Friendship Bracelet

Let's Go Camping!
Camp Otterbein: Hocking County, Ohio

Raise your hand if you've ever made a friendship bracelet.

Good.

Me? I tried.

Learning to make one is a rite of passage you always do at camp, usually in your teen years.

But for me? That event occurred in... ahem... my mature years. What can I tell you? I've always been a late bloomer.

What was more pathetic as I hinted early on, was that I totally failed at what was supposedly an easy and fun craft. Those innocent-looking cut strands of embroidery floss were evil incarnate.

You can take the floss and start tying an overhand knot in one end, a teen was kindly showing me how.

A young girl to my right was very patient. Then make lots of small knots by forming the strands Into.The.Shape.Of.A.'Four,' she slowly explained.

Do you remember me saying, It was supposed to be easy and fun? Note the semi-auxiliary verb supposed. The cows had already gone home, and I was still knotting. And unraveling. And knotting some more.

I was going all Tim Gunn to make it work (that's Project Runway speak, for those who don't know). After some grunting, I was able to complete about an inch worth of a twisted, gnarled, and unrecognizable strand.

Stop laughing.

I was forlorn. I had just unfriended my would-be friendship amulet.

When right there on the porch...

I spotted Hubby, his eyes shining and childlike, heading a soccer ball into an invisible goal against a four-year-old boy.

And I saw Younger Daughter seated on a rocking chair watching Second Granddaughter get her hair boho-braided with ribbon by a fellow camper, aka hitherto-undisclosed expert on all styles of plaiting, from fishtail to a chain braid.

And kids on the ground below hopping and jumping while balling around.

Seeing all that made something within me click. Camp was not about me crafting the perfect friendship bracelet.

Camp was cold air, dark night, warm fire, bright stars.

Camp was about the night that turned into mornings with friends that turned into family.

Camp is retaining the gifts of friendship and moments of wonder.

To remember why the stars shine. To be in love. And like the Grinch in that Christmas story, feel your heart grow three or five times or however many times.

To relish the laughter over a card game.

Call to mind the awe-inspiring imagery of a fawn drinking from a small pool of water.

And be reminded that the threads of life don't always weave the way we want them to, but we can keep trying, one knot at a time.

Don't know why. Don't care. I find it comforting that everything is as it should be.

This. A perfect day.

For that is what camp is all about.

Camp was all of us.

Together.

A Captured Moment

Let's Go Camping!
Camp Mingus: Prescott, Arizona

Have you ever had a Kodak moment at camp? Okay, for those of you who were born Post Eastman Camera era, let me change that to 'a phone camera,' or for photo afficionados, a 'Nikon D850' moment.

You know, when you'd like to preserve an image forever...

Of little marshmallows floating to the top of your hot chocolate.

Of Younger Daughter, her brand-new velour sweatsuit caught in the barbed-wire fence she is crawling under.

Of Older Daughter, perched on a rock, puckering at you for a kiss.

Or of Hubby being 'kidnapped for ransom' by the youth group.

When Pastor King announced that we were trekking to the woods that day, we knew that we were going to be regaled by one such 'moment.'

It was one of those incredible times, between daylight and darkness. The sun had faded into a warm gold. The forest was a kaleidoscope of shifting shadows and hues, never looking quite the same twice.

Cool and blissfully fragrant.

Pinyons mingled with the narrowleaf cottonwood trees to hide the woodland's secrets. Quiet, except for the leaves drifting and the wind sighing at summer's passing and the tiny patter of a squirrel awkwardly moving up the Ponderosa pine, jabbering.

Then, we peeked through a clearing. It was flat and blank and grassy against a backdrop of mountains that never seemed to get closer. A pool of water was beyond. Pastor glanced at a watch-that-wasn't-there on his wrist. He adjusted his eyeglasses and shushed us. Yep. Any minute now.

Some of us fidgeted, unable to find comfortable positions.

Patience.

We waited with bated breath...

... until our 'moment' formed before our eyes.

A lone spotted deer, his expression docile and angelic, had timidly poked out of the undergrowth, sniffing the air.

Then lapped daintily at the cool, crystal water. Content. Unhurried.

The world around us went quiet. An eerie stillness akin to the echo of empty rooms fell over us. Not a bird call, not even a rustle of leaves or grass, despite a faint breeze.

Time stood still. Suspended. No past or future.

This.

A freeze-frame moment of wonder.

Most memorable in the history of any Kodak or Nikon moment.

Ever.

Uno

Let's Go Camping!
KOA: Flagstaff, Arizona

You may have formed an idea about me by this time, regardless of how long we've been together.
  
You're correct. I adore furry critters, specially dogs and fowls.

On my dowdy days, I risk going makeup-less for a last-minute trip to Meijer. You know. The one where you aren’t planning on running into anyone and then you discover the entire congregation of your church is there.

I'm also a devoted Goodwill patron who religiously delivers donations to the back door, only to detour to the front just to see What's.New.Inside. That's how I end up being the proud owner of all the glass milk vases on aisle 4. I can't help it. They call my name every time.

Overall, I’m kind of happy with my furry-friendly, makeup-less, and faithful thrift shop persona.

But in self-discovery news, back when I was 30-something, I came to realize a weird, perhaps mildly-irritating, game-time side of mine at camp.

You know. When after those hotdog dinners, the girls, Hubby, and I gather by the bonfire to play Go Fish. Or Old Maid.

And specially Uno. 

The official Uno rule states that after a card is drawn, the player can discard it if it is a match or a wild card (with all four colors). In the latter case, you get to designate which of the four colors it will be. 

I don't know what it is, but I'd get all disproportionately excited and boisterous and will heartily shout out my color choice, Reyd! (for red) or Gren! (for green), deliberately mispronouncing the word for my own amusement. 

And you know what gets me all the time? When a player, I or someone else - it doesn't matter who - draw(s) a card and continue(s) to do so, waiting for a match, like forever! 

Are you surprised that I find this situation Comedy-Central funny? 

The game continues until a player has one card left and shouts, Uno! and matches the top card.

Game over. 

As it starts darkening outside and you crawl back into your tent, and it’s just a little bit crisp and cool and you have to pull your sleeping bag flap over your face, you realize that you'd remember that day by its colors. The vibrant red and yellow, and blue and green - and I'm not talking about the cards, but the world around.

And tomorrow, the same glorious colors will herald the day. 

And when it's over, it's game time once more by the campfire. 

And in my most-competitive, excitable voice, I'll get to bellow, Get the cards out! It's 'Uno' time. Come on, Reyd!

Tell Me Why

Let's Go Camping!

Methodist Conference Site: Taytay, Rizal

Do you ever get a campfire song stuck in your head?

Me, too.

I'm always there, down by the old mill stream.

Or rocking my soul in the bosom of Abraham.

All that clapping and you're happy and you know it.

But nothing sends me up on cloud nine more than wondering why the stars shine. Or why the ivy twines. Or why the ocean's blue.

Tell Me Why.

It’s a youth camp song for the ages. My most favorite.

Ever… in the history of ever.

The words, even when I say them in a faint voice, barely a whisper, are as vivid as they were the first time, maybe even more dramatic... maybe even a bit exaggerated.

It's possible I'd never been happier.

Maybe it's the smoke in the air mingled with wild shadows cast by the bonfire. And maybe because you are told why.

Because God made the stars to shine. And the ivy to twine. And the ocean, blue. 

And, wait for it...

... Because God made you, that's why I love you.

Did I just hear a collective sigh? And see eye-rolling?

Truth. 

When you're 16, you're ready to take on the world and a few minor planets. You dare to reach for the moon and some random galaxies and the stars that are aglow like scattered sparks overhead.

You walk around in your pedal pushers and slingback flats as if you’re about to walk the runway. Your heart is beating so fast you just know everybody can hear it. And all you can think about are happy endings with rainbows and balloons and doves floating by in the sky.

Love.

It’s been Facebooked and tweeted and shared and pinned thousands and thousands of times.

Odes have been written about it. Poems have been composed in its honor. Wandering minstrels have extolled it in folk ballads.

And like a flame...

... it brings a glow to your life that is more radiant than a thousand campfires put together.

Tell me why again.

Sweet is the face of night.*

Hmm... Yeah.

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*First line of a published essay written in camp. Said article has not been preserved. Who knew it was going to be referenced several decades later?

Do, Did, Doing

My Special Word

Wow. Things are really coming along. It’s beginning to look a lot like 2019. Red and green decor, parting is such sweet sorrow.

I know, right?

It seems like I just put away bits of paper and ribbon and tags and a Santa plate with one bitten chocolate chip cookie left on it.

Step by step. One post-Christmas foot in front of the other.

And together, we resolved to tackle a Special Word for the year.

Happily, it looks like DIY and I have been a match. I’m pretty sure. That’s my considered opinion. I resolved to do (it yourself). I did. And I’m doing it still. 

For the record, I’ve DIY-ed quite a number of projects since the popsicle stick birdhouse and the hydrangea centerpiece. Let’s see… where do I begin? 

I did a Nordic-style star from crabapple branches. 

I emulated cotton bolls made out of water-color stained and wadded cotton balls and pistachio shells and got them 'growing out' of sprigs picked up from the backyard.

I made centerpieces galore out of leafy branches and berries flanked by a candle with a kokopeli-designed wrap.

Then there’s the topiary from a banana stalk that's by the wrought-iron mirror adorned with red papyrus from Kenya.

And such a grand curtained entry to the laundry room festooned with pompoms.

There’s even a feathered directional restroom sign on a wood hanger.

I really didn’t spend a lot of time planning about doing the grandiose. Accomplishing the extraordinary. Going up the mountain top.

I simply went all Monopoly. Get on with it. Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200.

And as I worked with seemingly paltry items, whether sticks or a shriveled bouquet or garden cuttings and clippings and yarn, I felt like I have achieved something special.

Because when you imagine...

And create...

That one small thing raises you up the mountain top.

And blesses you with the most grandiose feeling of having done something truly extraordinary.

BTW, I just saw the most jaw-dropping bed linen. A Moroccan wedding blanket. All white and nubby with fluffy pompoms. And highlighted by sparkly thread warping and wefting throughout.

And just like that, I knew exactly what my next DIY was going to be. A latch hooked, cross stitched Moroccan-style throw for the coffee table. It's going to be a long-term project, so the reveal won't be forthcoming soon.

But hey, time is one thing I've got. Wait for it in a blog series on Morocco sometime this fall.

P.S. What insight have you gained from your Special Word endeavor? Inquiring minds want to know.

P.P.S. In other news, I’ve come up with an idea for next month’s blog. Actually a reader suggestion. Time to get to work on that one!

  

Hello, Adorbs!

My Special Word

Drum roll, please...

Happy to report that I've been faithful, so far, to my DIY Special Word.

Opportunities have been serendipitous. Younger Daughter and I had just exited a cafe when a hydrangea bush with a crown of florets stopped me in my tracks.

It was on its last leg.

Dried up.

A little sad.

A little tired. Signing off and heading for Hydrangea Heaven.

When Second Granddaughter saw it later, she said, What is this dead thing?

I thought it was adorbs (a term for 'adorable' that I've borrowed from my equally adorable First Granddaughter). I wanted to preserve it for all eternity.

What do you think? Should I, or shouldn't I? 

OK, so the house is split with one abstention.

Just so you know, my decision tipped the scale in favor of the shoulds. The sprig went home with me that day.

Here's how I DIY-ed it into an easy centerpiece. It only took three minutes. Start the timer.

Looked for a red glass vase in the basement - 70 seconds.

Checked branch height so it was proportionate to the container - 10 seconds. 

Pinched off lower stem segment to shorten it - 1 second.

Went back to basement to get a couple of cattail stalks and magnolia leaves to fill the arrangement - 74 seconds. 

Casually fluffed everything for the most-pleasing placement. Do NOT over-think this step. - 15 seconds.

Got a cup of Hubby's brewing ginger green tea - 10 seconds.

Sat and enjoyed - a really long time!

Exquisite? Yes, I think so!

Oh, that was the tea. And the hydrangea centerpiece, too.

(To be continued)

Where The Wild Flowers Grow

For Azul
January 13, 2019

My eyes are glassy. I'm deep in thought, as if I'd already crossed the ocean. For a second, the past and the present have been fused into one swirling scene.

At home on the mainland, I can see myself. Coffee in hand. Greeting the wildflowers out the front window.

And Azul. My forever peach-faced lovebird.

You may remember. He is one of the guys in my life. Subject of a blog way back in September 2017. 

He has just swung down from his bird house, a DIY-ed project featured in the Home, Tweet Home posting prior to this one. He's nibbling millet and his favorite sunflower seeds. I chat with him about the weather, divulging, It rained last night, Azul, as if he wouldn't know, even though from his perch he has a panoramic view of the outside world through the glass window. He glances at me, but continues to crack open a stubborn sunflower shell. I try to humor him with a sunny prediction, Azul, it's going to be a nice day today. His response is always nonchalant, a small, Chirp. Why do I always comment on the obvious?

Each day, it is just me and Azul and sunshine dappling the flowers.

Then, day turns to night and quickly into dawn though I don't notice the change until it has already passed, as if I'd been a sleepwalker awakened by the sunlight. In the distance, a cheerful warbler glides over the banana plant silhouetted against the horizon, as if carrying the sun on its wings.

The insistent ringing of the phone has intruded into my fading dream. My baggy eyes sag in the morning light. Second Daughter lets me know. Azul is no more.

In the spring when I go back home to the mainland, I'll look out the front window, as has been my wont. Coffee in hand, I'll walk toward where Azul used to be. 

The space by the glass window will be inconsolably bare. He will not be there nibbling his seeds.

But I know to peer outside where the wildflowers are blooming once more. Because I know that's where he is. 

I'll whisper, Azul, I don't know how the day is going to be.

As the black-eyed Susan sways in the early breeze, I can imagine him nudging me toward the brightening sky as if to say, Don't worry. Can't you tell? It's going to be a nice day today.