THANKFUL FRIDAY

I did not know Amani or Sarah until last year. I didn’t know Erica or Jenn who live in my neighborhood, until last year. There is a really long list of people that I could write down here that I didn’t know or love until last year. Tavia and Xander. Abbi and Lucas. Roze. Rose (who did an amazing drawing of my singing bowl experience). Dee! Man, that woman will inspire you to get on the hiking trail. Jess and Jade, our lifeguards. Michelle or camp photographer. I’m afraid to continue listing names because I know I will leave someone out. We all met each other at Camp Wildling. One of my concerns about moving to KCMO was making new friends. How do you make new friends after the age of 30 particularly if you do not have children? There are 491,158 people living in this city. How do find the ones who get you and love you for being you?

You go to camp.

At opening ceremony for Camp Wildling, everyone is invited to place something on the alter we set up in the shala and you are encouraged to say a few words about the item. Things placed here represent what you hope to get out of camp or what you’d like to leave behind at camp. People place pictures, rocks, charms. All kinds of things. This year I placed the print that I had written a note on for Granny. I said that the picture represents two things. One is to never hesitate to send the note, to reach out and connect. The other thing the picture represents is the connections and relationships that can be formed at camp. I attended many different summer camps as a young person and I always made new friends. We would all end up being pen pals for a while, but eventually the connections would fade out. Remember your tween self for a moment, living in the age before internet and cell phones and imagine maintaining long distance friendships. Even with technology, it takes effort.

It’s worth the effort. More than worth it.

The friendships I have made through Camp Wildling are important to me. Not just because I have collected some really great people into my life, but because it helps me maintain and foster old friendships. When I send a message to Tania telling her how awesome she is and that plant she pointed out completely stopped my bug bite from itching, I am reminded to also send a message to Steph to ask about her trip to Mexico. There is a song we used to sing at 4-H summer camp. It is a simple one line song that we would sing in a round. It was usually the last campfire song of camp. It is my first lesson on the importance of connections and relationship.

Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver and the other’s gold.

It is not lost on me how fortunate I am to have such a group of fantastic people in my life or how important is to keep them in my life. Both the silver and the gold.

INTO THE WOODS

Sunday evening, we gathered for Self Care Circle and Rose asked us where in our bodies were we feeling gravity. Sarah said her arms felt heavy. Xander felt weight behind his eyes. Tania felt gravity in her legs. Most everyone felt heavy in some place. I confessed to not feeling gravity. In fact, I felt/feel like the only thing holding me down onto this planet is a thin piece of string tied to my right ankle. The other end is weighted with a marble. I am at work, frantically trying to finish up imaging on the latest batch of slides while troubleshooting computer issues on the very same microscope I am using to image that batch of slides. Multiple terabytes of data still needs to be transferred from that computer to the network for further processing. I am at home thinking about chicken care and if I packed enough of the right things for camp. I just remembered that I haven’t packed shoes of any kind, but there are socks in my suitcase. I am at camp thinking about the classes I’m supposed to be teaching.

I am dreaming about my three o’clock massage appointment on Saturday.

This untethered weightless feeling will go away once we are at camp with our camper setup and camp things put in their places. The groove of the camp routine will take hold and I will give in to pool floating time and laying my body on the cool concrete floor of the yoga shala. I will feel weighted and heavy and full. These are not wishes or hopes. These are truths. Every camp experience has been different and I expect that this one will as well, but there is a part of the experience that remains consistent between camps. Cell signal is shotty at camp, so there’s no email, no news, no remote accessing into to work. The ideas I have for some blog entries and where my book writing is going will be handwritten in a notebook, with possibilities of seeing the light day when I return. My camera is packed, along with my tripod because if the weather cooperates, I’d like to play around with some night sky photography. But if I end up napping a whole lot, that’s okay too. Camp is a time where I have no choice but to set my usual daily life over on a shelf not to be touched for five days.

It is a terrifying thought that I am welcoming with open arms.

THE NOTE I NEVER SENT

June temperatures can be odd here. For the most part, it’s a very tolerable warm and muggy, but in the afternoon, the heat can settle in and feel suffocating. That is how it was at camp last June. The heat would really roll in around 2:00 and everyone would scatter to the pool, the river or a shady hammock. The last full day of camp, I found myself in the yoga shala, our central gathering place for camp activities, right at the hottest part of the afternoon. The yoga shala sits at the highest point at camp and the only place where I could get any reception. I paced the shala as I attempted to upload photos so I could run a slideshow for the evening. Then I started setting up the projector. As I dragged the projector out and started running cords, I was hit with a big dose of doubts. I was afraid that I was not technologically advanced enough to set up this projector.

Funny right? I run complicated microscopy systems and suddenly I was afraid of a simple projector.

There was an older gentleman at camp, a dear old friend of Kelly’s we called Granny. We hadn’t had any interactions all through camp. He seemed to be on the periphery, but in that moment while I was struggling to figure out the projector, he swooped in. He didn’t take over or anything like that. He just became my assistant, supporting me in whatever I needed. Then, when we had gotten everything set up and working, the power for the entire camp went out. We looked at each other and then walked down to the pool. I sat with my legs dangling in the pool and someone handed me a cold beer. There was a small group floating around on various floaties. Granny came and sat next to me and we proceeded to talk and talk and talk. We talked about education and liberal arts. We talked about government and science. It was the kind of conversation that I hadn’t had with anyone in a really long time. It was good and meaningful and important. Those handful of hours were like a drop of water, tiny but filled with a whole world.

The last morning of camp, I wrote a note on the back of a photo and went to put it in his mailbag only to discover that he’d left early that morning while everyone was still sleeping. I thought maybe I’d mail the photo to him, but I never got around to it. Last week, Kelly posted that Granny had passed away. Fast acting cancer. Fuck cancer. So now I have this note that I never sent, a note now for the dead. I’ll just add it to my list of growing questions that I have for Chris, Dad and J. It will probably rest on the altar at camp this year until I set it into one of the firepits. Leave it forever at camp.

This is such a shitty reminder to never hesitate.

Send the note.

Worth saying again: Fuck cancer.

OCTOBER CAMP

The fingernail on my left index finger is painted with blue nail polish. All the other nails are bare. One night around the campfire, maybe the first night(?), Rosie came around asking people if they can paint a nail and that’s the finger I held out for her to paint. The next morning I was looking into the mirror to apply moisturizer to my face and was visibly startled by the sight of that blue nail because I had forgotten all about it. That’s really all I need to say about camp.

Except, that’s far from the truth.

There are lots of things I could say about camp. I could give you a long list of things I did not do for four days and an even shorter list of the things I did do for four days. The thing I did the most over those four days was laugh and laugh and laugh. My body still aches from all the laughing. The most important thing was that Michael and I walked away from camp with new framily members. One of our camp staff members, Shiny, had one word for camp and it was community. Webster’s Dictionary defines the word ‘community’ as a “unified body of individuals. Such as:” and then goes on to list various types of communities. The list contains other words like ‘fellowship’ and ‘likeness’, yet none of them really fully encompass the feelings of being part of a community. Being part of a community is so much more than being “unified” or sharing common interests. Community comes from the way we care for one another, encourage and support one another.

This is the essence of Camp Wildling.

I had two words for camp: confidence and gratitude. I one hundred percent feel like a total fraud when it comes to photography. It doesn’t matter the amount of material I have read on the subject or the practice and practice of photo taking that I partake in daily. For me to be able to share my knowledge to others and to see them engaged and really truly learning from me, stops me in my tracks.

I mindfully create energy to pursue my own advocacy goals of abolition. Sometimes it looks like a calming practice. And sometimes it looks like play. - Zuri Adele

I did not once sit down with my Lightmaker’s Manifesto and journal to start brainstorming what I can do to be an activist. When I returned home on Sunday, that quote above was posted for our prompt this week and my memories of camp were still fresh in my head. Camp provided me the space to grow energy, to build up and charge my energy supply. At times, camp was calming, but honestly…it was a whole lot of play.

Somewhere in the middle of all that play, I discovered that I do have gifts worth sharing.

WHERE WE ARE

This is very simple and almost too on the nose to share, but I’ve been struggling with writing for this space and my brain is trying to process all the things that I have schedule for the month of September. So when I saw this quote from Calvin and Hobbes posted in my timeline, I sat back in my chair with my cup of lukewarm coffee and said to myself “shut up, Universe. I don’t have time for your intervention.”

We’re so busy watching out for what’s just ahead of us that we don’t take time to enjoy where we are. - Bill Watterson

Last weekend, Kelly hosted an August edition of Camp Wildling. I did not attend this one, but I’m still a part of the Facebook group so I’ve been seeing the posts from August camp rolling in with pictures and expressions of joy and gratitude. I had a moment of straight up jealousy and disappointment for not being there. Then I reminded myself that the October edition of Camp Wildling will be here before we know it and I am going to be at that one. Michael has even taken time off to go so we can take the camper and I have visions of our little pop-up set up in the RV section of camp, our camp chairs set up under the awning and my little camper lights decorating the outside. I was also looking at everyone’s pictures from camp and thinking about what that space is going to look like in October. I cannot wait to teach my photography class because I know we will be in a spectacular setting. Oh, the dreamy sunlight of Fall, plus the golds and reds of the leaves. Swoon.

But September sits between me and Camp Wildling and September is booked.

This week has been slow and hot. It’s been so uncomfortable here that I finally broke down and made myself an iced latte. I despise cold coffee, but I thought maybe I’d give it another try. Nope. Still despise cold coffee. It’s like drinking a glass of cigarette flavored milk with ice in it. It’s just not for me. I am currently in the waiting part of the hurry up and wait that is science, but instead of really taking advantage of the quiet stillness, I’m feeling bad for sitting still. Instead of basking in the stillness of right now, I’m thinking that something is wrong with me for just sitting around. I should be enjoying this moment before all of the activities of September and October start rolling in.

My new friend Rose taught us all June campers the term JOMO. Instead of fear of missing out, you experience the joy of missing out. Today I am embracing the idea of JOMO.

June and August editions of Camp Wildling sold out fast. I expect the same thing to happen for the October camp. October camp will be the 14th through the 17th and tickets can be purchased here at Camp Wildling website. The Ozarks in the Fall is beautiful. Camp Wildling is magical.

METABOLICALLY READY

I skipped lunch on Sunday because I was driving home from a weekend at Mom’s and once I’m in the car, I am reluctant to stop until I get home (Dad trait). Also, the food options for me on the road between Tulsa and Kansas City are not great options. When I got home, Michael said he wanted bbq. He made us a dinner reservation for Jack Stack (one of KC’s most popular bbq joints) after checking the menu for Jack Stack, who has a surprisingly decent amount of fish options. We shared an appetizer of fried mushrooms. Then, when my order of bbq trout with loaded (no bacon) baked potato and garden salad arrived at our table, I ate all of it. I left half the garden salad because Jack Stack’s ‘dinner’ salad is truly dinner sized, but still. Michael only ate half of his sandwich and sides, while I just continued eating on a giant plate of food until I felt ill.

That night, I’m not really sure what was happening in my dream, but someone who felt like my brother gave me a hot dog from Katz’s Deli. When I unwrapped the hotdog from the wax paper, I discovered a perfect New York hot dog, but a vegetarian hot dog, not a meat one. I was overjoyed and hugged this brother like person with all my might. I woke up wanting all of this to be real. It is not. The only thing I can eat at Katz’s Deli is the egg salad sandwich. It is the most superb egg salad sandwich I have ever eaten and now I want one with a gallon container of their pickles. Then I want to consume tomatoes and mozzarella cheese until my stomach bursts and ohmygod I do not know what is happening to me. It’s like I am a hibernating breed of animal that just looked at the calendar and realized that winter is not all that far away and is now saying to itself “Oh no! I’m not metabolically ready for winter!”

For some reason, I found myself watching the first episode of the Fantasy Island reboot on FOX. One of the guests was a news anchorwoman who had been depriving herself of food for fear of getting too fat for TV, but it was a habit she formed in her early teens. The result of this was that she always felt hungry, always felt empty inside. On the island she was able to eat anything and all that she wanted without gaining an ounce. She immediately sat down to elaborate meals, full of all of the things that she never allowed herself to eat, but with each meal came a memory and an interruption from her step-dad, the man who planted and watered the seed of her idea of food and her body. Each time, she pushed the memory away and the more empty she felt inside. It wasn’t until she finally confronted the memory that she felt full and content. She left the island with an intent to find more joy in her daily life and that sometimes that joy comes in the form of a cupcake.

I wonder what memory it is I am suddenly trying to push away. What is nudging me that I need to confront? Where did this sudden space come from that I feel needs to be filled up with something such as more cheese?

The August session of Camp Wildling starts this week. I am not going, but I still recieve all of the updates and newsletters regarding camp and it makes me wish I was going to camp. Yesterday, Kelly posted a list of last minute suggestions for the campers. Number seven on the list was in regards to an impromptu grief ceremony at the ancient Indian mounds that are in the camp. She was floating it out there for other campers because sometimes sharing what is in our grieving hearts can help us heal. It was a ceremony that I participated in when I was at camp and seeing this posted on the list made me tear up immediately. I had not expected to have any part in this ceremony. Then Kelly approached me and said that she and another camper where going to the mounds for a grief ceremony and invited me to go. It was very last minute. I had nothing prepared to share. I didn’t know what this grief ceremony was going to look like and was not prepared for any of it. Kelly started by sharing her story and then she “Cindy, will you tell us about Chris?” Maybe two words came out of my mouth before the rest of anything I had to say was taken over by a rush of sobs. My body made sounds of grief I had not heard since Chris’s death. I lost complete control of myself and I didn’t even know I had that kind of sobbing left in me after all this time. It was like a black sticky tar ball lodged between my kidneys had for some reason chosen this moment to wiggle itself free.

Am I trying to fill that space back up with food? Unintentionally maybe.

It is the habit that once you clean out a space, to fill it up with new stuff. It is as if one cannot handle empty spaces. Except if we take some time, if we just let ourselves feel unsettled with the empty space for a few minutes, I think we will eventually get used to the emptiness. I’m good with this concept of thinking outside of my own body. In fact, empty spaces are my Xanax, but internally is a different story. For one thing, I come from a family of non communicators. We internalize all thoughts and feelings. This is why I am better at writing about it then talking about it. My grief for Chris is just the easiest box or boxes to reach in this attic of internalized crap, but getting rid of some of those boxes, makes room for sorting through others. So, I’ve curbed my appetite.

I’m leaving space for more mental sorting.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

About six years ago (more like seven), the Nelson opened a new exhibit in their sculpture garden and a group of us from work walked over to see it. We walked by the Kauffman Gardens on our way back and as I passed the open dumpster just outside the garden, I noticed a whole hydrangea plant laying there on top of a bunch of garden debris. I reached in and plucked that hydrangea out and then I planted it in my front yard. It did not die that first year. It did turn all dry and dead looking, but when Spring arrived the next year, the hydrangea sprouted new growth. My mother was in for a visit and we had been driving around. I was boasting about my garbage hydrangea as we pulled into my driveway just in time to witness Michael mow over it with the lawn mower. Despite being mowed down, that plant sprouted new growth again and it has continued to do so every Spring.

But it has never bloomed until this year.

Every year, I have searched this plant for blooms and not even a hint of bloom has appeared. It reminds me of a story my Mom told me once about the hydrangea starter that she brought home from her sister in Mississippi. Mom planted it in the dry Oklahoma climate and watered it daily. It survived for years without ever blooming. She said that one day she was out watering that plant and said to it “If you do not bloom this year, I’m ripping you out of the ground and throwing you in the trash bin.” Her hydrangea plant bloomed that year. I did not inherit my Mom’s threatening green thumb. I am pleased when something even grows and more than surprised when something blooms. There’s a link between the way I deal with plants and the way I deal with life.

The month of June has left me scooped out. It was a lot. It was emotional. Camp Wildling split me in two and I never really got a chance to process any of those feelings before heading off to the next thing. Every time someone has asked me about Camp Wildling, all I have been able to say before my throat closes up with tears is “it was good.” I cannot talk about it without crying. The stories from each person I met at camp and the hows and whys they made it to camp are roots implanted into my skin. To pull them out would stop whatever it is that is starting to grow from those roots, from the whole experience of Camp Wildling. I don’t have a clue as to what is going to grow out of all of it, but I think that it is really important for me to watch for whatever it is that blooms from this.

In the meantime, I have a lot of work to do and not just the kind of work that pays the bills. I need to move things from a list into an action. There are some actions that need to happen that I have no idea how to do or where to begin, but I will just have to stumble my way through it. For right now though, I am going to take a moment to be grateful for things that blossom and bloom.

CAMP WILDLING

Every summer as a tween and teen, I attended 4-H camp. I was a camper and then in my teens, I was a counselor. Camp was always set for the hottest month of the summer. Usually we were nowhere near water and cabins were not air conditioned. The food was basic cafeteria camp food and the shower situation was iffy. Despite all the sunburns and bug bites and general discomforts of camp, I always had the most fun. There were water balloon wars, prank battles, and sneaking out after curfew shenanigans. We sang silly songs around the campfire and we formed bonds with our bunk mates that seemed like forever bonds. Everyone cried at closing ceremonies because we did not want the fun to end, we did not want to leave these new friendships.

This was Camp Wildling.

For those of you wanting to know what adult summer camp looks like, it looks just like the above except with a swimming pool full of floating devices and a package of yoga and meditation wrapped in a self care ribbon. We floated in the pool. We did yogad. We crafted. We star gazed. We bonded. We laughed (I thought Kelly was going to choke on her veggie burger) so hard and we cried so much. We saw each other. We heard each other’s stories. And it was FUCKING AMAZING. At closing ceremonies, we went around the circle and shared what we got from camp and almost every single one of us started with “I didn’t know what I was getting into when I signed up for this.” None of us knew what to expect from camp, but almost every single one of us ended with “this was so much more than I could have expected.” And the gratitude for what each camper experienced was immeasurable.

I came back to work on Monday, still drunk from the Kool-aid that was summer camp and fell right into a bucket of freezing cold water. Re-entry to life was a breathtaking shock to my system and when I peeked over to Facebook, I noticed that I was not the only camper struggling with a return to this life. I think it is because all of us at camp shed the mask of ourselves that we wear for the general public. Camp allowed us the freedom to be our true authentic selves. We each brought an extra bag of grief, strain and worry with us and we each took turns to help carry each other’s extra bag so that we could have moments without so much of the weight, the heaviness that comes with grief. I don’t know about the others, but I found that when I tried to replace that old general public mask, it no longer fit quite right. Even though I know how right it feels to be my true authentic self, it also feels a little bit scary and a lot vulnerable. Though, I’m not scared or vulnerable enough to stop this version of me that has emerged from this camp.

I came back from camp a more confident Cindy.

These next two days are going to be a blur of work and packing. We leave Wednesday early early to head out west. I promise to return from those adventures with some stories to share.