What is this "dating" you speak of?

One of the nicest parts about this camp experience is that Allison and I will get to do some very fun things together for the next couple of months.. sans kids!  By default, even though we are all up here, the boys are at their camp and we are supposed to kind of "let them be"... (which is why we are housed at the girls camp-to provide that separation).  The net effect?  On Allison's day off (and some nights)...we get to go on dates.

What a novel concept.  How very quaint... :)

Our first big trip was down to the Maine coast, to a popular spot called Old Orchard Beach.  This is sort of Maine's equivalent of Coney Island or Atlantic City (minus the gambling).  There are shops galore, carnival rides, and of course, the beach.  It was a perfect day for the trip... the skies were actually clear for once, and the mid-80's temps were perfect for a day out.

My beautiful date for the day:

[caption id="attachment_136" align="alignnone" width="278"] My lovely wife, wearing the beach hat we bought for her. The strong sea breeze made for a jaunty look when it caught the brim :)[/caption]

Since my weekend days at camp come on the heels of night-watchman duty and a few hours of sleep (skipping breakfast), I was right properly hungry when we arrived.   Having spent my high-school days in Corpus Christi, on the Texas Gulf Coast, I have a deeply ingrained love of seafood.  So, I convinced my bride to let us eat said cuisine, even though it is not her fave.  We were saved by the fact that they offered Lobster Rolls as well.

[caption id="attachment_139" align="aligncenter" width="300"] My extremely healthy lunch! right......[/caption]

The only carnival ride we took was the small Ferris wheel... not quite the Texas Star, but it did afford some nice views of the area:

[caption id="attachment_137" align="alignleft" width="300"] Ferris wheel view of the beach[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_138" align="aligncenter" width="300"] The main OOB plaza, with Ferris wheel in the background[/caption]

After spending about an hour lounging at the beach and playing in the FRIGID water... (yes, FRIGID.  The North Atlantic is quite chilly even during the middle of the summer), we headed over to the Portland Head Lighthouse for a bit before returning to Fryeburg.  I've always loved lighthouses... I've got a deep, deep love for the ocean and all things nautical.  I proposed to Allison on the beach in Corpus Christi, after reciting "The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls" by Longfellow to her... and we saw a marker at this park that said Longfellow often walked to this lighthouse!

[caption id="attachment_140" align="alignnone" width="300"] Portland Head Lighthouse[/caption]

One of the things I sometimes do on trips like this is make a list in my writing journal that I always have with me... just random thoughts about things I see or things that tweak my odd sense of humor...  the following is such a list I made on our trip to Old Orchard Beach... feel free to bug out of this post at this point if you wish!

• Saw a hotel on the way... named "Norman's Hotel"... not sure if that is the greatest name choice.... http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0054215/


• Allison saw a sign for a hair salon call "Curl up and Dye"... nice....


• Saw an airplane banner touting an OOB restaurant... said they had "the real poutine".  A quick wiki search and found out it is a dish popular with French Canadiens... french fries smothered in gravy and cheese curds.  Interesting combo.  Learn something new everyday, if you keep your eyes and ears (and mind) open!


• Besides the Poutine Sign, there were other clues that this beach is popular with those French Canadiens... I heard lots of French being spoken... I suspect that even if they weren't all visiting from Canada, that there has been strong cultural bleed over into Maine from French Canada to the north... lots of old French blood here, n'est-ce pas?


• One of the stores on the pier sold marshmellow guns... and I misread a sign that said "low carb marshmellows" as "low crab marshmellows"  Definitely a "huh?!?" moment.


• Lastly, saw another business on the way back to Fryeburg.  "Mediocre Deli".  Again.. not sure about the naming choice... gotta be a story behind that one.

Where are we again?

I could have sworn Allison told me we were coming to work at a camp in Maine.  I remember heading roughly northeast as we drove over the three days.  We passed through St. Louis, then transited Illinois and Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania, then across New York/Connecticut/Massachusetts... yes, I KNOW we drove to Maine.

So how did we end up in Seattle?

There has been an inordinate amount of rainfall so far since camp has started.  A local told us that there was not as much snow this winter, so he thought the rain was making up for it...

The campers might not enjoy it so much (except for the fact that bugles blow an hour later on rainy mornings... they get to sleep in!), but since I basically work from my cabin, and have a nice view over a small hillock and forest, the rain showers have made for a great office window.  I took a nice little video that shows one of the rainstorms I got to enjoy, but I'm not paying the Wordpress upgrade so you can share my rainstorm... sorry.

I can share a picture of what most of the scenic overviews have looked like:

[caption id="attachment_131" align="alignnone" width="300"] Scenic overlook in North Conway, NH, with the mountain range shrouded in rain clouds.[/caption]

Earlier this week, we had 3 straight days of rain, some of it quite torrential... and my son Logan was out in it, braving the elements on the coast of Maine.  He was on his "trip", one of the excursions that each age group takes.. this one was a "lobstering" trip... they drove to Camden, went out on a lobster boat and helped trap lobsters, then camped on the beach in tents and cooked their lobsters.  It's a great trip, and Allison and I were worried that Logan was having a miserable time of it.  Camping outdoors in heavy rainfall can really be a downer....

Oh, we of little faith.  After the trip was over, and our son avowed that he had a wonderful time, one of the staff that led the trip said that Logan was unshaken by the weather.  In his words.. "Logan just refused to be miserable".  He said Logan was a great kid and he was thrilled to have him along.  I was so very, very proud of him.

And the thought occurred to me... we could all probably learn a lesson from Logan.  He just refused to be miserable.

Refuse to be <insert your own negative phrase/verb/emotion/thought>.  Worth a try  :)

 

A Dubious Assertion, at best....

On Saturday night, Allison and I wandered over to the boys camp, Indian Acres, for the "IA's Got Talent" show. In this annual soiree, the cabins all compete in for the Grand Prize of an Extra Pizza Night, which is high earnings indeed for a handful of young men and/or boys....

As two Blues-Brothers-wannabe-Emcees kicked off the show, the panel of judges took their place at stage left. There was, of course, the increasingly requisite presence of the Simon Cowell Knockoff, the unassuming Nice Guy Judge, and then... this shady character... known as "Doctor Love", which rumor has it was actually my sons' Grand-Dan, but one could not be sure due to the high levels of bling upon his person...

[caption id="attachment_123" align="alignleft" width="225"] The notoriously corrupt judge of "IA's Got Talent"- Dr. Love![/caption]

[caption id="attachment_125" align="aligncenter" width="275"] The Judges: These men *cannot* be trusted.... (photo courtesy of Rich O. and IA/FA)[/caption]

The acts themselves ranged from the silly to almost-superb... and yet each and every one received disparaging comments from New Jersey's answer to Simon Cowell. There were literary recitations set to a male ballerina/swan dancer/somethang.... a trash can/desk/chair version of "Stomp!".... various Variations Upon a Mosquito Theme... and the default act seemed to be showing off the cabin's dancing skills to various popular tunes. One of the final acts, done by some of the oldest boys, was a "Guide to InterCamp Dances for Dummies". (The portrayal of the female halves of the equation required great quantities of Brain Bleach to eradicate from the mind's eye)

As for my boys, they were, in order from youngest to oldest: dancing The Robot; an erstwhile William Tell who can't keep his arrow on the rest before shooting; and a Mosquito Exterminator with a broom.

[caption id="attachment_124" align="alignnone" width="300"] The winning cabin.. Ryan is in the camo t-shirt and white sunglasses.[/caption]

And for the record, the overall winner?  That would be Cabin J5... Ryan's cabin!   Their dance routine garnered the most approbation from the Panel O' Judges... or the counselors paid the most graft beforehand.... we're not sure which.    Each age "unit" had an individual winner before the overall was announced.  Another Juniors cabin won the unit, and Ryan looked so very disappointed... but when his cabin won overall it was great to see his reaction.  :)

[caption id="attachment_126" align="alignnone" width="275"] Ryan's cabin celebrating their big win. Ryan is in the white jacket with colored stripes. (Photo courtesy Rich O. and IA/FA)[/caption]

The Unintentional Anthropologist

"...The long hours spent with them in the forest have enriched my life beyond measure. What I have learned from them has shaped my understanding of human behavior, of our place in nature."- Jane Goodall

It's been two days now since the campers started arriving, and this place has taken on a different air.  Up until now, everyone here has been either staff or counselors (with the exception of staff offspring).  Now, the dining room hall is filled with young 'uns of all ages, and it is fascinating to observe.

These camps were established in 1924... and that is a long time to build up customs that, while quite normal to those involved in the camp for years, make a newcomer almost feel like an anthropologist dropped into the jungle or rainforest.   The 'natives' exhibit various chants throughout meal times (except for Friday nights, which are by candlelight and supposed to be a "quiet" meal).  I freely admit that the majority of the chants are quite unintelligible to me... I feel as if I need to bring a linguist with me to decipher this dialect I've discovered.  In the meantime, I must search for the Forest Acres lingua franca if I wish to understand the goings-on....

My favorite chant of the first night was one, in which, while all the words were not clear, the intent certainly was:  the chant cycled through a long list of years, and people would stand up when the chant reached the year in which they first came to the camp.  Some of these people have been participating for a very, very long time here.  Yours truly stood up on the last verse... the "two-oh-one-two" chant.  The cheers that would resound upon the standing of a particularly popular counselor or staff member, or even a veteran camper with lots of friends was heart-warming.

So why does this matter?  What's the point of these chants and customs and traditions?  What's the point of any such things in any given group, organization, fraternity, congregation, et al?

It matters because we are made to connect with others... to fellowship.  Even a raging introvert like myself  (13-0 on the Meyers-Briggs!) has a basic need to connect with other human beings on a regular basis.   Sociologists will tell you that is why cultures build mores, customs, and traditions... as touchstones for human contact within the group.  It's comforting, surely as much so as when Linus has that blanket in his possession.

Why do we need this so much?  Because our Creator made us that way.  He made us to desire fellowship with Him... and it washes over into our earthly relationships as well.  There is much we will never understand about the Trinity, but the easiest thing to understand about it is that God exists in 3 aspects... and they fellowship with one another in love.

 

My two month "sabbatical" begins...

This year, my family was presented with a wonderful and unique opportunity.  We are going to spend two months at a summer camp in Maine.  My wife is going to work for the camp while my three boys attend it.  Since my job allows me to work from home, I'm able to come along... in the words of my boss:  "Do you have an internet connection and phone signal?  Ok, have fun"  :)

Allison's family has been involved with this camp for many years.  Back in college, she was a counselor here... and by doing this, she will get to see her mother for 2 months... which is a real blessing- because of geographical distance, she and her mom see each other maybe a couple of times a year...

Due to Matthew being involved with the daily entertainment at Vacation Bible School which ended at noon on Friday, we were forced to drive 1900 miles in 2.5 days, as our goal was to arrive by 8:00pm on Sunday, in time for the first of a weekly ritual of the camp... the Sunday night campfire.   This weekly session of sharing, singing, and skits are some of the most important touchstones of this experience.  We made it, but just barely....

[caption id="attachment_117" align="alignnone" width="300"] Our first campfire gathering[/caption]

I'm not a night person, so before this campfire was over... I was really starting to hit the wall, especially after a 12-hour drive that day. But even in my somnolent condition, I was struck by one thing so strongly that I pulled out my journal and wrote about it.

The counselors at this camp, comprised of young people of college age or just a little older, literally come from all over the world.  Many of them are former campers, and their presence added a vibrancy that was tangible, a vibrancy that comes only from young men and women in the start of the prime of their lives, who have the whole world before them... with nasty old things like mortgages and PTA meetings and what not WAY OVER the horizon.

These young folk provide the bulk of the skits, songs, and other presentations done at campfire, and the energy and commitment they have to travel this far and mentor younger kids was something to behold... it felt like a pure, raw power that could be tapped.  I felt like Rand Al' Thor, knowing that the full power of saidar was there, ready to be grabbed ahold of and used to do wonderful things.

And it also served as a reminder... yes, the countryside here is stunning... the vistas are overwhelmingly beautiful... the climate is so much more enjoyable than Texas... but in the end, it is the people that make a place magical.  These wonderful children of our Creator, (whether they acknowledge him or not), and the pure power of the hope and dreams of their lives and their young charges who will arrive in a few days... it makes this place sing.

And oh, I'm looking forward to hearing the rousing chorus... bring it!

Why did I cheer the Great Home Run Race?

" In the past decade the game and the bodies of those who play it have lost their cartoonish outrageousness, as have the statistics they produce. In the nine seasons before steroid testing, players crashed the 50-home run threshold 18 times, the 60-home run barrier six times. In the nine seasons with testing, there have been only six 50-homer seasons. Nobody has hit 60."  -  'To Cheat or Not to Cheat' by Tom Verducci, Sports Illustrated, June 4 2012

Do you remember the Great Home Run Race?   Sosa and McGuire, duking it out with each other and the ghost of Maris... and even the wraith of The Babe channeled through Maris' stress and discomfort?   How we cheered as the laughing Sammy and the taciturn McGuire stalked and hunted one of the most vaunted records in the game of baseball.

It was a heady time.  For me personally, it became a healing catharsis of sorts, helping  pull me back to baseball after the disaster of the cancelled World Series of 1994.  I remember listening with my wife to the radio in the car as McGuire tied the record.  It was a great time, and I cheered as loud as any fan returning to the Great Game.

Within just a few years, an absolute nimrod would come along and eclipse the whole thing.. both the record and feelings.  Like a harbinger of doom, that man's record chase was the crack in the door through which we all peeked and saw the filth within.... the home run chase that we cheered was a sham... a vial of snake oil sold to unsuspecting commoners at the county fair.

We should have known.  I should have known.  I have more than my fair share of cynic in me.  If this were the movie "Eight Men Out", I would be one of the sportswriters (the portly, dumpy one, not the tall, thin one) casting a jaded eye on the whole process, circling the faces of the players that I knew were doing something wrong no matter what the charged atmosphere.

So now, years later... I wonder... why did I cheer?  I wish I hadn't.

You might ask... why does it matter?  And to that, I would answer this:  one of the great attractions of baseball is that it is played by men of relatively normal statures.  I measure in at 6' 2" tall... and almost all the point guards in the NBA are 5-6" taller than I am.  Football players are ginormous.  Olympic swimmers have wingspans wider than they are tall, or can bend their feet completely back and some such.   Baseball is a game that can be played by guys like David Wells and John Kruk.   Hand-eye coordination matters more than hulking mass or freakishly perfect physiology.  Despite the heroic stature we often accord them... these boys of baseball look like us... and that is important.

Steroids changed that.  It turned the boys of baseball into something more than normal, and at the expense of their compatriots who chose not to cheat, and in violation of the trust of fans, and at great cost to themselves.  And those same steroids fueled the Great Home Run Chase, and nothing we do now can undo the taint on that year...

And I look back and think... why did I cheer?