There Once was a Camper

There once was a camper. 

And I love her. She was old, she was blind, she had to be woken up once an hour all night every night to use the restroom, she once said the f-word to me in the middle of the lake and then said, "Jesus probably didn't approve very much of that one." She made beaded necklaces for everyone and gave them to anyone, regardless of whether or not she knew them, she walked slowly and needed to be golf-carted to most places, she wore long pants in 90-degree (or more) heat, she said "hot dog!" when anyone told her something exciting, she sang hymns while walking even if no one was listening, but usually people were. And she loved Camp.

She is older than my grandparents. And now she's too old to come back to Camp. She came to Camp consistently and dependably for forty-plus years. My boss cried when she found out and then when I found out, I cried too while we just sat together. 

I was worried about what I was going to do without her. I've had her cabin twice before and I was with them again this week, which was wonderful because they make every day the best day. But I was afraid that, since she was so special to Camp and for so long, it would not be the same without her. And it wasn't. It was different, just as every year is. But it was great.

As my mama says, all good things must come to an end. Even the best things. 

And just because it must end does not mean that it was not good, because it was. But now she must stay where she is and I'll stay where I am, which is hard because where I am is where we used to be together with joy. I am here without her and my heart is sad. 

No one is like her and I love her with all my heart. Knowing and having to articulate the harsh, unpleasant truth that I will likely never see her face again, never see her lick her lips, never hear her call, "Em'ly" in the middle of the night even though I'm not Emily, I'm Laura, is very hard or me to do. It hurts my heart ever to lost contact with a friend, especially if it is one who helped sculpt me as a person. She is one of the most spectacular people with whom I have ever made acquaintance. 

So I will remember her. I will remember what her singing voice sounded like, I will remember the sock monkey she slept with, I will remember her dark blue eyes. I will look back fondly on my old friend while moving forward, because Camp is fluid. I want so badly for her to come back and for everything to be just like it used to be, but that's not how life works. Life moves forward and fast, and events cannot be repeated. I get to experience new days with different people, but because I knew her I am now a little bit, if even just the tiniest bit, altered as a person. And for that I am thankful. 

Love,
Lauralicious

Camp Camp Camp

I spend my summers with my head in a great big happy cloud - the Camp cloud. I spend my whole year from August to June wishing to be back in this cloud - I decorate my room with Camp memorabilia, fill out my returner application just as soon as I receive it because I'm so eager to be there, spend time with/run into Camp friends and talk about how much we love it, and dream about my campers, wishing as hard as I can to be with them.

I am always excited for Camp, except for the month or so right before I go. The cloud of excitement and pure things that Camp is turns into a cloud looming near me that won't leave me alone. I get so anxious before I go because what if any shimmer of good-counselor-ness I had in my past years has dissipated? What if no one on staff wants to be my friend? What if the campers won't try new things? What if I can't sleep and then I'm too tired to walk? What if we never have chicken fingers for lunch and then I'm so sad that I run away? What if a camper gets hurt and I could have prevented it? What if I'm not the best counselor ever? What if something goes wrong?

Because I am nervous, I feel resistant. I get agitated when I realize that I need to go to Walmart for supplies. I start to commemorate all of the last things I do before I go - the last time I wear makeup (last Thursday), the last time I hug my mom (tomorrow), the last time I get to sleep in (today), the last time I eat my dad's grits (yesterday), the last time I wear shoes that are not Chacos (yesterday), the last time I use my electric toothbrush (today), the last time I see my college friends who are in Clemson for the summer (last Tuesday). 

It's always hard to go to Camp, but once I am here, I don't want to be anywhere else. And soon enough the summer will be over and I will be sad that I'm gone from this place where people are kind and fair. Then I'll be commemorating all of my last things at Camp and wishing to no avail that it could always be summer and I could always be here.

And I know this, but still, every summer before it's time for me to go, I pout over what I will miss. I won't get to sleep in and babysit my favorite three-year-olds and write a lot of words and drink a lot of coffee. But this is a job of sacrifice, and I know that. It's why I keep coming back, because Camp is where I am second and where that is a good thing. 

Last week was staff training, and tomorrow campers come. Staff training was great. I was nervous and grumpy before and I cried when I hugged my brother because it was time for me to leave. But I drove over to Camp even though I wanted to go back to bed and, just like always, it was wonderful. I was reunited with old friends and I made new friends. I look so forward to having campers with us, because they are why we all made the decision to give up selfish things to be at Camp, handing out pieces of our hearts. 

On Thursday night while watching last year's staff video, I realized two things - 1. That I am lucky to get to be at Camp. There are people who can't be here who are heartbroken over missing these seven priceless weeks. These people would not complain if they were here. They would be so joyful. 2. I can't stay forever. One day I may have to really grow up, to go to the real world where no one raises their hand at lunch to celebrate with all of Camp a fifty-six year-old woman blowing bubbles in a three-foot-deep pool for the first time ever, where the boys don't form huge dance circles to let the girls eat first, where I don't get to do the jig with my best Camp friend every Sunday night and Saturday morning, where the majority of my time is spent with people of my general age group and ability level, where there is air conditioning nearly everywhere, where nobody needs me to hold their hand while walking, where I don't get to wear a wooden name tag, where no one wakes me up in the middle of the night because they need to go potty or are scared. 

Instead of sulking in what I am missing, I choose to celebrate what I am getting - the chance to do life with people who simply love it. I am getting shown what real love looks like, and it looks like it hurts but it's worth it. I am getting growth, and growing hurts. 

I don't go to Camp because I want to be comfortable. I go to Camp because I want to help give this environment of safety and acceptance to people who don't have one but deserve it more than anyone. I go to Camp to give the most special week of all time to the most special people I've ever known. I go to Camp because I like getting to cheer on old ladies when they're shooting bows and arrows. 

I am aware that the whole world is up to other things without me and a lot of my friends have better-paying or longer-sleeping summer situations. I am here to be a friend, to be a counselor, to be at Camp. 

Love,
Lauralicious

The Significance of Handkerchiefs

Ten years ago, I turned ten. In celebration of this birthday, my grandmother, D’Mama, took me on a five-day cruise to the Bahamas. I had never been on a boat that wasn’t a rowboat or a boat on the lake pulling a tube or a kneeboard, so being on a huge ship with a lot of other people was a big change and an exciting adventure for me. D’Mama got seasick easily but I couldn’t tell the difference between having my feet on land and having them on our ship, the Jubilee. We had such a wonderful time together. She and I had always been special to each other, but having this time that was for the two of us and only the two of us was magnificent and a time of jubilee.

My favorite part of the cruise, however, was during the afternoons when D’Mama had to take a nap. She was very sick (although I didn’t really know it) and needed a lot of rest. She needed quiet while she slept and I could not be still, so I got to venture around the ship every afternoon. I ate so much soft-serve ice cream.

I had never seen Titanic, being a ten-year-old and all, but being on the deck of the Jubilee was very similar to the way being on the deck of the Titanic was portrayed. The wind whipped around everywhere so that there was not really a purpose to trying to hold down my hair. It was blown until it was unbrushable, and I loved that. I liked to stand on the side of the boat, just above the ocean, and I never tired of watching the ocean go by. It looked so peaceful and so consistent and I wanted to be floating in it with my face towards the sky.

My whole imagination was present and blooming all week. I pretended that I was the captain’s daughter and I was allowed anywhere I wanted. I felt so happy, just wandering around, being blown by the wind, running into people, going back to the main deck for more ice cream, taking the elevator down to places I was not supposed to be, watching the water move under the ship. I felt so happy and I just wanted to spin around with my arms spread out because I didn’t know how else to express the fullness of my heart.

After this cruise, D’Mama decided that it would be fun to establish a tradition of special trips for each grandchild when they turned ten. But then she died in October. As in, we got back from the cruise, the summer passed, then as I was settling into being a fifth grader, she died. She was much sicker on the cruise than I had noticed.

And so as the oldest, I was the only grandchild who got to embark on this ten-year birthday tradition with her. At her funeral, all of her friends told me how lucky I was that I got to spend that special time with her before she died. They told me how much she loved me, but I already knew, because I loved her just as much.

After she died, my parents and I went through her closet and I got to take home with me some of her jewelry and a lot of her scarves. I never wore them, but I liked knowing that I still had pieces of her with me because I was afraid of forgetting her. But slowly as I grew older and older, every time I cleaned out under my bed, I decided not to keep a few more of her things. I felt badly about it, but a person’s past possessions are not that person. I kept one beaded clutch that I still use, but that was the only thing of hers that I kept.

Then last week, I was cleaning out my room and found two flower-embroidered handkerchiefs that had belonged to her. I was very excited to find something else of hers that I would use and love.

I just turned twenty, which means that it was ten years ago when she and I went on the cruise and this fall will be ten years since she died. It was ten years ago that I ran around the Jubilee with no one but my imagination and found places where no one else was and felt like the only person in the world.

My grandmother was a real Southern lady. She had the Emily Post book of etiquette in her living room on the bookshelf and she had a fancy foyer that we had to walk carefully in on the occasions that we were allowed to go into it. She knew all of the rules of hospitality and social situations, and she taught me a lot of them, even though I don’t think I was listening.

A few weeks ago, I was at a bridal shower for a friend and some of the older ladies were telling those of us younger ladies about old Southern traditions for girls, particularly the passing down of handkerchiefs between grandmothers and granddaughters. They said that it was a great compliment to a girl to receive a handkerchief from a grandmother or older lady.

It may be pretty cheesy that I found these handkerchiefs so conveniently at the ten-year mark of our trip together, but I think it is such a sweet tradition and feel confident that she would have been someone to participate in such a tradition. Here's to handkerchiefs and memories and imaginations!

Love,
Lauralicious