The Drop-Off

For the fourth straight year, my friend Laura and I have driven our two eldest girls to camp very early on a Sunday morning, and the younger two now going for their second year.  Overnight camp at the YMCA, or where ever you choose to go, is such a rite of passage.  I wish that all kids had this opportunity.  They get to explore outside their town, their families, their boundaries and meet people from other cities, states, countries as their bunkmates, roommates, counselors, and friends.

So much of camp seems the same as when I went–horse back riding, boating, swimming, crafts, archery,  group songs, family style meals, woods, group bathrooms, chores, fun, fun.   The worst part for us is waiting for check-in, arriving early so the girls can secure a good bunk near each other,  the crowds pushing forward–every group wanting the same, the newbies wide-eyed.  It’s a bit crazy. 

I remember when Lisa and I went to camp.  It was August of 1977, and we took an 8 hour (!!) bus drive to southern IL.  Yes, we had one freak in our room who told us she had heart medicine that we would all DIE if we took, pretended to talk in her sleep, and swore Lisa would go straight-to-hell for going up to communion as a non-Catholic, because as a 13-year old she was too embarrassed to stay in her seat, alone.  

She joyfully broke the news to me that Elvis had died when she heard in a letter from home, knowing I was a huge Elvis fan. I was convinced she was lying, but wrote my mom just in case to save me all the headlines and newspapers—which I still have today in my yellowed Elvis scrapbook.  

I remember our relay race–everyone in the cabin participated–with Lisa riding the horse (boy, was I jealous!) and I sprained my ankle tripping over a raised root in the path.  Then everyone else was jealous of me because I got to see the cute, friendly doctor as he wrapped my ankle, and he let me hold newborn kittens each visit.

I wonder what my girls will remember from their yearly camp visits, other than the great songs we learn from them (”there were 3 little muffins in the bakery shop…”), the friends they can keep in touch with online, and the 1000 types of friendship  bracelets they can make.  I hope they will remember their routine of driving with their moms, the bakery we stop at for lunch, waiting in lines,racing to cabins, and many quiet and loud moments that I am sadly not a part of.  

Me, I will remember the 6-7 hours Laura and I get to listen to the girls’ giggle and talk and that we get to catch up, uninterrupted onthe way home.  and maybe route 65 closed, while we are SO thankful to have the iphone GPS.

Camp.  Everyone should go! C

 

The White-Tail Tale

A shimmering Sunday afternoon several weeks ago, I was stealing five minutes of silence on the screened-in porch,  reading the paper in between chauffering sessions.  

“Cali,” I heard Tara warn our 7-month Aussie, who she had been playing with for the better part of an hour.

“Cali!” she yelled agin.

I glanced up to see  the raised white-tail of a deer galloping through our yard, followed by a coyote, then Cali.  They bolted through our yard, then the neighbors, then they kept going.  Tara ran after them, and I ran from the porch after them.  It has been years since my feet went from zero to sixty in three seconds, and I hope it is years until I have to do it again.  That white hot pain, burning though my chest, my heart pounding.  Visible through my chest? I don’t know.

As the trio of animals kept running, I realized the “coyote” was a fawn, probably only days old. The mama deer ran off track, and the fawn and Cali ran into the cornfields.  Oh no! How were we going to get them now?  I could hear the jangling of Cali’s tags, so I knew that she was close by.  Suddenly, fawn and pup appeared nose to tail, the fawn in front, bleating-bleating for its mom.

We chased and called for a couple more houses, Cali oblivious to us.  Then, as the yard lines curved, Tara continued to follow the pair as I cut across towards the front yard. As the pair slowed, Tara managed to step on the end of Cali’s leash, which she had been dragging behind her.  

Breathing hard, we slowly walked back to the house, leash held tight.  Wouldn’t any curious puppy do the same, we thought.

So now Cali no longer plays in the yard without a long lead rope, just in case…. C

 

No Parking!

Sadly, no time for the tale I long to tell.  Maybe tonight.  Here are a couple photos from a recent trip to Blue Harbor Resort, in Sheboygan, WI.  Another great weekend with close friends doing the WI thing–Friday night fish fry where we were the only tourists (good perch and shrimp too! ) but hate that you can still smoke in bars and restaurants.  That lingering smell on my clothes and hair I do not miss), bike riding, beaches littered with flocks of raucous seagulls, a sunset, a thunderstorm, cocktails and cards.

 

LOVE!

C

 

Pomp and Diplomas

Middle school graduation, not as traumatic as high school ceremonies, not as ridiculous as pre-school or  kindergarden graduations, but a rite of passage.  I sat surveying the HS gym, watching students go up for awards, listening to speeches I imagined being repeated in schools and grade levels around the country, perhaps almost simultaneously spoken words being said. Girls wore their summer dresses under the hideous polyester blue gowns (no hats or tassels to throw up or move), boys in clunky shoes and khakis, parents with flowers and balloons, most dressed for the occasion.

It was a reasonable event to honor the almost 400 students, most of whom are moving to this very school we were seated in, in three short months. They will be the rookies again, another passage that repeats in high school, college, a new neighborhood where you move and know no one, a new job–being that kid who doesn’t know the ropes, the shortcuts, and learns by observing and asking and imitating.  

Earlier in the day, the thought of that graduation was overwhelming, that I would have a high school student soon–and all the perils and trials and joys that can bring.  But watching the kids during the ceremony, I knew that they were ready to move on to the bigger school, having earned more freedom to choose their paths, find their way, and grow yet again.

I looked down at my Tara, my oldest babe too big to sleep on my chest or burp or tell how to dress, but I am so proud of who she has become, having moved schools in the dreaded 5th grade, making close friends, having academic and athletic success, and then seeing who she is growing into, wondering what the next four years will bring.  

There will be success and hard work and mistakes as she learns to become and adult.  But hopefully we will be back in another four years as she finishes high school and gets ready to leave home for college (not ready for that yet!).

C

 

Drive-in on UP

Do you have childhood memories of going to the drive-in in your pajamas, sprawled in the back of the station wagon or atop the car, straining to listen to the tinny sound of the voice box (seeing Peter Pan comes clearly to mind)?  Or high school memories of cramming a dozen people in a car, possibly a few in the trunk, hiding beers in coolers, to run around the parking lot, probably annoying many other viewers, barely watching the film?  

We went with three other families to the drive-in last weekend and saw the new Pixar film UP, a chilly but clear night, the drive-in filled with cars of families and teens and friends.  Not too much had changed at the drive-in, other than my perspective, perhaps. Our kids were comfy in their sweats, some did fall asleep in the back of the SUV’s, bowls of homemade popcorn in their laps, chilled wine and beer aplenty for the drivers,  the film enjoyable with the sound slightly better on the car radio. 

What a wholesome, family-filled way to spend time, talking with friends, kids playing baseball before darkness sets, anticipation of a great movie, a party like atmosphere wafting about all the cars.  Our kids enjoy the experience, we get to catch up with friends, and we can all see a film together. C

 

Not Quittin’ Time Yet

“That’s it.  I am through,” I stated angrily, loosening Gatsby’s girth and riding the stirrups up, a sure sign I was done riding for the day.  ”I am tired of not being able to do anything.”

“That’s fine.  Just let me tell you why he was acting up,” my trainer Jeannine replied,  then explained what I was doing wrong for Gatsby to canter in a serpentine down the side of the arena, changing leads unexpectedly.

“What am I thinking?” I said to myself.  ”If I leave now, I am through.  And what lesson is that, to give up because it’s been a rough patch?  I am not a quitter.”  So, I started to tighten the girth again and pulled down the stirrups.

“What are you doing?” Jeannine asked, surprised.

“Getting back on, of course.  I’m not leaving like this,” I mumbled.

I remounted Gatsby, trotted around the arena, then broke into a canter, successfully navigating the corners that that earlier thwarted us.  And not a surprise that when I kept my outside arm in as Jeannine suggested, Gatsby cantered smoothly around the corner.

I briefly thought I was finished, but then Jeannine directed my friend Colette and I around a course of strategically poles and then low jumps.  Not as easy as it looked, and what a sense of accomplishment to go from almost quitting and then jumping.

My legs are already sore after an hour of hard riding, but my mind is freer, knowing I completed what I thought I could not and that I made the decision to not stop.  You have to work through the difficult things–easy as they might seem to others–to move ahead.  

And I always say a day on a horse is ALWAYS better than a day on the ground.  C

 

More exciting?

Which is more exciting, getting a new puppy or a new computer?  Tough toss up, as I got BOTH a 6-month old Aussie rescue pup and a new Mac in the last two weeks.

Both are very shiny new toys, oh so cool and exciting, but both can also be frustrating and overwhelming sometimes.  Cali–short for California–is smart and joyous and curious and is learning tons from our other Aussie…but she wakes up way too early and we discovered today that she gets violently car sick (not fun for a dog with a family always on the go).  And my first Mac I have wanted for several years and fairly easy to maneuver around but I got stuck downloading photos–still can’t get those pictures of Cali online– and it will take me a little playtime (errr…worktime) to learn the bells and whistles.  

One breathes oxygen, the other electricity, both offer light and fun and chaos and creativity and growth.  But which is more exciting?  And why did I decide to do both in the same month?  As if we aren’t busy enough…..C

P.S.  In the long run, Cali wins I’m sure!

 

Granny Can Dance

Granny tapped her foot to the rhythm over and again, as the middle school jazz band hopped through their songs.  Her husband next to her, hearing aid hidden and ball cap on his head, slowly pumping his ring finger to “Sing! Sing! Sing!” but it was granny–with her blue plaid shirt and pink Keds that I watched.

There she was in my mind, twirling on the floor with shimmering eyes, a teasing glint and flirty smile, blue chiffon spinning with a petticoat peeking from underneath, white ankle gloves and matching handbag on the table. Laughing, pearl teeth under red lipstick, as she flows, jumps, and spins around the dance floor, the brass pumping in the background.

Is she remembering the live band?  An icy drink?  A first kiss? A secrert glance?  the smell of gardenias?  They must be happy memories, as her foot continues tapping. 

And I wonder, will I feel this same way in 25 years if I hear the music of my youth?  Or my growing older? or my children?  C

 

Unforgiving Surfaces

My horse was careening out of control, galloping down the long side of the arena, and I could NOT figure out how to take my hands off his neck to stop him.  Normally responsive and docile, this was a surprise takeoff, probably brought on by MY reaction to the pony galloping in the pasture and the puppies chasing each other, and the other horses enjoying a spring morn.

As we turned in a circle, I removed my foot from one stirrup and dismounted into the dirt, avoiding flailing hooves and landing on my knees in the dirt.  Bodily not hurt,  my brain angry and frustrated and upset, the tears came.

But which was harder, the sandy red surface or my ego?  After a long chat, I eventually remounted the horse, walked, then trotted slowly around the arena with nary an issue.  Why do we do it?  Why can’t we stop?  Do we have horse blood in our souls?  Or just a portion of their souls in our hearts?

The ego wins, as I will return tomorrow for another ride.  Hopefully under my control, not his.  C

 

Doggy Diligence

After losing 16 year old Annie, we are on the search for another Aussie to keep Zoe company.  And what a process it is to get “approved” to adopt a new dog from the aussie rescue group, even though we got Zoe from them when she was but 3 months.   After completing the lengthy online application, they called my references, my vet, and did a home visit.  Pretty standard stuff for most adoptions or purchased these days, from what my friends tell me.

With the press lamenting about the dogs (and cats) being abandoned or turned in since their owners cannot afford them–going from homes to cages in overcrowded shelters– it is a little bizarre that we have to practically complete a psychological profile to get a forgotten or mislaid pup, but I do understand that the dog lovers who run the organizations want the dogs to become a permanent part of our lives, not another temporary stopping point.

And now the search is underway.  Not to find a dog just for us, but more importantly for Zoe.  The new Aussie has to get along with kids and many guests and grandparents and other dogs and be able to live without a fence and be loving and like to run/play/jump/catch/swim/do agility/hang out while we work.

Zoe is a bit shy with other dogs, so we are trying out boys-girls-puppies-year old dogs, to try and find a match for her. How to turn any of them down, when they are all so cute and smart and wanting love?  But, we need to find one for she AND us, so we will meet, greet, play, and wait.  Hopefully she will find a new friend soon. Sadly,  there are new candidates available each week.

And we will be new parents again if we choose a puppy.  So much work!  But more or less than a year-old dog who has never had training?  Hmmm…maybe less. 

And if you are looking for a new addition to your home, there are rescue groups for almost all breeds and shelters and home fostered dogs.  All looking for a pat, a treat, a run and willing to give back more than you can imagine.  The search might take some time, but remember they will be in your lives and homes a long time.  Choose wisely.  C