from the Obstructed View
Sometimes, The Obstructed View and I are on the exact same page, and she beats me to the punch. You'd think we were related or something.
eerily similar
At summer camp, the color war event that carries the most point value is Song Meet. It is one of the highlights of summer and the focus all of the efforts of the color war captains. With the stakes so high, it's not uncommon for girls to throw up beforehand thanks to juiced-up nerves.
To an outsider, it must seem like some sort of Orwellian ritual: 150 girls split into two sides facing each other, sitting perfectly still in rows, all dressed exactly alike with their hair slicked away from their faces, and smiling these unnatural smiles while staring straight ahead. On the command of their Song Leader, the girls sing songs in perfect unison so that they can be judged and a winner declared. When they are not singing, the room is in perfect, ritualistic silence. The air is thick with the importance of the event.
As I watched C-SPAN minutes before it went live for the debates, I suddenly realized that a debate is not unlike Song Meet. The spectators must remain quiet as well, and the moderator raises a hand to signal the crowd to be silent as he listens to the countdown coming from his producer. Suddenly, the networks tune in and there is this sense of ceremony as the candidates walk in. What takes place at the debate might not even matter, but to the candidates and those in the moment, it is everything. It's spooky how a crowded hall on a college campus can be so similar to a packed camp lodge in rural Maine.
To an outsider, it must seem like some sort of Orwellian ritual: 150 girls split into two sides facing each other, sitting perfectly still in rows, all dressed exactly alike with their hair slicked away from their faces, and smiling these unnatural smiles while staring straight ahead. On the command of their Song Leader, the girls sing songs in perfect unison so that they can be judged and a winner declared. When they are not singing, the room is in perfect, ritualistic silence. The air is thick with the importance of the event.
As I watched C-SPAN minutes before it went live for the debates, I suddenly realized that a debate is not unlike Song Meet. The spectators must remain quiet as well, and the moderator raises a hand to signal the crowd to be silent as he listens to the countdown coming from his producer. Suddenly, the networks tune in and there is this sense of ceremony as the candidates walk in. What takes place at the debate might not even matter, but to the candidates and those in the moment, it is everything. It's spooky how a crowded hall on a college campus can be so similar to a packed camp lodge in rural Maine.
smoke
At Mr. McH's farewell BBQ yesterday, we used mesquite woodchips while cooking the food. The dense smoke permeated not only the meat on the grill, but our clothes, skin, and hair. Hours later, I still smelled like a smokehouse, and it reminded me of Sunday night campfire at camp. The air was similarly cool, with summer losing its grip, and we would return from the warmth of the tree-lined circle to our dark bunks. The campfire scent would come with me as I scooted deep beneath the covers to fight the chill. I don't think I'll ever feel as safe again.
i never thought i'd actually miss day hikes
I have been eating a lot of trail mix lately. It all started when DEiddy would throw a Costco-sized bag in the car for our snowboarding trips. LBC and I brought "Super Energy Mix" to the beach, and I brought a 5-lb jar of "Swiss Mix" (which apparently is the same thing as "Super Energy Mix") to the Cape last weekend, but not before my specially-ordered Soy Nut "Happy Trails" mix arrived in the mail.
I was having trouble accounting for my new obsession until today, when I remembered that it's late-June. Around this time every summer, the junior campers at Camp Tapawingo embark on their first of two mandatory bunk day hikes. In reality, these trips would consist of a very easy trek up Blueberry Hill or perhaps to Emerald Pool. But for a 10-year old from Florida to whom that "hill" seemed more like a "mountain," the hikes were a challenge, and she would work up quite an appetite.
Fortunately, the hikes would be broken up by GORP breaks. That's Good Old Raisins and Peanuts, usually also mixed with M&Ms. Girls who picked out the M&Ms would be admonished for GORP-picking.
To this day, even when I'm not sharing my bag of trail mix with anyone, I don't GORP-pick. It's a taboo ranked up there with double-dipping and buying someone a beer in a bottle when it's also available on draft.
I was having trouble accounting for my new obsession until today, when I remembered that it's late-June. Around this time every summer, the junior campers at Camp Tapawingo embark on their first of two mandatory bunk day hikes. In reality, these trips would consist of a very easy trek up Blueberry Hill or perhaps to Emerald Pool. But for a 10-year old from Florida to whom that "hill" seemed more like a "mountain," the hikes were a challenge, and she would work up quite an appetite.
Fortunately, the hikes would be broken up by GORP breaks. That's Good Old Raisins and Peanuts, usually also mixed with M&Ms. Girls who picked out the M&Ms would be admonished for GORP-picking.
To this day, even when I'm not sharing my bag of trail mix with anyone, I don't GORP-pick. It's a taboo ranked up there with double-dipping and buying someone a beer in a bottle when it's also available on draft.
"school's out, summer's here"
It's June 23, and it was around this time of year, back in the day, that my sister and I would be nearly hysterical with anticipation of the day that we'd take off for our beloved Camp Tapawingo. All through June, we packed up enormous Army-issue duffel bags, carefully checking off what was listed on our camp supply list: 7 white t-shirts, 7 white collared shirts, 5 pairs of royal blue shorts, 2 "dress" shirts, 2 pairs of "dress shorts" (one gray, one blue), 10 pairs of underwear, 10 pairs of socks, 2 bathingsuits, flashlight, shower pail, etc.
Lately, I've been thinking about all the things I know how to do, thanks to summer camp. I've decided I need to make a list (in no particular order, sure to be updated constantly and amended by my sister (Blue Captain '90):
windsurf
canoe
sail
make something out of stained glass
buff jewelry
take and print my own photos
build and light a campfire
clean a bathroom
make my bed
stain leather
shoot an arrow
sleep with a bat flying around
sleep with mice crawling around
know what noise a bat makes
waterski
make GORP
know that it's not OK to GORP-pick
walking 5 miles in the rain will give you blisters
play newcomb
divvy up a 1/2 gallon of Neopolitan ice cream among 10 hyperactive girls
how to not light my hair on fire
write a song
beat a drum
memorize lines
organize a swim meet
race a war canoe
jiggle the handle
brush my teeth in the dark
short-sheet a bed
ride a horse bare-back
read in bed with a flashlight propped on my shoulder
raise and lower a flag
broken ribs heal on their own
lightning rods can save buildings made out of wood
pitch a tent
play chopsticks
play ping-pong
shit in the woods
play a man in the all-camp musical...5 times
Lately, I've been thinking about all the things I know how to do, thanks to summer camp. I've decided I need to make a list (in no particular order, sure to be updated constantly and amended by my sister (Blue Captain '90):
windsurf
canoe
sail
make something out of stained glass
buff jewelry
take and print my own photos
build and light a campfire
clean a bathroom
make my bed
stain leather
shoot an arrow
sleep with a bat flying around
sleep with mice crawling around
know what noise a bat makes
waterski
make GORP
know that it's not OK to GORP-pick
walking 5 miles in the rain will give you blisters
play newcomb
divvy up a 1/2 gallon of Neopolitan ice cream among 10 hyperactive girls
how to not light my hair on fire
write a song
beat a drum
memorize lines
organize a swim meet
race a war canoe
jiggle the handle
brush my teeth in the dark
short-sheet a bed
ride a horse bare-back
read in bed with a flashlight propped on my shoulder
raise and lower a flag
broken ribs heal on their own
lightning rods can save buildings made out of wood
pitch a tent
play chopsticks
play ping-pong
shit in the woods
play a man in the all-camp musical...5 times
honk n' wave, bus driver style
On the bus this morning, rocketing up Mass. Ave towards the city. Another bus passed going the other way, and the driver honked a few times and waved at my driver. A man was walking along the sidewalk, and the honking bus was headed towards him and passed him on his right. The walking man had a puzzled smile on his face; he must have thought the driver was honking at him. It made me think of traveling by van at summer camp, when we would honk the horn at someone and then all lean over to wave in the other direction. Mean, but funny.
the magic number
When I was at summer camp, we had a special surprise celebration of 8/8/88. The whole day was backwards; they woke us up with the sound of taps, and we had pizza for breakfast and pancakes for dinner. Today is 3/3/03 -- where are my chocolate chip pancakes?
