Weekend at Camp

My conversational Spanish got a work-out this past weekend! 

As a family pal, I was paired with folks from Guatemala at the Painted Turtle Family Camp Weekend for Rheumatic Diseases. Three kids, aged 12, 9 and 8, and three adults - mom, dad and auntie - kept me hopping with delight and scurrying to retrieve much of my forgotten High School Spanish.

Rheumatoid arthritis is an equal opportunity destroyer - as are many other auto-immune diseases. Little “N”, the eight year old, had painfully swollen knobby joints and diminished use of his hands. Even so, he was able quickly to master the single handed rope trick my husband empowered me to teach. N was delighted and so proud to ‘learn and earn’ a rope to take home. His nine year old cousin “O” almost got it down, but his impulsivity made it difficult to stick with it long enough to master and remember the trick, so this was the one area during the weekend where N got to shine. The well cousin threw himself head first into every activity during the weekend, leaving N behind on the ropes course, archery and fishing.

We Family Pals begin our duties by meeting and greeting the newly-arrived families up on “cabin row.”  Typically, they arrive between 5pm and 7pm - in time for Pizza and salad. We help with luggage, get them settled and escort them to the Well Shell (mini hospital) for photo and registration. After dinner there is a “camp fire” (also in the dining hall) where schedule, safety rules and protocols are revealed with hilarious skits to illustrate the fine points. Friday night ends with families going off to their cabins and volunteers and staff meeting to plan out the rest of the weekend. We get to bed before midnight - but just barely!

Saturday is a three-days-in-one kind of day. We begin with (optional) sunrise activities which include archery, boating and fishing, gym, wood shop and arts and crafts. My kids wanted to go fishing. We met at the dock and enjoyed the hilarity of a wild errant fish line issuing straight from the first-time-held-by-the-eight-year-old pole winding up in a tree along the shore. “Tree-Bass, anyone?” 

As it turned out, big sister “K” had taken a fall off the porch swing earlier and scraped up her wrist and elbow, so I left other adults in charge of the fishermen and accompanied her to the well-shell where she got treatment for her mild abrasions. During our walk we talked of the books she reads - nearly non-stop. I thought it a brilliant strategy for tuning out the world where she truly is “second banana” because her brother’s condition is so fragile. This is not to say that there’s no love for her there in her family. I witnessed closeness especially between mom and daughter. Attention necessarily must go to the squeaky wheel and K kept one step ahead of disappointment through page-turning marathons - even reading at the table all of Friday night and through two of Saturday’s meals. During our fifteen minute walk to the Well Shell, I learned a lot about all three of the Hunger Games books, The Twilight Series and other novels for young adults which she seemed to devour with relish and salt (tears). I felt privileged to be taken into her confidence.

Saturday also included an EGG-stravaganza (making a container for a raw egg which MAY prevent its breaking while it is dropped, slung from a catapult, run over by a utility cart or sent into space via an air-powered launching device) while the parents were meeting with a doc to have their questions answered about Lupus, RA, Scleroderma and related diseases. We also had a Carnival, Stage night and played with the kids while moms and dads attended Parents’ Cafe.

One way to empower kids is to plead ineptitude and have them correct and help me with my Spanish. K and her brother and cousin were more than eager to add to my vocabulary list and giggle at my attempts to translate for two other special guests for the weekend. In addition to the 28 families from all over the south west, The Painted Turtle hosted two staff members from a brand-new start-up camp in Paraguay.

Serious Fun is the newly minted name for the parent company for what were know as “The Association of Hole In The Wall Gang Camps”, of which The Painted Turtle is one. The staff person who accompanied Nilton and Gloria of Paraguay is named Haley and she just returned from Viet Nam and Cambodia where other sister camps are being established. 

Haley’s Spanish is more than serviceable and she translated nearly every word spoken from the stage for the entire weekend for Nilton and Gloria, so they could benefit from understanding the workings of the program.

The three were also assigned to the same family as I - bringing to 7:3 the ratio of adults to children for our group. There certainly was enough attention to go around! By Saturday night, K’s reading book was not at the table and she even got up to dance with me during the odd break-out dance sessions near the end of meals for Saturday lunch, dinner and Sunday Brunch. 

Truly, I loved conversing, fishing, witnessing arrows hitting targets, young horsemen riding steeds, and courageous boys climbing fifty feet up to rickety platforms and tight ropes, then zipping down the line with glee. One of my new vocabulary phrases is “Estoy orgullosa de ti.” It means, “I am proud of you.”

Perhaps Paraguay is on our itinerary for some future camp experience. For now, I am content to dream about next weekend’s open house for The Painted Turtle and recuperate from this weekend!

Imprints on the Heart

I know a boy who does so many good things in the world, but is always looking over his shoulder to be sure no one is gunning for him. Before he was born his mama realized the boy’s father was in a precarious position with his job and that the two young children she already had were quite enough, so she went horseback riding and jumped from some height in an effort to terminate this pregnancy.

That boy child was born anyway. I believe the imprint on is heart happened during his gestation and that he’s never felt that there was a place set for him at the table of life.

The “proving to the world his worth” is an endeavor of Herculean proportions and never ending. The belief that just around the corner is the terminal and that he’ll be yanked off the bus if he’s not good enough, has led this wonderful boy to do some remarkably selfless things in his life. His neurosis has benefited countless children for whom he is a champion, companion during illness and all-around clown. He’s like a pied piper with throngs of young ones running after him just to be in his presence. It’s as if they can smell the safety and the unconditional love like an intoxicating vapor rising from him.

Another man-child I know was born nine months to the day after his parents’ wedding night. Mama really didn’t want to become pregnant right away. She was only twenty three years old and not certain this relationship with a man eleven years her senior was going to work out after all. There were tell-tale signs of drinking too much and wild rages that frightened her. 

This boy was born with an imprint on his heart to remain still; to not make a fuss and risk raising the ire and frustration of his mama and often absent daddy. 

Today, a retiree - in every sense of the word, this boy with a wounded heart stays indoors a lot and reads and collects things on shelf after shelf to keep out the world which has proved itself painful.

A little girl was conceived as an attempt to save her parent’s marriage. She came out smiling and never dared to stop smiling because it was her job to keep the peace and she took the assignment seriously. The imprint on her heart was woven in before she was born. If we could see the embroidered tattoo, we would see that it cost her authenticity. “Do for others; not for yourself,” it reads.

What woundings go unnoticed? What imprints on the heart wreak havoc on the sweet babes born into our wounded world? 

“I don’t know a soul who’s not been battered, I don’t have a friend who feels at ease. I don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered or driven to its knees... oh, but it’s all right, it’s all right, we’ve lived so well so long... still I can’t help but wonder what went wrong.”

from American Tune by Paul Simon 

So what do we do about this human condition? The self-help section of every library and bookstore screams for our attention. Try THIS, do THAT! If there were one size fits all, I suppose we wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in. Clearly, each has to find her/his way out of the mire. 

What’s your favorite shovel? How do you carry your imprint on the heart? Is it a motivator? Agitator? Alligator? I hope you wear it gently and with awareness.

I heard from a Buddhist about Sylvia Boorstein and her interpretation of what the Buddha called neurological glitches. Perhaps she discussed them with Krista Tippet during her NPR radio show “On Being.” Evidently each of us has one or more of five possible glitches. (Fretting, Becoming Angry, Losing Heart, Perfectionism and “Where’s the Donut?”) Maybe the Buddha didn’t call them “neurological glitches” and maybe he didn’t know about donuts, but I believe he could have observed the basic “default settings” common to wounded hearts.

The idea that we can name our “default” and be as matter of fact about it as we are about the color of our eyes, skin and hair or what we had for breakfast appeals to me because I think it’s empowering - inasmuch as knowledge is power. 

If I KNOW that when I get too tired or stressed-out I’ll slip into addiction (“Where’s the donut?”) then I can plan for that and be prepared instead of it smackin’ me upside the head each time. If I can state my default glitch and accept it as I do my (increasingly) white hair, then maybe I won’t have to flip into the perfectionism that seems as if it will protect me from self-loathing.

Perhaps the benefit of knowing our default setting or neurological glitch is that we can have some compassion for ourselves and for the human condition. We’re not suffering from “terminal uniqueness” on top of it all. We’re simply PART of the human family. 

Welcome to the family.

Perhaps compassion and a really GOOD donut will fix everything. 

Ya think?

Napster

Sweet napping sitting up as springy grass springs green on the hills undulating outside the rolled-up windows. 

Hard traveling down the 5.

Honey driving us homeward. 

Illicit dozing. Shouldn’t I be keeping him company? 

Shouldn’t I be available every second while he efforts? 

I cannot help the drowzies leaking into my ears, eyes and toes and filling my limbs with sand. 

Sun magnified by glass heats me. 

My foot is on the dashboard so the AC vent specifically freezes my calf. 

What is that old adage? 

If my hair is on fire and I’m sitting on a block of ice my average temperature is normal. Overall, too contented to budge.

Cozy-dozy napping. Nodding. So yummy.

Home again. My battery re-charging ritual must  continue, flesh to earth.

Supine on the grass

ebony shine of crow wing

hiccup in the light

Sunlight through lashes

refreshed by golden sun-drops

ants tickle bare feet

I love a good nap. They are rare. The best are the minis that come unannounced and welcomed.

A cat in some incarnation or other, I prefer hidden places.

Dibs on sun-warmed window sills behind bulky over-stuffed chairs.

Snooze you lose? 

Not in my book.

Wedding and Wesak

Attending an outdoor wedding in Livermore, California Saturday before Easter Sunday, I was moon struck. The beauty of the setting, the couple and that amazing white nearly-full orb rising over Wente Vineyard fed my soul. Jackrabbits gamboled, birds twittered in the golden hour just before sunset. Bride and groom exuded calm, solidity and assuredness that their wedding celebration was exactly as they wanted it to be.

She was Venus rising singularly from some unfathomable depth - so elegantly clothed in white satin with one shoulder bare and coiffed with similar asymmetry with voluptuous curls to one side. On the arm of her brother she flowed along the stairs and courtyard and into the arms of her beloved - the epitome of a gracious and grateful groom. Tears were their first gift to one another as each read aloud her/his vows, wows and gratitude. I, and all the people around me had leaky eyes in resonance with the sweet melancholy of all they promised one another.

My husband and I know this couple through one of the camps where we volunteer. They also have come to be camp counselors at The Painted Turtle in years past. He is a medical student who just completed his exams and is heading for an internship. She is a grade school teacher who will find her skills portable as they set out on the next chapter of their adventure together in a new town for his residency.

During the six years of their courtship, there have been losses. I’m guessing this is why his parents were not in attendance, and why her father was not present to “give her hand in marriage.” They’re a good team and have come through adversity already. Other tragedies were alluded to of which we don’t know the details. This shadowy presence of unspoken grief made the sweetness of their union all the more poignant. 

Have you ever been to a wedding where, at the time the cleric asks, "Does anyone here think this union should not take place? If so, speak now or forever hold your peace." How many times could you barely restrain yourself from raising a hand? 


I wonder how many of the guests at our wedding nearly forty years ago thought, "Well, this will end within a year." I remember a classic back-handed compliment from my husband's Uncle Harvey. "From the invitation, I thought this would be a real hippy-dippy wedding. And then I knew it would be when I saw the flowers in your hair. Ya look just like the gal in the margarine commercial - you know... 'It's not nice to fool Mother Nature.' So, I was surprised by how meaningful it was and all."

With the wedding we witnessed Saturday evening, not a soul could deny this is a GOOD match; this couple will thrive.

In addition, it was an evening filled with opportunities for artful photography... Bride and Groom framed by the open barn-like doors, clad in white with the moon rising plate-like in a sky of Maxfield Parish electric blue; the bouquet caught by a precocious and charming nine year old - who, with her younger sister served as flower girl; the garter snapped-up mid-air during an athletic leap of a twenty-something; and, during the ceremony itself, the blending of multi-colored sands in a bottle to symbolize foundation of Earth (neutral shade of sand), the bride’s essence (pure white sand), the groom’s essence (vibrant green sand) and the blending of the two (hers and his poured together) as the top layer of sand.

Both husband and wife in this couple are true winners. We wish them continuing success in their relationship.

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Wesak or Vesak from the second lunar month (Vaisakha) of the Hindu calendar  is a celebration of taking-in of spiritual wisdom and receiving energy to carry out our soul’s reason for being here.

Some say it celebrates the birth, enlightenment and eventual transcendence of Gautama Buddha while at the same time it is a way of honoring his sacrifice and that of  Christ on behalf of all humanity.

Here are some links to more information about Wesak which, this year, will be celebrated from May 4 (full moon in Taurus) thru May 6.

http://wesak.us/articles.php 

http://www.souledout.org/wesak/wesakfestival03/wesakfestoverview.html

Meditation, receivership, contemplation about our life’s path and gratitude are all appropriate activities/positions for this holiday.

Enjoy the next full moon! It will be a potent time to affirm our direction and to gather energy to make the most of our efforts.

Hoping your Spring Celebrations were/are joyous. Good Pesach. Happy Easter.

April, Come She Will...

April 2...

In 28 days it will be the 40th anniversary of the joyous day I married my beloved.

The “Wedding in the Weeds” took place in the “South Forty”, which is the name given the empty lot adjacent the home in Echo Park my folks bought in 1949. 

Ours was not a wedding ON weed... though you could sniff it on the breeze. But Mark and I, by the time we decided to get hitched (four months after our first date), hippies though we were, we were getting high on each other - not on grass.  In that field which we'd cleared and on which we planted flowers, our friends and families gathered to witness our nuptials April 30, 1972.

In 1989, when I first began to study my Celtic roots, I learned that Beltaine, April 30 or May Eve is the cross-quarter holiday between Spring Equinox and the Summer Solstice. It is the time when the Great Wild Stag impregnates the Maiden Bridey helping empower her to morph into the second aspect of the triune of female archetypes - the Mother. 

The Maiden, the Mother and the Crone are depicted in Celtic mythology in the life cycle of Bridgette - the Patron Saint of Ireland.

In the beginning she is that Maiden Bridey or Brige. At Beltaine (April 30) she is ripe. This is when May Pole dances and other fertility rites are celebrated - in honor of the fertility of the Earth. 

At Summer Solstice she is fruitful - giving birth to much sweetness.  

August second we celebrate the harvest with Lughnasadh and in late September there’s the Autumnal Equinox, when Bridgette becomes Queen Bira and spreads her dun-colored shawl over the hills - turning the grasses brittle. 

November first is Samhain (All Saints’ Day) when the veil is thinnest between the worlds. Think of the Crone wrinkled with wisdom. She may be awe-inspiring or terrifying and perhaps gives rise to the All Hallow's Eve celebration of witches. 

By winter, Queen Bira has  blanketed those beige hills with snow and they are seemingly completely dead in the Womb, the Tomb of Earth at Winter Solstice. 

We celebrate Saint Bridey’s Day or Imbolc on February second and wait for the warmth of Spring Equinox again to quicken the Earth.

So, my Wild Stag-Man and I shall celebrate this April 30 with gaiety, remembrance and passion. How grateful I am to have him by my side forty years later. How grateful we both are to be blessed by two daughters and a grand daughter with all their joys, sorrows, challenges, and triumphs. How lovely to celebrate another season of love and life along with the lustiness of Spring.

May you find JOY in the fuzzy green poking out on the hills!