It’s about being completely humbled by what happens when one of your dreams comes true.

Have you had a moment like this? Can you express it? Please, please share! 

And Still She Rises: Why Maya Angelou Stays With Us

Maya Angelou for Queen of America!

Never mind: she already is.

Forget the pedigree and riches. The voice, the bearing–there’s her majesty. Oh, and the life lessons she taught us about resilience, forgiveness, love. And all those beautiful, beautiful words.

I hope you will see and hear a lot of Dr. Angelou in the coming weeks. Here’s my offering (thanks YouTube)–not the most famous nor most dramatic declamation of her most famous poem, “And Still I Rise,” but one in which she gives a wonderfully humble, human introduction to the poem: the miracle that every day people go to sleep in pain and suffering, yet still get up in the morning.

Forget for a moment the Presidential Medal of Honor. Remember the fact that she wrote, for all school children to read, of her two years of muteness following childhood abuse. And that she spoke again, a poet.

Forget for a moment her disciple/adopted daughter, Oprah, who could make a pretty good claim to Queenship herself, with a commercial twist. Remember that Dr. Angelou lived humbly in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.

Forget the Poet Laureate title. Remember the laugh.

Or just listen:
http://

Do you have a favorite Maya Memory? (Man, I can’t believe we lost her and Pete Seeger in the same year.) Now’s the time to share.

What If We Had a Memorial Day For ALL Victims of War?

Here’s a thought: what if we had a Memorial Day to commemorate all those killed by war?

Not just soldiers. Civilians. Families. Kids. Grandmas.

Here’s another thought: how might it be possible to make such a suggestion, in our polarized times, without being accused of not supporting our military?

I don’t wish to take anything away from the sacrifice of our people in uniform. Their courage humbles me.

(image courtesy Wikimedia)

(image courtesy Wikimedia)

But there is no stronger spokesperson against war than those who’ve been in it. And I can’t help but think that those men and women would agree with me that the lack of space in our culture to mourn the innocent bystander is a huge, huge hole.

(courtesy Wikimedia)

(courtesy Wikimedia)

 

What if we filled that hole? An international day of mourning for all those NOT in uniform who still paid the ultimate price of war? What would that look like? 

What do you think?