The Fourth

My heart swells with pride on The Fourth of July.

Yesterday I oversaw an Eagle Honor Court POW MIA ceremony in the Dining Hall and this evening I am singing America the Beautiful with one of the young men (a vocal performance major and quite the baritone!) from camp.

My family has invested itself completely, one way or another in this country and as always I am so proud to be an American.

Especially today!

The Calvary

So I am a coward, but I am still going to do something. I have called in a friend to "pinch hit" on something I am afraid to do myself.

Sometime next week it will be done.

This will be done... sort of... until I have to answer for it and explain myself.

Then camp will be over and I will have to see what survives the rubble.

I wish I was braver.

But this is all I got right now.

Who's a Coward?

Not me. Not at all. There is nothing that I’m afraid of. I mean why should I be, right?

I’m afraid that this is all in my head, that I am making a mountain out of a mole hill, that I have listened to the wrong voices (and there are many) and am so immature and naive that I have really messed up here and am really wrong about it.

I am afraid that if I say something that I am going to loose a really good friend who (especially if I am wrong!) has only ever tried to help me.

I am afraid that I may hurt someone as much as I think they may be hurting me, just as unintentionally. Then what would that say about me.

I am afraid of all the things that saying something will cost me.

I am afraid of all the things that not saying something will cost me.

I am afraid that if I do say something I will say it wrong and it will be as awful and un-closure-y as just letting it go and not saying anything.

I am afraid that my current plan is a bad idea.

I am afraid that the time afterward will be terrible.

I am afraid of life going back to what it was.

I am afraid of what this whole ridiculous situation means about me.

I am afraid that I really have the emotional maturity of a fifteen year old and that I’m gonna be stuck here forever.

I am afraid that this is my fault to begin with and now someone else is getting held responsible for it.

I am afraid of feeling this.

I am afraid.

How can someone be happy and fulfilled and enjoying life and scared and mad and unsure all at the same time?

Why can't this ever just be simple.

There is no comfort that this is simply a learning experience, because I know there is no prize, but the lesson at the end and I will still be alone. It would help if I thought I was fighting for something or someone.

And no, in this case, me doesn't count.

The Rules

You told me I could dish it out, but not take it. I told you, you didn't play by the rules.

Maybe you don't understand the rules.

1. I am not a whore, or a ho, or a slut. Don't call me that.

2. My sex life, or lack there of, my singleness and why no one wants me is not a joke and not something to joke about.

3. Teasing is fun on an even playing field, but one upping each other with subtext is not. If you can't tell the difference you are not paying attention.

4. I may be older, but I am not old. Just because you act like you are four, does not make me sixty.

5. There is nothing funny about rape. There are no jokes about rape that are funny. There is no compromise on that.

6. I may call you tipspit, but I also call you sweetie, sweetheart, cutie, baby and babe. They balance each other out. You rarely if ever call me anything sweet. Therefore there is no balance.

7. If I walk away it is because 1) I know it makes you crazy, 2) I'm not sure about motives anymore, 3) I am protecting myself, but 4) I am also protecting you. I could leave you bleeding and you wouldn't know what hit you. Trust me on that.

8. You cannot make fat jokes about other women and then lecture me about my body image, enjoying life and what I have or have not eaten today.

9. While I do love you very much, I am not in love with you, I am not going to be in love with you, you are not right for me, and I don't want you sexually. I think this is actually mutual.

10. I imagine that if someone who was in love with you watched you and I interact, she wouldn't like it. Our interactions are often and significantly emotionally intimate. You may not be cheating and I may not be doing anything wrong either, but I am not convinced this is right. I wish I was stronger and less desperate for the affection, though I am getting better and stronger. When we joke and tease and laugh and talk and confide I so enjoy it, but after I feel guilty and even a little dirty. Honestly, I guess I feel a little like an emotional prostitute. But, I don't want to be a whore, a ho, or a slut. So, please don't call me that.

I told you that I would give you the rules. You said you reserve the right to edit them. Somehow I doubt you'll see this. So maybe I'll get around to printing it up for you and you can tell me what you think. But these are my rules. I don't actually think they are unreasonable or irrational or stupid. Maybe if you knew what they were you would agree with me. Maybe if you understood the rules, I wouldn't need them.

Inconsistent

How can someone we care about so much make us so angry? How can we say very mean things to someone we care so much about? Why do friendships and relationships and interactions and whatever the heck else we call them have to be complicated, inconsistent and upsetting. Why, when I am discussing these issues with in myself do I become plural (we)?

No, there is nothing to explain, nothing to report, and even if there was, which there isn't, I'd sound crazy, so I'm not going to. (And no, I am not paranoid!)

Mostly, I am really tired. I keep having weird and upsetting nightmares that are not based in reality. I wake up in tears. One was about how my Dad said I had to go back to school and get a degree in economics, and that I would never get a PhD. Then I had one yesterday about people re-arranging my Med Lodge and me quitting when they wouldn't put it back.

Also I am really tired of feeling like I am stuck in a strange game, with no rules, no prize and frankly no point. Again, no, I am not going to explain that. What would be the point?

Oh, and I am starting to think boys are really stupid. I mean, really!

I am completely too old for a lot of this nonsense.

I'm going home for the weekend and am going to spend quality time with Nana, visit my therapist and sleep.

A lot.

Three and a half weeks to go.

Why couldn't this just be simple?

We don't know...

Too Much Information.

Sunday was not a good day. If you know me or are at camp, I am going to be specific, and if you can't handle that, stop reading now.

On Sunday check-in went fine, but I was tired. More tired than usual, maybe. There are some things that are starting to get to me. Not in the sense that I am out of control or am getting hurt so much as they bother me, concern me and I still don't feel like it's right. Anyway.

Rosie came on Sunday. Rosie is my hair dresser. She is a really terrific lady and I have wanted her to meet Drew for some time. They've really hit it off and I see good things for them. In the mean time Rosie is cutting the staff's hair one day a week. She's making camp beautiful, one head at a time. So she came on Sunday and I decided to take her out to dinner, for a little girl talk.

We were gone for less than an hour. In that hour a camper fell and busted a wrist. Not uncommon, and my staff handled it beautifully, but, I wasn't here and I hate that. It makes me feel like it's my fault. So there was that chip. That was almost a rational, reasonable one.

Down-hill from there.

So then I ended up going to sit with some of the staff that was smoking behind one of the cabins. I don't like smoke, but I wanted to be with them, so... They thought it would be funny to tell someone (who cares, theoretically) that I was smoking to. I was handed a cigarette as said individual rounded a corner. I was (irrational I know) expecting them to prove their friendship by knocking it out of my hand, like a good friend should. Their response, "Cool, another smoking buddy!" Now I was ticked off. Like I said, irrational.

Then back in the staff lodge, while one of the metrosexuals was getting high lights, Poje said something about women over thirty who were unmarried being unwanted. I got upset and stormed out of the lodge, and (accidentally) peeled out of the staff area. I was in tears by the time I got back to Med Lodge. Batch was there. He (bless his heart) followed me, would not take no for an answer and simply hugged me until I got it all out. Then acted disappointed when I asked him to step out of my room so I could change. (It was the boost I needed.)

Poje apologized the next day (apparently he thought his life was in danger, but that's not why he apologized) and this morning I have conformation that I was indeed hormonal.

I haven't cried like that in a while. I wonder if it was just a bad day and the wrong moment or if it would have happened regardless.

Oddly, the cigarette thing still bothers me the most and I don't understand why.

I have still never, and will never smoke one, by the way. Yuck!

Benedict

It is always a hard thing to do something you know your friend wouldn't like, but ultimately is probably what is best for them. There is no satisfaction in the probability of correctness. There is even less comfort.

As a teacher I see this kind of problem all the time. Kid A tells Kid B in confidence about a very real problem at home or something terrible that happened, swears Kid B to secrecy and expects B to bear that burden with them. When B makes the right choice and tells an adult, even though the terrible problem is now removed and/or improved, A never forgives B for it.

Lately it seems like I've had to deal with several of those conundrums. Should I share, who should I share it with and what should I share of things I learned in confidence? Even though I believe it will help, even though I think it's probably the right thing to do, even though something had to be done, does that mean I should be the one to do it and is this the right way.

I imagine one of my biggest fears in life is doing the wrong thing and hurting someone. My second biggest may be of being hurt myself. That's a lot of fear to be playing with.

It also comes to an issue of trust. Who do I trust, who trusts me and can I trust another person on someone else's behalf? Is that even fair?

Kid B trusts the adult they tell with Kid A's secret. Hopefully they picked the right adult to put their trust in.

I hope I did the right thing.

Accident Prone

So this past week, let's count.

On Wednesday, I fell down the staff stairs (big rock affair going to the bridge to get into the staff area) and bruised up my left shin and got mud all over my scrubs.

Thursday, I was putting a big box in the back seat of the van and managed to (I am not exaggerating) deck myself in the jaw and bit the inside of my lip.

Friday, I finally contracted the stomach virus everyone else has had and spent the night throwing up.

Saturday, I tripped over a trailer hitch behind the camp van in the dark, bruising my left shin further.

Then (!) I got my finger caught/pinched in the gas pumping thingy when someone (!) tried to "help" me pump gas into the camp van.

Bets on when I end up in the Emergency Room at this rate?

Oh, and this morning, for the record, I really hurt!

"My foot went numb"

So they brought in this child who said he had sprained his ankle.

I looked.

No swelling, bruising, loss of strength or any other indications of distress, so, twist at best.

Then the kid says, "I can't feel my toes."

Crap.

That is a significant indicator and I have protocols to follow. I thumped the kid's toes. He said he couldn't feel it.

So I reached in my drawer and grabbed an empty syringe to check sensation.

All heck broke loose.

"I am allergic to most of the stuff that goes in there!"

"There's nothing in here, I just need to see what you can feel."

"I don't like needles!"

"But you can't feel it. You just said so."

"I can feel now, I just couldn't a minute ago."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it comes and goes, and it's back now."

When I spoke to the scout master later he said he wished I had called him in to watch the episode. He said this kid is notorious for his injury stories and medical theatrics.

Either way, he walks fine now and it made my day.

Emotional Cocoons

There are many different kinds of intimacy. Most people think immediately of physical and/or see that as the best or most important kind. Those people are seriously missing the boat. So often I meet young christian couples who hold up this physical "purity" as a sign that they are being careful, guarding their hearts and yet when the break up comes it is the emotional intimacy created in those quiet moments of bared souls that find them just as if not more devastated than those that had a physical relationship. Those poor men and women don't know what hit them.

Emotional intimacy is a very serious and underestimated thing. It exists between parents and children, siblings, friends and couples. Obviously depending on the relationship it works differently and each kind of relationship has it's own brand. There are several brands of it which make it difficult to see as a problem or to always define correctly. Especially between men and women who are friends. Friendships between men and women are completely possible and reasonable, but we are meant to attract each other beyond friendship, so... A man and a woman might be friends and have romantic relationships outside that friendship but have become so emotionally intimate within the friendship that they have seriously endangered and entangled one of their hearts or more likely both.

It is very complicated sometimes to find the line between loving/caring for someone as "just friends" and cherishing someone as more. People can cross those lines all the time, and not even know really until they are too far to go back. It is comfortable, comforting, to be emotionally intimate. Our hearts are designed to be connected to others. The idea that there are no strings attached can be even more intoxicating (like the idea that you can have an open sexual relationship... which by the way is also a really bad idea!) but it is dangerous and almost and addictive narcotic of sorts. When it's gone you can even go through painful withdrawal.

Physical Intimacy without emotional intimacy is empty and a lie. A lie we tell ourselves. It is why casual sex is so meaningless and frankly heinous. Emotional intimacy without commitment and genuine intentions is oddly almost (if not more so) as empty because in the end the love and support is hollow and has no basis in reality. It will not stand as is under pressure or scrutiny. It either has to complete itself in a real commitment/connection or end to allow room for the new real commitments to others.

It is such a comfortable thing, though. Comforting to be wrapped in a cocoon of emotions, however artificial, that makes you feel safe. It is easy to spin that cocoon for someone else, with the best of intentions, even though in reality you cannot maintain it and never really meant to.

Caterpillars create cocoons to transform into butterflies. Spiders use cocoons to trap their prey and hold them while they suck out their life blood.

Yeah. Draw your own cocoosions.

Being an Adult

It is a difficult thing to define and catalog, when we become an adult. When is that moment that we really are an adult? What really is an adult? In some ways it is a legal age, but the cut off is not nearly the definite.

As a teacher of high school, I have a very rigid code about ages. In terms of friendships, relationships, romantic entanglements, all of it, age, maturity and adulthood are all factors that I weigh very carefully.

When I first started teaching, I was 23 and my students were all 17 and 18. I was clearly (in my mind) older, wiser and more mature than they were, but as I have gotten older, while I still see very clear lines, the lines are differently defined.

Camp created a weird scenario for me. In some ways there is no age up here. We are defined by our roles in camp. There are people that I consider friends that in the real world should be/could be students. Yet, our friendship here rarely is a mentor mentee thing, just an equal footing thing.

A lot of the time, I still see the age lines in my head, I mean I'm a teacher. In today's world it is very important that I see them. I've ingrained that necessity into my soul, but there are grey areas.

The people who are legal adults, but I still see as boys. Sometimes it is hard for me to accept that they really are adults. My father was the one who actually called me on that. I was talking about one staffer who is 23 and I called him a boy. Dad asked his age. I told him. Dad corrected me and said, "That is a man. He is not a boy and you would do well to remember that." I answered, "but he's not finished yet!" Dad said, "That may be true, but neither are you."

I don't think I was truly an adult until the day I got Nana. I was 28 at the time.

I was disappointed this week to find that someone I have been trying hard, very hard, to accept as an adult, really is not. That doesn't mean that they are not still my friend, not still very intelligent and/or not still a wonderful person, but they are not an adult. In this case their age doesn't matter, because it's wrong. They are still not yet a grown-up.

And like I said. I find myself more disappointed than I thought I would be, but oddly relieved as well.

Pig Tails!

It's Thursday! I like Thursdays. It's staff night off tonight. I only get every other staff night off this summer as I alternate with the other lady here in Med Lodge. This week she took Wednesday and I took Thursday and next week we'll switch. I think I even have a date for next Wednesday, but that's another story for later.



Anyway.



It's Staff Night Off tonight and we are taking the kids to this really neat restaurant that has this thing called the Belly Bomb. It's a Sunday with 20 scoops in it and if you eat it all you get this pink T-Shirt. I don't do the Belly Bomb and I treat too many of the kids in the morning who have to indulge, but this will be the first time I get to go watch the ice cream go in...



We were all so tired last week. I think we pushed ourselves too hard and only now are we starting to catch back up and get the rest we need. I slept seven hours last night. How decadent is that! So today, I am wearing my favorite scrubs. They have a little girl with pigtails all over them. So I wear pig tails too. I've been told by someone who just doesn't understand that I look "ridiculous," but everyone else says adorable. I like it so I don't really care.



Thursday is a good day for pig tails!



I also went shooting on Tuesday. Again, I am "Lovely and Lethal." I've been told I have very nice grouping. I shot 4 out of seven pigeons too with my shot gun. No bruise this year. I fell down some rock stairs trying to go check on an idiot staffer who shall remain nameless who slept in as a temper tantrum protest to reality. My shin still hurts, but it's better.



One staffer called me a Mac Truck on Tuesday, because he thought I wouldn't mind. It was funny to fix that misconception. Why a guy would ever think a woman wouldn't mind that is beyond me.



However, on the flip side I have been hugged so much this week my back is starting to get sore.



Nana is being passive aggressive I think. She isn't taking all her pills regularly or consistently. She decides when she opens the daily compartment that there are too many pills there and so she picks and chooses which ones she will take. We think she bases this concept on their shape and color. We are working on the problem.



Nana also told me that she loves the dogs more than me because they spend more time with her. Then she changed her mind when she realized I was her ride home from the nail salon. Gotta love Nana.



So today I have on Pigtails! Nothing can go wrong, right?

Gossip

Anyone who thinks girls are big gossips should go hang out at a boyscout camp for the summer.

It's Sunday and I am already tired. People are cranky and punchy and I should stop listening to people when they talk and/or giving comfort and advice because then I get lectured by someone else about what I did or did not say to people I may or may not have talked to about things I may or may not know anything about and most likely don't care anyway.

This is part of that whole Emotional Lightning Rod thing my father told me about. It's because I'm a 6'3" red head. I just know it.

Oh, and if one more person tells me to "get smarter" they may never be able to have children!

One Down, Six to Go!

So we have finished Camp Week One and this afternoon begin Week Two. One Down, Six To Go. Week One Highlights include,

The kid who threw up over three scout masters during the Sunday Night Campfire. Seriously, priceless.

The kid with (deep breath) autism, OCD and ADHD who had a severe phobia of bugs and wanted to sit in my clinic and eat chocolate because his therapist told him it made you feel like you were falling in love. I made the mistake of trying to show him that bug bites were no big deal. I pinched him, softly. He began to cry and announced he had sensitive skin. I confessed everything to his mother. She sheepishly admitted she had tried the same thing with the same results. Then another director also admitted he had tried it too. No wonder this kid is phobic. People keep pinching him! He made it through the week, though. His mom gave me a beautiful pot full of chocolate as a thank-you. How sweet!

The scout leader who was a medical student who thought everything was typhoid and leprosy. OK, not really, but seriously, it was funny how often he brought kids to me because he was so concerned. One of his kids though was a serious Home Sick Hypochondriac PITA! He wouldn't do what I told him to, his parents wouldn't come get him (not that I blame them) and he kept sneaking away from his camp site to come see me, he would over heat on the way and be vomiting by the time he got to me. On the last day I simply, firmly, not un-gently threw him out. Then I found said scout leader and pointed out that the kid needed a leash if he could not stay put.

Eight scout leaders signed up to take First Aid and CPR with me. Then they changed their mind because they said we changed the schedule (we did not) and that the class was too long, and that they didn't know anyway. So I ate the $40 for their cards. Oh well.

We got 100 on our inspection. This is a great thing.

Nana announced to me on Saturday that she might love the dogs more than me because she sees them more. Then she changed her mind back and and forth three times before deciding she loved me best.

I spent a very peaceful and delightful Saturday evening with three very sweet men, trying desperately to forget we had ever even heard of camp. I packed a pick-nick dinner and we went to some really pretty places to just chill out. It was nice. Good music too.

My therapist and I had a long talk about real feelings and the artificial and letting ourselves buy into the artificial because it feels good, even though it is not a good idea. Like a drug, really. I hate it by the way, when that man is that kind of right. I have some important realities and decisions to make about some things. I imagine I am strong enough to do what I have to do, and I know in the end it's what is best and what I will do, but it is still hard. It is so easy to passively accept something that feels good and safe, even though in the end it is not real. One way or another, though, this thing is finite and I will overcome it.

Actually I had several long talks with several delightful people this week. I've missed my guys and I am enjoying reconnecting. The knock on my door late at night, "Sandy, can we talk?" This is where I feel the most needed and wanted. They are all so serious, they take themselves so seriously. Some of them have very real issues in their lives. I'd like to just take some of them into my arms and lovingly smother away all the hurts. Some of them want so desperately to be someone or something they are not rather than being happy with the wonderful things they are. Why guys feel the need to be bad-a**'s is beyond me, and I don't know who they think they are fooling... Not me anyway. I know the sweet, good young they are. It's hard not to laugh out loud at them about it. But then, they come to me to talk and all of that falls away.

It's been a long week, and I am a bit tired, but it's been a good one and I'm ready for the next wave.-

Boundries

Introspecting again. I know. Sorry.

Boundaries are a strange set of things. In some ways mine are very open and even weak and then n others they are very small and very strong. I find myself trying to be clear on which ones need to be changed and how and why.

Camp is a place that really pushes my envelope on that. The relationships here are so intense and so, for lack of a better term, artificial. There is no other environment in the real world that would cause people to work, live and lean on each other this way. It creates security where there really is none and conversely creates conflict where there is none either.

Some days I am very confused and angry and hopeful all at the same time. I have a sick feeling that something will have to break eventually.

Will it be a boundary, or me?

Angry

Perspective is a funny thing. It makes me feel old. I remember when everything was a burning issue that had to be taken care of right this minute and my feelings were paramount. I remember it like it was yesterday, that time, I mean, because it was, yesterday...

Not really, but I do remember. This week (and it's only Tuesday) has thrown a lot of things at us here at camp. More specifically poor planning on a few individuals' part has created some real bottle neck issues and as usual the staff ends up taking one for the team. We have to eat our meals on fly outside, and the kitchen keeps trying to come up with a better solution to the problem. Some people find the constant change as frustrating as the situation itself.

Frustration and Anger is when yelling happens. Lots of nasty things get said. People gather around to watch.

Then there is the cool down.

The thing is, nothing is really accomplished in the yelling and for the most part if people care about each other (those that are yelling at each other I mean) they don't really feel better after saying awful things to each other, they even, often, feel worse. Then there is the whole "who apologizes to whom" thing and all that jazz.

These young men are learning about real life, the real world and being leaders in a place that is not exactly real, normal or logical. Many of them want to be able to have control and they yell when they get frustrated because they think that shows their leadership and take charge-dness and all those other things that ambitious young men hope to be.

Me, as the older, wiser (I told you this is not a normal place, because no other place am I any kind of site of wisdom) "big sister" type, just sits and waits.

The funny part is I am a screamer so to speak, and I came from a family of screamers and in my classroom I can get quite noisy, but the older I get the more I know that the yelling accomplishes little and most often makes it worse (for yourself as much as the guilty party).

This morning my prayer is that Angry gets quieter.

Safe

What is it to feel safe? I've been thinking about that a lot lately. First there are so many different kinds of safe. There is the physical safe, emotional safe, spiritually safe, romantically safe, and while I don't know how to explain there are other safe's as well.

There are a lot of times when I don't feel safe. I mostly feel physically safe, though occasionally I get a bit spooked, but it is very hard for me to feel emotionally safe. When people are open to me and love on me (as we say in the south) rather than simply feeling the comfort of that affection I find myself fighting this odd overwhelming panic, and what should make me feel very safe (and in many ways does) also makes me feel incredibly out of control. It's kinda weird, and frightening, ya know?

Speaking of out of control. Camp started officially yesterday. YIKES! We had troops show up with way more kids than we expected, lots of very home sick kids, and there are snakes everywhere.

The real interesting thing to me was the home sick kids. We did a skit for our opening campfire (I say we in the general sense, I didn't plan this and had not had anything to do with it) involving a new campers experiences at camp. The final scene was the bus leaving without him. Do you know what showing real new campers that kind of "joke" on the first night of camp does? Yeah. You got it! One dear angel panicked so completely he yacked on the three scout masters in front of him. (Yes, it was a bit funny) Another scout went hysterical in my office for fear the same thing would happen to him.

We have the highest numbers we have ever had. There are people everywhere. One of the food service people shorted the dining hall on four cases of waffles, so the kitchen staff was up making french toast at the speed of light this morning.

Stress is running very high with the staff. I've been giving out water, chocolate hugs and a strong shoulder all morning. Doing that feels safe. Why does receiving that feel scary?

What Teachers Say VS What They Mean

As a tribute to completely being done with the 2006-2007 School Year.

This Cracks Me Up!

What we say vs what we mean. Teachers, that is.

What the teacher says and (what the teacher means)

1. Your son has a remarkable ability in gathering needed information from his classmates.
(He was caught cheating on a test).

2. Karen is an endless fund of energy and viability.
(The hyperactive monster can't stay seated for five minutes).

3. Fantastic imagination! Unmatched in his capacity for blending fact with fiction.
(He's definitely one of the biggest liars I have ever met).

4. Margie exhibits a casual, relaxed attitude to school, indicating that high expectations don't intimidate her.
(The lazy thing hasn't done one assignment all term).

5. Her athletic ability is marvelous. Superior hand-eye coordination.
(The little creep stung me with a rubber band from 15 feet away).

6. Nick thrives on interaction with his peers.
(Your son needs to stop socializing and start working).

7. Your daughter's greatest asset is her demonstrative public discussions.
(Classroom lawyer! Why is it that every time I explain an assignment she createsa class argument).

8. John enjoys the thrill of engaging challenges with his peers.
(He's a bully).

9. An adventurous nature lover who rarely misses opportunities to explore new territory.
(Your daughter was caught skipping school at the fishing pond).

10. I am amazed at her tenacity in retaining her youthful personality.
(She's so immature that we've run out of diapers).

11. Unlike some students who hide their emotion, Charles is very expressive and open.
(He must have written the Whiner's Guide).

12. I firmly believe that her intellectual and emotional progress would be enhancedthrough a year's repetition of her learning environment.
(Regretfully, we believe that she is not ready for high school and must repeat the8th grade).

13. Her exuberant verbosity is awesome!
(A mouth that never stops yacking).

The Friends We Leave Behind

(Actually From Last Friday)

Again I feel like I am in an insurance commercial. You know, “Life Comes at You Fast!” Sometimes life moves so fast I feel like I have to keep running as fast as I can just to stay in one place and the world is spinning by me like Alice holding fast to the Red Queen’s Hand.

As of now I am completely Melanoma free. All five of my biopsies came back negative and of that five only two needed additional excision because of abnormal, though not malignant, cell growth.

Today was the last day of school for my students (Thank God!) and so begins my summer season and my other identity at camp.

Roo ate a huge bag of chocolates she got off the coffee table, but thankfully (!!!) threw it back up all over the kitchen. This is when I am thankful for Lindsey, as I wasn’t there and I didn’t have to clean it up.

While the sting of my PhD rejection is not yet forgotten, I have begun to find solace in other pursuits for this next year and reaffirmed my commitment to advanced education.

Nana is becoming increasingly confused and I am facing the very real possibility that our time together is on the downward slope. Yet for all that the dear old lady is so plucky. Last week she became convinced there was a third dog in her room. It was a bit spooky for me even as I was afraid to check for fear that she had somehow adopted a skunk. It happens! Anyway, no harm no foul and she was more upset about the confusion than I was.

My non-existent love life has continued to be a source of confusion (and friends’ amusement) for the past several months. One of these days I’m going to figure this stuff out, but I doubt anytime soon. Further I have been accused of torturing impressionable young men (very legal, just younger than me, mind you) for my own personal entertainment. All I have to say is that people have some weird ideas about what is funny.

My stepmother, bless her, is having back surgery today. Hopefully her week long confinement to a walker (quite a blow to a very active and energetic lady under 60!) will be over come Monday. My prayers have been with her all day.

As have prayers for another friend, flying with a head cold. Poor woman.

And yet in the midst of all of this, I am troubled by something completely unrelated. Well, it is slightly related to one thing listed above, but I doubt few if any can guess it or why and how.

Friendship is something I am spending a lot of time evaluating lately. It is a very simple thing and yet so very confusing as well. Most of my friendships make little sense to me much less others. I am not a fan of “best friends;” I think that is too hard a commitment, almost like marriage. Good friends are people you see often, but if things get busy they don’t criticize you for neglecting them. Good friends are the friends you may go months between talking to or visiting or e-mailing and yet you are still close. Even then inside of good friends there are so many nuances and categories. Some friends are more like family than friends, they may not like you much, but they love you and you matter to each other. Some friends continue to make you as uncomfortable as you can be surrounded by friends, but it’s OK and everyday and normal. In some ways I imagine I am rather high maintenance and somewhat dizzy-ing as a friend. I get worked up, spun up and then enact an entire Russian novel usually in the space of two weeks before I am off on some new literary bender.

One friend, this week, I asked a really odd and stupid question of, and then when I didn’t hear from her became convinced I had mortally offended and left an even more bizarre message on her machine. This is a true friend let me just say. One who gives much more than she takes. Again one who makes me wonder, “Why are we friends?” As in, “What the heck is she doing putting up with me?” Because lately I find I really want to know why some people are my friends. Not as in I am ungrateful, I am so very thankful, but I don’t understand how I help or improve their life and why I would matter. Then there are people who I think of as a friend, but I am not sure how they think of me and am even more confused. Then you throw in these men who may or may not have feelings beyond friendship and I am even more confused.

What is worse is that there is no good way to ask these questions, discuss this concern of mine without stirring up a lot of dust. Some of it is old dust, best left resting, some of it is newer dust, but needs to settle down so we can see and breathe. So many things affect other things; it is never just a simple question with a simple answer.

Lately I am trying to understand why a particular group of people care about me and whether or not I might not actually be irritating to some of the members of said group and if I am irritating, why am I and if I am is it therefore wrong for me to be a part of the group and if I am wrong about my concern why does it need to be like I am irritating all the time if I am not? Yes, I imagine that made no sense to anyone other than me. Further I suspect the answer will not make me feel any better no matter what.

So today, as I prepare to sit through our high school’s graduation. As I think over the delightful Eagle Scout Ceremony I went to last night for a dear young friend that I am very proud of. I as I try very hard not to chafe the inside of my arm so I don’t have too much of a scar from excisions (the scar looks like someone put out a cigar on my arm right now and I don’t want it to get worse.) As I am lately trying to discover who the real me is inside and whether or not I can think of that person as outwardly pretty (I am trying!) As I am preparing to end school, start camp, take care of Nana and all the other things I do, I am lost in a rather pointless reflection on friendship that has actually managed to already weird a friend out a bit... yet even she still loves me for all I don't understand why... And I am grateful.

Happy Friday!

A Lot

I know it’s been over two weeks. Yet, the blog has been on my mind so much as there was so much I wanted to say lately. So a quick recap of events.

Monday two weeks ago, the shootings at VT occurred. What a horrible thing to happen. As I sat watching the CNN reports between classes, I was so shocked. Many years ago, I spent one of the most delightful afternoons of my life there on the campus in the company of a very sweet boy that I had been pen pals with for a year. He took me to the quaintest little natural amphitheatre nestled in the woods. We sat and talked for over an hour there. Either way, it is a very pleasant memory of that place. The event itself saddened me so much on so many levels, but the icing on the cake was that it marred that beautiful memory.

Friday a week ago, I had my blood pressure taken and it was 140/100. I’m on medication now. This is a bad thing. So I had to sit in the dark office for 20 minutes to see if it would come down. It did. They let me go home. Oh and I’d gained two pounds but lost two inches… Very confusing.

Saturday a week ago, Mom called. “You know if I left right now I could be there by Sunday morning.” And come Sunday morning she was. Yet it was not the disaster so many predicted. We really did have a nice time. When she started to say things I didn’t want to know, I asked her to stop, and she did and we moved on. My therapist says I get two gold stars for that…

Monday a week ago I had 5 (count ‘em, 5) Melanoma biopsies performed. Right forearm, Right shoulder, stomach, butt/lower back and behind my Left knee. These hurt! Oh, and then I get to go home to “The Queen of Oncology” aka my mother and let her spin me up about the horror that is cancer. It’s funny. She was just being a mom. That took two days to sort out, at which point I told her to quit it! All better now. I will get the results next week.

My principal caught me outside my room on my cell phone in bare feet. After my assistant principal and I got a fir of the giggles lasting nearly twenty minutes (we don’t see the bare foot as a big issue and I was on my planning) I emailed a very sincere apology admitting my lack of professionalism. Thankfully e-mail is visual and not audio so he couldn’t hear the continued giggling.

Thursday a good friend turned 21, so he called me the night before at 10:45 PM (!@#$@!#!@) so I wouldn’t forget… Though he said it was just to say hi during a study break.

Saturday I received what was supposed to be the acceptance letter for my PhD program. Only it was a rejection letter instead. I am very disappointed. I have decided to view it as their loss and tell myself God has something more important for me to do this year. Sometimes I almost believe that. It stings worse than the biopsies… It doesn’t help as much as you’d think that so many people have stated how stupid that university’s graduate program must be.

Mom left Sunday after we had a very late dinner at Sonny’s. It was possibly the best visit we’ve ever had. I may really be growing through the hurts.

I’ll try to write more this week, I promise, but…

I have a wedding on Saturday and surgery on Monday…. So we’ll see.

SAHM’s: Priorities

(Sorry I haven't posted recently. I was on break and my computer at home is not really effective for blogging. But I'm back now!)

Over at Mommylife.net, there is a discussion about Stay-At-Home-Moms. This discussion was raised because of some articles and a book that says that women should reconsider staying home with their kids because they could damage their careers by staying at home.

I read one of these articles in either Allure or Jane magazine or one of those kinds of ‘zines. The thought struck me as I read it that the author of the article, and book the article was about, had a priority problem. I’ve written about this before. The idea that children are a right and commodity that is second to our happiness, but something we should have and deserve. This idea scares me. As a teacher I see it as a real problem.

That is not to say I have an issue with working parents. I know lots of really good working parents. They work because it really is a financial necessity or because they really find joy and value in their work, but their kids are still their priority in life. They recognize that they chose to have these children (right or wrong, apparently we really do have the choice these days…) and they take that seriously. Sometimes they only have one or two kids, just as often they have more, but they are good parents because of their priorities, not their occupation or status as working, single, married or SAH parents.

Rachel Ray is a really interesting TV personality to me. She didn’t get married until 35 and has said, point blank, that she is not having kids because she is too busy to make them a priority. I admire her for that. She advocates a lot for kids, for parents cooking with kids and even paid for the Prom in Enterprise, Alabama, where those high school children were devastated by a tornado that killed five at the school. She understands how important parenting is. That is why she has decided not to be one. I imagine there are people that think she is crazy, selfish or think she doesn’t like children. Maybe in the sense that her own success is her priority they are kind of right, but with no children who is that hurting, and it allows her to focus on other things that are good and helpful in the world.

I am not married and I do not have children. I am responsible only for myself (OK, and Nana, but that’s an odd situation). I have to take care of myself. I have to know that I can take care of myself. I also need to find satisfaction in what I am doing, feel like I matter and am making a difference. If I had a husband and children, my priority would be different. My first priority would be to my children and what was best for them. If we needed the money, then my working would be best for them, but they would be the priority, not my own success. If we didn’t need the money, then I would stay home. That’s not to say that I would do nothing with the work I have done so far in my life. I might write or home school or be involved in educational organizations (especially if I had my PhD) but my kids would still be my priority.

Also, it would matter to me to know that I was at home, trusting my husband to provide for our children and I, in a word – submitting, not because I had to, or because I had no options, but because I wanted to and choose to, for my sake and for the sake of our children. It would also matter to me that if something happened to my husband, I could still provide for my children and not be afraid of how we would be able to deal with the problem. It is true there is insurance and financial planning, and I would hope the kind of person I would marry would think of those things in case something happened to him, but I also have seen enough of life to know that sometimes it is not that simple.

I also do know that my career is very satisfying to me. While I don’t think of myself as ambitious, I have been told that I have some characteristics of professional ambition. I guess mostly that is just that I want to do the best job I can, I want to be effective and I want to have a positive effect on my world and my profession. However, if I choose to have children, then I have to choose to be effective and effective the world positively first and formost through them.

Anyway. The article really disturbed me. Not because it attacks SAHM’s as ambitious or making poor choices (that is kind of the icing on the cake) but because again parenting is relegated to something we do to be fulfilled, yet secondary to our own needs. This is why I find myself so exasperated with so many of my students. If their parents think like this, it explains a lot about their behavior.

The Book of Ruth

This was a paper I wrote in college. I wrote a journal entry from Ruth's perspective on the events of the book of Ruth. I am retyping it as part of my PhD submission, so I thought I would share. Ruth's is one of my favorite stories and I got a really good grade on the assignment. In an odd way I have always felt Ruth's was my story. Nana coming into my life only make that picture more literal. The book of Ruth is only four chapters. If you haven't read it I would highly reccomend it.

I met a man today. His mother came to my family and asked that I be given in marriage. His name is Chilion. He is from Judah. My parents have often told me of the Jews, the people who worship Yahweh. I always thought that they were cold and rigid people, but Chilion is very nice. He talked to me about my family and my chores and was very kind. His brother Mahlon just married Orpah from down the path. She has always been a friend of mine; so I know I will like living with her. Mahlon seems very nice too. Orpah says he treats her well and that is a good sign as to how Chilion will treat me. His mother Naomi is also very nice. She is a widow. Mother says Naomi’s husband died of terrible chest pains. But he was old, so I know my husband should also live a long time, like his father.

Being married to a Jew and living with his family is not so bad. The men don’t seem all that different from Moab men. They don’t really pray much or make sacrifices like I’ve heard people say the Jews do. I asked Chilion if there was anything he wouldn’t eat or any special way I needed to prepare his food for him. He said no. Naomi is the only one who seems particularly religious. She prays every morning and evening, before every meal and lots of other times in between. Sometimes I hear her talking to someone, but there isn’t anyone near her when I look. I asked Chilion about it. He just shrugged his shoulders and said Naomi is an old woman who talks to herself. So I listened to her one day. I thought maybe she was talking to Elimelech, her dead husband, but now I think she was talking to her God. These Jews are strange people. Naomi acts like God is always listening to them and cares how they feel. Wile it would be nice if God, any god, were like that, it seems unlikely. Yet Naomi seems so peaceful all the time. Even though she is a widow and wears mourning clothes, she is not idle. She works hard and patiently. My mother became lazy and whiny when my father died. That was a year ago. Naomi never complains about anything. She is always smiling. I wish I could be that happy.

Chilion died today. Mahlon died two days ago. The plague struck without warning on both of them. They had been healthy and strong before and then their bowels began to bleed and their stomachs churned and rejected all food, even water. Naomi, Orpah and I suffered nothing. We did our best to make the men comfortable and ease their pain. But it was a painful death. Naomi prayed over them constantly, pleading with her God not to take them. I guess Yahweh wasn’t listening.

Word came today that not only is the famine in Judah over, but that crops are flourishing and the store houses are bursting with the abundance. Naomi has said that she will go home. I guess Orpah and I will go with her. There seems little alternative. Food is becoming scarce here. If Naomi has kin that can protect her and care for her, maybe they will protect and care for Orpah and me as well. Maybe we can even find new husbands there! There are too many widows here in Moab.

We told Naomi of our plans to go with her. She kissed us and told us to go back to our families, to find new husbands here. She told us that we had been very kind and she blessed us in the name of Yahweh. Orpah began to weep and begged Naomi to take us with her. I was so moved by Naomi’s blessing that I just stood silently with tears running down my face, unable to speak. Naomi got angry with Orpah. She yelled that there was nothing for us in Judah. She would have no more sons and that the Lord was against her now anyway. Orpah kissed her quickly and left. But something inside me would not let me leave.

Naomi has always been good to me. Never has she spoken harshly to me or harassed me. She had loved her sons dearly, but was not jealous of their wives. Her faithfulness to her family was rivaled only by her faithfulness to her God. Now after having lost her husband and her sons, she said she had lost her God as well. I knew I could not repay her kindness to me by deserting her in her time of greatest sorrow. I told Naomi I would stay. Naomi lifted Orpah as an example and told me to follow Orpah. I knew Naomi only spoke out of hurt and desolation so I remained steadfast in my insistence. I would not leave her. Besides, I wanted to see this Judah that had a merciful and loving God, unlike any other God I had ever known. I wanted to see if the others there were like Naomi. I told her that I would go with her and adopt her ways and that nothing would separate us, not even death. Naomi looked at me for a moment in disbelief. Then she smiled sadly and sighed and said no more and I knew I had won.

On the journey to Judah, Naomi became increasingly bitter. It was as if the aches and pains of the trip were lodging in her brain and in her feet. I said little, but let her ramble. I thought it would be good for her to talk it out with her God. But she didn’t seem to be talking to him anymore, just yelling at him. When we got to Bethlehem Naomi announced to the women sitting in the square that God had dealt harshly with her and to call her Mara instead of Naomi. She stopped praying and lost all interest in her God after that.

We lived in a small shelter on the outskirts of town. Naomi began to act like my mother, weeping and complaining all the time. The first few days women from town brought us grain, but they soon stopped and I knew I had to do something or Naomi and I would go hungry. Naomi didn’t seem to care. It was as if she wanted to die. She cared little for her appearance and no longer did she bustle around the house cheerfully cleaning, her voice uplifted to God.

Then I saw that some young widows were following the reapers in a nearby field, gleaning what little grain that was left behind. In this way they had enough to eat. I told Naomi I was going and for a second she seemed to perk up. I’m not sure why. I gleaned all morning in the hot sun. It’s hard work. If you want to have enough to eat for just one day you must be very vigilant and rarely stop for a break. By midmorning I was tired and thirsty. I had covered two fields besides the one I was on. The first one had yielded little and on the second, some of the men had spoken harshly to me, including one man who made some very scary and suggestive comments to me. The third field however, was much different. The men there were very polite when I asked permission to glean and while I worked none of them bothered me. As I worked I noticed a well dressed man with a kind face come and talk to the men who had given me permission to glean. He was smiling and seemed to radiate the same joy and love that Naomi had before her sons died. After a while he came over and stood in front of me.

I had already learned that Moabite were not highly favored in these parts. Best I can tell, Jews and Moabites are in some way related, but there was some kind of bad break long ago. The men in the last field had made some comments about “incestuous pagans.” I wasn’t sure what this man was going to do for all his kind face and gentle demeanor and so I looked at his feet and waited quietly. He told me that he owned the field. I knew then that his name was Boaz; for I had heard his workers speak fondly of him as they worked. He invited me to glean only in his field and to drink from his well. He promised me that none of his men would touch me or speak harshly to me. I was so surprised. I asked him why he would do this for a “foreigner” like me. He smiled again and told me that everyone had heard of my care and devotion to Naomi. Then he blessed me as Naomi had done.

I thanked him profusely and went back to work. I was very surprised when as the sun reached its zenith, Boaz again stood before me. He invited me to eat lunch with him and his men. He let me dip my bread in his wine. He gave me so much parched grain that I could not eat it all. He didn’t even mind when I asked if I could take my leftovers home to Naomi. Even though I had considered Chilion good and kind, Boaz’s kindness made Chilion seem hard and cruel in comparison. As I continued to glean I noticed that the reapers were dropping an awful lot. I was almost afraid to take as much as they dropped, there was so much. Then I saw one of the workers pull out a handful of grain as he worked and drop it on the ground in front of me. He saw me watching him and he smiled and winked and then did it again. Suddenly I knew Boaz had asked him to put out extra for me. By the end of the day I was able to take a whole ephod of barley home to Naomi. Not to mention the left over parched wheat. There was enough of that so that Naomi and I wouldn’t have to use the barley I had worked so hard for today until at least tomorrow.

As I told Naomi about my day she began to get very excited. When I finished she danced around a bit and then fell to her knees and prayed. When she got up her face was once again the joyful one I remembered. She told me that Yahweh had not forsaken us. She said that Boaz was kin and urged me to glean only in his field. It was wonderful to see Naomi happy again. Even if Boaz was an ogre, I would not have gleaned anywhere else just to keep Naomi happy.

I gleaned in his field all season. His men were always kind, and everyday I ate with the men and Boaz. Naomi and I rarely had to eat what I had gleaned as Boaz continued to give us the leftover parched wheat from lunch each day. Because of this Naomi and I had quite a store by the end of the season. Enough to see us through the winter and then some. We had been truly blessed, as Naomi would say. Besides all that I enjoyed eating with Boaz each day at lunch. He spoke kindly to me and asked after Naomi. When the season was over I missed him greatly.

Then Naomi came to me. She told me that as my only kin now, she felt she should find me a new husband. I was skeptical, but I agreed. She explained to me that Boaz was kin and instructed me to go to the threshing room floor that night. So I spent the day cleaning myself and anointing myself and put on my freshest, cleanest, best clothes. Then I went to the threshing room floor and hid until the men had eaten and fallen asleep. I found Boaz snoring softly in the corner. I carefully uncovered his feet so that he would be awakened by the drafts in the night and lay beyond his feet where it would be clear that my intentions were honorable. I must have fallen asleep because I was startled to hear his hushed voice asking who was there.

I told him who I was and asked his kindness as he was a kinsman. He blessed me again and praised me for not chasing after young men and acting immorally. He told me how everyone had seen that even though I was from Moab, I was a woman of worth. He said he wanted to marry me but that there was a closer kinsman than he. Boaz promised to check into the matter and get back to me. Then he gave me another six measures of barley. I left early in the morning before anyone could see that I had been there and told Naomi everything that had happened.

She told me I would know by tonight whom I would marry. Then she knelt and invited me to kneel with her. She taught me how to pray and introduced me to her God, Yahweh. It was strange. Even though I had never spoken to him before I felt somehow that I knew him. I felt that he had been involved in my life long before this moment. Naomi and I prayed all day on our knees, forgoing lunch and devoting ourselves to our prayer and our God. Then at sunset Boaz came to tell me that we would be married.

We let Naomi name our son, Obed, and she became his nurse. Sometimes is hard to tell who the dear child’s real mother is. Everyday I thank God for this woman who became my mother, the kinsman who became my father and the precious child, our son. God has given me this beautiful life and I will never forsake him.

Monday Morning

This weekend one of my best friends and I went to see Josh Groban live in concert for his Awake tour. The concert was wonderful and I had a really good time. It was interesting to me, though to note the difference from the last concert just over two years ago. Two years ago, Josh was 24, on his first big tour and for the most part, it seemed like he was just singing to enjoy himself and we got to watch. This one was more like a performance. He even made a comment about having a fifteen hour bus ride ahead of him, and I imagine that would be a tiring thing. But it really was wonderful. Having really good tickets makes it nice too…

Several of his songs are really touching to me right now, “Don’t Give Up,” “Now or Never” and “In Her Eyes.” All good stuff. His songs from earlier albums, “Vincent,” “You’re Still You,” “When You Say You Love Me,” “Home to Stay” and “My December.” There is something about that man’s voice…

Also I went up to camp for Friday night to at least make an appearance for the great senior staff bonding event. It was good. I also discovered that for the most part, while I am still irritated over that stupid agenda, it was not really intended the way it sounded… Granted he should have thought it out more, but he really doesn’t get it.

Also, while at camp, when my friend and I were sleeping, she knocked over a floor fan and scared the bejesus out of us in the night. However, because I wasn’t alone, it was funny and not traumatic.

I’m learning a lot about that word, trauma, by the way. I really don’t care for it. It’s an annoying word. It is damage caused by something. Trauma is what is keeping me up nights, apparently and trauma is what I have to deal with and get rid of. Dealing with trauma, is a lot like loosing weight. It feels great when it’s gone and with diligence, you can notice when you are loosing it, but it takes time, it’s a pain and requires a lot of work.

So now my friend has gone home, the concert is over, the camp event is over and I am just waiting for Spring Break and all my grand and scary plans.

Yeah. It must be Monday.

Once upon a time…

So, having consulted with my therapist, we have decided that we are going to use the two week break I have for Spring Break to embark upon some really intense therapy and putting some real demons from my past, events, to rest. I’m rather excited about it, but most especially I am very…

Scared.

I worry about who I will be when I finish. Who will be left and will I like that person? Will other people like that person? Will that person still tell stories? Will they still be funny?

So much of who I think of myself now is caught up in the stories I tell. Story telling is my primary form of communication. It is what I am best at. If I can’t make a story funny I often won’t tell it. Further, the way I tend to deal with my past is to make it into funny stories. That way I can deal with it.

This is big, and it will be hard, and I need to do this, but I am left to wonder,

Who will I be, and will she still tell stories?

Seething

Today I am mad. Not just mildly so, but boiling, seething, righteously angry. This is not petty and this is not hormonal. I have reached my limit with someone.

It is never acceptable for a leader to continue to snub someone just because the leader has a problem with his temper. Especially when he has acknowledged that he is the one who is acting badly at this point.

Leadership is sometimes more about presentation than substance, frankly. How you say things matters. What is the person who wrote this really saying? (This is from the detailed outline of our itinerary for a leadership training for camp this weekend. It's a public document, so I am not breaking my confidentiality rule.)

“Peter will be leading [the discussion on professional appearance]. This is based off a request Sandy made that we include this somewhere in the weekend. It’ll be a quick discussion on how our personal and departmental appearances make first impressions on our campers and set the attitude for our staff.”

“Mark has a special message he’s been working on. This should be inspirational and a challenge for all of us to meet. At times we all know Mark can be a little long winded, but he’s been on the [customer] side of the fence this fall (as he is each fall) to hear all the remarks about our staff performance from last summer. Please listen carefully.”

Now, if you didn’t know this person, what would you think their opinions of Sandy and Mark are? Exactly. This is not good leadership. And frankly, I am insulted and more than a little disappointed.

So today I am mad. Which is good, because I have parent teacher conferences… and therapy this afternoon. Should make for an interesting evening.