Camp

Life has so many seasonal rituals, times when you know where you should be and what you should be doing­­–buying school supplies at the end of August, carving pumpkins in October–they become ingrained in your psyche. There are other, more personal rituals. I never enter autumn without missing the heft and weight of a field hockey stick in my hands and the smell of linseed oil in my nose...

Late June for me means camp...I was a camp counselor during my summers in college and in that brief time I was stamped with a love of musty cabins, pine scented woods, sweet tasting lake water, and the most stunningly blue sky you can imagine. I have never gotten over it, I pine for it mid-June when I should be driving north to Vermont to partake in the ritual of pre-camp–a week of daily physical labor and evening gatherings.

I still cannot imagine a better job, even though I earned a total of $400 dollars that summer for 9 weeks of work. I loved being in familiar surroundings, in a state that I loved, on a lake at the base of a mountain in the summer. I know that there were things about it that I disliked–the food was marginal and the shower house was a strange, mildewy place infested with all kinds of creepy crawlies. But still, add to the stunning scenery and pure physical beauty of the place the sweet decadence of summer love and there is nothing to compare. It wasn't work–it was...camp.

I was never a camper–was not one of those children who spent 4 or 8 weeks of the summer away from home, only to come back 3 inches taller and independent with friends and experiences beyond the confines of my hometown. Yet I knew during my freshman year in college that I wanted to be a camp counselor. I inquired of a family friend who owned a camp whether she knew how I might get a job as a counselor and she hired me right then on the phone. Job accepted I headed north for what I will always consider one of the most transformational summers of my life.

Camp is the reason I still make the trip north every summer–to lakes and rocky Maine beaches. It is the reason I feel compelled to give my girls the sensual experience of sliding into a summer lake, of dangling their feet off of a dock while the fish nibble at their toes, of sitting by a campfire while the night sky offers up a concert of meteors, of climbing to the top of a mountain on a clear day to view the patchwork of scenery below. It is the reason I look for more miracles in nature than in church and the reason I relish in those simple beauties.

You see it latched onto me, camp did. It was achingly beautiful on a summer morning to come out of my bunk and see the mist rising off the lake, the dew still on the grass, girls holding my hand on the way to breakfast. Children being tucked in at night and telling me they loved me–the adoring worship a 12-year-old girl has for her 18-year-old counselor. Camp for me that summer was love–the love of kids, the delicious love of a handsome boy, and an overwhelming love of a place I had known since childhood. It was like coming home, finding the place that fit and never wanting to leave.

I did leave and returned only one more summer, but I have never stopped searching for a substitute–how do you make a real living as a camp counselor? How do you capture the essence of camp–that carefree, transient joy of pure play and fun? Or the silliness of camp pranks? Or the unfettered freedom of being on your own? Or the sublime anticipation of meeting a boy and lying under the stars? Or the sweet melancholy of a dying campfire? Or the awesome beauty of the Milky Way laid out above you on a crystal clear night?

I often find myself trying to capture the essence of that summer. I sign up to join the three-day elementary school trip to camp or volunteer as a girl-scout leader. There are moments of joy, but there is a difference.  Nothing comes close to being 18, in love­–with a place, and a boy, and an experience–it has a life of its own, an existence all to itself and it lives on in brief sparks of remembrance. It lives on in the smell of the pine woods, the taste of a spring-fed lake, the lingering warmth of a dock after the sun has set, or the smoky tang of a campfire.

And I am transported back in time.

Existential Living

Preamble

On August 5, I was diagnosed with a small aneurysm in my left carotid artery, which my primary care physician dismissed initially, but sent me to a neurologist, which lead to a neurosurgeon, which lead to discussions of the location of the aneurysm (inside or outside the brain), required me to detail a long family history of aneurysm, and lead me to trying not to freak out over the remote possibility of brain surgery...ultimately leading to an angiogram last week that revealed that the "aneurysm" was nothing more than a misshapen artery. A happy ending after weeks of anxiety...

Existential Living

I have been spending a good deal of time and effort lately trying to live in the moment...an exercise in trying not to worry about the future before I have all the information needed to make decisions. It is amazingly hard to do, especially when parenting teenagers—even though they live remarkably well in the present—their very existence is forward-directed...there is nothing but time ahead of them and as a parent, I am constantly thinking about who they are, who they will become, how can I help them get there? So this exercise in existential living has given me a glimpse back to a time when I was able to lay my head on the pillow at night with the comfort of a home and family, food that I didn't have to cook, the anticipation of time spent with friends, thinking barely further than the next day's events.

I lost the ability to live in the moment as I became a responsible adult...it's a somewhat necessary loss—jobs, bills, managing family and work, providing the future for  my children that will allow them to fulfill their dreams—all requires planning, thinking about goals, money, schools, classes, homework. And helping them develop their interests through sports or music or art contributes to the complexity of planning. So, it's no wonder that it gets harder to be in the moment—even if I can manage it briefly, life comes back at me with more--just more. More obligations, events, details to take care of, doctor appointments and tests to schedule, teachers to meet, deadlines to make, and those ever-present money details—forward thinking in themselves—saving for college, retirement, next year's vacation.

And yet, I have come to believe that the most valuable currency we have is time, it comes to us in a limited quantity and we can never make gains on it, we can only spend it. So the challenge is how to spend it well.  

So what is time well-spent? Standing on the sidelines watching my child excel in a sport she loves so much she laughs and smiles while playing—feeling proud and happy and successful that she has found such joy in sport; listening to my daughter sing while she does her homework, chores, showers, pretty much anything—thrilled to know that no matter what life throws at her, she has developed a coping mechanism that will assist her in dealing its those struggles; sitting next to my husband in a hospital knowing there is no one I would rather have with me at that moment—whether I get good news or bad; hearing the concern and love in a friend's voice—acknowledging that there are people in the world who want the best for me. Being tuned in to the world—able to recognize the beauty in moments—geese flying overhead, v-ing across the sky, the russets and oranges of fall leaves crunching while I walk, the warmth of a dog's head on my feet as I work, an amazement of stars overhead, an abundance of blooms in my garden.

This attempt at living in the moment, while difficult at times, has proven to be a good reminder of all the instances that I typically pass through on a given day without remark...a welcome demonstration of all the wonders that are the sum of my own happiness, if only I take the moment to heed them.  

Friendship & Gratitude

A friend I spoke with yesterday told me how great it was that my girls got to see me as someone other than a mother, wife, daughter on our recent trip with my friend Bonnie. It made me start thinking about the value of long friendships—the ones that start before you are fully formed—for many of us college relationships--and how valuable they become in mid-life.

I have double-edged benefit of living in the same town I grew up in—it is great for so many reasons—my family is right down the road and not 1500 miles away as they are for so many of my friends, my girls go to the same schools I went to, have had some of the same teachers, walk to town on the same streets, have friends whose parents went to elementary school with me. The downside is that in so many ways my few years away from here allowed me to develop a self that felt comfortable and right to me, but as long as I am in my hometown, there is always a me that people assume they know—but she is not the only me. There is another self that developed while I was away at college—an evolving person. I liked that not quite fully-formed girl I was in college. She was a little wild, introspective, fun, competitive, sensual, sassy, funny, conflicted, smart, and far less certain of the world than she let on. She is still in my heart. She is, in fact, the person my husband fell in love with. Being with the people that knew me then is like putting on a well-worn shirt or comfortable pair of shoes—not only do they fit, but they feel good and my world becomes balanced.

As the complexities of life catch up to me, it is sometimes hard to maintain a sense of individuality—experiences are mostly based upon my relationships with the people around me. In my everyday world I am mother, wife, daughter, sister, co-worker, coach, and Mrs. Carey to those around me. Often parenthood, especially, feels like a slow erosion of self—a gradual wearing down of self. Not just the drip of responsibility but the ticking away of time. This feels especially true since the girls hit adolescence. Look at a given week during the school year and you will see soccer games, flute lessons, homework projects, school meetings, and a hundred other small things that focus on the girls, life really has become mostly about them and I am sometimes so pressed for time that I give up the few things that I do for myself—a long walk, writing, gardening—just to get things done for them.

And yet there is nothing in this world I would rather be than Megan and Ally’s mom. It is the best thing David and I have done in life—raising these two curious, smart, talented, funny, happy girls. And I will continue to sacrifice my time to see that they succeed. I remember very distinctly the point when their successes became more important than my own achievements—it is a turning point in parenthood, that juncture when your ambition for yourself becomes secondary to your desire for your children’s happiness and success. For me it was the moment in second grade when Megan’s teacher said “I can’t wait to see what she becomes…”

I know that my heart has opened to new experiences because of motherhood—it makes many of my friendships that much richer and more profound. That is why being with a friend who knows this me and remembers the not quite formed me and all the others in between is such a joy—it is a relief to not have to explain myself, to feel the history that flows between us in a thousand remembered experiences, to have the language that friends share—all the private jokes and small secrets—to be with someone who knows all the people in my past and most of those in my present, and who encourages me to be the person I like to be—that is a gift that only friendship can give.  And it means that I can be that unrestrained smart-ass that I like and she celebrates that person. She also recognizes that I am still not so sure about the world and helps me work through my own sense of uncertainty. I am so grateful for that. And for the girl she allows me to be…

My daughters got to see that girl, too. Enjoyed seeing their mom totally relaxed and laughing, poking fun at them and the world, having a blast. I will remember that girl when the long lazy days of summer give way to the whirlwind of autumn and life becomes busy once more. And I will celebrate her.

Carpe Diem Music

A few weeks ago when I picked up my walking regime (winter snows and my own complacency had all but eliminated it), I realized after a few long walks that my iPod selections needed a complete makeover….what was fine for the melancholy days of autumn was downright depressing in late February. I found myself being dragged down by the soulful renditions of Nora Jones, Sarah McLachlan, Carly Simon—all personal favorites, but my song choices were of the seriously introspective type.

About a week ago, Megan was on iTunes loading her iPod in preparation for a slumber party when I asked her to update my shuffle selections. I gave her free-reign in her choices, with the one caveat that I wanted the songs to enliven my walks.

Inviting a 14-year-old to share her music has potential dangers, especially when the music they listen to on the radio includes the likes of Katy Perry, Justin Bieber, and Lady Gaga. I have been walking to Megan’s music selections for the past week and am enjoying a unique view into my daughter’s psyche. I know these are songs that she chose for me, knowing I wanted to be inspired while exercising, but they are, at essence, her choices.

There are many proud moments in parenthood—your child is singled out by a teacher for fine work, friends and family comment on a sweet nature or nice manners, children score goals or make saves in sports, they perform on stage alone or in a group—these moments are the highlights of parenthood. David likes to call them dividends on our investment. But as your child becomes a teenager and exerts her will on you and the world, these moments become tempered by the flashes of parental frustration, bewilderment, and, yes, anger. You start to feel as if you are losing a long war of attrition, giving over a little influence with each confrontation. Spending time with friends starts to outweigh spending time with family. And the whole time you KNOW, this is normal and you tell yourself that you are lucky because this child really is, at essence, a good soul. But there are times when you love them, you just don’t LIKE them.

My glimpse at Megan through the lens of her music selections has given me faith that we’ll come through adolescence somehow understanding each other—I like her music choices for me. They are instilled with the essential existential nature of teendom—celebratory, momentary, happy. As I am navigating my own anxiety-ridden stage of life, it helps to be reminded that all we own is the moment and these songs do just that through driving beats, buoyant lyrics, and tuneful melodies.

This music has allowed me to feel hopeful about the adult Megan will become—they show an appreciation for language and melody, they are high-spirited but fortified with deep emotion, and, if they are representative of how she views the world, David and I can rest easy. In this moment….

I am happy to report that there is no Katy Perry or Lady Gaga on the list and only one Justin Bieber…maybe when this list runs its course I will invite Ally to load my iPod with her selections to see where they take me.

Beth’s Shuffle:

Good Riddance (Time of Your Life), Green Day    
Ordinary Miracle, Sarah McLachlan
Haven't Met You Yet, Michael Bublé
Your Smiling Face, James Taylor    
Dark Blue, Jack's Mannequin    
Make You Feel My Love, Adele    
Life Less Ordinary, Carbon Leaf
Bad Day, Daniel Powter
The Country Life, Peter Cincotti
Come On Get Higher, Matt Nathanson
Bubbly, Colbie Caillat    
1,2,3,4, Plain White T's   
Get It Right, Glee Cast
King of Anything, Sara Bareilles    
Up On The Roof, James Taylor
Raise Your Glass, P!nk    
Up On The Roof, Carole King & James Taylor
Yaicha, Pousette-Dart Band    
The Best Day, Taylor Swift
Viva La Vida, Coldplay    
Fix You, Straight No Chaser    
Unwritten, Natasha Bedingfield    
I'm Yours/Somewhere Over The Rainbow, Straight No Chaser
Pray (Acoustic Version), Justin Bieber    
Everything, Michael Bublé
Rock & Roll, Eric Hutchinson
Just the Way You Are, Bruno Mars
Forget You [feat. Gwyneth Paltrow], Glee Cast
Never Grow Up, Taylor Swift
The Man Who Can't Be Moved, The Script    
Marry You, Bruno Mars
Here Comes The Sun, The Beatles
Sing A Song, Earth Wind & Fire
Hey, Soul Sister, Train    
Best Days, Graham Colton
Upside Down, Jack Johnson    
Lucky (feat. Colby Calliat), Jason Mraz    
Secret O'Life, James Taylor    
Cool My Heels, Nikki Yanofsky    
Dog Days Are Over, Glee Cast    
Fallin' For You, Colbie Caillat    
My Wish, Rascal Flatts    
Live Like We're Dying, Kris Allen    
Love Like This, Natasha Bedingfield
Shower The People, James Taylor    
Loser Like Me, Glee Cast    
100 Years, Five For Fighting
Shed A Little Light, James Taylor
Hey There Delilah, Plain White T's
New Soul, Yael Naïm
If It's Love, Train    
The Only Exception, Paramore

A Bounty of Blooms

I came to gardening genetically—growing up in the same house my mother grew up in, I witnessed the true devotion of a gardener to her creation in my grandmother, who gardened the same 1 acre plot for over 50 years. But it is my husband, David, who infected me with the gardening bug more than anyone. He was already gardening when we met—growing tomatoes and kale, marigolds and gladiolas in his back garden. He’s a digger and gardening gives him the excuse to get his hands dirty and play in the soil. Fortunately, I had a latent interest, so we grew together as gardeners. Like so many aspects of our relationship, we were yin and yang to each other—I cook, he does the dishes; I polish, he vacuums—with gardening, he digs, I plant (he plants too, and I occasionally dig). I read all the catalogs in January, make plans about what kind of plants I want to add this year, go to the nursery and explore what’s there. He gets books out of the library on stone—paths, patios—and soil amendments, and building pergolas and arbors. He walks the back yard trying to figure out what other plot of our 1/4 acre lot he can turn into a garden. He knows if he digs, I’ll plant, so we move things around every year. It is truly a shared passion and we enjoy the occasional moment when the projects are mostly wrapped up and the garden is at it’s best—but it’s always a work in progress….

This summer, for the first year ever, we didn’t garden much together. Neither of us knows why, but the summer got away from us. David was dutiful about tending the garden, but by August it was overgrown and by September it was truly a jungle. We had plans, but other things got in the way. Not a tragedy—that’s the joy of a garden—it will mostly survive your neglect for at least a little while. We still have plans, but life is busy, so who knows what will get done.

As a gardener, I suffer from plant envy…I have a friend whose crape myrtle I covet. My mother has three of the most beautiful tree hydrangeas I have ever seen (planted by my grandmother). I walk by houses and look at gardens and stop and ask what kind of roses/daylilies/irises those are….

When we moved to this house we left behind at our old house most of our perennials thinking that the new owner would welcome their colorful parade spring through fall. Two years later she had everything dug up and thrown out (who would throw out plants???) and planted grass. We started over here in a garden with beautiful (if overgrown) specimens and have shaped the yard with new gardens every year. I still walk around and admire gardens and plants…

Which brings me to today. For years I have walked past a neighbor’s yard and admired her garden—the front yard is a sea of flowers with a tiny spot of grass. In the fall, especially, her garden took on a real glow. She had the most beautiful chrysanthemums that bloomed in drifts throughout the front yard—apricot flowers that bloomed a deep peach and faded to a light translucent pink. They were tall and almost shrub-like catching the breezes and that incredible fall light. Last winter, the house went on the market—a small, two-bedroom ranch surrounded by gardens. I wondered about the new owners—there was no one living there for a number of months. Then it became apparent that they were going to tear it down—and dig up the gardens to build a 4,000 square foot house.

David’s a thrifty guy, so it’s not new to him to visit demo sites for all kinds of things he might use “someday” and he’s pretty charming, so he never pays to take things off of people’s hands. We’ve been driving by the house watching for someone to show up so we can talk to them about the gardens and the plants I love.

Last night, a backhoe showed up and this afternoon, David came home to say he had spoken to the owner and we could have the plants. Then he loaded up the mini-van with shovels and tarps and brought back those beautiful drifts of flowers for me, because he knows how much I’ve loved them and neither of us can stand the idea of them being destroyed. So, now we’ll make a home for them in our garden.

We’re not big on gift-giving—we know how we feel about each other and tell each other often enough and isn’t that enough of a gift most of the time?

But my husband’s an unusual romantic—he’s never sent me flowers, but today he brought me armloads of bouquets for years to come—a grand sweeping romantic gesture that he squeezed in between the daily grind of work and family chores.

I am sometimes awed by how very lucky I am.