Book Group Discussion Guide for “Memory Lake: The Forever Friendships of Summer”

Tags

Book Groups, Discussion Guide, Memory Lake, Questions for Discussion

The following questions are designed to stimulate a book group discussion after reading “Memory Lake: The Forever Friendships of Summer.”

Now you’ve read it…. what did you think?

The working title of Memory Lake was originally Sacrifices of Joy.  The author’s publisher changed the title because in their professional view, “Sacrifices are for witches and Joy is for cooking and sex.”  What does a ‘sacrifice of joy’ mean to you? Can you identify it as a recurring theme in the novel, and as a tool for overcoming grief and hardship?

Identify pivotal times in your life in which you forced yourself to express joy when you least felt like it.  Did this attitude help you to persevere and achieve an accomplishment of which you are particularly proud?

Did you attend summer camp?  Discuss your own summer camp experience, if you had one.

If you were homesick, did you attend camp too young?  Was the camp you attended flawed in some way?

The author and her cousins at Lake St. Helen in 1965.

If you had a favorable camp experience, in what ways was your camp similar or dissimilar to the author’s?  As a camper did you see improvement in any of these areas:

• An expanded imagination
• Character development
• Sacred dimensions
• Independence and self-esteem
• Friendships and social skills
• Making a connection to the outdoors
• Leadership training
  

  Team building at the Leelanau Outdoor Center

As an adolescent, were you influenced negatively by peer pressure?  Could you have benefited from a summer camp experience?  Do you think kids today need to escape negative peer pressure more than kids from earlier generations?

The author believes children benefit greatly by unplugging from their electronic devices and establishing a connection to nature even if they are unable to attend summer camp.  What lessons did the characters of Memory Lake learn from their outdoor experiences?  Could these same lessons have been learned indoors?

Unplugging at the Leelanau Outdoor Center

Do you experience a sense of awe and well-being when surrounded by natural beauty? Many believe this sensation can lead to spiritual awareness and an inner confidence.  Is there a place of natural beauty that is important to you, where you feel especially connected to a sacred presence?

Discuss the pivotal role Lake Michigan played in the story and in the main characters’ development.  To what degree do you think the lake influenced the campers’ overall experience?  Were the bonds of friendship more or less important than the setting?   Do you think the characters’ camp experiences would have been the same in a different setting?

Lake Michigan; chilly but beautiful…

Have you ever visited the Sleeping Bear Dunes?  Check out this National Park Service link to learn more about its natural beauty:  https://www.nps.gov/slbe/index.htm

Sleeping Bear Dunes

What defines a ‘forever friend’ to you?  Have you recently reconnected with individuals who were once your closest friends?  Were you able to rekindle the same level of association?

Have the friendships in your life helped or hindered your spiritual growth? Do you think a more spiritual connection to a friend increases the chances of that friendship’s longevity?

Which characters in Memory Lake do you identify with the most, and why?

Tori, Lori, Nancy, Susie, Cindy, Christie, Sarah, author, and Mary

Did Nanny’s personality resonate with you?  Have there been fears and limitations passed on through generations of women in your family?  Have you, or your mother been able to break free?  If so, how was this accomplished?  If you have a daughter, have you tried not to pass on certain traits to her?

Nancy Roman and David were married after publication: on the grounds of the old camp.

Most sleep-away summer camps, whether affiliated with a specific faith or not, imbue sacred elements into the overall camp experience to teach empathy, kindness, cooperation and other positive qualities.  Do you think today’s women and girls need an honor code to live by?  Discuss how the various camper qualities and the earning of beads helped the campers get along without jealousy or arguing.

If you were able to establish a code for women and girls to live by, what would it be?

After reading Memory Lake, are you more inclined to recommend summer camp to your own children or grandchildren?

Dr. Michael Thompson, a leading child and family psychologist and New York Times best-selling author says, “Camp ushers kids into a thrilling world of emotionally significant experiences that are theirs alone – ones they can only get when away from home.  Parents’ first instinct to shelter their offspring above all else – can actually deprive kids of the major developmental milestones and independent learning that occurs through letting them go.”  Would you have agreed with this statement before reading Memory Lake? Are you more inclined to agree with this statement now, after having read Memory Lake?

Experiencing nature at the Leelanau Outdoor Center.

Author’s daughter and granddaughter

The author would like to hear from you!  Please leave a comment pertaining to your book group’s experience in discussing Memory Lake.

A Memory of Mom on Mothers Day

Tags

Bazooka, bubble gum, Memory Lake, Mothers Day, Tribute

My earliest memory of Mom is tied to laughter. It was 1961, I was two, we lived in a new house, in a new neighborhood, and a new young president ran the country.  Mom sat on the herringbone sofa, propped her loafers on the low blond coffee table, and placed two hard squares of Bazooka bubblegum in her mouth.

Mom posing for a rare photo without her glasses…

She rarely relaxed, so my older sister  and I immediately gathered beside her. Her first few bubbles grew to the size of quarters, popped quickly, and only stuck briefly to her lips. Now we had the idea and smiled as the next one popped near her nose. She slowly and methodically peeled the gum away and returned it to her mouth. She chewed with her lips together and maneuvered her hidden tongue to attain the gum’s proper shape. We fiendishly anticipated the pink bubble’s tiny emergence from her bright red lipstick mouth. We barely breathed as it grew. We began to giggle as it increasingly thinned. We screamed when it popped.  

She did it over and over again, at our insistence.  Each bubble grew larger than the last and each grew dangerously close to her black horn-rimmed glasses. We wondered if she would dare allow the pink, sticky gum to touch the glasses she always wore, so desperately needed, and never allowed us to touch.  When a bubble grew bigger than her head, we knew this would be the one.

Mom and her glasses…

When it popped, it plastered a pink mass of stickiness over her cheeks, forehead, and the glasses.  She barely cracked a smile.  I curled into a ball next to her and hugged my stomach because I was giggling so hard my sides hurt.  I alternately laughed then returned my disbelieving eyes to her mess.  She just sat there covered in pink goo. After a while, she simply peeled the strings of gum away without removing her glasses, or saying a word, which made me laugh all the more.  

From that moment on, I tried to blow bubbles like her, but the gum just flew from my mouth in a stream of spit.  It took years of practice and I eventually mastered it, but to this day, every time I blow a bubble, or see someone blowing a bubble, I recall his memory.  Surely, this is why it remains so vivid today.  But, there is another reason.  That day was the day my mom became more than just our caretaker.  As each bubble grew, she grew in my estimation to a mysterious individual separate from me, full of hidden talents and a quiet dignity.

Going after those glasses before I knew better…

From that day on, I had wanted to be just like her.  And no one has, or ever will, take that place.

This was my guest post on Linda Johnston’s blog.  (Linda has authored an important collection from the Kansas Territories; Hope Amid Hardship: Pioneer Voices from Kansas Territory)

Why Summer Camp is Important…

Tags

American Camp Association, Sleepover summer camp

It is time to enroll your kids, or grand kids, in summer camp!  Give them a summer free from electronics and immerse them in nature. Do you know someone whose kids could benefit?  Share this link;  http://find.acacamps.org/

I wrote Memory Lake for camp lovers, and for those who had never attended camp, so they would understand why so many of us grow wistful and blurry-eyed at the mere mention of the word ‘camp’.  I wanted to immerse readers in the camp experience, so they would feel as if they had attended, and so they would understand why they should send their kids to camp.  I also wanted to give back to the camp culture, to ensure it remains alive in the United States, because I believe it is important for our kids to experience nature.  (Link to Memory Lake in e-book: Click Here)

The Majesty of Nature…

Why is it important for our kids to form a connection to nature?  Because nature connects us to our humanity.   As humans, we are spiritual beings, whether we acknowledge it or not.   The essence of what makes us human, our self-awareness, and our ability to choose, these are spiritual gifts.  Some people float along without purpose, never fully knowing what they are capable of through these gifts.   Being in nature allows our spiritual identity to emerge.  It doesn’t take much to be in awe, in nature, a sunset, a thunderstorm.  And when we are still, and in awe, we discover our inner self, we have that epiphany, that revelation, and from that, we derive a purpose.

Sleep-over summer camp is a very effective alternative environment that jump-starts maturity levels and helps kids to find, and be, their true selves by helping them find their inner strengths.  It also helps them find friends who will celebrate their strengths and help them overcome their weaknesses.

A Past President of Harvard, Charles Eliot, said over a hundred years ago, “The organized summer camp is the most important step in education that America has given the world.”

A contemplative view…

Discovery and adventure allow growth…

I used to attend camp on Lake Michigan, near Sleeping Bear Dunes, for seven weeks at a time over five summers in the Nineteen-Seventies, as a teenager.  Memory Lake is that trans formative journey and it shows how sleepover summer camp, and nature, can change even the most troublesome teenager into a confident, grateful, and inspired adult.  This is not the National Lampoon version of summer camp, where boys and girls just want to sneak out, or mean girls play mean pranks , or everyone just wants to win some crazy competition.  This is summer camp as it was intended to be; education over the summer that immerses kids in nature and gives them real challenges with a system in place to develop integrity and courage, and a spiritual connection. 

All high school kids are ready for sleepover camp.  If children younger than high school are home-bodies, try day camp.  If they always want to hang out at a friend’s house, send them to sleepover camp as young as twelve.  You will never regret it and your kids will thank you, thank you, thank you.  Search for a camp near you;  http://find.acacamps.org/ 

I’m already saving up so KT, (my daughter) can send Lilly (my granddaughter) some day!

KT, camp alumni, and Lilly, future camper!

 

 

Camp Memories and a Camp Reunion

Tags

Crystal River, Fishing, Keen, Kelty, Lake Michigan, Leelanau Outdoor Center, Mary Baker Eddy, memories, Northern Michigan, REI, reunion, Sleeping Bear Dunes

My Gear; sleeping bag, down coat, and water bottle.

I haven’t slept in a cabin in almost four decades since my last year at camp.  The prospect of doing so in late September in Northern Michigan did not appeal to me. But that’s how this camp reunion was shaping up and I had already booked my non-refundable flight.  I felt confident of a good time, even if none of my camp friends had signed up, because I traveled with ‘Lathe’.   We call her ‘Lathe’ because otherwise she’d be another Susan.  She coordinated our flights from Northern Virginia and made sure I shared her cabin.

Lathe is a board member, (one of those mysterious ladies behind the scenes), and we had attended camp together all those years ago.  Lathe looked up to me, perhaps, (probably not), because I had been a Counselor in Training when she’d been a camper.  Since she decided to sleep in an unheated cabin, and I look up to her now, I decided I should sleep in one too.  And, I wanted to prove to my husband that I could rough it, (never mind the actual bed and cabin), and I wanted to prove to myself that I really had learned all those great life-changing lessons in Memory Lake.

Lake Michigan; chilly but beautiful…

I bought a sub-zero sleeping bag from REI and a high-tech down coat and packed flannels and wool socks.  The first night, Lake Michigan raged below the cliff and a cold wind whipped through gaps along the shuttered screens. My nose dripped through the tiny gap of my zipper’s opening. I tried to fall asleep but mostly I held stiff and rigid on the plastic mattress covered in a towel.  I imagined snow drifted against the back of the cabin.

“Do I have to go to the bathroom?” I wondered, taking a body check in the dark. “No, I can wait.”  Time passed slowly and painfully. “No, I can’t wait,” I decided.  I unzipped the sleeping bag from toes to shoulders. Its high-pitched rip roared like an alarm clock.  No one stirred from the rows of bunks, but I imagined having awakened them all.  I donned my down jacket, which I had been using as a pillow, slipped into my Keens, and tried to tip-toe down the aisle toward the door in complete darkness.  I unlatched the metal hook, (more unbearable noise,) and braced for an arctic blast.  A balmy breeze hit me.  As I darted for the bug light outside the bath house, I wondered, greatly annoyed, why it seemed so darn cold in the cabin!  I repeated this same noisy routine two more times before dawn.

Posing like campers from the Fifties in one of the camp’s old photos…

Far too early, someone hit the cabin light.  “Dips,” a voice whispered.  My bed had finally become warm, cozy, and comfortable and I did not want to move.  When I emerged from my mummy bag, all the beds were lifeless except the one nearest the door.  Ellie stood beside her foot-high pile of blankets hauled to camp in her car.  She raised her eyebrows at me and the unsavory task ahead; getting into swim gear.  She rushed, so I rushed, because we couldn’t miss dips.  Lathe was out there.  Everyone was out there.  I wanted to ask her how many times she got up, if she had heard me, and if she had slept at all.

We stepped from the cabin into the rising heat of the sun.  Ellie deadpanned, “It’s winter on the other side of this cabin, you know.”  I laughed, feeling the same sort of relief as I had my first year at camp, decades earlier, when I’d met the other ‘Nancy’.  Except, Ellie was more like another ‘me’.  Lathe was her ‘Nancy’, the best friend and perfect camper who kept her in line.  As we stood on the cabin stoop and stared into the woods where the 100 wooden steps descended to the freezing lake, Ellie droned, “Well, let’s get down there so everyone can see us.”

There’s a Big Fish story here. Would you believe it jumped into our canoe?

During the reunion, I stuck near Ellie and she proved my theory; every perfect camper needs an imperfect friend to balance out the universe.  We were those imperfect campers.  Ellie and I had amazingly similar memories.  We dreaded council fires for not earning ‘beads’, though we happily watched our friends win awards. We always messed up in front of counselors or just missed that opportunity to be helpful.  Our similar stories made us laugh from pure joy and gratefulness because we knew even as mediocre campers, we had developed confidence, leadership abilities, and hidden strengths by attending camp.

Suzy, (another imperfect camper), suggested we had actually reached perfect camper status because we attended camp reunions. She offered this bit of wisdom as she navigated our canoe down the Crystal River. (Her mom had wisely put a ‘z’ in her name to differentiate her from all the other Susans, and it worked once you knew the ‘z’ was there.)  Suzy had been a camper in the Fifties.  She so effectively linked our camp experiences, I now feel connected to the old camp.  Suzy is how I imagine my mom would have been as a camper, and how she would be now, if she had lived.

My Craft Project…
(Photo of KT and Lilly in Seattle at the Chihuly Garden and Glass)

Marcia (aka ‘Robyn’ in Memory Lake) ran the reunion and tried to keep us on some sort of schedule.  (Josh, our talented chef, really appreciated that.)  Honestly, Marcia’s dedication amazes me and I’m still trying to live up to her expectations. “Since you’re the writer…,” she told me 15 minutes before ‘skits’ on the first night, “Write some dialogue for us.  Here’s the scenario….” I spent ten minutes locating paper and pen.  Frantically, I managed to eek something together and it actually drew laughter.  Phew!  I suppose such feats are possible at camp because expectations run high yet everyone is easy to please.

The rainy day turned out to be my favorite. We sipped hot tea and hung out in the heated arts and crafts shed amid a cozy atmosphere of creativity.  Lathe, Kappy, Deb, Murph, some Susans, Diane, and Lee Ann wove complicated, intricate bracelets to rival boutique merchandise.  Ellie and I hot-glued rocks to wooden picture frames.  We didn’t even gather the rocks ourselves, I’m embarrassed to say.  Except, I did add a few tiny pebbles as fillers, purposely gathered on my exciting day of canoeing the Crystal River with Suzy.

Taking it ‘home’….

Except for a deep longing to return to my heated bedroom in Virginia, I was sad to leave the company of so many confident, accomplished women who similarly credit camp for defining their strengths and honing their focus.  We are fit, optimistic, and not nearly finished with all we intend to accomplish.

Thanks ladies, you have reminded me why I wrote Memory Lake.  (Now in its Second Edition with an authentic cover depicting Lake Michigan from the top of the Sleeping Bear Dunes!)  Many thanks to the year-round staff of the Leelanau Outdoor Center (LOC) for making the week-end possible.

“Spiritual development… propagates anew the higher joys of Spirit….  Each successive stage of experience unfolds new views of divine goodness and love.”  Science & Health, BY Mary Baker Eddy.  (P.66)

The Powerful Legacy of Tangible Books

Tags

Emmet Fox, Flint, H. Emilie Cady, Lake St. Helen, Lessons in Truth, Mary Baker Eddy, Metaphysical, Michigan, tangible books, Truth

Inscribe your favorite books, underline passages, and hold on to them.  They will tell your children, and their children, more about you than any photo album.  Thank goodness my mother never met a book too intimidating to write in, to bend a corner, to underline a passage, or scribble a thought.

A First Generation book from the 1940s beside a Second Generation book from 1986. Both are user-friendly.

When she passed away in 2001, at 64, my step-dad boxed up her metaphysical book collection and sent it to my sister.  Overwhelmed by memories, Susan sent the box to me.  I hastily absorbed it into my collection of similar books Mom had given me over my adult life. Each one is packed full of wisdom.  Every book is inscribed and many contain Mom’s left-handed scrawl of a random thought as she worked out its meaning.

Mom had been raised Catholic.  I often asked her why we were not Catholic, same as Nanny, Papa, my aunt, uncle and all our cousins.  She confided a longing for something different at an early age due to a little book she had read as a teenager. She never mentioned the name of this book or where she had found it, only that it had changed her life.

The little black book with a history, and its compatible hardware.

Recently, as I waited for my laptop to perform lengthy updates, a little book beckoned from the adjacent bookshelf.  I marveled at its delicate binding and content pre-dating a similar book by the same author Mom had given me decades earlier.  As I read her inscription inside the front cover, I realized this was the book.  I had finally found it.  Mom had penned, “… found in the book-case of the cottage my father, A.R. Mason, purchased on Lake St. Helen, in Michigan.  This was approximately 1950-51.  It was my first introduction to truth and my constant quest to use these truths that make us free. Dorothy Ann Mason Lincoln.”

The little black book’s inscription.

Her father’s cottage is mentioned in Memory Lake as ‘Papa’s cottage’. This log summerhome on tiny Lake St. Helen, in Central Michigan, delivered a childhood of laughter, pranks, skits, and sunshine to my sister, my cousins, and me.  I still dream of its artesian well, woven hammocks, rocky flower beds hiding fat night-crawlers, and the steep hill to the lake.  Its musty interior held many more treasures; a deer mount, faded upholstered furniture, bookshelves of hard-bound classics, and a defunct player-piano.  When I was ten, Papa sold all of it upon learning he was terminally ill.  Soon after, my sister and I began our years at summer camp.

Fish caught from the night-crawlers dug from Papa’s flowerbeds. That’s me in the middle.

My mother was fourteen when her father bought the cottage fully furnished.  She hadn’t liked the place at first.  Bored and disgruntled to be spending the weekend at the lake, instead of at home with friends, I imagine she had knelt on the large woolen rug, wearing saddle shoes and bobby socks, to examine the bookshelf.  There she had found this little book and began reading.

Memory Lake is a ripple of this memory which continues to expand sixty-two years later.  The little black book is inspiring, but not surprising because Mom had succeeded in her quest for truth and raised me on it. Instead, the surprise lies in the book’s existence.  It held the capacity to sleep for decades without updates, conversions,  or electricity to reveal a profound window to the past. I wonder, will someone find an e-reader sixty years from now with such a personal impact?  Most likely it will not power up.

Inscribe your favorite books, underline passages, and hold on to them.  They will tell your children, and their children, more about you than any photo album. 

* H. Emilie Cady is the little black book’s author and she is affiliated with Unity.  This is not the church I attended, nor the church affiliated with the camp in Memory Lake, so it is a fun coincidence that she was from Dryden, New York, the same one stop-light hometown of my first friend at camp, and main character in Memory Lake, “Nancy Roman”.

The Legend of Sleeping Bear Dunes

Tags

Dapine, Great Spirit, Lake Michigan, Made in Michigan, Manitou Island, Memory Lake, Michigan, North Manitou Island, Second Edition, Sleeping Bear Dunes, Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore, Tate Publishing, The Legend of Sleeping Bear, Wisconsin

George Vieira’s interpretation of the old legend is well-written and faithfully crafted.  He has graciously allowed me to re-post it.  The dunes play a key role in “Memory Lake; The Forever Friendships of Summer.”  Tate Publishing is launching the Second Edition this month and the new cover is a view of Lake Michigan from the top of the dunes. You can see it on their website:   http://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/book.php?w=978-1-62746-240-2

Please read George’s blog post below, or visit his page:   http://mishigamaa.wordpress.com/2013/08/10/the-legend-of-sleeping-bear/

The Legend of Sleeping Bear

Posted on August 10, 2013 by George Vieira

The wind breathes a song of ancient wisdom – only listen to the rattle of the ghost forest up on the dunes. It’s the story of Dapine, mother bear, proud parent of sharp claws and soft fur. Her cubs dancing on rolling Wisconsin plains, two brothers in the summer sun, animated by a boundless spirit. A bond unbreakable, unbelievable, takes us back to that terrible month when the sun hung too close to the Earth for too long.

Day after day, the leaves curled and the grass progressively turned orange. The forest was brittle and dangerous. Then one night lightning struck and set a dry patch ablaze. As luck would have it a fierce wind howled and blew the flames higher and farther, until the flames towered over the forest animals. Instinctively, Dapine ran for Lake Michigan, that immortal body, her cubs racing behind her, tripping over their young, clumsy paws. Though safe in the calm, placid waters of the lake, she saw in the thick black smoke the desolation and starvation that awaited her cubs once the fire died. Where they’d rolled and played and sweet honeycombs had bounded, charred nothingness would smolder.

So Dapine swam, desperate, one stroke at a time, towards Michigan. The journey was long and difficult, and the young cubs struggled to keep up, panting, tongues agog. On the second night of their journey, a great storm whipped the lake into a panicked frenzy. Hail pelted their thick coats; lightning made their fur stand on end. And somewhere in the wild waves she lost her cubs, their panicked faces illuminated by one last flash of light before being enveloped in permanent darkness.

Dapine swam against the tide for many hours in search of her cubs. She cried out their names, desperate, painful screams full of sorrow. But no answer. Exhausted, she turned back the following morning for the northwest shore of Michigan. Drenched and tired, she finally pawed her way onto the promised beach. At last. The sky was deep and blue, the green expanse of trees swayed in the wind. There was food, shelter, and water.

But no cubs.

All Dapine could think of was her cubs. She felt little relief or happiness in having made it alive to Michigan. Day and night, she faithfully watched the endless waves hoping to catch a glimpse of her lost cubs. In her many, fevered dreams, there they were, safe and warm in the old den, gnawing on the fish bones held between their tiny claws. She quickly grew wane and emaciated, her hair falling out in tufts on the soft sand.

Seeing Dapine, the Great Spirit was moved to tears by her story, from the veil of impartial observation to utmost mercy. As the earth shook and a hard rain fell, he raised two large landmasses above the waters of Lake Michigan in remembrance of Dapine’s cubs, North Manitou Island and South Manitou Island. He imbued the islands with their innocent energy, so that it would be a grand memorial to Dapine’s loss. She saw this, and like animals always do, knew right away what it meant.

And so with heavy sigh, Dapine closed her eyes and slept by the waves. It was then she felt a sudden lightness, her soul hovering over her own body. Carried by the force of the Great Spirit, she ascended up beyond the worries of the world, where in the limitless sky her cubs hopped from cloud to cloud in excitement, reunited with their mother at last.

Back down on earth, Dapine’s body turned to sand, more and more sand. In her place a great dune emerged, which from the Manitou Islands resembled a giant sleeping bear. The Great Spirit did this as a testament to the power of love, the story of Dapine and her cubs. Even today, the area is called the Sleeping Bear Dunes, and the story is written of on plaques and in books, never forgotten.

The Best Kind of Fireworks…

Tags

Big Dipper, Camping, cassiopeia, Crystal River, Draco, Fireworks, Independence Day, Lake Michigan, Meteor Shower, North Star, Recreation, Sleeping Bear Dunes, Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore, Tent, United States

The Last Day of School, Opening Day of Camp, and Pawn Tickets. Huh?

Tags

American Camp Association, Camps, Government, Labor Day, Midwest, Northern Michigan, Opening Day, Parenting Magazine, Pawn Stars, Recreation, Rules, Safety, Sheridan Mountain Campus, summer vacation, United States, Virginia

Summer vacation comes late to Virginia public schools.  Today is their last day; Tuesday, June 18th.  KT always missed these final days of school so I could get her to Northern Michigan for camp’s Opening Day, which occurred for Midwest camps over the weekend.  It was tough motivating her toward perfect attendance all year, knowing this conflict loomed. I always felt guilty about her missing school, although the only real lesson imparted these last few days is that government is inflexible.  Yes, I know we need rules.  They keep us safe, calm and civil.  But kids should have different rules shortly after Memorial Day.

Prince William County Virginia Crossing Guard. Thank-you Marietta!

When we moved here from Nebraska twenty years ago, I noticed an increased government presence.  The crossing guards impressed me most of all.  They are police department employees through the Crossing Guard Bureau.  They wear spiffy white caps, official badges, WHITE gloves, and they will not hesitate to put their lives in peril to stop traffic.  Some of the streets are quite busy.  All the commuters are angry and impatient.  Most notably, Virginia is HOT in June, especially when standing in the sun on asphalt. I assumed the guards vacationed over the summer until I chatted with Marietta yesterday.  She enters pawn tickets into the police department data base between assignments.  Hmmm… they never mention this on Pawn Stars.  Perhaps it would deter customers if they knew.  More government. More rules. More protection.  I forgot to ask Marietta if the gloves come off for this.

It’s not too late to rescue your kids from a summer of home rules, city dangers, and government protections.  You can still send them to camp, especially if you live in Virginia*.  Go to the American Camp Association website, search for the best fit, and have the fortitude to send them.  Pawn them away from your television and their game consoles.  Send them into nature.  They will be safe.  And, they will return to you much improved.

(You can read about camp, and journey there in your imagination by reading Memory Lake: The Forever Friendships of Summer.)

* Sheridan Mountain Campus’ summer registration is still open!

Stop and Hear the Cicadas. They are saying..,

Tags

Cicada, Cicada brood 2013, cicadas, Prince William County, Turtle, Virginia, World Turtle Day

“Live for today.” Or, at least that’s what I imagined the cicadas said when they first emerged.  Their calls awakened a window to the past by transforming our woods to a tropical rainforest.  The male cicada‘s croaking vibrations whirled from the treetops in a deafening crescendo while the females snapped their legs in reply.

Cicada sounds from the treetops entrance a turtle in Virginia, June 2013.

I came upon a turtle so entranced by the primordial cacophony, he forgot to hide, even when I stood beside him.  He remained mid-stride, his neck stretched in awe toward the treetops.

When the male calls changed from a croaking roar to a steady buzz, I imagined they said, “I will survive.”  They had lived in darkness eating tree root sap for almost two decades.

Cicadas emerge after seventeen years by digging out from below…

With only two weeks left to live, they dug through rock-hard dirt into sunlight.  They shed their skins, unfurled their wings, and searched for a mate.  Their drive to procreate sent them into the trees.

I was the mother of grade school kids when they last appeared.  I didn’t stop to hear them.  Instead, I stopped our cocker spaniel from eating them.  I saw the kids off to school, drove to work, made dinner, and never gave them another thought.  Now I hear many messages in their calls.  Mostly, as they begin to die, I hear them ask, “Where will you be in seventeen years when we return?”

It’s a long way up…

Lust drives the cicadas into the trees to mate…

Prince William County Virginia cicada, May 2013

Signs of Spring; Babies, Lily of the Valley, Faith… and Mothers’ Day

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Babies, Beyond, Connie Campbell Bratcher, faith, France, Happy Mothers' Day, lillies of the valley, Lilly, Minneapolis, Mothers Day, spring flowers, Valley Lily, YouTube

A new accumulation of snow had blanketed Minneapolis on April 20th when I landed for a layover.  Nearby passengers bemoaned spring’s late arrival.  Same as babies, dates mean nothing, I mused, thinking of KT, my daughter.  Her due date was April 10th.  I had booked my flight months in advance, never supposing I might arrive on the day of her daughter’s birth.  The last text I’d received from her husband had been at 4am. They were heading to the hospital.  No one in the family had heard anything since.  I activated my cell phone as I ran through the terminal for my connecting flight to Idaho.  If the baby arrived tomorrow she would share my grandmother’s birthday. Nanny would have been 100, if only she’d lasted a few months longer.   When I reached my gate, nearly everyone had boarded.  I hustled down the gangway staring at the 4am instant message.  A single picture suddenly appeared in a new dialogue bubble.  I stared at the photo of a round-faced cherub, newly born, stoically staring back at me.  I felt numb to its meaning. “…Lilly is her name,” came the text, making it clear.  A new life, my daughter’s daughter had arrived. In a few hours I would hug them both.

As my mom always arranged them…

“If you ever want to name a daughter after me,” my mom had often told KT, “Choose Lilly instead of Dorothy.  That’s the name I would have picked for myself.”  From my childhood, I knew lily of the valley was her favorite flower.  Every spring, I’d pick a tiny bouquet from the empty lot and carry it home to her.  She’d arrange them in a small French vase and we’d sing their little song* while marveling at their huge fragrance.  They didn’t last long, but they were memorable.  After mom died, lilies of the valley appeared in our garden where none had ever been.  Over twelve springs, they have taken over.  When they blossom, I arrange them in the same French vase, and sing their little song, feeling like a little kid.  Yes, it’s sappy.  But, it makes me happy.  I imagine she put them in my garden to maintain this connection. I also imagine, during KT’s pregnancy, her little girl lived beyond our sight in my mom’s company.  I believe she sat in Mom’s lap hearing her stories, her songs, and learning about the family she would soon be born in to.

In the garden for two short weeks…

On Lilly’s fifth day of life, she stirred from a deep sleep.  I cradled her in my arms while singing a few of the songs I’d once sung to KT.  KT rested nearby and hummed along.  Lilly’s body held the ticks and quivers of awakening, but her eyes remained firmly shut.  “Do you remember the lily song,” I whispered to KT.  She shook her head, perplexed.  She didn’t recall it even when I began to sing, “White coral bells upon a slender stalk.  Lilies of the valley deck my garden walk.  Oh, don’t you wish that you could her them ring.” Lilly opened her eyes just then, and gazed intently into mine; clearly focused. Staring back at her, I finished, “That will happen only when the fairies sing.”  An undeniable smile of recognition blossomed upon her fresh new face.  A full mouth, jaw dropping, dimple popping, first smile.  Speechless, I smiled back.  She knew the song.

Welcome …Lilly.

Once again, I have my proof.  Things unseen need only be imagined, then believed, and they will be perceived.  This is faith.  The miles between us, and the time between visits, will not matter.  Same as the lily of the valley, visits may be short, but they will be memorable.  And loved ones passing beyond our sight will never diminish.  Love always maintains a connection.  My mom had taught Lilly this song.  I knew it.  We were connected still.

Also a great camp song!  Here is the lily song in a round…   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JE5QrWks1e8   (<—Link to YouTube)

“…He is the resurrected Lord, Alive and well today, And he will meet your every need…As you seek him and pray.  For the lily of the valley, the bright and morning star, the fairest of ten thousand, is right there where you are.”  ~Connie Campbell Bratcher