Dumbledore to the Rescue!

Posted on June 15, 2013 by gretchenwing

It’s Grad Season.

Forgive me if I don’t get all choked up at the sound of Pomp & Circumstance. I am truly happy for everyone who has recently gone through or is about to go through this hallowed ceremony. For you it MEANS SOMETHING. For me, well…as a former teacher, let’s just say, including my own and those of family, I’ve probably sat through at least 35 graduation ceremonies in my time.

That’s at least 35 graduation speeches. Actually, more like 135, since every grad ceremony I’ve ever attended included AT LEAST three speeches.

So when my husband and I prepared to attend our older son’s graduation from college last weekend, I was looking forward to feeling proud, I was looking forward to having our far-flung family back together, and I was looking forward to the hugs and the post-grad dinner.

I was NOT looking forward to the speeches. This is what I expected:

“You’re special. But you’re not THAT special.” (courtesty Pinterest, sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net)

Instead, this is what we got: Dean Bruce Tiffany, of the U.C. Santa Barbara College of Creative Studies (bless its creative little heart), dressed up as Dumbledore to give his speech.

Having grabbed our attention, Dean Tiffany/Dumbledore then proceeded to give a speech saying the opposite of most grad speeches. Instead of “You are part of the blah blah blah generation, and your mandate is thus to blah blah blah,” he told our son and his classmates how none of them had ever existed before and never would again. Each was, indeed, special. And because it was a guy who dared to wear a wizard hat saying it–I believed him. This was the effect:

(courtesty Pinterest, sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net)

See, “quirky” is just another word for “individual.” As in, You ARE one. There has never been, and will never be, another You. I see you. I respect you. You ROCK.

And that got me thinking. What can I do in my life to “quirk up” something humdrum and make someone feel special as a result? My husband used to make “flower arrangements” out of pieces of fruit when our boys were little. My bakery colleague Diana makes people cards with their own faces cartooned. My other colleague Ty likes to make baguettes that look like sea snakes.

What about you? What do you do to “quirk up” boring old routines for people in your life? Share! I love hearing from y’all!

I Believe! Who Doesn’t Want to be a Garden Fairy?

Posted on June 11, 2013 by gretchenwing

Stephen Colbert, Got a New Word for Ya: Cutiful

Posted on June 7, 2013 by gretchenwing

bringin’ back that classic bandanna look

“Truthiness.” “Grippy.” Those are just two of my favorite Colbert coinings. The man has a talent for creating words that make us wonder how we ever got along without them.

Well, I have one of my own, Stephen: Cutiful. It describes my dog, Juniper. OK, here she is with our other dog, Molly, who just passed away three weeks ago.

Classic beauties, aren’t they? In fact, whenever we walked in public, “beautiful” was the adjective I heard most often. (“BIG!” and “furry” tied for second.)

But look closer. Where Molly maintains that dark, malamute beauty, under scrutiny Juni dissolves into a sea of CUTE:

Why is this? Is it something basic, like fluffiness?

: Fluffiness: Check.

Or is it something more sophisticated, like the ratio of eye size: face size? (OK, I admit I stole that idea from the late biologist Stephen J. Gould.)

(plus more fluff)

Or is it something else entirely? Something I’m missing? Help me figure this out! Give me your best explanation of what makes fluff-bucket Juniper “cutiful.” OR…give me your own favorite made-up word!

My Dad, the 82 Year-old Jailbird

Posted on June 4, 2013 by gretchenwing

Phone call from my sister two weeks ago:

Me: Well, hi, thanks for calling back! I just wanted to say Happy Birthday.
Sister: Yeah, well, thanks, but Mom wanted me to tell you Dad’s in jail.

But maybe I’m conveying the wrong message here. My dad was only in jail for about 7 hours. And he was quite happy to be there. And my mom and my sisters and I were all very proud of him.

Long story short: In North Carolina (my home state where I haven’t lived for 23 years), the NAACP has teamed up with some Triangle-area churches and concerned individuals to protest the state legislature’s passage of a whole raft of bills threatening public education and anti-poverty programs. I won’t go into details here, but this video should give you the general idea:

May 20 was the third “Moral Monday” that the protest group met to call fellow North Carolinians to “Wake Up.” The first Monday, 12 folks got themselves arrested for not leaving the legislature when the police said to. Second Monday–28 people. Then came the 20th: 57 people arrested, including my dad, proudly re-living his sit-in days from 50 years ago.

He got bailed out at 2 in the morning. All is well; he’s retired, so this “blemish” on his record can’t hurt his career. But this episode serves me as a reminder that for many, if not most, in history, standing up for what’s right has been a dangerous business. It’s easy to see civil disobedience through the lense of time as something noble, creating inevitable change–and easy to forget how terrifying, chaotic, and destructive such action could be for the participants and their families.

How about you? Do any particular examples of civil disobedience give you goose bumps? Tell me about it.

Thrift Shops: Havens of Ultimate Cool,Macklemore Says So

Posted on May 31, 2013 by gretchenwing

You know those license plate frames you see, “I’d Rather Be Shopping at Nordstrom’s”? I need one that says, “I’d Rather Be Doing Almost Anything Rather Than Shopping at Nordstrom’s, Except Maybe Shopping at Macy’s.” I’d need a really big license plate frame. But at least I’d be expressing my deepest self, and that’s what license plate frames are for, right?

Something about those giant department stores just creeps me out. All those piles of handbags and acres of makeup counter…they make me question my feminity. Just how strong is my ol’ X chromosome anyway, when I want to go screaming out of here just minutes after I wander in? And it’s not the canned music–heck, Nordstrom’s has a piano player! Or used to. It’s the size, the shininess, that feeling of being trapped inside a magazine. Let’s just say department stores were not built for women like me.

But thrift shops? They can make me double-park and run across traffic.

I LOVE thrift shops, especially for clothing, although I have a nice collection of thrifty dishes too. Now that I no longer have to wear professional work clothes, I’m slowly “laundering” my old wardrobe through our local thrift shop. Every time I make a new purchase, I make myself donate something. The rate I’m going, there should be nothing tailored left in my closet by November.

My proudest purchase, though, came in 1978, when I bought my wedding dress. Understand, though–I did not get married until 1987. I’m just thrifty…and lucky.

Juniors in high school, my friend Mimi and I were sifting through items at the Nearly New Shoppe in my hometown in North Carolina, when we found a box of unpriced clothing in the back of the store. Mim pulled out something in ivory satin that just kept coming…and coming…and…holy cow! A wedding gown with a 10-foot train. One LONG, uninterrupted swath of silky sheen. Leg-o’-mutton sleeves with satin-covered buttons. A heart-shaped neckline.

“How much for this dress?” I called to the woman up front.

Without looking up, she replied, “Oh, everything in that box back there’s a dollar.”

Mimi and I looked at each other. “Fifty cents each?” she proposed. For that price, we didn’t even bother to try it on.

During that school year I wore it to a costume party, and I’m pretty sure Mimi put it to a similar use. Otherwise it hung in my closet, or hers, occasionally brought out to brag on, but mostly forgotten. Until 1987.

I said Yes to the Dress

When I decided to use the dress for its Ultimate Purpose, I consulted with Mimi. OK if I had it altered a little, to get rid of some age stains and shorten up that crazy train? It was an outdoor wedding, after all, and we have some serious red clay in NC. Mimi was fine with it.

The alterations cost me $10. So, with the original purchase price, that came to $10.50. I’ve heard of people buying wedding dresses for “ten-fifty,” but there are usually more zeroes attached to that.

Can you tell how ridiculously proud of myself I am for that find? But it’s not just about the money.

There is something inspiring to me about wearing the clothes of some anonymous woman. So much to wonder about! Did she really get married in that dress? Is she happily married still, or did it end badly? Perhaps the wedding fell through, and she never even had the chance to wear that dress. Was she relieved? Heartbroken? Is she still alive?

And NOW, come to find out I’m completely trendy! Macklemore’s video “Thrift Shop” has language a little more raunchy than what I want to post here, but check out this video of teenagers watching it:

What about y’all? Any hard-core thrift shoppers out there? Tell us the coolest thing you ever scored.

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

Posted on May 29, 2013 by gretchenwing

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!!

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!

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.

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

Posted on May 21, 2013 by gretchenwing

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:

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?

Posted on May 16, 2013 by gretchenwing

The 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)

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

Posted on May 14, 2013 by gretchenwing

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…

Posted on May 12, 2013 by gretchenwing

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:

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

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.