Friday, July 30, 2010

Dear Hurricane:

Ninety miles outside Chicago,
can't stop driving, I don't know why.
So many questions, I need an answer.
Two years later you're still on my mind

Whatever happened to Amelia Erhart?
Who holds the stars up in the sky?
Is true love just once in a lifetime?
Did the captain of the Titanic cry?

Someday we'll know if love can move a mountain,
someday we'll know why the sky is blue.
Someday we'll know why I wasn't meant for you.

Does anybody know the way to Atlantis?
Or what the wind says when she cries?
I'm driving past the place that I met you
for the ninety-seventh time tonight.

Someday we'll know if love can move a mountain,
someday we'll know why the sky is blue.
Someday we'll know why I wasn't meant for you.

Someday we'll know why Samson loved Delilah.
One day I'll go dancing on the moon.
Someday you'll know that I was the one for you.

I bought a ticket to the end of the rainbow,
I watched the stars crash in the sea.
If I could ask God just one question...
why aren't you here with me tonight?

Someday we'll know if love can move a mountain,
someday we'll know why the sky is blue.
Someday we'll know why I wasn't meant for you.

Someday we'll know why Samson loved Delilah,
someday I'll go dancing on the moon.
Someday you'll know that I was the one for you.


Summer days are gone too soon,
you shoot the moon and miss completely.
And now you're left to face the gloom
of an empty room that once smelled sweetly.

Of all the flowers you plucked, if only
you knew the reason
why you had to each be lonely--
was it just the season?

Now the fall is here again,
you can't begin to give in,
it's all over.
And when the snows come rolling through,
you're rolling too,
with some new lover.

Will you think of times you told me
that you knew the reason
why we had to each be lonely--
it was just the season.

Will you think of times you told me
that you knew the reason
why we had to each be lonely--
it was just the season.

lyric courtesy The New Radicals; Norah Jones. Itunes shuffle seems to have developed the ability to rip down the curtains and strip the whitewash and slip through heart walls. Awesome. And SB, please don't take this too literally and get mad. I know, for instance, (or assume, anyway) that you are not rolling with some new lover.

In other news:

-interview went well I think, and I should hear back within a week or so. Fingers crossed. I asked Dale of the super-effective prayers to pray.

-tea with Sara was rather nice.

-Sara's mom gave me a sweet gray fleece pullover that fits pretty darn perfectly. (Good thing I have space for more jacket/sweatshirt/sweater-type things.)

-Eva gave me a bag of old jewelry to give to my mom (to take apart and use to make new jewelry), from which I was able to extract this super awesome necklace--it's a long black cord with a silver charm on the end that's shaped like leaves, and it's a bell. YES.

Favorite* word:


Prefix of the moment: peri

Interview tomorrow! ...and tea with Sara? Perhaps? Evidently she's got some sort of wild blackberry something or other AND lavender sugar. Heaven? Heaven.

*In case there's anyone lurking around who still isn't aware, I have about eight hundred favorites of any given thing. But still. It is awesome.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

A few notes:

Two days ago I saw the first few leaves flutter down. I guess it's time. I just hadn't realized.

Today I really cried over Little Bit for the first time. I was walking Miley after getting back home and doing fine until we approached the former home of one of Little Bit's friends, Lucas, who passed on a few years ago. Then I just started sobbing as I walked down the street, all the way home. I came in the basement door and curled up on the couch and cried some more. He was such a sweet, loyal dog. He had such a sweet face, such an attitude of trust and love and patience. I cried for the loss of his spirit from our home. I cried for the loss of his constant, quiet, steady companionship over the last fourteen years. For the way he walked with me alone at night in seventh grade, when I was so depressed I wouldn't let anyone else near. For the way he always walked steadily and patiently beside me. For the way he always ran to greet me when I came home, bounding toward me and then toward the door, wagging his tail. And later the way he looked wearily up and wandered over, and brightened when he saw who I was, and then still plodded up the same path toward the door, just alongside. For the way he used to run ahead up the street when we reached our block, and look back to make sure I was following, and the way he felt better and ran easier when the air was cool. The way he even followed in the snow after ice built up between his toes, followed until he limped and we saw and turned back. And then I started to cry for all the times he wanted to walk just a few more blocks, and I said no. Or the times he wanted to cross the creek and walk in the woods, and we didn't go because I didn't have shoes on that I could get wet. We hadn't walked across the creek together in years. I am so sorry. I am so sorry.

And then I came home, and just cried. I miss him so much.

Tomorrow I'm going to a meeting in support of Kelly's mentee, who is in a very bad foster care situation. Prayers for her and for her sister (who was removed from the home earlier) and for her brothers (from whom she and her sister were separated some years ago) would be greatly appreciated.

Friday I have an interview at a school nearby, for an MS English and History position. Prayers would again be appreciated.

Saturday we leave for Arkansas, and break the drive in Knoxville at Beth and Zach's house. I'm really looking forward to seeing them.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Post HP

Does anyone want to tell me where this bruise on my forearm came from?

Harry Potter night, by the way, was pretty excellent.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Such an eventful weekend!

Let me just get the one negative thing (other than the heat) out of the way first. I have two words for you: leech infestation. Fortunately they're all just hooked onto the dam at the swimhole and we haven't seen any in the water, but oh my GOD, there are millions. When you first see them, they look like some kind of algae growth. Where the fuck do that many fucking leeches come from? It honestly, truly makes my skin crawl. It makes me fight to control my gag reflex when I look at or think about them too closely. I've never seen anything like it. We're hoping for a big rain to wash them all off, because we don't know what else to do. Okay, next topic!

First of all, yesterday I was the picture of productivity. Relatively speaking. China and I built a bench with Jimmy, and I discovered a shy affection for power tools. I made pockets for my new notebook and also a camera case (the zipper on my old one broke) out of packaging tape. I did some work on a job application. I spent several hours with Emily and Danice planning the first ever Harry Potter evening program. It was good times. I think we're going to have to take out the Horcrux Hunt though, because I'm not sure it would go over well if we had to explain horcruxes to ten year olds.

And today! Today is Christmas! First of all, we got to sleep in a half hour because it's Sunday. (Staff meeting at 8:15 am rather than 7:45.) Secondly, Tim and Naomi made fricking muffins for us last night, and gave them to us at staff meeting this morning! And Abby's church had donated some money "to spoil the staff," so our fake tree was set up in the dining hall and under it were 35 ditty bags containing gifts bought from the Dollar General in Goshen. So here's the rundown of our staff meeting this morning: we're all sitting on the dining hall porch like usual, waiting for Beth to come start the meeting. Then Art comes out and asks us all to come inside. As we enter, we hear Christmas music playing in the background and see the decorated tree and three kinds of delicious fresh muffins: blueberry, chocolate, and strawberry. We each got two. THEN, Beth sits us down in a circle on the floor and informs us that we are about to have a white elephant gift exchange. I got a stegosaurus. As I said: Best. Christmas. Ever.

Now please excuse me, because I have to finish this app today (for real this time) and send it, and also make 55 or so sets of tickets for HP night, and paint some more signs, and get together all the materials, and get people signed up for all the roles, and field a bunch of questions regarding protocol and stations and costumes and names and terminology. By the way, for the amusement of those of you that may know her, Kelly is running the quiddich station. She is playing the rogue bludger.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Little girls.

I keep forgetting to write. It is hot as a mother. It is humid. My bathing suit will not dry. Awesome.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Highs in the mid-thirties

Well my laptop bit it, or has at least slipped into a coma. With it have gone my photo collection, my music collection, a whole lot of writing (I wish I hadn't unlearned that particular lesson from the last two times), my TCS cover letter, and my document of baby information for Steven. Awesome.

On the plus side, this gave me a chance to go get a new notebook last night at 1 am. Three guesses as to where that notebook came from.

DC yesterday (for Susannah and Mike's apartment-warming, with a side trip to visit Chris(tina) and Matt in Bethesda)  was fun, but long. Long, long, long. It should have taken a little under 2.5 hours to get to Chris's house--it took 4. Jr and I spent 75 minutes traveling 14 miles up 495. The car thermometer climbed to 135 degrees and then sat there. We became rather damp. Every time I take the metro for a while I forget how terrible driving in and around DC can be and generally is. Note to self: take the stupid metro. It is worth the $5.

Last night I took the opportunity, evidently, to start thinking about (read: pining over) David some more. The day before it had been relatively easy to remember those things that didn't work, that didn't line up, didn't click, and to tell myself with some small confidence that we are wrong for each other. Yesterday though all I could think about were sweet kisses and hands clasped together, smiles and snuggles and laughter, and such comfort. Such a feeling of being at ease and at home together. I really miss that. I did a lot of silent grieving yesterday for the loss of him, and for the loss of us.

Last night, the last paragraph I wrote in my new recycled-paper-yet-made-in-China notebook was this:

"Life seems so thick right now--like molasses. Difficult to move through. Difficult to breathe. Difficult to swallow. Thick and slow. I know that those feelings change minute to minute, hour to hour. I'm just saying. Often today I've felt adult and capable, strong and attractive. I guess, I think, that I was feeling like I was worth something--like I was a perfectly acceptable, functioning human, objectively speaking. That felt really good."

It did feel really good.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010


How I turn to a sniveling mess at the end of every session where I've known any of the kids for a while. Or where I know the older siblings of any of the kids. Or where any of the kids I know have turned into staff that I love beyond all reason. I start out beaming at them and then I ask silly, sappy questions, and then I take a bunch of pictures so I can beam at my convenience later, and then I just double over on the last night at some point during campfire and start leaking out the face.

Last session it was Robert's fault. Robert's and RJ's and Dominique's and Canaan's, and Jon's and pretty much every other kid that was up for CiT that I've known forever.
This session, I mean, I've been beaming all over the place, beaming so much that our power bill has been pretty much halved since I got here, but tonight it started with Sean Michael. I mean he started coming as a little boy--this tiny, hyper little nine-year-old, bouncing off the walls everywhere with questions and ideas and science projects all over the place, and he's grown up so much, and he's had to handle so much in his life, and now here he is, nearly grown. There he was tonight at campfire, playing the guitar he started learning here last year as one of my CiTs. It struck me that there's always just enough, you know? Gracie used to play the ukelele and Rob the guitar, and then Art played after Rob couldn't come so much anymore and Gracie had gone. Now Sean is learning. And now Sean is sitting around the campfire with an adoring, insane little boy leaned up against his shoulder, pointing out the North Star to a kid that didn't know Venus was a planet. And now Sean's little brother Jamie is here, and I can see it happening all over again. He is so insane, really all over the place and filled just like his brother with stories and crazy ideas and questions about animals, and I just love him so much. And I just doubled over and started crying right there with all the little boys and all my former little boys singing and making obnoxious, badly-timed jokes all around me. I do it almost every time.

I Like To Dance And Sweep At The Same Time*.

No flood damage! Most excellent. Also, yesterday we played Joy To The World ("Jeremiah was a bullfrog," not "the Lord has come") instead of reveille, and today we played Smashmouth--All Star, I'm A Believer, and one other radio hit that I can't remember any lyrics to and didn't know was theirs (i.e., not Walkin on the Sun). It was awesome. There were counselor dance parties on cabin row and campers dancing on the catwalks. I think this needs to happen more often.

*Best song ever, courtesy of VB**.

**= Victoria Bradley, love of my life.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

I had something to say about today, I swear I did. Or maybe yesterday?

The creek is flooding. Again. I doubt that it will reach anything close to the level it did a few yearsa go when we had to close Camp and send everyone home (simply based on the fact that that was a 100-year flood, and then another 100-year flood in the same summer), but it's still a little irritating and I think it makes those of us who were here last time a little nervous. Everyone's tying things down, putting things inside, sandbagging. Beth made all of use who were staying in Lakeside across the creek move out stuff into the retreat house (on higher ground) because she was sleeping in Lakeside last time, and woke up surrounded by water. I guess we'll have to see how it looks in the morning.

Oddly enough, I dreamed the other night that the creek flooded. Interesting.

I still have no idea what I had planned to say on here.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Notes from today

Sometimes, people remember you better than you think.

If you walk under a flowering bush, possibly flowers will get in your hair. It will be pretty.

There is just something special about payday. Or rather, or also, something special about that day when you realize that your paycheck wasn't lost after all--only hiding, somehow, in the third place you looked. And the day you deposit that check and can afford gas. Something magical.

There is just no way at all to drive down the road listening to Ambulance LTD with the windows open and not feel like a badass. And that is a very good thing.

However, I still need an oil change. Millboro Garage, perhaps? Or I could just man up and do it myself. I guess.

Flowers in hair. Pretty. Ambulance LTD. Badass. Positivity overruling overdue oil changes! Anyway, I did add transmission fluid and clean the windshield and fill the gas tank. So there.


I left the beach around 9 last night, estimating that I'd be home around 12.30, and I pulled up in front of the house at 12:28. Booyah. My ability to read the "estimated driving time" on a google maps printout is, as the PBS special Mr Bennett would say, "positively occult."

I said hello to my parents whom I was happy to see and who were happy to see me, I turned off the living room lights, I fell into bed, I fell into a somewhat-fitful-but-still-better-than-nothing night's sleep.

Little Bit, who has been our dog since I was ten and whose name I am still defensive about, seems to be weakening by the day. He is now at a point where he usually (often?) cannot stand or walk without assistance. You'd think the next course of action would be clear, wouldn't you? But I just can't even think about it, much less look in his eyes and say or even know that this is the end. He is such a good, sweet dog. We love him so much.  This has all happened so fast. We are so soft-hearted. I am going to cry. I wish we could go for just one last walk down to the creek, and then run back up our block together with him bounding ahead and looking back to make sure I'm still behind him, grinning mouth open, tongue hanging out.

But we can't.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Thursday atthe beach. So to speak. I actually stayed in the house mostly.

Tonight I was straightening up downstairs and saw a flash outside, and realized that there was a storm out at sea. I ran upstairs to tell everyone what was going on (because lightning storms are exciting, ok??), and then, of course, picked up my camera and headed out to the beach. At first I tried taking pictures. I knew deep down that this was a huge waste of time, especially with a little and somewhat old Sony Cybershot pocket camera like mine, but I couldn't help trying. Eventually I started walking down the beach, and eventually I (mostly) gave up on the camera. I stopped 15 feet short of the pier and stood where the waves could wash up to just below my knees and studied the water and sky. I was trying to compose poems and paintings and drawings in my head. I was thinking of the "no man is an island" quote, and how it's all wrong--how we're all islands. How I'm standing here on the shore of mine, and by reading the wind and waves and sky I can tell there's a storm out there, but I can't really see it. I can't really experience it. It's like trying to read another person's mind. We can't really ever get in on what's going on--we can only read the weather and the waves and try to figure it out. I stood and watched the lightning, and the overlapping waves around my feet, and the foam, and the raw, powerful storm waves crashing against the pier for a long time. I turned to leave, and then turned back, realizing I'd never gone all the way to the pier. I went and stood next to a piling, and then saw a bolt sticking out about 2.5 or 3 feet from the ground. It was very tempting. I think I actually said aloud, "that is very tempting." And then I climbed up and sat on top of it, one of the shorter support pilings, barefoot and dirty with my skirt (ok, skort) pushed up to my hips and my legs and arms wrapped around the main pillar. (That was the only way. Those things aren't really big enough to make good seats, and they are severely lacking in comfortable foot rests.) Even just adding five or six feet to your vantage point can seem to change everything, can't it? I think I sat up there for at least 30 or 40 minutes, getting my clothes covered in mouldy, soggy old wood and watching the waves crash and run up the beach and splash under my feet. It was pretty awesome, not gonna lie.

Then on the way back I overshot the house by ten minutes, and then it started to rain. Luckily I realized that I'd overshot, and then didn't pass it a second time. That would've been pretty aggravating. But it was ok!

Earlier today, after I tried/pretended to nap for four hours or so, most of us went to paint pottery. Brian drew this super sweet cartoonish lumberjack and snowy tree and house on a mug, and outlined it all in black. I took a picture, but I took it on my camera and we all know how I feel about going to all that trouble of putting the memory card into the reader and then plugging it into the computer. Such a hassle. Maybe later.

I painted a tree and a waterfall and a Bible verse and some birds--so unlike me, I know. I guess none of you reading this (except possibly David) see much of the stuff I tend to paint, but trees and waterfalls are popular themes. Bible verses and birds are not unheard of. I was under pressure, okay? Anyway I took pictures of that on my phone, so here you go:

The other side has a waterfall on it. And another bird, that time flying. Also, obviously (?), this will look rather different after it's glazed. The tree branches will probably be showing through, for one, the blues will be far darker, and the bird might have faded into the tree. Whoops. I am crossing my fingers and hoping that "different" means "better." Anyway, the verse is "Beloved, let us love one another--for love is of God, and everyone that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God." I John, 4: 7-8. I think I'll be gifting this to the kitchen at Camp because evidently charging $16 for a mug plus $7/day for "studio time" doesn't leave enough profit margin for this pottery place to buy dishwasher- and microwave-safe glazes. Classy.

Before she went to bed, Sara's mom told me to go to bed soon, "because you want to be happy tomorrow." Today, as I believe I mentioned, I was very tired and sunburned and stayed inside. Am I not allowed to be a night person? Am I not allowed to be an introvert? Are those things not okay? She, bless her, is type A. I guess they are not ok.  Hopefully, despite having another late night, I can be 'happy' tomorrow. Aka get up and go to the beach, I suppose. And I think I'll need to be leaving tomorrow evening, which sort of stinks, but I'd really rather not be in traffic Saturday morning. Even if I hit traffic tomorrow night, I'd prefer that in hopes that my car will be less likely to overheat and pop yet another leak in the radiator hose. I guess we'll see, kiddos. I guess we'll see. Goodnight all.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Writing and writing and writing.

A product of too much time on my computer, I guess. How much time can I spend half-clothed in direct sunlight every day? How many other things can I do without spending money? Not that much and not that many. I'm not trying to complain. Just making excuses.

Anyway I realized I haven't been entirely honest about David, and maybe it doesn't matter or maybe I shouldn't; maybe it will make things worse, but I know, David, that you do check or have been checking up on this sometimes. And documentation helps me, later.

I must have written your name in the sand at least ten times at Moomaw while I was trying to lifeguard. Just writing with my fingers and then wiping it away. Once I wrote your family's names too. I couldn't focus. I switched out with Dale in part because I needed to think about anything else. I had been doing such a good job of keeping my mind closed, but thoughts of you crept back in and I ended up staring at you on the insides of my eyelids in my tent when I should have been sleeping.

I thought maybe it would stop, but it hasn't yet. It's been in and out, like the waves, but nearly always there to some extent lately. And ain't that always the way. Yesterday was pretty hard. I guess the beach is pretty hard because even though we never could make a beach trip together work, I always wanted to, so much. I have a three-year habit of thinking of you at the beach and wishing you were around. Plus there's a damn outdoor shower. Of course there is. I haven't used it.

I've been staying up late texting at nights, playing mentor to a kid from camp who is great and who needs it. I am so glad to do that, so glad to be able to help, so glad of reassuring human contact without the stress of actual face-to-face interaction, but I need to sleep. And I need to get human contact from people my age. I just  have a hard time, especially when I'm tired, with anything in groups--anything that isn't one-on-one. And as this is a group trip, and as the person here with whom I would like to spend one-on-one time is the host and also rather popular, there is precious little alone time to go around.
I know, or at least I get the feeling, that people in the house (particularly "adults"--parents) are annoyed with my near-constant computer usage. I'm sure I'd be annoyed too. I'd like to make some excuses here, where they aren't listening, where I won't seem quite so childish or ungrateful. And I am not ungrateful!
I am so tired. The sun wears me out. I love everyone in this house but all except one or two wear me out. I guess maybe I've been using this computer a little like a shield. I'm sorry.

And I would like to apologize for writing such depressing things. Judging by the above paragraphs I'd have to say I'm not feeling particularly well this morning and also I am exhausted, and I just want to go back to sleep, but I feel that I must go to the beach instead because to do otherwise would be wasteful and irresponsible and ungrateful. Such helpful emotions I've got running around in my head. Ugh. Maybe I'll have something more positive to say later. Love to anyone stopping in here. Notes would be appreciated--I'm lonely.

Post number 800 of high-school-friends beach week 2010

I don't really have anything to say but I feel the need to say this:

I've just been reading over some old entries (the first month of this thing) and am struck by the number of careless errors* I left in there. I'd like to think that they're mainly due to fatigue and a lack of proofreading, but still. I wrote "road around" instead of "rode around." Really? Really? I am so ashamed.

*Typed first just now as "arrors." See? That's the kind of thing I'm talking about.

What the f.

Yesterday, wearing 30 spf sunscreen, I seemed to gain some skin pigmentation, but then by this morning it had completely faded.Today, in a wave of brilliance, I decided to sit out for a while sans sunscreen. Then, because my skin changed color not at all, I thought that perhaps I should further delay sunscreen application. It was somewhat overcast today, but the water has been beautiful--as clear as I've ever seen on the Outer Banks. We (me, Sara, Eva) read for a while, then swam for a while and saw some dolphins (!) hunting and playing beyond the breakers, maybe twenty or thirty feet from us at the closest point. Very exciting. There were several discussions about the desirability of swimming with, petting, or possibly riding wild dolphins, not to mention having one as a "special friend*." Also, we saw a pelican bus lead by a seagull. Magical. Eventually we left the water and I returned to my chair determinedly, sunning beneath a sunless sky.
Even after leaving the beach for the day, my skin was still as pasty pale as it had been before I drove down. Now? Oh, now my chest, stomach, and thighs are right about that shade of red that a person might turn after being smacked hard. All over. Sometimes I feel like my whole body is conspiring to play pranks on me.

But dolphins!

*A-la Flipper**

**Only not, because evidently Flipper was really annoying? I don't know. I've never seen it.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Dear internet,

Please work. Or maybe it's better that you not, as I am less distracted from the ocean when you are sleeping or on break. And how much time do I get to spend with the ocean? But still, I just want to sleep.

I have been writing a fair amount over the past couple of days but largely not posting said writings due to a fickle internet connection. This morning I have had the brilliant idea of connecting to a random linksys instead of worrying about our still-uncooperative protected network. I know, I'm a genius.

Things written recently, in reverse order--that is, most recent first (and as separate entries, because this one has footnotes):

I went walking on the beach again tonight (tonight being Tuesday night, but who knows when this will get posted with the way the internet has been acting this evening), out to the waves and then down to the left toward the pier to get my feet wet and let the waves splash up against the hem of my dress and lean against a piling and sing. I carried my water bottle, as usual, both as a source of water and as a blunt object should I be attacked by a madman on a deserted beach after midnight. I should've been a boy scout--always prepared for things that never happen.
I sang under the pier for a while and then headed home around 1 or 1:15 I guess, and halfway back I was suddenly hit with this wave (no pun intended) of fatigue, after which everything seemed so dreamlike--like I wasn't completely conscious, wasn't completely there. Along the way I met a man walking in the opposite direction, and I didn't see him until he was almost upon me--maybe six feet away. I had been singing, and had closed my eyes for a second, rubbing the sleep out of them, and then when I opened them there he was, coming out of the darkness. Sort of freaked me out (in addition to being a little embarassing), though he didn't even acknowledge my presence. He passed me again when I was standing at the waves in front of the house where we're staying, singing again. Rather loudly I think, though it's hard to judge volume with the crashing water. Yes. A little embarrassing.

But even still, night walks on the beach are lovely. I could probably count on my fingers every place I've been where I could see the Milky Way, and here I can see it clearly. Last night I must have seen at least six shooting stars, and I wasn't even looking for them*. The moon rose red and soft over the horizon directly in front of the house, and cooled as it ascended. I wish I wish I wish every time I'm out in the dark that there were some camera that could take pictures of the night the way the night really looks, with the subtle shines and glows and depths which evidently only biological, God-given eyes can see. I often feel at home and in the mountains that I could sit and listen to a stream play or a river run forever, all day and night. It seems sometimes like the sound of a stream, given time, could wash out the inside of my mind. I feel like I could listen to the ocean forever too, but it feels more like a mental caress or an embrace, something to soothe rather than something to refresh and cleanse. I guess refreshing and cleansing and soothing and caressing can interact and overlap, but then, maybe that makes sense. At the risk of getting sickeningly cliche with this, I mean, they're all water. And rivers all** meet the ocean.

*When I am looking for them, of course, I never see any. I lie back in the grass and stare into outer space with grim determination, and then I rub my eyes or glance over at a tree and as if on cue the entire group suddenly gasps with shared delight and appreciation from which I am nearly always excluded. Usually such comments as "that was the [biggest/brightest/most amazing] one I've ever seen!" can be heard.

**Damn logical brain*** forces me to concede that all rivers do not, in fact, meet the ocean. Nature and metaphor are uneasy friends.

**This is why I cannot really enjoy Emerson's**** essays except in excerpted form. It's a crying shame.

****He likes(/liked) to fabricate scientific "facts" to fit his fancy.

Written before last night's beach walk:

I love the ocean waves and their ever-evolving constancy. spill, pour out, swell and recede, ebb and flow, forward and back. I love the way they recede from my consciousness and then suddenly swell back into my ears during quiet moments. I love their soft, soothing sounds.

And again, still, I can't write about water without thinking of its massive and terrifying destructive power, destructive potential. I feel that I must mention it, as though failing to do so would be dishonest or would show a dangerous lack of respect--would be asking for trouble. Maybe I'm afraid that if I let myself forget the danger I will fall prey to it again, or maybe I feel somehow that remembering might keep me safe.

Written about 9pm yesterday

I feel so dishonest sometimes, but possibly it's more anal-retentiveness/obsessive attention to detail. Maybe? Or maybe that's just how I justify my bad habits. For example, Ami and I had a conversation today that went something like this:
"When did you come in last night, like one? Were you on the beach all that time?"
"Yeah I was on the beach for a while."
"Did you come in at one?"
Here is what I said:
"I don't know; my phone died."
Here is what Ami almost certainly heard:
"I don't know--my phone died."

The difference being that my phone did die, but not until after I went to bed. And technically speaking I don't know exactly when I went to bed, but I know it was a little after 3 am. So. Perhaps I need to work on this truthfulness thing.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Like a [twenty]four year old in need of a nap.

TMI and inappropriate content alert, because, you know, that never happens:

I am really sick and tired of not making out. I mean honestly. Help a sister out*.

Also, I am tired and all of my clothes are dirty and I am covered in salt and chlorine and dinner out is in 30 minutes.

And I want to spend this whole $15 itunes gift card on Glee songs. Yes, that is right. I am still ever so slightly obsessed.

*Feel free to not take that seriously. Or I mean, whatever...


Megan and I drove home yesterday afternoon, and were the last two to leave (excepting David and Jarian, who weren't leaving). I don't know why this seems to happen so often. I don't do it on purpose. It just happens. Megan says that I must be a Shewmake. (I'm not, technically speaking, but we are related.) I didn't feel too bad about leaving so late though because I got a lot of letters written to kids that weren't in my cabin. There were so many this year I wanted to write, and even though I must have written at least fifteen kids, I don't think I got everyone on my haphazard mental list. I guess it's alright.

I had tentatively planned to drive down here to the beach yesterday if traffic was ok and if I had the energy, but though traffic was fine, I did not even remotely have the energy. I had to give myself at least three pep talks and down my emergency Rockstar (Juiced, mango--which is by far the best flavor and which can be practically impossible to find sometimes) just to be able to leave the house and drive across town to hang out with some friends from Mary Wash who were having an "America's Goddamn Birthday*" party.

[At this point I stopped writing and went and hung out on the beach for a ridiculously long time and then went to sleep and picked back up again at 11:35 am. Because, you know, everyone cares.]

America's Goddamn Birthday was really nice. I loved seeing all the guys at the house, and more people from college that I hadn't seen since graduation. I thought I was going to miss the fireworks after I took so long to convince myself to leave the house, but I ended up walking down to Maymont from Stone's house and seeing them from the parking lot. It was really nice. And then I came home at 2 am and my dad was still up, so I sat down and he talked to me for an hour or so about our ancestry, including that we are first cousins to Robert E Lee, six or seven times removed. Evidently  Robert's father moved to Halifax in search of new horizons and founded "a new dynasty," from which were descended my father's father and uncle. So that was cool, and it was nice to talk as we hadn't seen each other in almost two weeks.

I woke up late and got ready to go, spent some time with mom and dad, finally went out to leave, and discovered that I had lost my paycheck. Awesome. I'm guessing I left it at Camp, but not having it is really unhelpful. I for once have enough cash money for gas, so I gave up and headed South. Most of the drive went smoothly, but I hit traffic and made a wrong turn when I was nearly at the house, then found the correct street and passed the house three or four times and was a little pissed when I finally walked into the house. Hugs and hellos from Ami and Sara and Susannah and Brian and Eva and Mike cheered me up though. Also: six crabs and three bottles of Mike's (1 lemonade, 2 limeade). So tasty.

Not many vacations are ever as wonderful has this has largely been thus far.

*Verbatim description from the facebook invite:
"If it seems like celebrating AMERICA'S GODDAMN BIRTHDAY in the city that tried to ruin it is counterproductive, try thinking of it this way: shut up.

anyway, it's happening. we're gonna light some fires and shoot some water guns and chop some watermelons with machetes and spit whiskey into fire and playfully smear pie on each other's faces until somebody takes it too far, then spend the night trying to stop drunk people from crying because life after college isn't what they thought it would be.

If you call yourself a son or daughter of liberty, you best PUMP YO DANG SELF UP."

Which is why I <3 Kyle Schuster. (If you are like me and must Google a name, please note that the first result is not the correct Kyle Schuster. The second (a myspace profile) is. Is that over the line? Am I too creepy?)

Saturday, July 3, 2010


the blog I have followed the very very longest:

"It is the sunniest sunshine that has ever shone and we are too tired to run around, but sometimes we lie in the car park among angry beeps and whisper concrete nothings, gravel in our hair, giggling in the melting tarmac."

(from "michael." on


I suppose trying to be fully present here at Camp ends up meaning that I'm largely absent from the cyberspace world. I guess that's okay, but I'm sorry if anyone finds it frustrating.

What did I last say? Something about the library? Whatever. The older boys' session is usually my favorite, and though I can't really call it "favorite" before working any other sessions this year, it's been pretty good. We have a lot of guys up for CiT (counselor-in-training, special leadership-type program), which is great. I might have to see if I can be one of the cit counselors next year. I am too tired right now to worry about capitalization.

The 'High Adventure' camping/tubing trip had a lot of good points, but will hopefully be improved with better planning for next time. And as I said, it was exhausting. I am exhausted. Also, I jumped awake at 3:45 this morning and thought we were still on the river, all spread out and trying to sleep. I was getting so angry about it, too--"this is why we have to find campsites in advance! This is why we need to keep the kids together!" Stress dreams. Fantastic.  Eventually, thankfully, I realized that I was awake and in my bed in the staff shack. That doesn't always happen, so I'm glad it did. I had crazy dreams all night though.

Yesterday pretty much sucked. But then, parts of yesterday were really nice, so it's difficult to generalize much. Getting everyone and everything together, two groups sharing one campsite and not enough vehicles, was pretty hectic and confusing and stressful. Then when we got back, everyone scattered, and I was (or felt that I was) blamed. And I was livid. I mean livid. I stomped around. I threw my water bottle in front of a camper. I yelled at people. Eventually I had to hide in the craft shack and sort beads, in hopes that this would help me calm down, and I ended up sobbing hysterically. I think perhaps this had been building up for a while. And it wasn't just that I felt like I was unjustly blamed for everyone's kids running everywhere. (By the way, I was put in charge of this trip, and I have never been in charge of a camping trip with kids before.) It was also that, for some reason, the past two days have been increasingly bad in terms of missing David. And then Victoria, trying to help me feel better, told me that he missed me too, and that's about when I started crying hysterically. Good. Good. Good times. Thanks.

But since I couldn't bring myself to go to dinner, Charity had me drafted to help her drive back out to Lake Moomaw to pick up the canoe trailer, as it is missing a hitch pin and she wanted help in case it came unhitched. Again. (She substituted an open padlock, which held pretty well.) Also we both were at the ends of our respective ropes and needed to get the hell out of camp. It was really nice. As it turned out, pretty much all the canoe tie-downs needed to be retied, so it was good that both of us were there. That lake is so beautiful, and so is the drive. It was a really nice little break.

Tomorrow, obviously, is the fourth. I'm supposed to go down to the beach to meet Sara & co, but I may have to postpone it a day to sleep and wait out traffic. The question is, what do I do for the fourth if I'm not driving six hours to Nags Head? There's always the option of staying here and watching the fireworks in Millboro, or I could drive home and attend the "America's Goddamn Birthday" party being thrown by some guys I knew in college. That would break up the drive, which would be nice, but I'd also probably be up late. Hm.