New Underwear and a Poem


Ah.... Nothing like sitting in front of the computer listening to Brown-eyed Girl on sattelite radio in your favorite t-shirt and a new pair of underwear. (Thanks mom.) I really should be working on the report that I'm supposed to be writing for the city on what happened with the camp this summer. But I don't feel like it.

Sha la la la la la la la la la la ti da la ti da
So hard to find my way, now that I'm all on my own...

I had a great night. I went to a barbeque at my mom's house, and her cool friends Stewart and Bethany were there. We laughed over dinner, sharing hillarious travel stories. Stewart and Bethany seem like they've been almost everywhere and done almost everything. The kids played in the pool.

After dinner we watched "Blue Crush," which really made me want to run out and start surfing--an impossibility because 1) it was the middle of the night 2) I don't have a surfboard 3) I live roughly 75 miles from the beach 4) my gas tank is on "E", 5) I have the ab muscles of a jar of jelly, and 6) I don't even know how to surf.

But hey, I'm an impromptu kind of girl. I'll put it on my list of things to do. It's a shame to live in Florida and not surf, even if surfing in Florida typically means chasing down a hurricane so that the waves are higher than 2 or 3 ft.

I tried surfing once a few years ago. I got up once for half a second, then lost the wave and sank. Then it started to rain hard so we went bowling instead.

Below you will find today's poem. Please remember that I'm writing these poems as a personal excercise. The forms you see here are the very first versions of the poems. Plus, I am usually forcing myself to write, so there isn't even the aid of inspiration to make them a little more interesting. The idea is that forcing myself to write, even when I really really don't want to, will somehow stretch my brain, and out of the process something workable might appear.

FYI, what really wants to come out of my mind at times like these looks more like this:

Poop

Poop poop poop
poop poopy poop poo-poo
poop poop poop poopy poop poop.


Instead, I force myself to write something slightly more intelligent, such as today's poem:


Arbeitskur

Ich bin eine arbeiter
The arbeiter who smokes two packs a day.
Grisly fingers on drink machines.
I like to look at the cold beads of sweat and imagine
how five tablespoons of sugar and some soda water
are gonna cool me off.

I like to take two aspirin every morning to ease the swell
of my arthritis, and a packet of BC powder before coming home
so that my kids don't give me a headache.

Skate-ramps and Mysterious Acts of God

 
Sometimes I get these surges of energy where I am absolutely unstoppable--nothing can stand in my way. If it were possible, I would see a project through completion in one day without stopping. Unfortunately, other people are required to participate in the process, and business hours operate only eight hours a day.
 
Only three kids came to leadership training today, but it was a great meeting. We planned our field trip, we're going to have $50 left over, and we came up with a bunch of great ideas for service projects. The biggest one is that the kids want to go ahead and raise money for a half-pipe skateboard ramp--and then they want to build it. Can it be done? Sure.  If it were up to me I'd go ahead and do it. But the city is planning on building one in the next three years or so, and they are going to want to decide where it goes and what it looks like and micro-manage every detail.
 
My program is a slave to the city.  When did this happen? I heard through a reliable source that the city manager is in love with the program and thinks it's the greatest thing since soapbox speeches. This is good news, but I'm afraid he's going to somehow "steal" it from me. In his attempt to get a glorified piece of the pie that I created, he might mangle the whole thing and ruin the entire recipe.
 
Is it a good thing to be associated with the city or a bad thing?
 
The only relationship that leadership training has with the city--as far as I can tell-- is that we use the city hall to meet in on a weekly basis. But suddenly, the city officials are poking their noses into all of our business. They want me to deposit the money we earned from the car wash into a fund controlled by the city. They told me so today with suspicious and accusing looks on their faces:
 
"Melissa, where is the money that you earned? You need to bring it down here and give it to K----- so she can put it in a city fund."
 
"Oh, good idea. I didn't even think that you guys could do that for me."
 
"So you'll bring it tomorrow?"
 
"Yeah. It sounds like a better idea than keeping it in my sock drawer," I joked.
 
Nobody laughed.
 
Then C----, a city secretary whose children came to a few sessions of leadership training and participated in the car wash, started telling me what I need to do with the money we earned and how I had to take all the kids who participated in the car-wash on the field-trip. I told her that some of the kids had become disqualified because of behavior problems, but we appreciated their help (one of these kids was her son). Then she made a snooty comment that I need to get off my chest--she said "Well, some people know how to control children, and other people don't." And I told her that I am trying my best and learning more everyday, and that in a few months perhaps those kids who are disqualified could re-apply and try again, at which point she informed me that it would really be unfair if her kids weren't allowed to come since they worked so hard all day at the car wash. At this point I felt bad for my obvious lack of planning and procedure in this regard, and I told her that her son can come if she comes, and that her daughters are welcome to come, but they failed to attend today's meeting and they knew about it, which is discouraging to me, and that in the future the program will have criteria that must be met such as good attendance, yadda yadda yadda. And then I was overwhelmed by a sense of failure from a sense that I did not deal with her in the right way, and a larger sense of failure from my lack of planning and anticipation of these kinds of situations.
 
And I became more suspicious of the city since it seems like she is a force from within the city hall building, and she was obviously displeased with me. I also happen to know that her son has a reputation for being a terror, that she has little control over him, and that she is active in the area boy scout troop. All these factors set her up to be a potential advocate for our program, or to see our program as a threat and become an active enemy. As soon as I got home I called her, but she had already left the office.

I don't mind being closely related with the city, as long as they don't interfere with what I'm doing.  At the camp, everything I did had to be approved by the city manager first. Consequently, I was paralyzed in action, because he never approved the things that needed to be approved in order to run the camp. In the end, he sort of shut us down because we could never really get our ideas off the ground.
 
Some benefits of being related to the city is that it might be easier to apply for non-profit, we could use some of the city's funds, and we could use the city's lawyer and insurance coverage.
 
On the down side, they could completely undermine everything I am trying to do with all their bureacracy &*%*@#.
 
Maybe I'm just being pessimistic. Maybe the city will be overjoyed that we want to take over and pay for this project. Maybe they will give me the reins I need and support me in all the ways I want to be supported. But for the record, I'm a tad suspicious.

What is my fear of the city? As I think about it more, it seems silly. What it ultimately comes down to is that I am afraid that my people skills are not as great as I think that they are. All these years, I've thought I had good people skills because I look people in the eye and people seem to like me, smile at me, and talk to me. But I am beginning to learn that people frequently smile at people they hate, talk to people they can't stand, and act like they like people they don't. When you need something from someone, people skills take on a whole new meaning. I'm afraid that these people are more powerful than me and are going to try to tell me what to do. I'm afraid that I might succumb to them in an attempt to be agreeable, and then I'll wake up one day to realize that the entire program is jeapordized. 
 
If my program becomes incorporated with the city, I'm going to have to work with them a lot more than I would like to.
 
Heck, even if the program doesn't become incorporated with the city, I'm going to have to work with them a lot more than I would like to.
 
Or... the kids and I could go ahead and construct a skate-ramp in the middle of the park in the cover of the night, and explain it away as a mysterious act of God.
 
 
And now, because I promised one with every entry, a poem in the form of haiku:
 
 
Fear, like an oil
brightens and expands, fire
for the coward's soul. 
 

The Dimly Lit Darkness of her Mind

She contains a force she can't control; namely
the thoughts that swirl through her mind like colors
flashing ephemerally, vanishing
into the lower realms of her cerebrum.
 
The thoughts that swirl through her mind like colors
wrap themselves around her spinal cortex
and sieze her body. She mutely protests
the paralysis but finds she enjoys surrender. 
 
Flashing ephemerally, vanishing
colors disappear like the unblinking eyes of Argos.
She is Io, wrapped in a disguise that suits her not, 
the clumsy heifer running from a gad-fly.
 
Into the lower realms of her cerebrum
she sometimes dips a spoon, shocked
at all that she finds, and does not find,
in the place of dimly lit darkness. 

Ode to Oil...
 
 
 
Ode to Oil
 
A viscuous virtuoso,
greasy larder! You have what it takes
to crisp eggplant and green tomatoes,
hush-puppies, fish, and french-fried potatoes!
Borrowing flavor, yourself being bland,
like Midas turning all that you touch into something grand!
The taste, the flavor of salt and oil!
You are a golden sea, the american dream!
Browning yourself with age like a woman in the sun!
You belong in the pan. After,
you pout as you drip through the towel,
plump plump, back into your bottle
on the shelf.
 
 

A Month of Poetry...
 
 
 
Since I am trying to get into William Logan's Poetry Workshop, and since he wants to look at three of my poems, and since I am  inspired by the prospect of studying under the "most hated man in American poetry," I will dedicate the next month to poetry entries. That's right, nothing but meter and rhyme from now until the end of August. Who cares if they are bad or meaningless?
 
BTW, I read some of Logan's poetry yesterday, and I like him a lot. He's up there in my book with the likes of  Charles Simic and Theodore Roethke. I've heard that he can tear you to pieces in an instant. A very smart man, I've heard he is. He will probably pick on me. I'm not as witty as I'd like to be.
 
 
Logan
 
Exceptionalities are stars that glitter
over blankets of banalities,
yesterday's litter.
 
I'm not as witty as I'd like to be,
I think that he might pick on me,
like a nit in a comb
 
examining my undeveloped form
with his fingers.
 
 
 

Political Humor...

I got this from my friend Robin. It's funny.

Size matters

A Sad Day in the Annals of Archer...
 
 
We decided to close down the summer camp. I feel like a failure. Because it hurts too bad to talk about it, I will put it off until tomorrow. All I have to say is that my only volunteer was moving to Costa Rica on Friday and it would be me, alone, with over 20 kids. And that yesterday I had to grab a kid who is twice my size by the collar and throw him backwards to prevent him from pummeling a ten-year old to pieces. And that he rushed the door again and I had to stop him a second time--while holding Issac in my arms. Meanwhile the different gangs were running around talking about busting each other up while Hank was scrambling to shut the doors and get everyone out.  It was our second riot and it was scary. Obviously, we were not prepared to deal with these kinds of problems. Preparation is not one of my best qualities. I'm a much better improviser. There lies the problem.
 
But how does anyone begin to know how to prepare for these kids?  I'm realizing that the slacker sounding position of "camp director" requires volumes of skill and knowledge. I think I was underqualified. Though to be fair to myself, my hands were tied involving any planning of the camp until the day I was hired, which was four days after the camp had already begun. Not the best administrative techinque on the city's part either. I guess I shouldn't beat myself up.
 
My boss told me to "hang on" until the end of the week and that he would get me more help on Monday. What kind of help?  Will he finally deliver the volunteers that I've been asking for all summer? They need to be trained--I need to know I can count on them. So often, the volunteers have been nothing more than a sophisticated, different group of "kids" needing my constant attention--almost more of a hindrance than a help. I told him I thought it would be negligent on his part to continue this program without the foundation of a more organized structure, more qualified staff, and better preparation. I told him the situation was simply unsafe and beyond our control at this point. He sighed and said "fine."
 
I don't like being a quitter. I've felt sort of sick and uneasy all day.
 
Then I watched Spirit of the Cimarron, which is about this wild horse with an unconquerable spirit who refuses to give up, and it brought me to tears.
 
I keep wondering if I made the right choice, if I should have continued to "hang on" and "ride it out." But then I remember R--, the boy who has been getting beat up lately at camp, and the pain in his eyes when he shouted at me, pleading for protection: "You're a bad teacher Ms. Melissa! You need to watch what they are doing to me!" and the realization I had that I can't. We're simply stretched too thin. And we don't have a plan other than to deal with what gets thrown at us each day. We are like baby seaturtles who had this simple, beautiful vision to crawl toward the light, and on our way we were run over by trucks and pecked apart by seagulls--we did not expect it, but that did not prevent it from happening.
 
I once heard that when you are faced with a difficult decision, you usually have two choices. The best choice is often the one that feels the most difficult. Ending this camp is so difficult. It was my personal reflection, my vision. Worst of all, I feel like I am letting the kids down and I feel like a sissy.
 
I suppose, in a meagre attempt to salvage some self-esteem,  I can eek out a small feeling of responsibility from ending the camp. Sometimes you just have to do the right thing and admit your irresponsibility, hard as it may be. Funny how admitting irresponsibility can be a responsible thing to do. I refuse to let something bad happen to a kid simply because I had too much pride to know when to admit defeat. 

Sigh.

My other work with the leadership training continues on indefinitely.
 
"A successful teacher needs: the education of a college president, the executive ability of a financier, the humility of a deacon, the adaptability of a chameleon, the hope of an optimist, the courage of a hero, the wisdom of a serpent, the gentleness of a dove, the patience of Job, the grace of God, and the persistence of the devil."--Anonymous
 
"A teacher's day is half bureaucracy, half crisis, half monotony, and 1/80th epiphany. Nevermind the arithmetic."--Susan Ohanian
 
"The things which hurt, instruct." --Benjamin Franklin
 
 
 
 
 
 

This is just to say...
 
I love paint. The rich, thick pigments. Stirring the paint with the paint stick. The goopy noise it makes when you pour it into the pan.  The sloppy, uncontrollable feeling of it. The irresistable urge to get it all over me. And just for the record, there is nothing more meditiative and relaxing than listening to Mary Black and Sarah Mclachlan while painting walls.
 
I painted the inside of my front door "indigo streamer,", a deep rich midnight blue color. It looks awesome. The only problem is that at night when I walk into the living room, I get a startling feeling that the door is standing wide open. For Issac's room  I selected "autumn red," a deep rusty hue, and "quaking grass," a delicious sage green. I was going to combine the green with "silver blueberry," but felt like it would look to babyish. He is, after all, a growing boy who might use that room far into his middle years. Plus, I need more red in the house, and it matches the rug in the hallway and the quilt that he got for christmas last year.  I like the idea of doing his room in rich forest colors--I've gotten a lot of ideas for decorating his room from Olympic Paint's Natural Splendors pallete, which includes the colors "mountain trail," "tree bark," "emerald forest," "hidden spring," "holly green," "shining star" and "dancing light."  Who gets the job of naming colors, anyways? Sounds like fun.
 
I also bought a stenciling book. I promise not to go crazy with stencils. I'm going to paint the bathroom in the hall light green with the left-over paint from Issac's room and stencil a border around the mirror. If I really get crafty, I want to lay tile over the linoleum in the kitchen and the bathrooms--but I heard that can be difficult to do in a trailer. You have to get some sort of leveling agent because the joints under the floor often shift and move, making the floor slightly unlevel, which will crack the tile or cause the grout to break. The leveling agent sounds cool--it's this expensive goo that you spread over the floor and then it automatically finds a level and dries. It's kind of rubbery so it will adjust with any movement of the floor in a way that is good for the tile. Weird.
 
Issac is with my Dad this weekend, and I slept in until 9:47. Since the summer choir started in 13 minutes, I decided not to go, and so now I am going to go paint some more. Quinn came over last night and mowed my yard, so Issac and I can actually play outside again. Before Quinn mowed, the grass was four feet high. It's nice to take care of my house this weekend while Issac is gone.
 
 

It Don't Stop...
 
Meaning me, of course. Right now, it is 1:27 am. Tonight began with a little babysitting for Charlie and Marcy so they could get out for a little while to celebrate Charlie's birthday. Afterwards, I drove to Wal-Mart, where I braved the artificially bright and obnoxious flourescent lights that seem so out of place at midnight. I carried around a sleeping lump of Issac as I gathered posterboard and sponges for the carwash which I have organized with my leadership kids from the camp. We are trying to earn money for some service projects and for their end of the summer fieldtrip. Right now, it's looking like it might rain all day tomorrow, so it might get cancelled again. Makes me feel like I can't possibly get anything right, even though I know it's not my fault if it rains--I'm still taking it personally.
 
Last night, I didn't go to bed until about 12:30 am because Mariah and Shane and I went to the Spindrifter bar to see my Dad's band, The Blues Cruisers, play. They were awesome as usual and we had a great time dancing.
 
Tomorrow I am dropping Issac off with my Dad and Lori to spend the night, and I was looking forward to some down time by myself. But how can I say no to a karoake night on Saturday? And Saturday afternoon I've been invited to a pool party... Sunday is already filled with various church functions and other social commitments.
 
 I'm the kind of person who needs a lot of time, period. A lot of time with people, and a lot of time alone. If I don't get my alone time, I start to feel nervous and strung-out, irritated. I get snappy.
 
I guess this is why I stay up into the wee hours of the morning--to get my alone time-- although there is really no point in it. I can't concentrate or write coherently when I do. Last week I tried writing a blog about "what is love?" and it ended with an analogy about plastic-coated high-heeled hiking boots. Even I didn't understand it the next day, so I deleted it.
 
So forgive me, readers, while I try to get my nocturnal schedule adjusted to give me the optimal amount of relaxing down-time blended with just the right amount of coherence and restful slumber.
 
 
 
 
 
 

Personality Profile...

Last year I was messing around on the computer and decided to check out eharmony--the match-making company that claims to have united over one million happy couples in successful marriages or something ridiculous like that. I wanted a free personality profile. It took about 40 minutes to answer all of their questions. I think they did a pretty good job--I agree that I am a happy optimistic person who tries to share my joy with others. What was interesting to notice about myself is that I do crave an audience to perform to. I think sometimes my friends might get annoyed with my antics. But mostly they love them, (I'm sure that they do). Also, it said I have the ultimate salesman personality, which is funny because I worked for a car dealership and absoultely detested it. Salespeople are weasely. I think I could make a good case for selling my beliefs, but I don't think I'll ever be able to sell a product in my life. Oh yeah, it was also funny when it said that strengths are sometimes weaknesses, and therefore it may be possible that I talk too much. Ha! Here is some more of what they said about me, if anyone else is as interested in me as I am:

By analyzing your answers to the Relationship Questionnaire we have created the following Personality Profile. Everyone has a set of subconscious wants and desires that drive their choices and attitudes. By asking you questions about a wide range of emotional issues, this report has established general patterns in your values.

Some of the following information may seem inaccurate or incomplete. Remember, that this profile is a snapshot of your personality at a specific moment. It is not intended as an in-depth analysis of your complete being, but as a tool to aid in self-discovery.

You have a strong sense of humor. You usually know when to lighten a difficult situation, amuse and entertain people.

You have a high trust level for others. Occasionally you may have trusted too much and was "stung" in the process. Your natural optimism, however, tends to pull you out of such slumps.

You have to be with people. This extends into the need to gain popularity, achieve social recognition and influence those people around you. The "bottom-line" is a strong people orientation.

You have a strong feeling of optimism, considered favorably by most people around you. Your perception is that the bottle is half-full rather than half-empty.

You may be rather emotional; that is, one will generally know how you are feeling, whether good or bad, because you let others know your moods easily.

Each person has a unique way of communicating. We use a combination of body language, facial expression, verbal tone and word choice to share ourselves with others. The following statements offer a look at the natural behavior you bring to an interpersonal relationship.

You are a natural communicator. You love to talk, offer jokes and make sure that everyone is having a good time. This trait is especially evident at functions and outings.


You show sympathy to the feelings and needs of others. Your natural empathy style may draw others to you.


One of your great strengths is your ability to communicate and talk readily. Since all strengths may be overused at times, you may sometimes talk too much.


Poised, confident, persuasive and impressive are descriptors for you. You are usually capable of speaking in a comfortable manner.


You can generate enthusiasm in yourself and in other people. Your enthusiasm, often contagious, involves many people in a social activity who might not ordinarily become involved.


You have a natural, outgoing style that some have labeled as the "natural salesperson." You are generally likable, talkative and socially assertive. Your primary intent is convincing or persuading people.

Many different factors determine the communication styles with which you are most comfortable. Some individuals thrive on the challenge of pointed criticism, while others are at their best in a nurturing environment where criticism is offered as a suggestion for improvement. Each of us has a unique set of requirements and preferences. Below is a list of communication styles that will mesh well with your own. Having a partner who understands and practices these traits is important to your long-term happiness.


Move casually, informally.


Plan interactions which support dreams and goals.


Offer opinions and ideas that are stimulating.


Share specific ideas to carry out an action.


Talk about expectations.


Be stimulating, fun-loving, and fast-moving.


Provide personal support and assurance.


Start with a personal comment to "break the ice."


Present ideas softly, nonthreateningly.


Listen sincerely.


Show sincere interest as a person.


Leave plenty of time for socializing and relating.

"In general, human beings are defined by their needs and individuals by their wants. Your emotional wants are especially important when establishing with whom you are compatible. While answering the Relationship Questionnaire you established a pattern of basic, subconscious wants. This section of the report was produced by analyzing those patterns. Our wants change as we mature and obtain our life goals. You may find it valuable to revisit this section periodically to see how your wants have changed.

You may want:

A support system to help you get things done.

An audience to perform to and entertain.

To be measured by the results obtained, not by the manner in which those results were accomplished.

Acceptance in a variety of groups.

Activities involving contact with many people.

Popularity.

A friendly, favorable social environment.

Support of your ideas and dreams.

An outlet to vent your emotions frequently.

No close supervision--you don't want people to hang over your shoulder.

Equal relations with others.

Social recognition of your accomplishments.


Must Haves:
Chemistry...
I must feel deeply in love with and attracted to my partner.
Communicator...
I must have someone who is good at talking and listening.
Sense of Humor...
I must have someone who is sharp and can enjoy the humorous side of life.
Verbal Intimacy...
I must know that my partner is sharing their deepest emotional thoughts and desires.
Emotionally Healthy...
I must have a partner who is emotionally healthy, and able to share a stable life with someone else.
Strong Character...
I must have a partner who is honest and strong enough to do the right thing.
Kindness...
I must have a partner who is gentle and kind.
Conflict Resolver...
I must have a partner who will work to resolve rather than win arguments or conflicts within our relationship.
Loyal...
I must have someone I can count on to always support me.
Family Life...
I must have a partner who is committed to marriage, home, and family.



Can't Stands:
Depressed...
I can't stand someone who is constantly unhappy about their life.
Lying...
I can't stand someone who lies to anyone-especially to me.
Cynicism...
I can't stand someone who generally sees the world from a cynical perspective.
Anger...
I can't stand someone who can't manage their anger, who yells, or bottles it up inside.
Rude...
I can't stand someone who is belittling, impatient or hateful to people in any situation.
Materialistic...
I can't stand someone who sees material items as a measure of success.
Denial...
I can't stand someone who is unable to accept blame or see fault in their own actions.
Boorishness...
I can't stand someone who is inclined to rowdy, vulgar or disrespectful behavior when "having fun."
Sexually Obsessed...
I can't stand someone who is sexually obsessive.
Infidelity...
I can't stand someone who engages in sex outside a committed relationship.

Saturday

A Sonnet...

Love is being true to that which you are,
listening to God, and going so far
as asked or commanded. So what think I
if you can't hold my hand but can look in my eye?
The eye is far the more immortal thing
that it holds hopes and fears and even dreams,
and in doing so speaks much of pleasure.
No, by hands I shall not dare to measure
the circumfrence of love. But don't be fooled--
my skin still craves the touch of your hand's mold.

Another world, Another Time..

Today began as any normal day-- Issac woke me up at 6:30 and I pulled the sheets over my head for more sleep. At 8:00, it was already roughly 80 degrees and we were both miserable. I decided to relieve the drudgery by putting the expensive bike seat I bought a few months ago to good use. This time Issac was eager to get in it, and we enjoyed a nice morning ride. I rode all the way to my aunt's house and up into her yard, but started to turn away as I realized that she might still be out of town at Quinn's baseball tournament. But thirst got the best of me, so I decided to let myself in and get a glass of ice water. To my surprise, I was greeted by my two regular "babysitters"--Sam and Quinn. Sam played with Issac while Quinn taught me how to knit. He's making a red wool scarf for this winter, and I got pretty good at it and finished eight or nine rows for him. While my needles were clacking away, Quinn got all dreamy-eyed and revealed to me his money-making schemes for the next year. He is going to borrow $900 from his Dad and invest it into chicken manure. With this manure, he is going to fertilize several acres of land that he will plow with Grandad's borrowed tractor. He will then plant corn, tomatoes, eggplant, pumpkin, and sugar snap peas. He will homeschool so that he can tend his garden. He will sell the produce at road corners and at the farmer's market. He expects to earn $3,000 and then plant it again in the spring. I asked him about fallow fields and he spouted off several knowledgeable figures. I was impressed. I didn't know the farmer was so deep in his blood. For a moment, as my needles were moving rythmically and this young child was eagerly discussing the state of the fields, I felt like I was in another time. Quinn's entrepenerial visions don't end with produce, though. He watched me knit and decided that we should start knitting scarves to sell during winter! I suggested that tiny baby booties and hats would be much more economical on our part. Then Issac came over and ripped the yarn out of my lap and we struggled over who would remain in control of the needles and in the struggle he pulled out a whole row of my stitches. Typical.

Then Quinn asked "So, whatcha doin' today?"

I said "Nothing, except for worrying about how broke I am."

And Quinn said, "Good."

And I said, "Good?"

And he calculated a grin and said, "Yeah, good! Do you want to sell watermelons today and split the profits down the middle?"

So that is how I found myself in another world, another time, a place that I have been removed from for far too long. I found myself in a timeless world, jouncing in the cab of a pick-up with a comfortable baby in my lap, rocking down small, bumpy, dirt lanes, through sandy pastures bedecked with cattle and more gates than you would care to stop and open. I found myself sweating in sandy fields, up to my knees in swirling vines, with a straw hat on my head, thumping on melons, with an ache in my back from bending. Years since I've done that. It took me right back to twelve years old, sitting on a tailgate and dragging designs in the dirt with my feet as we drove to these same fields in a similar truck, the long trips to Okechobee, the incredible wealth in knowing and feeling that all the land around you that you can see belongs to an Uncle or a cousin or a grandfather, someone who will take care of it forever and ever. When the world feels like it is closing in on you, it is good to go to a piece of land that belongs to you and remember the vast opportunity that is always present--the opportunity of brush pressing fence and tree blocking sun and weed choking plant and plant making fruit. Somehow, standing in my grandfather's field, I know that I am cared for. Land ownership is a powerful thing. I felt supported by the fruits bursting forth from the ground, knowing for certain that I can never go hungry.
I busted open a tiny melon for Issac by raising it over my head and slamming it on the ground. While he stuck his chubby hands into the red fleshy meat I carried melons to the side of the row. Later, holding Issac in one arm and scooping up melons in the other, I followed the slow-moving truck filling up the bed. Sweat was trickling down my back and off of my forehead--under any other circumstances I might have complained of the heat, but since I don't have air-conditioning, it is actually hotter in my house. It was fun, but I couldn't do a whole day of it.

Riding on the top of the stacked bed with the wind in my face, jumping off to race Quinn to the gates, was so much fun. We unloaded the melons into a cull-bin set on top of a pallet, and then Matt lifted the pallet with the tractor and drove down the road to the gas station. I pulled out a quilt, chairs, and beach umbrellas from my car, Jen picked up Issac for a couple of hours, and I sat in the shade reading Harper's magazines for 3 glorious and restful hours. We made $43. Doesn't sound like much, but to a girl who woke up in the morning with 66 cents worth of pennies in her possession and no gas in her car, $21.50 was a miracle.

I took my little farmer boys to see a movie and we had a blast. Dinner was on Quinn. Plus, I still have 1/2 a tank of gas! What an awesome day! Thank God for Farmers.

The hardest part of camp...

So what is the hardest part about working at this camp? Is it quickly using my judgement and investigational skills to determine which kid started it when two people start to fight? Or is it constantly "reminding" the kids to throw their trash away? Is it trying to "talk it out" with each kid who is having a problem so that they can discover a new and different way of handling their problems, while the rest of the camp falls apart and turns to chaos around me? Is it the pain of having to send a misbehaving kid home, a kid who is utterly lost and who will remain so if some adult does not soon intervene, if they do not soon consciously decide to change? Is it hearing everyone around
me telling me that it is a lost cause, to just let them go? Is it the pain of losing my volunteers one by one? Is it the frustration of finally getting camp running the way it should, only to be besieged by a new group of faces eager to test my limits and eager to start territorial battles with the kids who have already been there? Is it the racism that nobody wants to talk about? Is it the attempt to find a happy balance of how 2 people can simultaneously entertain 15 year olds and 4 year olds in a place where each kid's only concern is to look out for themself? Is it the fear, everyday, that someone is going to get hurt? Is it the shock of how quickly these kids are willing to throw away any sense of self-control and pummel each other to pieces? Is it the discouragement from their lack of regard for the facilties and equipment that we use? Is it dealing with the abuse that I suspect is occurring in some of these kids' homes? Is it the fight between two adults that I had to break up in the parking lot one day before camp, the two adult PARENTS of these kids acting like five year olds, raising hell and arms and screaming at each other like a cockfight? Is it the blank, closed-off look I get from K-----'s eyes when I call him out and ask him why he's such a bully? Is it the sparkle and laughter I saw in the same boy's eyes when he was mixing the banana bread batter after he had rode his bike home to get 1/2 cup of sugar because I forgot to bring it? Is it the pain of not being able to reach those who most desperately want to be reached?


Most of these kids have blatant disregard for the facility that we use, for our equipment, for our games. It exists, they think, simply for the fun of destroying it. And I see their point. Why bother to care about something else when nobody really seems to care about you?

I began the summer with an enduring patience that I thought would never reach its end. But after just one month, I have reached my limit. We are grossly under-staffed, the city manager is not giving us the necessary supports, and the program and vision I held is turning to pieces.

I am trying not to take it personally. I suppose I've learned a great deal already-- Don't necessarily trust your supervisor to support you, find ways to work around him if necessary. Be so assertive about what you need that they won't be able to ignore you--the entire program is at stake. Make demands. Don't leave until they are met.

The entire point of this camp was to not turn kids away. The kids with the most problems are the kids who need the most help, the kids who need to be there, the kids who are the most hungry for adult contact. But I'm realizing that it is just not possible, especially with only two volunteers, to adopt this kind of a philosophy. Who the hell did I think I was? Some kind of redeeming superwoman who could handle it all? I had a fit and sent half the camp home today after a semi-fight broke out. I banned the pool table for a week after the kids were playing wild handball on the table and sparring with the pool sticks and arguing incessantly about whose turn it was. I sent one of my favorite problem kids, K-----, home for the rest of the summer. I think half of my heart broke at his sheer stubbornness and refusal to leave. For whatever reason, he did not want to go.

Only one kid came to leadership training today, so I called and canceled the guest speaker. Part of me wanted to be angry with my kids, and the other half just felt like laying down and crying. But I am an adult, so I did neither.

I guess part of the camp melt-down occured because I let up on my highly structured approach, where every minute of the day was accounted for. There were several reasons for abandoning this approach--1) More teenagers were coming than younger kids, and teenagers refuse to do things like "gardening" and "singing" or "kickball" or "fruity games." 2)We lost a volunteer, so we could no longer maintain the group rotation. Plus, none of the kids were really listening to the volunteers, I'm the only one they seem to listen to, so it was kind of not working well anyways. 3)The kids were doing well at "free-play," and it took fifteen minutes to herd each group into the forced activities that they dreaded, so I decided to give their idea a chance.

Big mistake.

I love these kids, despite it all, I just wish I could deal with one of them at a time. At the moment, I feel like an ocean ship being overrun by a gigantic herd of rats.