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In Search of Truth and Beauty || Life is but a dream—Somewhere over the rainbow

BY JONI TAKANIKOS
November 18, 2015

Anyone who lives or visits Whidbey Island enters a magical realm, a pure realm. If you doubt this statement, and you are here on Whidbey right now, then go outside and take a deep breath of pure, sweet island air.

That is the proof of purity but what about the magic?

Step through the door to enter the quantum field. I encourage you to look at the properties of entanglement through the quantum lens. My everyday explanation is this: quantum entanglement shows that the universe is pure and all that arises from this field is a “matter” of consciousness. It is very probable that we do, to a very real extent, “create our reality.” Even our notion of time may be an illusion.

From the Beyond (photo by Gina Burja Simpson)

Our Whidbey universe has pure air and compassionate entanglements. We have many nonprofit organizations that are mostly, if not all, volunteer-run. Lynn Willeford, one of the owners of our great Langley movie house, The Clyde Theatre, has been a driving force behind many community non-profits here. One is Hearts and Hammers, http://www.heartsandhammers.com; another is Friends of Friends Medical Support Fund, http://www.fofmedicalsupportfund.org.

Lynn is at it again with a new organization that will soon be launched called South Whidbey at Home. It will help people who want to stay in their homes as they age. For more information and updates on South Whidbey at Home contact mailto:southwhidbeyathome@whidbey.com.

So in this field where we share the fruits of compassion and generosity, we are forever changed both individually and collectively. This heartfelt connection brings together a diverse group of people who share the commonality of envisioning a thriving community regardless of religious or political affiliations.

These organization and others like them serve as pollinators for our schools and our arts organizations and further inspire us as individuals from all arenas of life. We partake of the bucolic nature of our rural beauty alongside the vistas of great theatre, amazing literary and musical events and a vibrant visual arts scene. Many of our local artists create work that is seen, heard and read on a much larger scale than our magical realm.

Illumination (photo by Gina Burja Simpson)

These magic molecules are drifting across mountains, oceans and rivers. Many international artists, from all disciplines, choose Whidbey as a place to incubate new work, to teach and to be inspired and “entangled” in our field because here, in this pure and magical realm, “dreams really do come true.”

During the month of October I experienced the double happiness of collaborating with my fellow artists twice. We created two lovely shows at Ott and Murphy’s Wine Tasting Room and Cabaret Stage in downtown Langley. Both cabarets combined the forces of music and literature around these universal themes: “Blame it on the Moon”and “I Put a Spell on You.” The latter made for a spellbinding Hallow’s Eve.

Both cabarets had stages set by the magic hands of Julie Cunha, and the Cabaret Room at OM (as many of us call it) is modeled on the ambience of a Parisian cabaret and captures the atmosphere perfectly. The players involved in one or both of these dynamic evenings included David Ossman, Judith Walcutt, Eric Vanderbilt Matthews, Robert Marsanyi, Siri Bardarson, Patricia Duff, Stephen Roxborough, Natasha Nichols, Julie Cunha, Beverly Graham, Max Cole-Takanikos, Christine Tasseff, Nancy Nolan, Lucinda Herring and lucky me! I need to add that the audience is a finely tuned instrument of its own and during both cabarets the audience collaborated on a lovely poem of its own. Here we have quantum entanglement of the highest degree.

Following on the heels of our glorious Halloween cabaret, Whidbey Island Center for the Arts hosted the festival of Dia de los Muertos, featuring the life and work of Frida Kahlo. I have been a long-time admirer of Kahlo’s art and I find her writing to be quite passionate and beautiful. It was a gift for me to have the opportunity to share Kahlo’s words in such a lovely setting.

In Memory (photo by Gina Burja Simpson)

Zech Hall was dressed for the occasion and included a traditional offrenda, a Mexican altar, so that the attendees could bring their own offerings of remembrance. The tech wizards of WICA also created a slide show of Kahlo’s work so that the audience could be completely immersed in her world. I was joined by David Ossman, who read from a letter by artist Diego Rivera regarding the nature of art and Stephen Roxborough, a poet from Anacortes, who read a poem he wrote after the death of his father.

Coinciding with the WICA evening was the yearly event at Langley Woodman Cemetery to honor All Saints Day. The cemetery is open from early dusk through the evening and volunteers hand out luminaries that line the pathways and may be placed on the graves by friends and family. Many of the participants at Dia de los Muertos had spent the twilight at the cemetery before joining Frida and company at Zech Hall.

All Saints Day and Dia de los Muertos also coincide with the Celtic festival of the dead, Samhain. Samhain is considered to be the Celtic New Year, and because our seasons here in the Pacific Northwest share many of the same hues and temperatures of Ireland and its surrounds, we too can feel the turning of the year as we enter the dark cave of the coming winter. Some would even say we have some fairy folks living in the Whidbey woods.

In this particular field of heartfelt quantum entanglement, we are creating a time and space to celebrate diverse cultures through many fields. Last night I spent another light-filled evening at The Ott and Murphy Cabaret, this time listening to some fine jazz musicians giving us their unique and sensitive translations of the golden standards. The event was created by Kristi O’Donnell as an impromptu concert of gratitude. All of us who were listening to the fine music were grateful to have such a fine space to catch the shimmering notes wafting through the air.

Kristi, who plays her golden bass—Emmy—heartfully, was joined by Keith Bowers and Greg Beck, both magicians on their guitars and Roger Bennett, who was a mesmerist on his drums. Larry Shafer, a vocalist more than reminiscent of the great Bing Crosby, took his musical turns with the audience and brought many of us to tears. I was also invited to perform three songs with this talented quartet, so you see—dreams really do come true. Musicians of this caliber might be in NYC, Seattle or even farther afield, but last night they were right here on Whidbey Island, pouring inspiration and gratitude throughout the fields.

Dances With Angels (photo by Gina Burja Simpson)

Quantum entanglement is creating an environment that is conducive to art, compassion and boundless gratitude. I leave you with a few quotes from noted professors of physics as well as two spiritual leaders:

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“A fundamental conclusion of the new physics also acknowledges that the observer creates the reality. As observers, we are personally involved with the creation of our own reality. Physicists are being forced to admit that the universe is a ‘mental’ construction. Pioneering physicist Sir James Jeans wrote: ‘The stream of knowledge is heading toward a non-mechanical reality; the universe begins to look more like a great thought than like a great machine. Mind no longer appears to be an accidental intruder into the realm of matter; we ought rather hail it as the creator and governor of the realm of matter. Get over it, and accept the inarguable conclusion. The universe is immaterial-mental and spiritual.’” — R.C. Henry, Professor of Physics and Astronomy at Johns Hopkins University

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“I regard consciousness as fundamental. I regard matter as derivative from consciousness. We cannot get behind consciousness. Everything that we talk about, everything that we regard as existing, postulates consciousness.” — Max Planck, theoretical physicist who originated quantum theory, which won him the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1918

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“It was not possible to formulate the laws of quantum mechanics in a fully consistent way without reference to consciousness.” — Eugene Wigner, theoretical physicist and mathematician. He received a share of the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1963

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“We are what we think, all that we are arises with our thoughts, with our thoughts we make the world.” — Gautama Buddha

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“Broadly speaking, although there are some differences, I think Buddhist philosophy and Quantum Mechanics can shake hands on their view of the world. We can see in these great examples the fruits of human thinking. Regardless of the admiration we feel for these great thinkers, we should not lose sight of the fact that they were human beings just as we are.” —Dalai Lama

Joni Takanikos continues her love affair with Whidbey Island. She is grateful to play in these fields with all of you, quantum and otherwise. She teaches yoga at Half Moon Yoga Studio in Langley Village.

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CLICK HERE to read more WLM stories and blogs. Have a great story idea? Let us know at info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

November 17, 2015
Rock Bottom Line || What could be more frightening than Falling Back?

BY HARRY ANDERSON
Whidbey Life Magazine Contributor
November 18, 2015

Halloween’s come and gone, but I’m still scared half out of my wits. It was bad enough to be confronted by all manner of vampires, goblins, witches and Caitlyn Jenner look-alikes at those parties on Oct. 31. But the real horror began after midnight—at 2 a.m. on Nov. 1, to be exact.

That marked the annual “fall back” to Standard Time. Until then, it had been getting dark around 6:30 p.m., but that Sunday afternoon it started getting dark at 5:30 p.m. And, in about a month, it will be pitch black not much later than 4:30 p.m. That can be terrifying everywhere, but much more so here on the Rock.

Why is it worse on Whidbey? Three words: Driving after dark. Ask anyone who drives down Saratoga Road to Langley at night. Or Maxwelton Road. Or West Beach Road. Or Jones Road, east of Hwy. 20, north of Dugualla Bay. Or Lone Lake Road or Goss Lake Road.

Or even our beloved, if spooky, Hwy. 525/20.

When I lived in big cities like Los Angeles and Dallas, driving after dark was no big deal. Lots of big mercury vapor lamps all over the place made it bright as day pretty much everywhere. But as soon as I moved to Whidbey, I starting hearing people say, “Oh my no, I never drive after dark. It scares me to death!” Of course, like any newcomer, I thought they were all a bunch of wimps. Who’s afraid of the dark? Grow up, people!

But in relatively short order, I learned why it is that so many people here make dinner reservations at 5:30 and prefer afternoon matinees at The Clyde. Yikes! It gets really dark! And the few road lamps you see along our country byways seem to have 25-watt bulbs in them.

And can we talk about high-beam headlights? Everybody on this Rock is so small-town polite and civil when you meet them at the market or on a hike. So careful not to offend. But why is it that some of us become rude, inconsiderate Big City jerks when it comes to high beams?

The other night I was heading south on the curve by the Navy’s Outlying Field near Coupeville. First, I was blinded in my rearview mirror by a set of those LED lamps that surround headlights on some new cars. I thought I was being pursued by a warlock from Hogwarts. Fortunately, the warlock turned left on Welcher Road, an area notorious for witchcraft.

But then I was caught in the oncoming glare of some high beams so intense that I thought I was having a Close Encounter of the Third Kind and was about to be abducted by aliens. I gritted my teeth and let out a progressive’s howl at what I assumed was a big tractor-trailer driven by some thoughtless off-island Teamster on his way to deliver a bunch of stuff made in China to some big-box store in Oak Harbor.

Imagine my chagrin when I saw that the giant coming at me in the other lane was actually a Prius driven by an elderly woman. I thought high beams were illegal on a Prius. Don’t they violate that whole hybrid, use-less-energy, greener-than-thou narrative?

That experience left me simmering with very unkind, very un-Whidbey thoughts. I knew I had to change how I live. Want to meet at Prima Bistro for dinner? Let’s make it 5:30. I’ll call for a reservation!

Once upon a time, Harry Anderson made an honest living as a reporter, editor and columnist at the Los Angeles Times. He now lives in central Whidbey, where he spends his time gardening and ruminating on things that interest him.

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CLICK HERE to read more WLM stories and blogs. Have a great story idea? Let us know at info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

November 15, 2015
MAGICALLY REAL || Saturday twice, fresh air and a glass of water

BY STEPHANIE BARBÉ HAMMER
November 11, 2015

Friends – it’s official. I just did some time traveling.

I’m serious. I went back in time this past Saturday, and lived the same day twice.

The first time I experienced last Saturday, my husband and I walked through snow flurries in an ancient neighborhood in Beijing. On our last day in China, we gratefully drank the bottled water in our hotel room and then walked down the many uneven steps to the lobby.

We roamed the slick narrow street, dodging cars and bicycles until we came to one of the few remaining hutongs, a walled compound in this city-within-a-city that has been—at different moments—a private house, a school, a dormitory for actors and a museum. The hutong is an incredible structure; these walled compounds formed the architectural framework of Beijing. Marco Polo saw them, and commented on the splendid organization of the city when he finally made it to China many centuries ago.

The courtyard at the hutong museum in Beijing (photo by the author)

We were grateful for the snow in which we walked, despite our concerns about flying out later that day. Why were we so happy about feeling frozen, and possibly delayed in our departure? Because everything you’ve heard about pollution in urban China is true. We saw people wearing masks to help them breathe and we coughed intermittently when we were outside. I took allergy meds to help me cope with the smog and my husband, Larry, who is tougher than me, noticed that his lungs felt heavy.

After looking at the hutong’s museum, we took a taxi to the airport, got on the plane and arrived in Vancouver on that same Saturday. In fact we arrived, several hours before we had departed on that same day.

Larry and I decided to push for home although we were tired. I was so exhausted I actually slept through the Deception Pass Bridge crossing, although this is one of my favorite sights on Whidbey.

But we didn’t sleep well that night. Living the same day twice exacts its price. Your body doesn’t know what the heck time it is.

My body got up at around 3:45 a.m. on Sunday and I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. But I didn’t drink it right away.

In China, the water from faucets is not potable. Everyone needs to boil their water first. I had to remind myself that I could drink the water straight from the tap.

I looked at the glass and thought about how incredibly important clean drinking water is. Then I drank it. It was delicious.

Later, I slid open the sliding doors, walked outside and waited for the sun to rise.

I inhaled deeply.

Sunrise from our backyard in Coupeville (photo by the author)

Here on Whidbey we have made important, good decisions about slow growth development and the protection of our natural resources. I don’t think about this much, until I leave the island and see what kind of shape the rest of the world is in. Yes, on Whidbey we are overrun with deer. But that’s the extent of our over-population problem. Otherwise, most of us Whidbeyites are in pretty good shape, comparatively speaking. We value the beauty of our natural environment, and the rest of the country and our world could learn a thing or two from us, it seems to me.

But I also want to share that China has a quality that is very much worth emulating. All the people we met, or saw, seemed to have a true understanding of what it means to be hospitable. You see, the Chinese people are the most hospitable people we have ever met. People welcomed us, asked us where we were from, and welcomed us some more. At the hutong museum, two young guys asked us if we liked the West Coast, and ran back into their store in order to present us with two bags of candies and some playing cards with photos of the hutong on them. They said they hoped we’d come back.

Here on Whidbey, and in America as well, we could learn to be more welcoming of strangers.

I’m going to work on that one personally.

But first I’m going to have another glass of water.

Stephanie Barbé Hammer’s debut novel, “The Puppet Turners of Narrow Interior,” was published by Urban Farmhouse Press this year. She is also a published poet and she authors scholarly studies and creative writing books. A University of California professor emerita, she teaches at writers’ conferences and associations, dividing her time between Coupeville and Los Angeles. Read more about her work at http://www.stephaniebarbehammer.net.

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CLICK HERE to read more WLM stories and blogs. Have a great story idea? Let us know at info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

November 11, 2015
Minding the Sky || ‘X’ Marks the Spot

BY JUDITH WALCUTT
November 4, 2015

X marks the spot where I stand now. How different it feels from where I stood then, in the in-between room of sitting in the waiting room and waiting in the sitting room. I was perusing an old Territory Ahead catalogue in order to, ironically, metaphorically, avoid thinking about the real territory ahead, if X was Y instead of Y being X—if, then, being the operative term.

X Marks the Spot Sky (photo by the author)

Meanwhile, my husband was in a room I never saw the inside of, having angioplasty for the 99% occluded artery discovered as the cause of the heart attack he had had earlier that evening. Or was it already the next day? In the middle of the night, it’s hard to know the time exactly, unless you are watching the clock, which I was trying not to do.

What they say about medical emergencies like heart attacks and strokes is that time is everything—how soon the event, relative to how soon ministrations begin–determining extent of damage and chances of recovery, with under ninety minutes being optimal.

After a lovely meal he had sweetly made for us, followed by a romantic comedy DVD during which we laughed, held hands, and felt romantic, David experienced the classic symptoms of a heart attack—a shooting pain down his left arm, shortness of breath, pain radiating up his neck and into his jaw, while turning grey in the face and breaking out in a flood of cold sweat, like a literal bucket of water had been poured over his head.

If this happens to you, do what we did—call 911 immediately. I called them, they answered, and in a calm voice told me exactly what to do to help him until the EMT arrived.

Five minutes later, those angels of the night–six of them from three different locations–converged in our driveway, which is not an easy feat to do. It is narrow and steep and hard to find in the dark and once found, our house is still sort of invisible at the foot of the hill. But they did find us—swooped in, their wings tucked into their parkas. They did an EKG in our bedroom and saw the “stemi”—that’s what they called it—a “STEMI” which is the heart event indicated by the spike on the graph. In some moment between finding the baby aspirin and getting some clothes on us that we could travel in, I had to get the cat, put him in a closed room, then open the door for the team to come in, while I stayed with my husband. This all happened very fast and very slowly, too.

They walked him out to the ambulance to save time—shaving minutes off the departure for the ferry to the other side, where the cardio unit at Providence was already prepping for him, aware he was on his way. Before they loaded him onto the stretcher and into the ambulance, we looked at each other, hard, spoke the word love with our eyes, and together we remembered a Buddhist chant we’ve said alone and together, when things were suddenly hard or obstacles abounded, or we just needed the comfort of the music of the syllables to lift us up, or sooth us down—prayer, one kind or another, has power we cannot measure, but only observe the effects for ourselves.

As we sped toward the ferry, we rode a flying magic carpet of flashing lights and the sound of the occasional blare of the siren, to warn the intersections we were coming or to urge sleepy drivers to the side, opening the road, removing all obstacles to the ferry boat, which waited for us and then went double time to get across in half the time.

Everyone was so calm. The driver, the attending EMT technician, a clear, direct-speaking, highly capable woman named Tiffany took another EKG as we arrived at the ferry dock. She was more than a bit surprised to see that the spike in the graph had receded to a considerably more normal looking wave. She was almost confused by it—thought maybe she should call the doctor again, this had never happened to her before, maybe this wasn’t a heart attack, maybe a wire was loose on his chest or something… I heard my husband in a soft voice say—“I’m chanting…I’m meditating…I’m pulling myself together.”

“Whatever you’re doing,” she responded, in her hearty way, “keep doing it!”

He did and in what amounted to approximately an hour from the 911 call through admission into the hospital, he was on his way to surgery. X marked the spot where I kissed his forehead before he vanished into the room they call “The Cath Lab.”

Strange Sky-hiding Sky (photo by the author)

Fortunately I had remembered to bring my phone and let the cat out of the guest room before I left our house. I was able to call my friend Joni to tell her what was up and she called our mutual friend Gina. The two of them caught the 12:30 boat and found me—as I had been, studying the Territory Ahead mailer—without really seeing it. The three of us ate pretzels dispensed from a machine and just waited. I can’t remember what we talked about. I just knew that the two of them, angels in their own right, with the combined forces of their love and courage, were helping me hold the spot, the x-marked spot, where life prevails, and death passes by.

After the procedure was done—a catheter that climbed up into his heart from the artery in his thigh and miraculously released the tiny spring of netting, the stent, which reopened the occluded artery—the attending cardiologist gave me a diagram of the heart and, marking the spot with her pen, she showed me where the blockage had been. When we speak of the miracle of modern medicine, this is high on the list. Life or death—X marked the spot where the difference was made.

Sky with Window (photo by the author)

The mystery of death, how it comes and goes all around us every day, we acknowledge this time of year—with the Day of the Dead, remembering and honoring our beloveds on the other side of where we can and cannot see. We hear their voices in our inner ears, hear their laughter in a crowd and look to see where they might be—just over there, behind the layers of the opaque suchness we cannot get past, except at certain times of day, when the clouds frame a window in the sky and reveal the view behind what my mother called heaven’s sheep going home for the night—the sky masked in all its dappled glory.

In this transition time, when the leaves drip their colors to the ground and deer are splayed on the side of the road, having made a mad dash in the dark to get to the other side, the real other side, not that of the road, but of life, we witness evidence of the thinning veils, so easy to slip through and vanish from this world. What brings us back, what holds us here—let X mark the spot—is the buried treasure in such ordinary things as that enormous, pearly-pink, full October moon just past, so big it might have burst, or the slate-blue sheep roaming across the gloaming sky and the hand of the beloved pointing them out.

Sky sheep going home (photo by the author)

Judith Walcutt is a writer living on Whidbey Island with her husband and true love, David Ossman. This Halloween they went as a Pirate Queen and an Uncivil Civil Servant, happy to be alive and performing at their favorite Cabaret venue, Ott & Murphy’s Wine Tasting Room in Langley, Washington.

Pirate Queen and the Uncivil Civil Servant at Ott & Murphy (photo courtesy of the author)

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CLICK HERE to read more WLM stories and blogs. Have a great story idea? Let us know at info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

November 3, 2015
The Not-So-New Kid on the Block || For the Love of a Dog

BY LES McCARTHY
October 28, 2015

One of the 287 (or so) varieties of apples (photo by LouiseFiori)

I was going to write this week’s blog on the 287 (or so) varieties of apples that hang in crimson and gold splendor from the gnarled trees up and down our apple-laden island. But then I got sucked into the “All Things Pumpkin” train of thought—from picking pumpkins at Sherman’s Pioneer Farm (go there—they have a fabulous array of pumpkins and squashes!) to making a game out of how many Pumpkin Spice Latte (PSL) items I could find and take photos of at the grocery stores. I’m pretty sure there was even a PSL deodorant! Ridiculous at best!

But then my Lab, Moby, had a series of seizures and, 24 hours after thinking all things apples and pumpkins, I was saying good-bye to my wonderful friend who was just shy of 15 years.

What is the saying? What a difference a day makes? So true.

And being on an island that is so dog-friendly and dog-loving and dog-robust, I felt compelled to write a little something about dear old Mobes.

“Mobes” and Lambchop (photo courtesy of the author)

She came into our lives, as most rescues do, unexpectedly. We were living in Colorado at the time and I saw an ad for a female, white Field Lab in the newspaper. I must have been the first to call about her and I was also the last. I asked her owner why he was selling her and he told me he was “done” with her. She had given him 30 babies and he wanted a younger bitch. We were on our way to the mountains before he hung up the phone.

My husband, Tim, wasn’t too thrilled about the prospect of adding another animal to our menagerie but before we headed back home with the dog in the van, their love-affair had already begun. They were two lovebirds…they frolicked, they played, they napped—it was almost nauseating! Tim would practically make out with the dog when he came home from work, well before he ever said “hi” to ME! Was I jealous? Oh, maybe a tad!

Her name was Silver Snow—one that definitely needed to be changed because I couldn’t envision myself yelling out the back door: “Silver Snow—dinner!” So, we began to think of a new name for her. A week later, I came home from somewhere and…no dog. Frantic, I searched the house and—fearing she may have jumped the fence—I went out back. That’s where I found her…in the pond, submerged chin deep, tail thumping wildly on the rocks, goldfish marooned on her back. All the while she was making soft woo-wooing noises (not too unlike a whale).

So, she became Moby—our great white whale. It was either that or Esther Williams, and Moby just seemed to fit!

That next year held many firsts for her. I brought home a super tiny pug puppy (I’m sure Mobes was thinking “Not another one!”), which she cuddled and mothered as her own. Prior to our home, Mobes had been confined to a chicken-wire enclosure; with us, she learned how to walk on grass and carpeting, go up and down stairs and take up most of the room in our bed.

She also learned how to collect household items (like the king-sized comforter) and somehow get them through the dog door. All the stuffed animals in our house ended up in the backyard in a circle, looking like they were having a picnic. Her crowning achievement was finally learning how to “counter surf” and subsequently eating a loaf of bread (plastic bag and all), a thawing brisket, and 57 of the 120 decorated hand-made dog biscuits I’d made for my contribution to a local charity—all in one week.

At the end of that first year, it was clear Mobes and Tim were soul-mates; a more devoted pair would have been hard to find. And it was at that time that Tim’s cancer was diagnosed. He lasted 148 days and the entire time Mobes was glued to his side. One late night in June, a month before he passed, I was having a hard time getting Mobes to come outside with me. She was lying on the floor next to Tim’s side of the bed and something in her demeanor made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Dogs know things that we humans don’t and I thought her behavior was telling me he was dying. (He was, but that night was not the night.)

I was uneasy but finally got her to come outside with me where I laid on the chaise lounge under the stars with a full moon shining through the maple leaves. It was a beautiful, uncharacteristically balmy night, and to this day I can still hear the soft swish-rustle of those leaves. It was then that Mobes climbed on top of me and gave me a very large dog hug. I think she was telling me that while she was Tim’s dog and was devoted to him, she’d take care of me and love me, too, after he was gone. We laid like that for a long time—chin to chin—me crying my eyes out and her licking the tears from my neck.

It’s just so hard—being a dog… (photo courtesy of the author)

That was over nine years ago. We went through a lot over the past years. She was my ever companion, popcorn sharer, travel buddy and dog sweetheart. If you’re a pet-person you know that my heart is broken. If you’re not—you may never understand the depth of this type of loss. But it’s real and painful.

Those of us who know what it’s all about know that we will lose another forever-friend at some point in our lives but we would welcome it all over again—for the love of a dog.

Les McCarthy is an author, entrepreneur and IPPY bronze medalist for her yearly “Healthy Living ~ Healthy Life: 365 Days of Nutrition & Health for the Family” calendars. She’s been a year on the island and in the NW and loves every gorgeous bit of it (especially the rain and fog). She joyfully tends to her geriatric fur factory and is rethinking her stand on how cute the snails and slugs are!

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CLICK HERE to read more WLM stories and blogs. Have a great story idea? Let us know at info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

October 28, 2015
Sue the Screenwriter || And the Winner is… My Academy Adventure

BY SUZANNE KELMAN
October 28, 2015

It’s a pretty exciting day when you get a call from the Academy of Motion Pictures.

And I was knee-deep in planting bulbs in the garden when it happened. I stood there in my black fleece and my red polka dot wellies, a plant tray in one hand and the Academy in the other. Well, not the whole Academy because they wouldn’t fit. But Greg Beal was on the phone. He runs the most prestigious screenwriting competition in Hollywood and he had called me personally to inform me our script had now reached the top ten.

It’s the Academy on the phone… (photo by the author!)

As I continued to talk with him in my professional voice, my son joined me in the garden and mouthed the words at me “what’s for lunch” and my dog suddenly bolted off across the property, barking after a deer that was feeding on windfall apples. Just a normal day for me, I thought, as I chased after her, with a sentence that started: “yes, you can have the Academy publicist contact me on this number” and ended with “Macaroni Cheese, and no, you don’t chase the deer.” As I scooped up the puppy under my arm and hung up the phone, I mused the finer points of bios, press releases and red tulips and was struck by how bizarre my life can be.

But as my thoughts spanned my two drifting worlds I couldn’t help but be so grateful. I get to do the things I most love in the world: be a normal mom, animal wrangler, chicken feeder, garden digger, dog chaser and, also, throw on an “off-island” outfit and create slick bio shots, write incredible stories and swank off down to Hollywood. It can be a little odd and disconcerting, but mostly an enjoyable experience.

I think so many of us who live on the rock probably experience something similar. With the far-reaching opportunities of the interweb we can live our cottage and farm lives with llamas, dogs and chickens while at the same time our professional lives move around the world electronically dressed in their pinstriped suits. I feel very grateful because I get to live exactly where I want to live, (I’m not a fan of L.A.) and still create the stories I want to for the screen. What an amazing time we live in.

Oscar, Oscar… (photo by the author)

“Don’t let it change you,” a conscientious person warned me, on hearing the news that the script “Held” that I’d written with Susannah Rose Woods had made it through the cut of 7,500 other scripts. “Change me into what?” I asked; I already have everything I ever wanted in life, so where would I go? If my Hollywood career stopped tomorrow, I have already had enough adventures to keep my grandchildren entertained for hours, so I’m going to kick up my heels and enjoy every moment of it until someone discovers who I really am and throws me out of The Golden State right on my rural ear.

Next week I will kick off my wellies, pull leaves out of my hair and travel down to LA-LA land to attend the Academy Awards Ceremony for the Nicholl Fellowship. I am traveling down with my good friend Eric Mulholland. It is only fitting he attends with me; as you may remember from a past post, I forgot his name at the first award ceremony I attended and won. Not forgot to mention him, just forgot his name completely. It was very embarrassing, forgetting my friend of seven years who had journeyed to LA especially with me to pick up the award, as I conveniently remembered the name of his friend who I’d met an hour before!

So now I have my friend’s name tattooed on my brain just in case.

Suzanne Kelman and Susannah Rose Woods are finalists for the 2015 Academy Nicholl Fellowships (photo by the author)

I’m pretty excited to be placed in the top ten, which is a huge honor. They even sent me an awesome plaque, which has pride of place on my wall.

Cheryl Boone Isaacs, left, and Robin Swicord, right (photo courtesy of the author)

And this is not just because it reminds me of what is possible while living on an Island in Washington. The plaque is signed by two incredible women: Cheryl Boone Isaacs, the first female African-American President of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts Sciences, and also Robin Swicord, who is my mentor and inspiration. She is the Chair of the Academy Nicholl Fellowships committee and also the screenwriter of two of my favorite films ever, “Memoirs of a Geisha” and “Little Women.”

As I board the plane I will take the heart of this community with me as—even though I know how to play professional screenwriter—I’m also just a mum in red polka dot wellies who gets to live in the best place on earth.

Suzanne Kelman is a screenwriter and author of “The Rejected Writers Book Club.” Her writing voice has been described as a perfect blend of Janet Evanovich and Debbie Macomber. Some of her accolades include best comedy feature screenplay at the 2011 LA International Film Festival, a Gold Award at the 2012 CA Film Awards and a Van Gogh Award at the 2012 Amsterdam Film Festival. She can also sing Puff the Magic Dragon backwards! You can learn more about her on imDb. Image at top by Kim Tinuviel

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CLICK HERE to read more WLM stories and blogs. Have a great story idea? Let us know at info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

October 28, 2015
What? A New WLM Blogger?

Oct. 21, 2015

This location is where our weekly blog normally appears, but someone forgot to schedule one (yes, that “someone” is me). Well, it turns out that this is fortuitous, because it gives me a chance to tell you a little about our WLM blogging team.

We’ve got ten active bloggers for WLM—all fine folks and writers—locals who pull something poetic, humorous, thought provoking and inspiring out of their creative heads for WLM every week. Each blog is as unique as the writer; the view of the world shared in each blog can be as personal as it is profound.

If you’re not reading these entries every week, you’re missing a tasty slice of some of the best Whidbey-writing-pie.

So no, I am not joining our bloggers; this would put too great a strain on our editors. Please enjoy our actual bloggers, here they are—with links to their pages of blogs. You can bookmark these pages, look for the new blogs in our weekly FLASH and take time to read our writers’ previous blogs.

Oh, and hey, did I mention the new print magazines are here?

Sue Taves

HARRY ANDERSON writes the Rock Bottom Line. Once upon a time, Harry made an honest living as a reporter, editor and columnist at the Los Angeles Times. He now lives in Central Whidbey, where he spends his time gardening and ruminating on things that interest him.

SIRI BARDARSON, a Northwest native, is a writer with an emotional hotline to the vibrant natural beauty of Puget Sound. When not writing in her blog, Sirithiri, about the importance of the wild blackberry, daisies and natural time, she practices her cello a lot and sings at the same time. She loves her Whidbey Island home. Learn more about Siri on her website: www.siribardarson.com.

ANNE BELOV (Pigment, Perspectives, and Pandas) blogs about visual art and how it influences her view of the world. She is also the mistress of all-things-panda satire via her blog, The Panda Chronicles. When not chained to her easel or drawing table, you can find her contemplating the mysteries of life in her garden or…um…watching panda videos. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it. www.yourbrainonpandas.com.

VICKY BROWN writes as The Chief Milkmaid at the Little Brown Farm, a micro dairy on the south end of Whidbey. She is a dairy farmer, cheesemaker, accountant, small business guru and farming advocate. In her spare time she writes and takes photos. Vicky puts her passions on the page, writing about food, agriculture and the tender web of community. Check out what’s growing on at the farm: www.littlebrownfarm.com.

ERIK CHRISTENSEN writes the Play That Song Again blog about writing, singing, playing and listening to all things musical. He teaches at Oak Harbor High School, writes songs and poetry, and roots for any team playing against the Yankees. Influences include Raymond Carver, Elvis Costello, strong coffee, foggy mornings, W.B. Yeats and long road trips.

STEPHANIE BARBÉ HAMMER (Magically Real) has published short fiction, non-fiction and poetry as well as authoring scholarly studies and creative writing books. A University of California professor emerita, she teaches at writers conferences and associations, dividing her time between Coupeville and Los Angeles. See her work at www.stephaniebarbehammer.net.

SUZANNE KELMAN is the author of “The Rejected Writers Book Club” and her writing voice has been described as a perfect blend of Janet Evanovich and Debbie Macomber. She is a screenwriter and blogs about her experiences as Sue the Screenwriter. Some of her accolades include Best Comedy Feature Screenplay at the 2011 LA International Film Festival, a Gold Award at the 2012 CA Film Awards and a Van Gogh Award at the 2012 Amsterdam Film Festival. She can also sing Puff the Magic Dragon backwards! You can learn more about her on IMDb.

LES MCCARTHY is now the Not so New Kid on the Block with about a year of island living under her belt. She is an author and publisher, dabbles in magazine writing and ad sales, and is an Independent Publishers Book Awards (IPPY) bronze medalist. She joyfully tends to her geriatric fur factory, her dog business and her garden–and still gets a kick out of the local slugs. Catch her at www.pathfinderpub.com.

JONI TAKANIKOS writes In Search of Truth and Beauty. She has resided on Whidbey Island for 22 years and has lived lifetimes in this beautiful environment. She currently teaches yoga at Half Moon Yoga Studio in Langley. Joni is a writer, singer and performer with a lifetime project of “dreaming a better dream” for all beings.

JUDITH WALCUTT is an award-winning writer, producer, and director for public radio, TV and stage. She has lived on Whidbey Island since 1988 with her husband and creative collaborator, David Ossman. Together they raised two boys, Orson and Preston, who have since flown the coop. In her blog, Minding the Sky, Judith reflects on the ordinary details of life from a gently philosophical point of view. In the summer months, she can be found gleaning fruit, making jam of a one taste/many flavors variety and writing down the ever-changing recipe.

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CLICK HERE to read more WLM stories and blogs. Have a great story idea? Let us know at info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

October 21, 2015
Sirithiri || Big Fat Raindrops That Fall Up

BY SIRI BARDARSON
October 14, 2015

Did you get caught in that weird weather the other day? I did.

It was a classic fall day in the Pacific Northwest—too warm to wear a sweater but a storm raged outside, a true Pineapple Express stuffed full of warm, wet air that spun huge confections of steel gray clouds. The wind was crazy, coming from every direction and buffeting the falling rain as it blew holes in the heavy cloud cover to let the sun shine in.

I was about to step into my car when I saw the large raindrops that looked like escaped balls of mercury pushed by the wind and scattered every which way like a big break on Mother Nature’s pool table. All bets were off, mass, gravity temporarily out of play while the big fat raindrops fell up. They glinted and sparked with sun. It was amazing.

This describes a recent experience, a big shift where so many things seem possible, like rain and sun at the same time. This phenomenon I experienced happened because I had the amazing good fortune to solo on my cello during Djangofest.

You need to understand that playing a solo, (let me define a solo as a big romp in your musical heart, brain and physical self that takes a brilliant idea and messes with it), is not a part of a classical upbringing, nor is it really the bailiwick of women in popular music. Of course there are terrific exceptions anymore—Esperanza Spaulding, Regina Carter, Orianthi, who plays guitar and blows them away every year at Crossroads. But classical training is incredibly compartmentalized.

As many times as I have played a scale or a more involved cello piece or orchestra music and moved up or down the neck of my cello, I have never felt the relationship to other notes in the environment. It is a kind of playing that is maddeningly myopic, like being a ballerina when you really want to improvise tap dance on a street corner.

I was offered a chance to play during DjangoFest at a side event (I hope you enjoyed this year’s many concerts and workshops) with a group of women organized by Kristi O’Donnell. At first, I thought it was going to be a jam (djam), just a bunch of us getting together but it ended up being a trio with Kristi on bass, Irene Ypenburg from the Netherlands on guitar and me on cello. This put me in the crazy role of doing the solos.

The amazing part was not the quality of my solos; they weren’t virtuoso in any way, but it was what I “saw,” for lack of a better word. It was a synthesis of all the years of cello lessons, orchestra music, guitar playing, my recent duo time with an outstanding guitarist, plus incredible amounts of quality listening. In this cathartic moment, I saw that playing the solos meshes with the way my brain works.

Who knew? I have only experienced this once before when I was seven and I discovered how good I was at swimming underwater. I felt like a fish. I really felt like a fish, I could hold my breath forever, I didn’t mind the cold, the shadowy deep or saltwater in my eyes.

It was a thrill, something that matched my abilities and my insides, my process and my longing.

I had a boyfriend once who used to remind me that we don’t know what we don’t know. I’ll say. Maybe it was the mix up of events, big background but lousy confidence, some kind of understanding without an environment in which to understand plus some serious letting go, less control and caring but not caring.

I encourage everyone to press on; I intend to. On to that place that we don’t even know exists or where it might be if we suspected we knew. The place where there are big fat raindrops that fall up.

A Northwest native, Siri Bardarson is a writer with an emotional hotline to the vibrant natural beauty of Puget Sound. When not writing about the importance of the wild blackberry, daisies and natural time, she practices her cello a lot and sings at the same time. She loves her Whidbey Island home. You can visit Siri at www.siribardarson.com.

Sketches are by Siri.

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WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

October 14, 2015
Pigment, Perspectives and Pandas || We’re Gonna Have a Resolution

BY ANNE BELOV
October 7, 2015

Is it a bad thing to admit that I was just reminded that I had a post due and that it was due…um…tonight? Do I need to make some Fall Resolutions to recommit to my previously organized ways?

Does it look like I’m organized? (photo by Anne Belov)

Maybe it’s wrong to admit this here, and maybe it isn’t, but one of the current facts of my life is that it is cut up into about 600 Little. Tiny. Pieces. I think it’s safe to say that many people are in the same predicament, so maybe flopping the elephant in the room into the middle of the dining room table is a good thing.

The facts are as follows:

1. My aging mother needed to be moved permanently into a nursing home all the way across the country, due to a fall and a broken leg. This included a whirlwind eight-day trip to the east coast to effect the move, sorting and disposing of decades worth of possessions.

2. I have both a new (to me—huzzah) gallery that wants to show my fine art work, as well as my faithful island representative, The Rob Schouten Gallery, for whom to create, prepare, and deliver work (in a timely manner and with all documentation in order.)

3. I need to finish compiling the cartoons for my anxiously awaited (by my six fans) new Panda Chronicles collection, “We R Endangered,” as well as do all the formatting, proofing and a bunch of other things that I haven’t quite gotten to yet. Not to mention, keeping my weekly posts of new cartoons done on schedule.

We are endangered! (cover illustration by Anne Belov

4. Two different groups of dear friends came to visit the island in September, and of course I wanted to visit with them and play Island Tour Guide, because it’s fun to see the place you live through new eyes, and plus, FUN!

5. A whole bunch of other piddly stuff that is too numerous and too tedious to mention. Many of them involve house and yard work.

And the big thing is number six: I had been accepted into a mentorship program through the Nevada chapter of The Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. This six-month long program pairs the pre-published (in traditional publishing), the genre changing, or the I just need to give my writing/illustrating a kick in the ass writer/illustrator, with a professional who is currently working in the publishing industry. Each mentor has two, or at the most three mentees to advise.

Last weekend in Reno, Nevada, we met with our mentors for the first time, outlined the work that they felt our Works in Progress might need to be ready to send out on submission. I will be working on a graphic novel, doing both the writing and the illustrating. It needs to be double in length (at least) from where it is now. I’m considering major stylistic changes, as well as changing the narrator point of view. I have the other writers in the program to cheer me on, read my WiP and kick me in the butt when I need kicking, as well as my individual mentor cracking discreet whips in the background.

As a freshman art student, I had a professor who shared these words of wisdom with us, his freshman design class, usually right before he gave us some huge, time-consuming assignment:

“If you want something done,
give it to the busy person.“

I feel quite certain that I am a busy person. I am also pretty sure that I am up to the challenge set forth by my mentor. Keeping all these balls in the air will not be easy, but there is something about the beginning of fall that makes all things seem possible. The clear skies and bright colors of autumn feel more like renewal to me than it does like the dying of the year. The crisp days and cool nights tell me it’s time to go back to school, to learn new things.

I am learning new things, keeping the balls in the air and loving every minute of it.

Somewhere, my old art professor is smiling.

Anne Belov is a painter, printmaker, cartoonist, and blogger. She is working on a middle grade graphic novel through the SCBWI-Nevada mentor program. Her paintings can be seen at the Rob Schouten Gallery in Greenbank, and at the Fountainhead Gallery in Seattle. Besides writing for WLM, she publishes new cartoons on her blog, The Panda Chronicles, twice weekly.

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CLICK HERE to read more WLM stories and blogs. Have a great story idea? Let us know at info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

October 7, 2015
The Chief Milkmaid || Delicata Donuts for Dessert
BY VICKY BROWN
Sept. 30, 2015

Harvest season is here. You can see the proof at farmers markets where the farmers haul out tons of produce they have worked all summer to produce. The bounty is in.

Just because you can’t find me and our cheese at market right now doesn’t mean you can’t pick up plenty of local goods. Whether you’re participating in the 10-Day Local Food Challenge with Vicki Robin, supporting your local community, or interested in obtaining the freshest produce possible, Bayview Market and Coupeville Market are still open for this plentiful season.

If you’re unsure what to do with all the bounty try my favorite, simple recipe for delicata squash.

Delicata on the way to market

Delicata is a delightful squash, not stringy like acorn squash and quite mild. The skin is edible and thin enough that many chefs don’t even remove it in preparation (it’s delicious in a stir fry or roasted with sausage too). However, for my sweet tooth I love delicata donuts. For the donuts I prefer to remove the skin.

The recipe is so easy, I think if you try it and see how delicious it is I’m likely to see you while I’m shopping at market on Saturday. Just save a few squash for me!

In a bowl combine:
- 3 tablespoons of local honey
- ¼ cup of melted butter
- ¼ teaspoon of cinnamon and
- a sprinkle of nutmeg
  Preparing for donuts
To make the delicate donuts use a sharp knife or a peeler and peel the skin off a squash. Cut off both ends and use a long knife to clean out the seeds.

Cleaning the squash is quick and easy

Cut the squash into ½” or larger rings.

Place the rings on parchment paper on a cookie sheet.

Delicata rounds waiting to become donuts

Drizzle the honey mixture over the rings and place them in the oven at 375F until they pierce easily with a fork (about 25 minutes depending on how thick the squash is). Add a chunk of butter in the center of the ring for optimum “frying” of these little donuts.

Delicata donuts! Mmmm!

Let the rings cool and serve for dessert. A scoop of ice cream would make these decadent rings an even more perfect end to a bountiful local meal.

Delicata last a long time if stored properly (ask your farmer for hints), don’t forget to pick up some for your holiday meals and to treat yourself through winter.

Vicky Brown, Chief Milkmaid at the Little Brown Farm, puts her passions on the page writing about food, agriculture and the tender web of community.

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WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.
September 30, 2015