Camp Songs

I've been teaching the boys camp songs from my childhood camp. We had just finished "The Little Man", (about one meatball and suicide - a great children's ditty) and as the boys lay in their beds I began to sing a song called "I Want to be Strong". James leaped out of bed as I sang, " I want to be strong, to be strong as the land around me", he flexed his biceps, puffed up his chest and stretched up on his tiptoes. " I want a heart that's as wide as the sky!", he held out his arms as wide as they would go, brought them in to rub his heart and back out they went. "I want a spirit like a moving mountain stream!", he flailed about, arms swinging, body twirling. "I want to look people straight in the eye!" , he put his hands on his hips and fixed me with a serious wide-eyed glare (alternating with a Clint Eastwood-type squint). Now usually when I sing songs like this I get the eye-rolling-please-stop-singing response. I was stunned to see my son so inspired by the words of this song that he was compelled to grasp the meaning and shout it to the world with every part of his body that would comply. When we finished the song his face was flushed, his eyes sparkled and he was breathing deeply. I helped him into bed and asked him, "You know what's cool about mountain streams?" "No", he said. "They always find a way to keep flowing - whether there is a rock or a tree or a cliff, they always find a way to keep going - they never quit." " I quit", he said. "No way!", I blasted back, "I won't let you quit anything!" He had rolled toward the wall and it was clear he didn't want to talk. I gave him a kiss and went over to Peetie to say goodnight.

It's too easy to get caught up in daily life and end up oblivious to the powerful events and elements that are right there in front of me. James' response to the song brought home a sound reminder to me that the healing I am seeking for him is not limited to nor hidden in some complex labyrinth of doctors, therapists and reference books; it is right where we are, in what we're doing, and it has no limits.

James couldn't sleep

We were snuggling on the bed
Staring at the flame on the oil lamp
Blowing at it
Naming the colors in the flame
James told me that prayers can ride up the smoke from the flame; that the words are spiral lines floating up to heaven. He said he had tried to pray but it didn’t work. His voice was sad. I asked him what didn’t work – was it the words or how he was feeling that didn’t work.
Both, he said.
Then, James talked about a cartoon that has dudes for each of the elements: fire, water, wind and earth – Shaolin (sp?) Showdown, I think.
We talked about how three of the elements can put out a fire. He held up his hand with four fingers out and said, once you understand the four elements, you get the fifth one.
What is that?
It’s the mystery.
You mean, like magic?
Yeah.
What would you pray for, I asked.
To change my circle of life he said.
What does that mean?
To change me. To have a better life.
You are perfect and your better life is already here.
No answer.
I love you, James.
I know.

Finley

Peetie has a new blow-up dolphin he got at the State Fair. He named him Finley (sp?). I asked him why he named him Finley. He carefully touched each fin on his dolphin then widened his eyes, leaned forward and said, "See all the fins?" Instead of contemplating (again) his mother's obvious stupidity, he showed me how he taught Finley to tap dance on his tail fin. It was a darn good dance.

Jock Strut

3rd grade football practice. Running the first plays of his life. Water break time. James jock struts to the chair where his brother sits on [his] mom's lap. He spits out the mouth guard, tips up his helmet, nods to mom, gulps down half the bottle of water. As the water drips off his chin, he produces a wide-mouthed belch, respectable in length and volume. He turns around to rejoin the practice, a whispered "'scuse me" is lost in the re-attaching of the snaps as he jock struts back to the field. There is much I'll never know about maleness. But James has found his - and has found it to his liking.

Just a little hello

Naturally, every year on the anniversary of my father's passing, I think of him. I was driving yesterday when I thought it would be nice to have some sort of sign of my Dad; to know that maybe he was thinking of me. I smiled, thinking that I may hear a song he used to play on the piano in the next day or so . I arrived at my chiropractor's office and said, "Hey Dr. Mike - how's it goin?" He replied, "Just another day in paradise!".

On the day of Dad's makeshift funeral, as we left the beach after releasing my Dad into the ocean, we passed two guys sitting on a bench, drinking, and as we went by, they said, "Just another day in paradise!".

I am thinking of you, too, Dad. I miss you.

Duh

While watching the epic battle of the stuffed animals last night (I was on the couch where the designated 'sick bay' was located for those injured in combat) Peetie's little Snowman was rolled into a ball and then "fart-rocketed into space, all the way past Pluto, AND he can breathe in space!" "Breathe in space?", I asked. Peetie shot me a look that simultaneously showed his irritation at the question and his disappointment that I didn't already know the answer. I went on, "Won't he melt?" To make sure I understood, Peetie hunched his shoulders, wrapped his arms around himself, shivered and slowly said, "it's very cold in space, Mom." He turned back to the space journey and then back to the battle, leaving plenty of time for me to comtemplate the vast gap in my outer space knowledge.

Fart Rocket

My girls played with stuffed animals who had great adventures by singing, dancing, going on car trips, etc. Last night, Lonely Puppy traveled through the bedroom by fart rocket power. The noise was deafening but as Peetie pointed out, "It doesn't smell!".

Lutsen and Duluth

I drove by the house I lived in when Kate was a baby and I remembered the phone number; it just popped into my head! I love the weather up north - if you are a little chilly, you can wrap up in a blanket or a sweatshirt and it is such a comforting thing to do. When people are in shock, you wrap them with a blanket; what can you do that is comforting when you're too hot? Not much. At least if you are cold, there are things you can do about it: light a fire, snuggle, use blankets and warm socks, hot chocolate or tea, etc. It's so loving to offer someone warmth if they are cold. Even saying "extra blanket" is a love-thing. If you're too hot, you're screwed. All you can do is sit there and be hot. Or, find an environment that is cold and start over with the above.

I ate the best fresh corn-on-the-cob I have ever eaten in my life at the Fisherman's Picnic in Grand Marais. I'm not sure I will ever want to eat corn again. James and I stopped at Perkins on the way up and although he initially sat across from me in the booth, he moved over to sit next to me for the rest of the time. Hard to describe how that feels. Peetie figured out how to shoot the arrows from the cheapo bow and arrow set we bought in Grand Marais. He named his new stuffed moose, Thidwick Crank. Or, T.C. for short.
Peetie vocab:
Anything that is not smooth on your skin= dimple
Nostrils = nozzles
Intestines = Einsteins

Roy, the orange, hairy caterpillar

Peetie has a pet caterpillar. He is very lively- except after the nap he took under the car (in his jar) while Peetie took his Kung Fu Second Degree Blue Belt test (he passed!). Roy became lively again after he had wind from the open car window blasted through the holes in the top of his jar on the way home. Peetie says Roy curls up in a ball if you shake his jar. Roy had a sleep-over with Peetie last night but is set to be released back into the wild by noon today. I'll post his picture as soon as I find the cord for my camera.

Raising 'em right

James says his patronus is Captain Kirk with a faser (sp?). Take that, dementors.

WTF

Sanctioned snobbery – that’s what it is: holding someone back from the ability to advance in the world because of pedigree, race, birth, religion, sex, a documented education, appearance, etc. If a person has ability, they should be allowed rise to the rank of their ability.

The insidious, intoxicating hope of changing one’s life for the better is best seen in fairytales; peasants without noble birth, who earn the right to the privileges of nobility by their talent or efforts, or just plain luck. But, when someone has been given a break or has just somehow managed to better their circumstances, do they then become part of the machine that holds down others as they were held? How did the peasant manage living in the castle without alienating himself from his peasant friends and family?

Your good fortune is not your own when you have to rise to it; everyone you know expects you to elevate them along with you. And if you don’t, you become the prime example of the fact that rank and wealth do not bring happiness, which discourages others of your former low rank to even attempt to change their station, which, in turn, perpetuates the sanctioned snobbery you were trying to overcome in the first place.

How can you be happy if you have to brush off all your friends and family in order to enjoy your own damn well-earned privileges? The only course available to you is to establish new relationships with the already-privileged who will never accept you because you used to be an outsider. Consider the enormous burden that comes with achievement on any level. The higher you go, the more is expected of you.

Mediocrity is our only hope of happiness. Sometimes my job just sucks.