Category Archives: Wing’s Words

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

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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!

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.

Do Bosom Buddies Require Bosoms?

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Lopez ferry dock

It took me a few months to meet folks when we first moved to Lopez Island, but a year later I looked around and found myself part of several groups. I have people to write with, people to meditate with, people to sing with, and people to hike & bike & paddle kayaks with. And that’s just here on this little isle. When I go back to visit my old life in “America” (what we Lopezians call the mainland), I have my old book group to catch up with, old neighbors to potluck with, old colleagues to meet for walks or tea.

And then there’s facebook and email. And my annual get-together with my three besties from high school.

Source: shanalogic.com via Gretchen on Pinterest

Interesting fact: 85% of these interactions are with other women. Yes, I make music with men, and share food and thoughtful silence with them. But when I make dates that involve TALKING? It’s all gals.

See, this is the kind of thing we gals need each other to discuss, right? (courtesy )

See, this is the kind of thing we gals need each other to discuss, right? (courtesy someecards.com, Pinterest)

This got me thinking of the importance of friends in my life, vs. my husband’s.  He has a handful of very close friends from as far back as college (which for him is pretty far back, since he’s a Boomer). None of them even live in Washington State. He stays in touch through sporadic email. Phonecalls? Maybe once a year. Visits? Hey, if we’re passing through…But, encouraging as he is of my annual Girlfriend Pilgrimage, he has no counterpart to that, and doesn’t seem to need one.

How typical is this? Are we women conditioned to need each other’s company, or do we condition ourselves? Perhaps we’re hard-wired that way? I’m sure there are tons of sociological studies on this, but I’m more interested in anecdotal responses.

Guys have buddies. Women have friends. Guys fish or hunt or play poker or build stuff together. Women talk. Is this a complete stereotype, or is there something to it?

Gals–does this hold true for you? Guys–what say you?

(I know–men don’t read blogs, so I’ll probably never know what you think. So, women–ask your guy friends/spouses/whatevers. Then get back to me.)

In my PROFESSIONAL Opinion, Holly’s Buns are Best

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When I left the teaching profession, I told folks I wasn’t retiring, I was just graduating. “Took me 20 years, but I finally get to walk across that stage!” Cue laughter.

Timken Roller Bearing Co., calendar, September 1950, teacher at desk

Old me (just kidding). Courtesy George Eastman House

New me.

New me.

But really, that is how I feel. Who retires at age 49 except Microsoft millionaires? Sure, I have a new “job” as a writer. But I’m backing that up, financially as well as socially, with my job at Holly B’s Bakery.

Everyone I talk to thinks baking is cool. Everyone shows awe and admiration at how early we bakers have to get up (3:45, for me–make that 3:15 in high summer when we get super busy). And everyone jokes about how hard I must have to work not to gain a million pounds from all those fresh, hot, crusty croissants and scones and…OK, I’ll stop.

Mmmm...breakfast.

Point is, they’re right: baking IS cool, getting up early IS hard, and yes, I exercise my buns off (Ha! Pun!) to stay gorgeous.

But lately The World’s Best Boss, Holly B, has an ample supply of bakers on her payroll and not enough counter people. So she’s put me on counter this month, selling all those yummy treats that my colleagues have risen early to bake.

Need I say more?

Need I say more?

So the conversation’s changed a bit:
“What do you do?”
“I work part-time at a bakery.”
“Oh, you’re a baker!”
“Well, these days I’m just working the front counter.”
“…”

Apparently retail–even in the world’s cutest bakery, the heart of our village–is not cool. More accurately, it is not “professional.” That is the (unspoken) message I get from people who knew me in my old life.  Selling muffins? That’s all you do? With a Masters in History and 20 years of teaching? Why…?

The long answer is, Because my boss needs me to, and I adore her, and feel I am more part of a team than merely an employee. Because even though there’s not much skill involved (besides addition, and I’m kind of embarrassed to say how often I reach for that calculator, especially towards the end of the day), I love people and miss interacting with them. Writing is lonely. And because, at the end of the day when I’ve mopped the floor, turned off the lights and locked up, I feel just as much pride in my work as when I tucked a dozen perfectly-twisted butterhorns into the oven.

IMG_0234

But more and more I feel inclined to give the short answer: Work is work. I don’t feel any less “professional” selling cinnamon rolls and asking folks how their day is going than I did grading essays. If you care about your job and give it your best attention, you are, in my opinion, a professional.

My esteemed colleague, DianaMy esteemed colleague Diana

I know some of you must have experience with this. Tell me about a time when you felt a huge gap between how YOU felt about your work, and the reactions of other people. How did you–or how do you–handle that? Let me hear!

Really? I get to sing for y’all? And you want to listen?

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This sure ain’t me–it’s Reilly & Maloney, about 5 years ago, celebrating 25 years of duets. But I get to sing this song with a friend tonight at a benefit concert!  We are raising money for the family of a young dad with bone cancer, and celebrating his life and their love at the same time. But I feel like the “benefit” is all mine, getting to make music like this.

Do you ever feel like that–you’re supposedly doing something for someone else, but it feels like you’re the one receiving the gift?  Tell me about it!

Why go out on a limb? ‘Cause that’s where the fruit is.

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Come play me, big girl… (courtesy Lisa Hall-Wilson, Flikr)

Not quite two years ago I started taking guitar lessons. Oh, I knew how to play guitar–with spectacular mediocrity. I’d picked up some chords during college like people do, and stuck with the “I just need to know enough to accompany myself singing” line for the next 30 years. Hey, there was always someone else who could cover that tricky B-minor so I could skip it, or play an instrumental if the song needed it.

But when I left teaching for a life of writing and working part-time in a bakery, I ran out of excuses not to learn more. I had time. My kids were in college. What the heck was I afraid of?

Nothing, turns out. I found myself a great teacher named Bill, who tailored his lessons to fit my needs. I started up the trunk of the tree. Steep, yes, and boy did I develop some calluses–but not exactly scary.

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Lots of limbs to go out on, right?

After seven or eight months, Bill suggested I try writing a song, as a way to get a feel for how chords go together. I protested, “Me? No way, I’m not one of those people who write SONGS.” Hey, those folks are special, gifted. Definitely not me.

But then Bill left town for a while, and I found myself taking his advice, “noodling” around with chords (one of my favorite guitar words), singing “oooh,” softly to myself. A haunting melody came to me, lots of A-minors and D-minors. A chorus suggested itself to fit the melody. On my long walks, I hashed out lyrics for verses. I was surprised how easily they found me.

When Bill came back, I told him, “Umm…I think I might have written a song.” When I played it for him, my cheeks must’ve been bright red. Didn’t help that the song was called “Passion.” Bill did me the favor of not watching me too closely while I played. But when I finished, he was impressed.

“You really have something here. But I think it needs a bridge.”

So I wrote a bridge. Even stuck in some B-minors to challenge my fingers. When Bill heard the whole thing, he announced he wanted to record it. That recording got sent around to various musical folks on the small island where I live. I heard nice things. The word “legit” especially stood out to me.

My musical Muse? (courtesy Maryann Rizzo, Pinterest)

That must have been what my Muse was waiting for.

I started writing more, and haven’t stopped. It’s been a year, and I now have 16 songs.

Writing those first lyrics and singing ’em for Bill, that was my first slide out on that limb. But that branch got REAL skinny when a promoter on the island got me to sing a bunch of my songs in a concert.

Never sung into a microphone before. Never had folks pay to hear me sing. Never sat out front of a group with the spotlight literally on me.

IMG_3100Passion

Good thing I remembered to paint those toenails!

Yup, I’m barefoot–know why? I started sweating so much out of nervousness, I decided to lose the boots at the last minute to give my body some relief. It worked; my barefoot self is much more relaxed. The more I sang, the easier it got. And at the end of the evening, I tasted that sweet, sweet fruit. I still do.

I’ll leave you with a clip of me and Chicken Biscuit (our band) singing my song, “Hard to Let Go”–’cause after all this build-up, you want to hear me sing, right?

But what I want to know is, What’s something that YOU’VE done that seemed incredibly risky, but paid off sweetly? Or, what’s something you wished you could make yourself do, or something you plan to do? What’s stopping you? Let me hear from you!

Hypocrisy of Champions

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Recently I was staying at a friend’s house in Florida, and she wanted to make me a Key Lime Pie before I left–“for that authentic Florida experience.” Hey, pie? Hook me up. Problem was, we were going to be out all day, and Key Lime pie has to chill a while after it bakes. So there wasn’t time to make one for dinner.

“No prob,” I said, “just make it tonight and we’ll eat it for breakfast.”

You’d have thought I’d suggested we all eat breakfast in the nude. “PIE for BREAKFAST??” “Are we ALLOWED?” Everyone eyed each other excitedly, like a bunch of young teens getting ready to joyride a car for the first time. Clearly, the idea was dangerous…and thrilling.

My question is, WHY? Where did this breakfast hypocrisy come from? Take the basic same ingredients as cake–flour, eggs, butter, milk–and fry them in a pan, then drench them in sugar syrup, and it’s perfectly acceptable: ah, good ol’ pancakes. Just like grandma used to make. But offer someone a piece of cake? “Oh, gosh, no, I can’t eat dessert for breakfast.” (Unspoken: There are RULES.) Example two: take chocolate batter, add chocolate chips, and pour it into a muffin tin–voila! Breakfast. Same ingredients in cake shape: oh, no no no no. Dessert.

I could go on and on. Don’t even get me started on sugar cereal with marshmallows. Or sticky buns. If you think of it, pie’s way healthier–at least it has some fruit! (OK, maybe not Key Lime so much, with its quarter cup of lime juice, but hey. You get the idea.) Other cultures, like the Japanese, with their fish and veggies, or Middle Easterners with veggies and yogurt, must think we’re insane.

I say, let’s look at this logically. If breakfast is the most important meal of the day, then quit with the sugar and have something truly nutritious, like spaghetti, as your wake-up meal. Mmm. Spaghetti. But if all bets are off and sugar’s the go-to morning perk-me-up, then let’s drop the hypocrisy. Have a cupcake. Put bacon on the side. Or a slice of Key Lime Pie.

And then go for a good, brisk 4-mile walk.

How ’bout you? Are you with me in the cause? What’s the most outrageous thing you’ve ever had for breakfast? What’s one popular breakfast food you don’t understand? Would you join me for a slice of pie at 7:30 am?

Climbing That Slippery Hill

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“Where has she been?” I imagine all my imaginary readers thinking. “It’s been nearly a month since the last post! Is Gretchen really gone for good this time?”

Nope. Gretchen’s been taking a class about blogging to try to get comfier with this new (to me) way of relating to people. And, by the way, traveling at the same time. Turns out an iPad is not the easiest tool to use in manipulating the components of a blog…at least for this woman.

So…I find myself mostly frustrated every time I try and fail to post something. Right now I’m using a real, grown-up-sized computer (my dad’s–yup, even at my age my daddy can still come to the rescue) so I’m able to write this. But I’ll be leaving here soon, and right back in the mud of frustration when I try to post again.

So, until I get a teensy bit more time to put my newly-learned posting skills to use before I leave my parents’ place, it may be another couple of weeks before I’m able to check in again.

Here’s a question to chew on until then: Do you like reading about other people’s frustrations with technology? Do you enjoy that sense of misery-loves-company? Or would you rather people like me just shut up if we can’t say anything nice? (Not promising I will if the answer’s yes, you understand…just curious!)

 

 

Bang-Bang Time

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My man Jon Stewart of The Daily Show pointed out the irony, but I bet a ton of other folks noticed it too: a news story showing a bunch of celebrities telling Congress how sad they are about the shooting in Connecticut in December, and how awful our gun culture is, and how it has to change…following IMMEDIATELY by an ad for a new action movie, tons of explosions everywhere , and then an actor says, “It’s bang-bang time.”

As the main character in my book The Flying Burgowski would say, “Irony = 1 part Ha- ha + 1 part Ouch.”

Is there anything to do about this, except point out the irony? And keep the conversation going?