Let Us Pray

When I was a kid I was forced to go to church.
Protestent
Nazerene to Church of God, after we moved.

Two times I won awards for being...
most godly?
nicest girl at the church campout?

A bible and a ceramic clown. The clown
had a sad face on one side and a happy face on the other.
I kept it in my room and let it show my mood.

I never had buy-in to the whole church thing, but I was a good girl.
In the round church I watched the hanging lights
determining who would get it if they fell;

watched the ushers pass the golden plates
you couldn't hear the change fall for the felt bottoms.

Each sermon ended with Let Us Pray
followed by a solemn song calling the sinners to the front.
Or the heartbroken.
Or the ailing, the sad, the hopeful, the saved?

My eyes took in all things in that vast room as I waited for the
doxology
my favorite song (it sounded like Halloween to me)
and those three words that ended the hour and
called unto the needy kneelers;
the pastor making his quota, I thought.
To me, that was his mission each Sunday;
to have his words place desire in someone's heart and use
it to pull them to the velvet benches.

What did he whisper to them?
What promises did he make on behalf of their desire.

Since

last Saturday my mind is racing
my heart is leaning way out the window
experiencing intermittent cloud cover

Since last night
I've been more free
and wondering how to make the world open
up for me
throw up a new way

Since last night in my kitchen
it has been all I can
think about doing
making
collecting
exploring
being
giving
and it feels good

Since my mind is racing
and my heart fell out the window I've
been hoping for a spring to erupt and
give it back to me
slightly altered but
recognizable

Since I last thought of it
it's been 3 minutes and it fueled
all the last stanzas

Really? A new post?

To those of you thinking 10 months between posts is a little long... I agree. But it's not like I've been sitting around doing nothing.



I've been:



Working too much

Sleeping too little

Enjoying a summer completely on my own

Having fun with friends

And working too much



In my agonizing quest for creativity I can manage to fit into an insane schedule, I turn back to this blog. It makes sense... I need only my computer to make it happen and a few thoughts that don't even really need to be coherent. I'm pretty entertaining when incoherent.



Why didn't I think of it before? I can write at any time, day or night. This should be doable. However, it has been said before that every time I pledge to write daily, I don't.



I'm drawn to the movie Stealing Beauty for many reasons. One of the most vivid connections for me is how the Liv Tyler character writes little poems on scraps of paper, then burns them, allowing them to be carried away by the wind. I love that. I've always written in a way that was for me- an escape, an outlet. You should read some of my teen angst poems! My soul was left on paper like a black mark from a squealing tire!



I have only allowed one person to ever read anything I've written, other than this blog (attempt). He is a poet. He writes for others and the idea that I don't was a conflict for us. Despite this, I admire his opinions and have used some of his ideas to refine a few poems. We'll see..



Hopefully it won't be 10 months before my next entry...

Oh Where, Oh Where...

have I been? Do you really want to ask that totally loaded question?

To summarize...

working my ass off
feeling incomplete
fighting with my husband
and my teenage daughter
wondering where "I" went
freaking out that my son will leave me in only two short years
trying to make it all up on the youngest (poor her)
and did I mention eating everything yummy at midnight?

I have promised to write daily in some fashion since I was 10 years old. I am SO the type of person you would meet and instantly think I have volumes of journals stored on a hand painted shelf
and that I look back at them in some systematic way each and every year.

You would think this, really, but you would be wrong.

I actually have most of the beginnings of the journals I've started since then. They all profess I will scribe daily my most inner thoughts.

Well, here we go AGAIN!

I love to write; and let's face it, this blogging thing is just an amazing way to stick yourself out there and see what happens. It's this exhilerating feeling wondering who, if anyone, will read what you wrote. Will you inspire anyone? Will someone know exactly what you mean? Will you reach someone and help them?

In my mind, I want to have some sort of theme; a schtick for this blog. I guess it started and is named b/c I wanted it to be a place for spouting off about things that were about social justice. But I think I will start off just rambling on about daily life to get in the hang of it.

Knowing myself well enough, it won't be entirely unplanned (I've become increasingly anal as I've aged, sadly- or perhaps...) but no focus only on pressing social matters. I just hope something seems at least a little interesting.

Right now, it is raining outside, Chef Boy is calling in the dog (now wet), I have had 4 beers on a Sunday night (really, quite nice), I'm looking forward to another crazy work week, and I think I will fall asleep to The Big Lebowski.

I hope, I guess, this blog becomes something that really pulls the room together.

Back in Black

Black, b/c things are nutty and can't seem to be un-nutted. Nutted up, as my nephew says...

Chef Boy and I could be closer.

Man Child could be tidier and more respectful.

Curly Locks could stop making me wonder when to deliver thee to the nunnery.

And Princess could just get dressed without screaming ONCE.

Oh, and the money tree could sprout, the lottery could pay up, the new job could be less insane, and I could actually count WW points for more than one meal before giving up.

And, my parents could move from podunk meth world, the nursing home could actually care for my grandmother and my sister could get her head out of her ass.

However, I have great friends!

Not to be too depressing, but the summer ended in a whirlwind of crazy!

We almost had to find a new house (from CO, mind you) and move within a week of being back home. So, the final days of camp were clouded by getting through that dilemma. Plus, I was still job hunting and feeling totally unemployable. I finally got a job that on paper is wonderful, and in theory is impossible. I'm not lazy, others in this position agree.

Anyhoo, all this has just put a pout in my pizazz, so to speak, and causes me to question lots of things.

For instance...

How did I get here and who are these insane people around me?

What is this word "Mom" they continually scream?

Do I look like an ATM?

Do you really want a dog food sandwich?

What do you mean does she ever shut up?

How is it I've married a man who removes his clothes in different rooms all over the house, leaving them where they lie; has never once in his adult life replaced the toilet pape ON the roll; and thinks I have a special drawer as part of my "girl parts" where I store his keys, wallet, and change for the newspaper?

If I was skinny, God, I swear everything would be ok and I'd never complain again.

If anyone has any answers to these questions OR would like to make additional bargains with God, please do so in the comments section.

... And good night!!

Weather

It's hailing here.
Right now and I'm not kidding.

And there are kids standing in it.

Dumb kids.

This hail is roughly the size of golf balls and it sounds as if the roof will succumb at any moment. I can't hear someone talking right next to me- it's that loud.

The weather here is remarkable. I brag that I live in a humidity free zone all summer long, and it's true. It is one of the great things about Colorado.

However, random weather patterns so typical in the mountains make for an interesting day.

The cold of the morning usually is followed by an afternoon of just right, maybe with a short shower calmly falling during PNT (prime nap time) making for a wonderful slumber. Then, it goes back to chilly at sundown, making it a necessity to snuggle up with blankets.

On occasion, however, we get some crazy lightening with no rain. This is the scary kind that has no rules, so you have to get away from it ASAP.

Then, there are the high winds the higher you go up. Sometimes so powerful you lose your balance.

And then the hail. It's crazy! It's teasing with short bouts of slowing down to a loud rain.

I like it, weather and all. It's exciting!

It reminds me of one of my earliest memories- sleeping in our house with the tin roof while the rain gently pinged me to sleep.

More and More Pics

Sunday was parent visiting day at camp. So, Curly Locks graciously allowed Chef Boy and I to go over to Main Camp and eat lunch with The Princess and Man Child. They are both doing GREAT! First term is almost over and it is amazing that time has flown by so fast. Somehow, at the same time, it seems we've been here forever and 5 minutes.

Here is a shot of The Princess and me after lunch. Is she cute or what? Apparently the desperate rash she had on her thighs is long gone. However, as we drove away watching her walk back down to her cabin, she pulled a totally classic Princess move and hiked up the back of her skirt for a hearty scratch. God, I love her!

No, Peter Frampton is not a camper at Cheley, it's Man Child. We are posing in front of one of the most gorgeous views in camp. It's the Mummy Range. We are standing in front of the riding ring at Main Camp, next to the Chapel. Campers attend a non-denominational Chapel service each Sunday morning. It's filled with singing and people (campers and/or counselors) get up and talk, read a poem, sing a special song, or say what camp means to them. It's fun.
Disclaimer: I've heard of Peter Frampton, but he was a bit before my time, but not Chef Boy is Older Than Me claims Man Child is the spitting image with red hair.






Here is Chef Boy with The Princess and Man Child, again in front of the Mummy Range. We had a great visit with them. We discussed what was happening next term for Princess and how Man Child was feeling about going home, camp next summer, and whether he wanted to hang out at the Heinz House and be Elliott's Manny the rest of the summer. (Blog introducing Elliott coming soon)
For the record regarding Man Child and camp next summer. Please, all of you, read this, comment you have understood, and remind me and Man Child when this becomes an issues next March
Here's how it went:
Chef Boy: "So, you going to camp next summer?"
Man Child: "Yeah." (Said in the "Duh, like of course, what were you thinking, you are so out of touch, duh" way that only 15 year old's can muster.)
So, I guess camp is going well and he is having fun.

On a side note, I had a mystery solved for me this week. It involved poop.
Please, keep reading.

Although I'm here at camp, I have it pretty luxurious compared to the backpackers and outcampers who go out for up to 5 days at a time. Yes, this means they load all the things they need in a backpack, put it on their- you guessed it- back, and hike all day. Then they stop and camp out, cook out, go to bed, get up the next day and pack it all back up and keep hiking.

Somewhere in there, someone's got to have to poop.

One of the most important messages of Cheley is "leave no trace". This means pack everything out- don't leave anything to muss up nature.

I know I'm insane, but I've obsessed about this pooping in the woods thing! I've wondered, do they have special bags they put it in and pack it out? That would be disgusting. I can see every day taking a turn at carrying the group's poop!

Turns out, they bury it. They go away from the campsite, dig a hole at least 6 inches, poo, then cover it back up. I didn't dare ask about the toilet paper yet.

Now I'm not sissy, I've grown up peeing in the woods and on gravel roads. I AM a country girl, for goodness sake! However, I always made sure there was a bathhouse near every campsite I've ever used.

One counselor did divulge that sometimes you don't know you are going to poop until once you get going, and then it might just have a large rock to cover it up.

I'm pretty impressed by this and that my kids are doing it and think nothing of it.

Not only can they poop in the woods, they can cook, set up a campsite, build a fire, all the while respecting the nature around them.

So many lessons learned, by all of us, here at camp.

Elliott, 4 Year Old Man in Charge

This is Elliott. James Elliott Notrica, to be exact.

Here are some facts about Elliott:

He is 4.

He is brilliant.

He never stops talking.
I'm not kidding.

He lives at GTE with his mom, Laura, who works in the kitchen with us, which means Elliott is in the kitchen, too.

He is a riot of gargantuan proportion.

He makes me laugh daily.

He is obsessed with Chef Boy and thinks he is "the Man". It's sickening.

Often, in the heat of dinner prep, Elliott collects kitchen things and creates elaborate events. Sometimes it's a cooking show, sometimes a magic show, sometimes it's packing for a trip. Last night he asked me if he could get back to camp from the place he was going. I told him I would need to know where he was going. He said he was packing up for Mexico, India, Kansas, and Italy. I told him if he had snow shoes, a gondola, and a hot air balloon he could probably make it back to camp from those places he was going. He assured me he would add those items to his baggie full of water he already had packed.

Elliott refers to Chef Boy by his first and last names all the time. It is hilarious. He also jokingly calls Curly Locks Man Child, then laughs hysterically. He says I'm a good cook, but I'm also a bad guy that he has to stop with his super powers, wielding a slotted spoon.

Most mornings, his mom shows up in the kitchen and he stays asleep for a while longer. When he shows up, it is in various states of dress. My favorite is the dinosaur pajamas with cowboy boots. One that gives Chef Boy a chuckle is the classic shorts and cowboy boots.

One day, Laura was telling me how she needed to shop for Elliott because he had grown out of a lot of his clothes, especially pants. Elliott chimed in that he was really growing- his arms were growing... Laura explained that usually pants are determined by your legs and waist. Elliott assured her that also, his penis was growing really big, too.

Another day, although I missed it, he held up his shirt declaring, "Here are my boobies."

He is so intelligent, it is amazing. You can almost see all the thoughts and ideas converging in his brain. He is learning Spanish, and told me I was a Madre.
Saying goodnight takes about 40 minutes, as he just has A LOT to say!

It's been so fun having him here.

They stayed with us on their way out to CO for one night. Elliott had apparently heard about Chef Boy from his Uncle, who is the director of GTE. Well, the love affair started then. Many of you may remember him as he tagged along to the Smiths for the Memorial Day party.

Tomorrow will surely bring another humorous and lovely Elliott moment. I'll be sure to share.