Showing posts from July, 2015

Vacation Plans

Arriving early Saturday morning, we had a wonderful breakfast before setting up camp and spending a good portion of the day at the beach. The traditional Fourth of July Blue Hill Brass concert was excellent as always, and all drifted off to sleep with relative ease, not even bothered by the familiar call of our friend the whippoorwill. Everyone, that is, except me.

We dropped off the three teenagers at Resident Camp following breakfast, worship, and lunch on Sunday and continued enjoying all Camp Calumet has to offer. The two youngest especially enjoyed the Welcoming Campfire, a rousing game of Clue-u-met, and some serious marshmallow roasting. Excitement over their first day of camp battled the marshmallow-induced sugar crash, sleep finally winning the battle. My husband drifted off quickly as well. Me, not so much.

Monday morning dawned with two tired but giddy children who could barely wait to get to breakfast, then from breakfast to Day Camp. While Daddy took them to Camp, I enjoyed…


Having heard the story of the Lake Ossipee Monster many times before, my attention instead turned to the beauty surrounding me. The sun set as the pontoon boat made its way back to shore, pinks and purples dancing on the water, my youngest daughter snuggled up next to me.

This is why I go to Camp Calumet. 

This view.
This story.
This beauty.
This connection.
This peace.

This is where I find my center.
This is where I find balance.
This is where I find myself.

In this place, God speaks in the lapping of the waves, the laughter of the children, and in kindnesses shared, as well as in campfire songs, in worship, and in prayer.

Pain Block

I sit and try to write. On paper, words come quickly, but my hand tires easily. Darts of light from the computer screen bore into my migrained brain as I type, letters too small, the process too long. My head pounds, neck is wracked with pain, back on fire. Hands slowed by numbness and pain, writing falls to the wayside as I opt for quieter, less arduous pursuits.

Some people have writer's block. Me? I have pain block. I sit, myriad thoughts swirling in my brain, but once I start to translate the thoughts into words, pain takes over and my mind fogs.

Would that someone invent a device that could transcribe my thoughts to typed word, I could put my insomnia to good use and compose while I attempt to slumber. Instead, inspiration gets sucked into the void of my overtired, overburdened mind come daybreak.

My to-do list is miles long. Waking every morning with the best of intentions to get things done, I'm excited about the tasks at hand. An attempt at movement immediately overwhelms…

Four score minus sixty-five years ago

How on earth did this happen?  How did one of the most awesome people I know get to be so old? Who turned the cute kid with the long blond ringlet curls into such a kind, caring, chivalrous, young man with an awesome sense of humor?

Zachary has amazed me this year, handling tonsil and adenoid surgery with grace, working on getting his emotional wonkyness under control and helping me understand it better, and getting great compliments from the mom of the young woman who currently occupies much of his time and thoughts. 

The two of us have had some epic times together this year. Most memorable, perhaps, was our roundabout trip to the movie theater during which we talked about lots of crazy and funny stuff, that ended in sitting in a pitch black theater for a very long time until we investigated and found that the projector wasn't working. And the second attempt to see a movie, which began with a glitch in getting the film started, but thankfully ended in us actually seeing the movie. 

Brown Paper

It was quite an adventure. We basically packed up our house, room by room, moved furniture, and used just about every ounce of creativity, patience (most of which ran out), and more money, time and effort than expected. We're finally done. For now. 

We slept in our dining room for days. We ate wherever we could find space. We ran up and down stairs just to get things out of the fridge. We cooked just about every meal in crockpots for close to a week. We even shipped our kids to Gramma and Papa's house for a night because there was very limited access to our one and only bathroom. 

We ripped up nasty, disintegrating carpet. We pulverized the breakfast bar separating our kitchen and dining room. We tore up underlayment with grooves and bonded-to-it  chipped and scratched up linoleum. We hammered and glued and polyurethaned. 

We laughed. We cried. OK, I cried. We yelled, we apologized, we thanked, we accepted help, we thanked some more, we ran away. OK again, I ran away, briefly, wi…