OLD Whidbey Life Magazine

Category: Blogs

Rock Bottom Line || Election Result Gives ‘Cocooning’ a Deeper Meaning

BY HARRY ANDERSON
December 7, 2016

Is there a soul here on the Rock who isn’t whining about last month’s election results? The “End of the World” wails of despondent Hillary supporters on the South End can be heard all the way to Deception Pass. And the “Shut Up, You Elitist Sore Losers” carping of Trump supporters on the North End disturbs the peace at Scatchet Head. It’s enough to make you afraid to catch the Clinton ferry for fear of bumping into somebody who’ll give you heartburn.

I wanted to understand this phenomenon better, so I decided to apply some basic data-mining techniques, which I learned a long time ago as an economics writer, to the presidential election results on Whidbey Island.

Here’s what you may know already: Hillary Clinton won Island County with 20,960 votes, or about 49 percent to Donald Trump’s 18,465 votes, or about 43 percent. But when I subtracted the totals for Camano Island, which Trump won by more than 1,000 votes, Clinton’s victory on Whidbey was more lopsided; on the Rock, she got about 5,000 votes more than Trump and won by almost nine percentage points.

Anybody who has been around our island for a while has a pretty good sense of our political divide. The South End is deep blue, fades to pastel around Coupeville, turns red in Oak Harbor and glows neon crimson by the time you approach the Deception Pass Bridge. It helps explain why some people in Langley avoid driving north of Greenbank unless absolutely necessary and some people in Oak Harbor prefer to drive the long way around when going to America.

When I dug deeper and examined the presidential vote on Whidbey by precinct, I began to see that divide in starker relief, and I understood it better. Although Hillary Clinton walloped Trump on Whidbey overall, she won just 17 of the island’s precincts. Trump won 20 precincts. She won Langley by a whopping 667 votes to just 103 for Trump – more than six-to-one. She won Coupeville 667 votes to Trump’s 370, a margin of about 55 percent.

But in Oak Harbor, our biggest town, Trump got 4,125 votes to Clinton’s 2,991, a margin of more than 72 percent. (He won all but one of Oak Harbor’s six precincts.)

Despite the lopsided Oak Harbor result, Clinton won the Rock overall because her margins in South Whidbey were much greater than Trump’s margins in most of North Whidbey. For instance, the East Harbor/Saratoga Road/Baby Island precinct near Freeland went for Clinton by more than two-to-one, as did the precinct that runs from south of Langley to Clinton.

By contrast, most of the North Whidbey precincts went for Trump by margins of 25 to 40 percent – still sizable but not as overwhelming.

What conclusions do I draw from all this? The traditional political divide on our island was exacerbated by this intense, nasty presidential election. It has also been made worse by the obvious fact, based on these precinct and town totals, that most of us now live in cocoons inhabited mostly by people we agree with. We don’t have political arguments with neighbors over our backyard fences anymore; we just pop champagne corks or hold pity parties with like-minded people.

So, as we all continue to wail or carp, here’s a modest idea. Folks on South Whidbey: turn off MSNBC. Folks on North Whidbey: turn off Fox News. Instead, break out of your cocoons and drive into alien territory. If you’re from Oak Harbor, go enjoy a latte and a conversation with somebody at Useless Bay Coffee in Langley. If you’re from Clinton, go have a caramel macchiato and a conversation with somebody at Whidbey Coffee on Pioneer Way in Oak Harbor.

Mix it up a little. We’ll all feel better. That’s why the first nations people who were on Whidbey Island for centuries before us went to potlatches to set aside their differences, at least for a while. Can’t we do the same?

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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The views, opinions, and positions expressed by Whidbey Life Magazine bloggers, as well as those of the people who comment on their blog posts, are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the views, opinions, or positions of Whidbey Life Magazine.

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To read more WLM stories and blogs, click here. Have a great story idea? Let us know at info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. You may link to this story. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

December 7, 2016
In Search of Truth and Beauty || Riding the Collective Wave from Here to Where?

BY JONI TAKANIKOS
November 30, 2016

The following blog post reflects my own views and opinions on the current political atmosphere. I would much rather have written about something more beautiful and reflective of our island life, but while we live on an island, we remain connected to the world at large, and for me personally, grappling with this unfolding perspective is foremost on my mind.

United Colors of Whidbey (Photo by Gina Burja-Simpson)

I find myself unable to translate the current political situation we find ourselves in. We have never been so divided along the lines of how we perceive right and wrong, both morally and politically. There is also so much “news” being published by Facebook and other media outlets that has no connection to facts.

I am finding it difficult to find the “silver lining,” but I am on the lookout for it, however hidden it may be right now. There are glimpses of truth lighting our way, that can — and never will be — overlooked. The grace and statesmanship of President Obama is revelatory. He is creating, through his words and actions, a stream of compassion and power we can all follow. I am also waking up to my own blindness and inaction towards our government. It is time that we took the reins of our governance in hand, which requires strong and compassionate leadership. These future leaders will rise and are rising.

Obama has said he looks forward to becoming a regular citizen again, so that he may speak his mind more frankly and get back to his activist roots. Let’s all dare to fulfill the promise of our amazing, deeply flawed, and young nation. Young people everywhere are galvanized to take action on injustice, and those of us who remember the sixties are looking at ways to do the same. We have needed to wake up from the comfort of our own bubbles and realize that this election has pulled back the veil on racism, misogyny, and a general fear of anyone who is different. Education itself has been decried by many in our electorate as having the potential to create a flawed character. Flaws in character, I believe, are part of the stratosphere of all humans.

When we quit trusting those among us who study our world to seek a deeper understanding of our human experiences, we may then become truly ignorant and thus unwilling and unable to take into account the experiences of others. Reality television, and one of its stars, have become a player on the world stage. I know I’m not alone in being scared by that vision of reality. There has never been a more important time than the present to awaken our highest and best dreams for our world, our country, and our communities. I am looking at ways to re-educate myself on the ways in which my government works and exploring all the pathways toward making my voice heard. I plan to keep organizations like the ACLU, Black Lives Matter, Planned Parenthood, Environmental Defense, Sierra Club, and many courageous and compassionate programs thriving through my contributions and involvement.

Four Peace in a Pod (Painting and photo by Gina Burja-Simpson)

I also want to support the Standing Rock protesters. Maybe this is the beginning of other similar Standing Rock protests across our country, wherever the natural environment may be threatened by the blindness of corporate greed. I want to wrap my arms around the environment and protect the waters of this country alongside the mountains, canyons, deserts, and forests. Wherever and whenever I encounter racism and intolerance, I will stand up and say, “No more!” I hope I am part of a future in which we never let someone who is running for political office be given free rein to spout lies, bigotry, and the incitement of violence. Freedom of speech cannot equal hate-mongering. This political climate we find ourselves in was created by all of us, and we all share the responsibility of creating a more transparent government that listens to the will of the people.

The day after the election, it took my twenty-five-year-old son to remind me that Hillary won the popular vote! The majority of our country voted to elect our first woman president. I remain proud of our country with all of its shadows and flaws, and now that we have exposed some of its deepest wounds, we can begin to take the necessary actions to cleanse those wounds before more infection is spread.

“Justice is power correcting everything that stands against love.” – Martin Luther King

“Hope springs eternal, even in politics.” – Gwen Ifill

Joni Takanikos appreciates all the perspectives of our diamond-like culture, as long as those perspectives do not stand against love – love of our world, our country, all our lands, and our fellow citizens.

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The views, opinions, and positions expressed by Whidbey Life Magazine bloggers, as well as those of the people who comment on their blog posts, are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the views, opinions, or positions of Whidbey Life Magazine.

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To read more WLM stories and blogs, click here. Have a great story idea? Let us know at info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. You may link to this story. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

November 30, 2016
Magically Real || Who Is “Us?”

BY STEPHANIE BARBÉ HAMMER
November 23, 2016

Friends — greetings from San Antonio. I am here at the society of biblical literature with my husband Larry, who writes about interfaith dialogue between Jews and Christians.

Dialogue is good. On Whidbey, we like to talk to our neighbors and our drinking buddies and pretty much anyone we happen to meet.

Or that’s how it was, anyway.

On our island, we like to think that we are removed from the greater problems of our country and our planet. But imagine this: right after the election, Larry and I were scared to go to our usual Thursday wine tasting event because we didn’t know what to say to our drinking friends who didn’t vote the way we did. We made ourselves go, but friends, I felt afraid. And while the conversation was pleasant, it was strained.

I still feel afraid.

Full disclosure: I am a Jew by choice and therefore am technically white. So, I’m not going to get deported. I’m not going to get rounded up. Likewise, I tell myself I don’t have anything to fear. And our neighbors are nice.

But what about the confederate flag I saw here on the island when I drove to the beach this summer? Where are those people, and are there more?

What about my friend in Seattle who is trans? What about my Muslim friends at MAPS — the Muslim Association of Puget Sound? What about my friends who are aren’t white? What about my husband, who looks very Jewish?

I confess to you that I feel different walking in downtown Coupeville now. I’m wondering — for the first time ever — who would claim me as a fellow citizen and who wouldn’t? It feels like an open question.

What do we stand for on Whidbey island? That’s my question to myself and to you.

I do not want to be a part of any society that registers Muslims and seeks to deport people who are here, trying to make it here. I am for same-sex marriage too.

But I feel like I’m living in a different country, now. One where I and my husband are no longer welcome.

I hope I’m wrong.

So I think about this in a city that belonged to Spain, and then to Mexico, and then to itself, and now to “us.” Who is “us?” Who should “us” be? I know the answer to the second question. It’s the first one that stumps me.

Stephanie Barbé Hammer is a four-time Pushcart Prize nominee in fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. She is the author of a poetry chapbook “Sex with Buildings,” a full-length poetry collection “How Formal?” and a comic magical realist novel “The Puppet Turners of Narrow Interior.” You can follow her on Twitter, or read her blog “Magically Real” as she tries to read “100 Years of Solitude” in less than 100 years.

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The views, opinions, and positions expressed by Whidbey Life Magazine bloggers, as well as those of the people who comment on their blog posts, are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the views, opinions, or positions of Whidbey Life Magazine.

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To read more WLM stories and blogs, click here. Have a great story idea? Let us know at info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. You may link to this story. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

November 23, 2016
Minding the Sky || Paint It Black

BY JUDITH WALCUTT
November 17, 2016

Trees Beseech the Sky (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

Dear ones,

Children of my flesh and bone and children of my heart and soul—

Today, the rain falls on Honeymoon Bay in big, heavy drops, like the tears I’ve been crying since that Tuesday, when the color went out of the world.

The sky and the water are indivisible from each other and from where I sit and write you now, I cannot see through their blank grey veils. And I think to myself, if I cannot see beyond that concrete emptiness, just outside my own window, what can I say to you now, in words, that can offer solace, meaning, hope in a world picture that feels so bereft of truth, beauty, kindness, mutual respect, possibilities for the future—all the good things we, as parents and elders, want for you. How can I say to you: Don’t give up, when I feel so close to that edge myself?

Veils Vanquish Sky (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

I can say this:

Because of you, I will not give up. I am standing with you; I am grieving with you. My broken heart breaks with yours. I will not desert you. I will stick with you, I will defend you in any way I personally can, from the bullies in the schoolyard, in the neighborhood, in big or small business, and in the highest offices of government.

Especially when the bullies appear to run the show—I will stand up and call them out. I will not be silenced by their intimidations, their threats and rhetoric of interruption and deceit, their racism, their misogyny, their bigoted mindsets. I will call it out every time I hear it, see it, experience it—I will not let the bully pass unnoticed; I will bear witness. I will call out injustice with you and for you, in any way I can, until I die.

I can say that to you.

Forest for the Trees (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

And I can share this with you:

In the past few days, since the end of the world as we knew it, I have been cycling through the stages of grieving and expect to do so for several weeks to come. Here’s what to expect, if these mental states are foreign or new to you, as I expect they might be.

Death of a loved one, death of a dream, death of an ideal or dearly held belief—we do not ever expect that stranger at our door, telling us the sad news. Young or old, death of any kind is always a surprise. Even when we are watching it, day by day, as elders pass away before our eyes or civil rights, in the course of a lifetime, in the so-called name of “civil liberty,” are vanquished before our eyes—Death is always unexpected.

Unexpected Outcome (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

More than 50 percent of the country is experiencing this state of grief. More than 50 percent of the people who voted, that is—since only 50 percent of the population exercised that most essential civil right—we who did are together in the group mourning a loss that feels like 9-11 all over again. A metaphorical jumbo jet slamming into the side of our country, our poor beleaguered, divided, confused country—leaves us stunned and reeling with its improbability.

Door to Limited View (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

We are grieving and have the right to do so. Here are the stages (from recover-from-grief.com), in case you need a list to cross off as you go along or, more likely, check all that apply:

1. Shock and Denial

We can’t believe it. We don’t believe it. We keep thinking it’s a dream and we’ll wake up and it won’t be true. In my particular case, every possible conspiracy theory I have ever conjured seems more than likely to apply.

Shifting Skies (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

2. Pain and Guilt

We can’t believe how bad we feel. How responsible. Or irresponsible, as the case may be. I feel very guilty that this seizure of our democratic process has happened out of my control, and I feel somehow it is my fault. That is also part of the grieving process—repeating mantras of regret: if only, if only, if only…

Longer View (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

It is OK to let yourself feel that, too. Let it be a stimulus not for self-denigration, but for self-motivation, to galvanize yourself for what is next. Determine to do the right thing, no matter what. In the smallest details of your life, do what you know, in your heart, is the right thing. Think of the butterflies brewing hurricanes—feel a super-storm coming? Four years is not as long as you feel it is right now. Two years, when midterm elections take place, is even shorter. Many of you I am writing to now were not old enough to vote. Most of you, in four years, will be. Don’t forget to.

Wind Moves Water (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

3. Anger and Bargaining

Yes, we are mad. Of course we are mad! What do we do to balance the rage we feel?

Keep our cool. Keep our dreams. Keep our hopes. Point our eyes up to the sky, not down on the ground. Share our fears, pursue their roots. Keep it together, together.

In the Details 1 (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

4. Depression, Reflection, Loneliness

Trust me, you are not alone in your feelings. When a death in the family happens, which this election is to me and every person I know, we are pretty sure no one is as sad about it as we are. Look around. Grief-stricken faces are everywhere. Take comfort: you are not alone. The time for reflection is the time to find the thread of connection. Reject the abyss. Swim hard. Feel like you are drowning in sorrow and self-pity? Kick harder to stay afloat. There’s no future in drowning! Resist the urge to give up, to give in, to throw away the gift of your human life. Be more alive than ever. See, feel, learn from everything—even this.

In the Details 2 (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

5. The Upward Turn

Here’s where I’m at with this stage—I am trying to find the right boat to row to get there. The day after we saw that red door and wanted to paint it black, it was a friend’s birthday. He was celebrating his sixtieth, and we drove to South Seattle to join him and others with whom we knew we could sigh, cry, and even, at one point, share a primal scream. Among those in attendance were people who have actively worked, the majority of their lives, to make a better world. There were people there who have put their money where their mouth is—for environmental protection, community-building, youth empowerment, and the alleviation of suffering—all on both a local and global basis. How lucky I was to have such a deep-hearted community to turn to in this time of crisis.

You out there, my kids of all kinds, my beloved children near and far—pull yourselves together, for and with each other. Decline the urge to hurt yourselves, each other, or unknown others. Choose to hold steady to your course, to your dream, to the details of your plan to make progress, moment by moment, day by day, in the ways you can, because this is what we have right now—this and only this moment. Each moment is embedded in the next. When crossing the narrow mountain pass from who we were to who we are becoming, don’t be shy about speaking your mind. Don’t be cowed to silence. Scream if you have to. Be heard. I am listening. Others are listening. Please—listen to each other and refrain from harm.

In the Details 3 (Photo by Judith Walcutt

6. Reconstruction and Working Through

Apparently, when you reach this point, your mind will begin to function again, and you will start working on the problems you had before all this grief came down around you. And you know what? That is the best solution of all. Pick up the life you were working on before all this happened and keep working on it. Remember—no one can take your dream from you. Your dream, your aspiration, your goal is yours. Don’t let anyone—most especially bigots, racists, misogynists, etc.— take your dreams and aspirations away from you. Just don’t.

Natural Resilience (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

7. Acceptance and Hope

I know it seems hard to imagine, at this exact moment, that we can accept this state of affairs and that someday we will find something to be hopeful about, for what lies unseen, unknown, on the other side of the concrete sky.

But that’s just it. We don’t know, and so we have to imagine and in imagining, we can find the juice to carry on. When things have been bad in the past—and they have been personally, nationally, and globally bad for many for quite some time, we have had to remind ourselves that just like the weather that blows across our field of vision, the sky will change. All of this will change. And at any given moment, we are only seeing part of the picture. We have to hold out for a longer, broader view.

For me, I look forward to pursuing the work I believe in, no matter what, even more than ever. That work consists of working tirelessly with others who are working tirelessly to do what we can, to say “yes” instead of “no.”

No one yet has been able to stop another person from having an idea or from holding onto “the thing with feathers,” the Hope we had and will have again.

We can continue unabated and uncensored, to have ideas which lift us up instead of cast us down, ideas which light up some huge part of the brain, because the internal chemical reaction of human invention and imagination cannot be stopped once it gets going. Each time we have an idea of our own, we are generating our own fuel to stay afloat, to do our lifetime justice in how we spend it.

Afloat Under the Mourning sky (Photo by Judith Walcutt

I think often these recent days of H.H. the Dali Lama. I think of the many years—the majority of his lifetime, in fact—that he has born the theft of his homeland by the bully next door. He is both a good man and a great moral compass for us all to follow. In these recent days since November 8, I find myself reading and rereading this quote of his which, yes, gives me hope and the will to go on. Now. More than ever.

“Never give up
No matter what is going on
Never give up
Develop the heart
Too much energy in your country is spent developing the mind instead of the heart
Be compassionate not just to your friends but to everyone
Be compassionate
Work for peace in your heart and in the world
Work for peace and I say again
Never give up
No matter what is happening
No matter what is going on around you
Never give up.”

Judith Walcutt is a writer, a youth mentor, and a recommitted social activist living on Whidbey Island. She is working with the Center for Progressive Reform to create a national radio program addressing issues of good governance and environmental protection, health, and safety.

The impermanent state of being (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

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The views, opinions, and positions expressed by Whidbey Life Magazine bloggers, as well as those of the people who comment on their blog posts, are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the views, opinions, or positions of Whidbey Life Magazine.

__________________

To read more WLM stories and blogs, click here. Have a great story idea? Let us know at info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. You may link to this story. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

November 16, 2016
Sue the Screenwriter || Autumn and Authors

Scene from a road trip with Eric Mullholland (Photo by Suzanne Kelman)

BY SUZANNE KELMAN
November 9, 2016

It’s done. It’s finished, put to bed and on its way to my publisher in New York City. Yes, I have finally finished book two in the Southlea Bay series. After a couple of hallelujahs and a swift gin, I decided it was time for a well-earned rest, and what my worn-out brain needed was color and literacy. Joining a good friend of mine, Eric Mulholland, on the East Coast, we decided to go on a road trip, visit some of my favorite authors’ homes, and see the leaves change color along the way.

In the last few years, I’ve visited many classic writers’ homes, and each one has taught me a valuable lesson about my craft. As I am in the process of writing another book, about how each of those homes has impacted me as a writer, I thought this was the perfect time to do some more research and share a little armchair traveling with you.

Edith Wharton’s The Mount (Photo by Suzanne Kelman)

After meeting up with Eric, and then staying in New York with friends, the first stop on our tour was to Lennox, Massachusetts, to visit Edith Wharton’s home. Wharton is known for such classics as “The House of Mirth” and “The Age of Innocence.” The day we set off for Lennox, it was freezing, literally 30 degrees. Having traveled from Whidbey Island with just one carry-on bag, I ended up wearing eight layers of clothes just to fight off the East Coast chill! But Wharton’s home was well worth it — a sprawling estate modeled in a French chateau style.

Dressed in woolen gloves and hats, we moved in awe about her home. With a love of home design, she’d created lines and architectural detail that makes the heart sing with the appearance of grandeur, but also retains a high level of intimacy. A guide revealed to us that, although there was the appearance of opulence, Wharton actually preferred small, intimate dinner parties. Bearing that in mind, it didn’t surprise me to learn that Wharton wrote most of her novels in bed and not in her gloomy library. Outside her bedroom window, there is an incredibly expansive view of trees and water. It made me think that, if I looked hard enough, I might just see the Van der Lyden’s cottage, where Newland Archer meets his love in The Age of Innocence. The whole environment was inspiring and stimulating.

“Set wide the window. Let me drink the day.”
Edith Wharton

Emily Dickinson’s home (Photo in public domain)

The second home we visited was in complete contrast to the Wharton estate. Emily Dickinson, the 19th-century poet, shared Wharton’s need for intimacy but expressed it in a very different way. Surrounded by, at the time, a working farm, Emily’s home was in the center of Amherst, Massachusetts, and was a much smaller and more private dwelling. There were many surprises about Emily’s life and personality that I will write about in more detail in my book, but one of the most interesting facts was that Dickinson had a gregarious personality that is in contrast to the depression and sadness that is often associated with her. Walking around her house was like visiting the home of a friend who had stepped out of the room for a moment. Filled with light and airiness in every room, the house gave the feeling of being a well-loved member of the family. With so many windows and so much to see, I could imagine Dickinson being stimulated to write by all the nature that lay outside. One moment that particularly moved me was when we sat in the last room, learning about her life, looked out the window, and saw a light snow starting to fall. It was as if Dickinson was setting up the perfect environment for one of her very own poems.

“It sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.”
Emily Dickerson

Louisa May Allcott’s Orchard House (Photo by Suzanne Kelman)

The last home we visited was Louisa May Alcott’s, author of “Little Women,” in Concord, Massachusetts. Set on a grand road, the little brown wood house seemed mildly conspicuous next to its prosperous neighbors. As we moved from room to room in this delightful home, we learned much about this radical family. Ahead of their time, they believed in respecting people of all creeds and color, a view that contributed to her father being fired more than 30 times for what he believed. They had lively discussions around the dinner table, which included the right for women to vote. The irony is not lost on me that I am writing this blog post a day before the general election that could usher in our first woman president. “Little Women” was the first book of its kind to be written directly for women, and Alcott’s upbringing and family helped her believe such a book was even possible.

As I moved through these three houses, I started to let go of all the shackles of smallness one feels when creating one’s own work and realized that, as a storyteller, I’m part of a much bigger world. That’s one of the things I love about visiting authors’ homes.

“Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations.
I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty,
believe in them, and try to follow where they lead.”
Louisa May Alcott

I flew back home to Whidbey truly inspired, excited to get started on the third book in my series. I carry back with me the beauty of Edith Wharton’s landscape, the intimacy of Emily Dickinson’s farm, and the fire of the Alcott family encouraging me to cast my own small light into the literary world.

“There are two ways of spreading light:
to be the candle or the mirror that receives it.”
Edith Wharton

Suzanne Kelman is the author of “The Rejected Writers’ Book Club” and an award-winning screenwriter and playwright. She was a Nicholl Fellowship Finalist at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences; was awarded Best Comedy Feature Screenplay at the L.A. International Film Festival; received a Gold Award at the California Film Awards; and received a Van Gogh Award at the Amsterdam Film Festival.

(Suzanne Kelman’s photo was taken by Kim Tinuviel)

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

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. You may link to this story. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

November 9, 2016
Play that Song Again || Like It Was Written In My Soul

BY ERIK CHRISTENSEN
November 2, 2016

Great year. Terrible year. A year that killed off several close friends and a handful of musical heroes (Prince, David Bowie, Guy Clark … the list goes on.) It’s also the year a skinny songwriter kid from Hibbing, Minnesota won the Nobel Prize. So let’s go positive and celebrate with a stack of musical books that I’ve read in the last year. Pull up a chair, pour a glass of your favorite beverage, and enjoy my 2016 Top Five Reading List.

1. “Born To Run” by Bruce Springsteen

The attraction: Always had a soft spot for Bruce. Although it’s a cliché, I revert to the typical music geek who says, “I liked him before he was famous, man! Before he sold out.” Instead of the fist-in-the-air Americana icon, gimme the pre-1975 Bruce, who was still a skinny street rat playing clubs. Of all the records I own, the stack of 1973-74-75 live bootlegs are my most cherished.

The surprise: In this brand new book, Bruce talks very frankly about struggling with depression. Inherited from his father’s side of the family, he says it’s the secret package in the Crackerjack box of his family tree. Strange to think that someone with 20,000 people screaming his name in adulation in a soccer stadium still needs medication and therapy. In some of the press for the book, it was mentioned that maybe it will lead to more folks seeking treatment. Thanks, for being so honest, boss.

Unsung hero: Best friend and Soprano-style sidekick Steve Van Zandt. Part sounding board, part evil twin, this beating heart of rock and roll keeps everyone around him grounded.

Favorite quote: “A lot of what the E Street Band does is hand-me-down shtick transformed by will, power and an intense communication with our audience into something transcendent. Sometimes that’s all you need.”

2. “Unfaithful Music & Disappearing Ink” by Elvis Costello

The attraction: One of the most literate of all pop songwriters, Elvis took me from sophomore year in high school (an amazing first album and terrible/wonderful appearance on “Saturday Night Live“) to the modern day (collaborations with Paul McCartney and a great 2016 solo tour). One of the great artists of our time.

The surprise: All the country and west-coast easy listening that Elvis spends pages and pages rhapsodizing over. For someone who became famous for angry punk rock, he spent his childhood listening to Joni Mitchell, Little Feat, CSN&Y, etc. Who knew?

Unsung hero: Elvis’ father, Ross McManus, was a big band leader and quite a well-known singer in his own right. Also, his grandfather Patrick played trumpet on the White Star Line cruise ships in the 1920s. Hmmm. Genetics.

Favorite quote: “There is no superior. There is no high and low. The beautiful thing is, you don’t have to choose. You can love it all. Those songs are there to help you when you need them most.”

3. “Trouble Boys: The True Story of the Replacements” by Bob Mehr

The attraction: The champions of walking the line between drunken buffoonery and transcendent lyricism, I kind of looked forward to reading this like watching a car wreck in slow motion.

The surprise: Paul Westerberg, leader and songwriter, always spent time writing tender ballads, even in those early days of trashing hotel rooms and canceling gigs on account of inebriation. That might be the creative tension that made The Replacements great or doomed them to the almost-but-not-quite-successful scrap heap.

Unsung hero: Tommy Stinson, who joined as a 14-year-old delinquent, and grew up backstage and on the bus. As producer Jim Dickinson remembers, “Tommy Stinson may be my favorite musician I’ve ever worked with. People say Keith Richards is the living embodiment of rock-and-roll? I’m sorry, but I know Keith, and it’s Tommy.”

Favorite quote: “Yet like the others, he had an incredibly jaundiced view of the music business. ‘He was just like them,’ said Gary Hobbib, laughing. ‘He didn’t trust anybody, didn’t like anybody. He was born a Replacement.’ “

4. “I’m Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen” by Sylvie Simmons

The attraction: This is the only book on the list that was not released this year. Like everyone, I just love the music—always an interesting mix of sacred and secular. My band plays “Hallelujah” at most of my shows, and I love the poetry in “Famous Blue Raincoat,” “Bird on a Wire,” and any other number of Leonard’s songs.

The surprise: I knew Cohen was a serious poet, and I even have several of his books, but I didn’t realize, until I read about his early life, that he was quite successful as a poet long before he even took up songwriting. He won several literary awards and was even the subject of a CBC documentary for his writing. True in the 1950s as now, poetry doesn’t really pay, so he picked up the Spanish guitar in earnest.

Unsung hero: We have a tie between poet/friend/mentor Irving Leyton and Joni Mitchell, sometime romantic partner and longtime artistic supporter, who got Leonard up on stage in many prestigious venues and pushed/inspired him as a musician.

Favorite quote: “…a version of the yin and yang, or any of those symbols that incorporate the polarities and try and reconcile the differences.”

5. “M Train” by Patti Smith

The attraction: “Just Kids,” which came out in 2010, was a wonderful insight into the NYC-bohemian-Robert Mapplethorpe artistic era of the 1970s. This book is far more personal on her relationship with her husband and his untimely death and her travels to pay respect to the ghosts of Genet, Frida Kahlo, and Alfred Wegener.

The surprise: Throughout the book, Smith mentions watching the Seattle-based murder mystery series “The Killing.” I thought, “Interesting…I’ve been meaning to watch that.” Then, several chapters in, without warning, she proceeds to give away the surprise ending! Jeez! Guess I won’t be watching it after all.

Unsung hero: Baristas. The common motif in this book is coffee shops, notebooks, and writing, writing, writing. She travels, she’s very introspective and thoughtful, but is always working, putting words to paper, and paying respect to the artists of the past.

Favorite quote: “I have lived in my own book. One I never planned to write, recording time backwards and forwards. I have watched the snow fall onto the sea and traced the steps of a traveler long gone. I have relived moments that were perfect in their certainty.”

As always, there were some honorable mentions: “Under The Big Black Sun: A Personal History of L. A. Punk” by John Doe and Tom DeSavia, and, in the non-musical categories: “You Must Change Your Life—The Story of Auguste Rodin and Rainer Maria Rilke” by Rachel Corbett, “Pretty Much Everything” by Aaron James Draplin, “Widow Basquiat” by Jennifer Clement, “The Lost Poems of Pablo Neruda” by Pablo Neruda, and “The Great Fires” by Jack Gilbert.

Get reading, boys and girls!

Erik Christensen teaches in Oak Harbor, writes songs and poetry, and enjoys a good cup of coffee and a notebook more than just about anything.

The Erik Christensen Band plays at the Oak Harbor Fleet Reserve from 9 p.m. to midnight on Saturday, Nov. 5 and at Loakal Public House in Oak Harbor from 8 to 10 p.m. on Saturday, Nov. 19.

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November 2, 2016
Rock Bottom Line || Kathy Baxter’s Vision Becomes Historic Reality

BY HARRY ANDERSON
October 26, 2016

My friend Kathy Baxter is a very spiritual person. In fact, she made her living until recently as a spiritual coach, helping people overcome physical and emotional issues to find their own wisdom and truth with a variety of healing modalities.

So it’s no surprise that she uses meditation and visioning in her own life. In 2012, living in a rented cottage in Freeland while gradually winding down her practice in Seattle, she spent time imagining where her journey would now take her.

“I meditated a lot,” Kathy said, “and a vision came to me—a small farmhouse on a little piece of land on a prairie with a sweeping view. I invested in that vision and waited.”

Kathy Baxter’s house before restoration (photo courtesy of Friends of Ebey’s)

She didn’t wait long. Within days she opened a Whidbey real estate website and saw the exact picture she had in her vision. And what has happened since then has taken her on quite a journey.

The house for sale was on Ebey Road just outside Coupeville, almost exactly in the center of Ebey’s Prairie. It was a two-story, 1890 farmhouse on an acre of land with a squash barn and a horse barn.

______________________________

OPEN HOUSE
Historic Perkins House
Sat. Oct 29, 1 to 3 p.m.

1405 Ebey Road near Coupeville
Sponsored by the Friends of Ebey’s
and its Ebey’s Forever grant program

No charge but donations accepted
for the Ebey’s Forever fund.
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But the house was a wreck, written off as a teardown by most potential buyers and their contractors. It had been terribly “remuddled” in the 1950s; its old vertical double-hung wooden windows were replaced with horizontal sliders, a “modern” front door was added, its clapboard siding was covered over with cedar shakes, and its original yellow exterior paint color was changed to pale lavender. “They tried to turn it into a ’50s ranch house,” Kathy said. Also, every room was filled with stuff: boxes of junk, old furniture, kitchen bric-a-brac, etc.

Baxter’s house after restoration (photo courtesy of Friends of Ebey’s)

But the price was certainly right—$135,000. By the time Kathy made her offer the property already had an accepted offer with four backup offers, many from buyers who expected to tear it down and build a new house. But, true to her vision, Kathy waited and, one by one, all the other offers fell out. She struggled for several months to find a bank that would lend on such a dilapidated house. But finally, on Christmas Eve, 2012, the house was hers.

“I had blind faith that I could do this,” she said. “I had been told there were no ‘little properties’ on Ebey’s Prairie like the one in my vision, that nothing was for sale anyway, and that I likely couldn’t afford a house there even if one did come up.”

She didn’t know how it could happen, only that she believed it could. “Every step along the way has been an unlikely long shot. I just decided to keep taking forward steps until I couldn’t.”

Shakes removed from front and new cedar shingle roof installed (photo courtesy of Friends of Ebey’s)

Things began to fall into place. Her vision was to restore the house as much as possible to its original look and configuration as a prairie farmhouse. After one large contractor flatly turned her down, she found a small contractor on Whidbey who was absolutely sure it could be restored, and who really wanted the work. Staff members at the Ebey’s Landing National Historical Reserve office were enthusiastic supporters and helped her find many resources to make the restoration as accurate as possible. (The staff maintains the inventory of contributing historic structures in the Reserve that now includes 426 buildings—including Kathy Baxter’s house.)

With help from the Reserve office and long-time prairie residents, Kathy has pieced together a bit of the history of her house. An unknown owner built the four-room house in 1890; a local farmer may have used it as a home for his seasonal farm workers. A dining room and kitchen were added around 1900, but it had no indoor plumbing. By 1915, ownership had passed to the family of Sabine Abbott, a Whidbey homesteader in the 1860s who returned to the island late in life after working in Seattle.

In the late 1920s, the house passed to Abbott’s granddaughter, Thirza Cawsey. She never lived in it but rented it for much of the ’30s to a branch of the Sherman family, pioneer farmers on Ebey’s Prairie. The Shermans bought the place in the ’40s and divided the original five acres among themselves except for the acre with the house and barns. In 1950, the Shermans sold the property for $1,000 to the Smith family, who still operate the nearby Willowood Farm. The Smiths did a major remodel, adding the house’s first indoor bathroom and a laundry porch.

A Navy captain bought the property in the early ’60s and added perhaps its most unique feature: an above-ground nuclear fall-out shelter in the horse barn with concrete walls two feet thick.

Edwin Perkins and his family, operators of a chainsaw and lawnmower repair shop in Oak Harbor, purchased the house in the ’80s and lived there until Edwin died in 2011.

All that history made Kathy even more determined to give the house back its “old dignity.” But it took a lot of work. She organized volunteer groups to help rip off the shakes and expose the original clapboard siding; I happily joined that rigorous effort one Saturday morning in 2013, earning blisters on my hands in the process.

Boarded-up frame of the original front door (photo courtesy of Friends of Ebey’s)

Then came a very lucky break. The non-profit organization, Friends of Ebey’s, had been founded in 2011 to raise funds that would help property owners preserve and restore historic structures in the Reserve. Kathy applied for and received an $11,000 matching grant that paid for a new cedar shingle roof like the one the house had in 1890 as well as clapboard siding that was milled to match the original and used to replace rotted sections.

“I doubt I could ever have afforded those expensive things without the Friends of Ebey’s grant,” she said. “These grants are an accelerator that take a restoration from ‘serviceable’ to accurate. They preserve historic integrity in a way that nobody else is doing.”

Once the shakes were removed, architectural discoveries were made. The openings of the original double-hung windows were found. And the biggest surprise was the boarded-up frame of the original front door on the north corner of the front wall. Kathy has installed newly milled double-hung windows where the originals once were and she found, in a South Whidbey barn, a front door at least 100 years old that was exactly the right size for the original doorframe.

The restoration took nearly two years but today Kathy is proud to show off her beautiful home, which she will do this Saturday (Oct. 29) from 1 p.m. to 3 p.m. during a public Open House sponsored by the Friends of Ebey’s.

And, being the spiritual person she is, Kathy is aware that this space has been shared by many before her. A friend of hers who she describes as a shaman, or spiritualist and healer, visited her not long after she moved into her historic home. He immediately sensed that there were “a lot of spirits here,” Kathy said. Four of them, he believed, were Native Americans who had lived on the prairie long ago and loved it so much that they stayed around to “guard the land.”

“That explained so much to me,” Kathy said. “It tells me why people love this place and families have stayed here for decades or more, and maybe it’s even why we created the Ebey’s Landing National Historical Reserve.”

Image at top: Kathy Baxter and her completed “new” home (photo by Harry Anderson)

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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October 26, 2016
Pigment, Perspectives and Pandas || A Work in Progress or How a ‘Bear of Little Brain’ Started My Career

BY ANNE BELOV
October 19, 2016

Begin at the beginning. That’s what they always tell you to do, so that’s where I’ll start: at the beginning.

My earliest memory of seeing artwork that inspired me to become an artist did not come from a museum or a gallery. I think the first artwork that I ever saw that made me say, “I want to do that!” was my copy of “Winnie the Pooh” by A. A. Milne, illustrated by Ernest H. Shepard. These are the original drawings: simple, black and white ink drawings, elegant in their simplicity, but so moving.

Winnie the Pooh, contemplating nature (drawing by Ernest H. Shepard from a collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum, photo by Anne Belov, courtesy of the V & A)

Time moves forward. Art school and oil paint and Impressionism and all the other “isms” of the art world followed, but I have had a continuing and abiding love of Pooh Bear ever since then. Not only did Shepard’s drawings make me want to be an artist but when I began to think about being an illustrator of children’s stories and a cartoonist, his drawings were always front and center in my mind.

So, upon reading Margaret Chodos-Irvine’s series of blog posts about visiting the Victoria and Albert Museum in London and making an appointment to examine drawings in their collection that are not on display, I was intrigued. She wrote a three-part series about her visit to the museum on her blog, Books Around the Table, which she shares with several other kid-lit writers. When she posted a photograph of one of Shepard’s Pooh Bear drawings, my brain went into hyper-drive.

I. Must. Do. That…

…I said to myself. And on a recent trip to London, I screwed up my courage and called the print and drawing study room and asked if I could have an appointment. (What if they say NO!!!???) But of course they didn’t say no. They said, “When would you like to come in?” and I said “tomorrow.” And so I did. I went to the V & A (as it’s referred to in London) and headed to my meeting with Winnie the Pooh.

“Be sure to be on time to meet the group that will be using the study room. We don’t wait if you’re late.” They have you wait at a specific place, check your name on a list and give you a special name badge to wear and then they lead you up to the study room, which is a labyrinthian maze of stairs and corridors and doors and elevators until finally you reach the study room and sign in with your badge number and there, on the table they have set aside just for you…

An entire box of actual drawings by Ernest Shepard himself. The. Real. Thing.

Rough sketch of Pooh (drawing by Ernest H. Shepard from a collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum, photo by Anne Belov, courtesy of the V & A)

Now, I have long loved pencil drawings for themselves and not just as a means to another end, like a finished, polished oil painting. So, to see these drawings with no frame or glass between me and the drawings was nothing short of a religious experience. (They are matted with wide eight-ply archival museum board mats, so you don’t actually touch the paper, but still!!!!)

The finished ink drawings in the books are very clean and sure of themselves. The pencil drawings I saw here were raw and rough, with erasure marks as he changed his mind about the position of a head or leg or number of honey jars that Pooh was counting. In some cases there were multiple drawings of the same subject as he tried to capture the exact pose or composition of each drawing.

Pooh meets Tigger w/ Shepard notes on drawing (drawing by Ernest H. Shepard from a collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum, photo by Anne Belov, courtesy of the V & A)

When we see finished artwork, we rarely see the struggle that went into making it look the way it does. The more polished and effortless something looks, the more likelihood the artist struggled and fumed (and possibly said some very bad words) and started over multiple times before achieving that effortless grace we see in a gallery or picture book.

This is worth remembering as we look at art and dismiss it as looking “too easy.” And those of us who try to make art that looks as if it descended whole and glorious from on high need to remember this, too. The struggle and the eraser is what makes it great. Thanks, you silly old bear, for the reminder.

Anne Belov paints, writes and illustrates in her house that might be in the Hundred Acre Wood on Whidbey Island. Her paintings can be found at The Rob Schouten Gallery at Greenbank Farm and at The Fountainhead Gallery on Queen Anne Hill in Seattle. She is Mistress of Pandas at her blog, The Panda Chronicles, and is working on her graphic novel, a detective story with art and pandas, which she hopes will be finished someday.

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October 19, 2016
Minding the Sky || Gleaning the Chutney of Life

BY JUDITH WALCUTT
October 12, 2016

You probably didn’t notice, but I am nearly a month late with this posting. I was last due on Sept. 12 at which time I was out of body, in another part of my mind. It was my birthday and I was completely absorbed in one and only one activity: completing the edit on my novel. I’d been sliding around it all summer but there was a lot to do to clear the way and then single-mindedly approach the book I wrote—oh, something like 20 years ago—with a fresh take and a clear eye.

It should have been easy, after all that time, to do that: look at it anew, after the passage of time. But it’s not easy. No, it is not. It requires a kind of suspension of disbelief that we generally reserve for strangers and things we’ve never read before. It required me to read this book as though I hadn’t written it, and glean how to make it better.

Try to remember September? (photo by Judith Walcutt)

Glean. I love that word. It means so much: “to extract from various sources,” “to collect gradually, bit by bit,” “to gather (left over grain or other produce) after a harvest.” In the land of language, we glean meaning from words and their innuendos. Face to face, we watch each other: the movement of eyebrows, the set of the mouth, a single movement of the hand—and suddenly we know more about each other than words can ever say. Unless, of course, we’re gleaning meaning from a poker face, in which case, the careful observer may note a certain twitching of eyelids and unconscious fingers twittering in the air without a keyboard. From such gestures, we can learn so much, glean so much, we ought to be able to write volumes about it. I know Henry James, Jane Austin, and a few others have gotten a lot of mileage out of interpreting faces and the unspoken words written across them—as have late night comedians, as they “do” the candidates in this unprecedented election season.

As I sit here writing this, catching up, as it were, on the passage of time, gleaning the changes in our understanding of language and its use in public discourse, I have to wonder at the paradigm shift I have seen in my lifetime! Someone ought to be ashamed. But, no, no one is. SO back to fiction, where I can control my characters and make them pay for their transgressions—or not—and just watch them struggle while trying to learn from their repetitious mistakes, but then, suddenly, intervene, divinely, and help them get to a satisfying end. I love fiction, for that very reason. It is so uplifting, in comparison to most of actual reality. People inevitably make mistakes. It is the human thing to do. But the really great thing is that sometimes people in the fictional story are redeemed in their lives, they get it—suddenly, they glean the bigger picture and they change because of it. They become better: they seek and get or give forgiveness. It is amazing how well fictional people can behave, if you just let them!

Author revises fictional reality with cat on board. (photo by David Ossman)

As for life off the page, the real reality we are living right now—all I can tell you is: gleaning meaning is a useful practice. Gleaning makes us go deeper into the circumstances, past the thin crust of things material and into the muddy waters beneath, where we can try to make something out of our experience, try to make a meaning bigger than our single selves can see or sense, when we are just tunneling along in our daily lives. Try looking at where the sky meets the water and the water meets the sky—and you will see the bigger picture for both parts.

Where water meets sky, sky meets water (photo by Kevin Patterson)

Like chutney made from found fruit, gleaned from abandoned fields and the sides of the road, there are so many flavors to consider, seeking the one taste of those many flavors. That’s what I did, when the rain stopped this past weekend. I went out looking for some beautiful fruit hanging from bended boughs, fruit that no one noticed or cared about. Apples—mottled red and yellow and pale green—the colors we are coming to now that summer has had her last late chance. I found a tree and picked a few—just a few—because that’s all you need to make something wonderful out of very little.

Here’s how to do it:

Find a tree with unpicked fruit. Apples or pears, or late ripening plums and wild grapes, if you can find them—it doesn’t matter what kind really, just the kind that needs to be seen, used, preserved, and not wasted. Notice its beauty and the bend of the bough. Pick as many as you can carry in your hands and cradled arms.

Glean this fruit! (photo by Judith Walcutt)

Take them home and admire them in a bowl on your table. Then gather the ingredients you want to taste—just like writing fiction, you are making this up as you go along. It is o.k. to be creative where chutney is concerned. With its various degrees of sweet, sour, hot, or salty—you almost can’t go wrong. Look to see what you have on hand that needs to be used before going bad or perhaps find that fruit in the freezer you haven’t gotten to all summer and throw it in the pot.

Here’s what I had on hand:

4 big, gleaned apples, peeled and chopped (about four cups worth)

1 large sweet onion chopped (about a cup or so)

Several handfuls of wild, sour white grapes (a gift from a friend who had too many, so I captured them in my freezer.) This time, I used one and a half cups, more or less.

Spices. I have lots and lots of them. I collect them. So for a chutney creation like this, I get them all out and let my nose lead the way.

When the tins they live in are opened, the whole house smells like a foreign country.

Fruit, spice, and time make gleaned chutney sublime. (photo by Judith Walcutt)

Here are some favorites and suggested amounts for one batch of Gleaned Fruit Chutney:

1 tsp. peppercorn
1 tsp. curry
1 tsp. ground ginger
1 tbl. fresh ginger grated
1 tsp. garam masala
¼ tsp. each cardamom and cardamom seeds
¼ tsp. Five Spice
1 star anise
A pinch of fennel
8-10 whole cloves (or ¼ tsp. ground)

Make it up with onions and apples. (photo by Judith Walcutt)

Make your spice mixture come alive by heating a tablespoon of canola oil, adding spices and stirring. The smells will awaken and fill the kitchen.

Oil and spice make nice! (photo by Judith Walcutt)

Add the onion first and stir around in the spices until it softens.

Add the apple and stir around again, until the spices are blended into the two. Cover and let it cook on low for a bit until the fruit settles down, then add the grapes, or the cherries, or the blueberries—whatever you can glean from around you. I threw in some dried sour cherries which I found fading in my pantry.

The four stages of chutnifying (photos by Judith Walcutt)

After the fruit has softened and begins to give off juices, add—stirring in gradually, with love and prayers for peace on earth and goodwill towards all sentient beings:

1 cup brown sugar

1 cup regular sugar (I use organic, raw sugar because it tastes better and is better)

Stir sugar until it dissolves and turns the fruit shiny and magical looking. (You’ll know it when you see it)

Add 1/3 cup apple cider vinegar. Stir, stir, stir.

Cover the pot and keep on low, but still stirring occasionally to keep the stuff from sticking, burning, or otherwise ruining itself like a badly behaved politician.

Pray or chant and stare hopefully into the heavens as you stir, to imbue the fruit you’ve gleaned from the truth you’ve gleaned, from the world you can’t believe is the one you are living in now.

Imagine that this chutney is medicine for what ails us. Let it cook on low for quite a while. Remove the lid and stir some more. Let the hot, sputtering juices evaporate, bit by bit, so that the fruit thickens, deepens, becomes more and more profound. Practice patience. Again and again, practice patience.

When this chutney created by you alone is done, you will know it. It is thick and smells of the past, the present, and the future. One taste. Many flavors. Enjoy.

And now, back to reality where I will go only as a tourist.

One taste, many flavors: gleaned chutney (photo by Judith Walcutt)

Judith Walcutt is a writer living on Whidbey Island who makes jams, chutneys, and variously invented preserves for the sake of sanity and spiritual uplift. Her old- novel-made-new-again, “Memoirs of a Modern She-Noodle,” will soon see the light of day from NeoPoiesis Press.

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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 12, 2016
Rock Bottom Line || Time to Break Out the Whidbey Fall Uniform

BY HARRY ANDERSON
September 28, 2016

My loving spouse and I ventured out to The Clyde Theatre on a recent Monday evening to enjoy Meryl Streep as she magnificently mangled some classical music in “Florence Foster Jenkins.” It’s a fabulous film* and The Clyde was packed.

It was your typical Rock crowd, average age about 60 and, as always, almost everybody got there early to get good seats. A few millennials with tattoos did straggle in with popcorn just as the movie started, but they had to sit way down in front.

I had on my typical jeans and polo shirt even though my spouse had warned me it might get chilly. I, being stubborn and well past 60, shrugged it off.

As soon as we entered the auditorium, I immediately felt embarrassed. I was out of uniform. Virtually everyone in the place was smart enough to know it was mid-September and fall was just around the corner. They were wearing what Rock dwellers are supposed to wear at this time of year. Flannel and fleece over denim. No substitutions. Depending on the outdoor temperature, wool socks (multi-colored stripes are best), head-hugging beanie hat (preferably North Face) and wool (but never leather!) gloves also may be added.

There is a beautiful simplicity about this Rock uniform we wear during cold weather. Men and women have on exactly the same thing. And, since many Rock women wear their hair short to ward off the effects of wind and dampness and many Rock men are folically challenged, the sexes often look interchangeable around here. Confusing, perhaps, but never boring.

And, one real advantage of our Rock uniform is that nobody ever feels under-dressed, even at weddings, funerals, public meetings and church services. Maybe in the summertime a Whidbey restaurant will occasionally tell you to wear shoes and a shirt to get service. But I doubt anybody has ever been turned away this time of year for not being properly dressed. Flannel and fleece over denim fits in anywhere.

And of course another advantage is how little of your income you have to spend on a Rock wardrobe. Most of the clothes I wear come from Costco. A pair of Kirkland jeans may cost as little as $14.99 if you get there on a coupon day. A heavy-duty flannel shirt may be $8.99. Six pairs of wool socks may run $7.99. And the beauty of this kind of wardrobe is that I may very well wear out before it does. In fact, the more faded the flannel and denim become the more fashionable they look.

I admit that I do splurge on my fleece items like a Land’s End grey vest ($49.95) and a North Face beanie hat that covers my head and ears ($29.99). I am a brand snob in that regard.

Meanwhile, however, all those suits, dress shirts and ties on which I spent so much money during my years in America sit idle and attract dust and moths in the closet. I would give them to the thrift store but I doubt anyone here would buy them.

I realize some folks not from this beautiful island may poke fun at our dress code. To them, maybe we look like North Koreans all dressed alike while saluting Kim Jong-un. But they haven’t experienced a Whidbey fall or winter, and we have. Let them keep their dressy sweaters, topcoats, dresses and wool slacks while stuck in traffic on the I-5. I’d rather stay warm in my uniform while cruising up the Scenic Isle Way.

There is one item, however, you will never find in a proper Whidbey fall uniform: an umbrella. The Rock wind will flip one of those things inside out in an instant, and the rain is usually over before you remember where you put it. Besides, flannel and fleece over denim dry quickly as you sit next to a warm fire at home.

*Editor’s Note: For those who missed “Florence Foster Jenkins” the first time around, The Clyde is planning to bring it back as a “Second Chance” movie sometime in early October. Check The Clyde’s website for information.

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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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 28, 2016