Welcome to the 1st edition of So That Happened on Orcas Island, 2014. I fully expect to have significantly fewer friends once I post this, but it's a risk I'm willing to take! Here we go:
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Baxter is unimpressed by Matt's enthusiastic rendition of
"Hit Me with Your Best Shot." |
1. The other night I introduced Matt to Sporcle, an astonishingly addictive website featuring hundreds of educational games in categories ranging from history to geography to literature. We may or may not have taken actual, quantifiable time out of our lives to play a game where we had to identify a series of animals based solely on pictures of their tongues. Even more astonishing (perhaps alarmingly so) was the fact that we were actually pretty good at it.
2. Last summer my coworker Janet and I left photographs for each other every morning on the shop desk. They were pictures of everything: doors (we both love doors), barnyard animals, golden evening light absorbed in a mushroom that looked like a melting candle. This year, after discovering our mutual love of words, we've decided that we will exchange words and definitions rather than photos. After a morning spent running errands in town and smelling every lilac bush I passed for way longer than any sane person might consider normal, I decided that such a scent needed a word of its very own. I got back to the shop and announced to Janet that I had invented the word
wispent. "I
love it," she said. "That is a
great word." Not only was she supportive of its creation, but we even engaged in a nearly two-hour debate about how exactly it should be spelled. When I suggested an
i instead of an
e, the sound that escaped her lips was what I imagine she might exclaim if I were to volunteer to set fire to her house.
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| The Lilac Fairy left these on my steps yesterday morning. |
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The shop from Syd's porch. My apartment is the tall
building on the left. |
3. I received two orchids for my birthday this year. I am utterly hopeless when it comes to caring for finicky plants, by which I mean that I research proper care procedures and usually just follow the one that says, "Water every two weeks." That I can handle. Shockingly, the orchids don't seem respond well to my blatant inattention. I brought them, one with its leaves shriveled like a grandmother's skin, with me to Orcas with every intention of repotting them in the proper soil and the proper pots. Last week I rode my bike to Island Supply, the hardware store just down the road. I was discouraged, though perhaps not surprised, to learn that they sold only orchid food, not pots or potting bark. I did, however, run into a family friend who suggested that I talk to Lorna, who owns The Driftwood (a nursery) in town. "Or Ace," she said. "Ace has everything." The next time I was in Eastsound I strolled into Ace and headed to the plant section. It was a veritable emporium of potting soil--potting soil for dahlias and potting soil for roses and potting soil for shy flowers with self-esteem issues that only bloom at sunset every other Thursday--but nothing for orchids. I asked the guy at the counter and he pointed a finger toward The Driftwood. "I'd go check with Lorna," he said.
This Lorna certainly has the market cornered, I thought as I crossed the street and headed toward the nursery. I looked around for a while before asking for help, knowing instinctively that I would leave empty-handed but wanting to savor my last moments before disappointment. When I finally approached the famous, all-knowing Lorna and presented her with my request, she scrunched her nose and offered an apologetic smile. "You're just looking for the bark?" she asked. "And the pots," I said, nodding. "I haven't got any of that here," she said, "but you should try Ace." Of course I should. I didn't tell her that I was being bandied back and forth between hardware stores and her nursery like a ping pong ball; I simply thanked her for her time and, bowing my head down, trudged away to the tune of the Charlie Brown Sad Music.
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| I love this place. |
Several days later, on a whim, I went back to Ace. To my delight, the shelves had been restocked and there was the elusive orchid potting soil staring right back at me. I grabbed a bag and, overjoyed, practically pranced to the counter to pay. When I got home I parked my bike outside my apartment and yanked the potting soil from my backpack, leaving my perishable grocery items to stew in the hot sun while I ran toward the shop and threw open the studio door. "Janet!" I shrieked, and when she lifted her head from the tiny clay chicken she was sculpting I triumphantly held up the bag of potting soil as if it were a trophy. Any other person would have furrowed their brow or shrugged or asked, "...potting soil?" as if it were a punch line to a joke that went over their head. Not Janet. "Oh!" she said, "you found it!" I felt like the smartest person who had ever lived. (And it is just now occurring to me why I was never popular in school.)
4. The other day I received an email from my friend Meaghin with the subject line, "Uh..." that reads as follows: "Can we please discuss the fact that there is currently a show on the Smithsonian Channel called 'Hippo Ganglands'? K, thanks." Best email ever.
Stay tuned for more. Or don't. The Don't option is probably a smarter way to go.
2. Hope Solo's arrest. There's no denying that as a goalkeeper, Solo is nothing short of brilliant. She's a two-time Olympic gold medalist and has, as of last week, tied the all-time U.S. record for shutouts. She has worked hard to get where she is, and she deserves credit for that. What she does not deserve credit for, though, is how she has, in my opinion, abused her platform as a professional athlete and a role model. She is seemingly endlessly mired in controversy both on and off the field. In the 2007 World Cup semifinal loss to Brazil (4-0), Solo was passed over in favor of veteran goalie Briana Scurry. After the loss, Solo publicly criticized her coach's decision to bench her and attacked Scurry's athletic ability, saying "It was the wrong decision, and I think anybody that knows anything about the game knows that. There's no doubt in my mind I would've made those saves." What is a girl, like my young cousin who's an incredible goalie and loves Hope Solo, supposed to take from a comment like that? That it's okay to disrespect your mentors and peers when you don't get what you want? In 2012, Solo married former Seahawks tight end Jerramy Stevens who himself is unworthy of his role model status. Rape accusations, DUIs, felony battery charges, possession of illegal substances, and, the day before he and Solo were married, he was arrested on charges of assaulting Solo in their Kirkland home. Now it's Solo who's been booked on two counts of fourth-degree domestic violence assault against her sister and 17-year-old nephew. It makes me sick to my stomach that this is the kind of woman young girls aspire to be like. I don't want my cousin growing up thinking that this is how she will succeed.
3. On an entirely unrelated note, check out my orchid! This little guy (named Little Yedlin Boy after Sounders and USMNT defender DeAndre Yedlin) was centimeters from death when I brought him to the island, and now look at him go!
4. Syd found this poor tiny baby swallow dead on the studio floor, directly below its nest in the eaves. I constructed a coffin out of cardboard from the shipping room and decorated it with markers. Janet and I picked flowers, sang it a little song, and I buried the little guy out behind the rhododendrons. (I may or may not have written a quote from Hamlet on the coffin lid. I think I've found the new #1 reason why I will die alone.)
