Camp

I went back to camp today. It was fantastic.

I spent my childhood at camp. All my best memories are from there. As an only child with over-protective parents, camp was my safe haven. I was able to climb trees, get muddy, play with bugs and even swim in the lake, my favorite. I could be loud... like really really loud, a giant no-no at home, as was being dirty, moving too quickly or being outside for extended periods of time.

I would have been put up for adoption faster than you can say "You got a lil' something right there."

I'm not complaining, my mother wanted me to be safe. But because I had no siblings, and other children tended to like to play outside and not quietly read indoors.

Knowledge is power, but that is a horrible weapon against the taunting laughter that will follow when you tell another child that you don't know how to play red rover.

So camp for me was magical. You couldn't keep me still in the car on the way. Tipping canoes? Cool. Playing with fire? Awesome. Being encouraged to scream as loud as you can while running rampant in any direction and with ice cream? Sign me up every. single. year.

This was me at camp. And is what I secretly yearn to do while at work on Tuesdays.

And every single year I went. For the entire summer, and weekends, and any other time they'd let me in. When I got too old for camp I did the counselor in training programs, then was a counselor in college during summers at my childhood camp, and several others. I loved it.

I've never felt better than when I was at camp. It's a simpler place, which speaks to me on a deeper level. You wake up with the sun, walk everywhere, breathe the fresh air, eat fresh food, get plenty of exercise, and sleep like a baby every night with the grasshoppers and frogs singing you lullabies.

No joke here. Seriously, no one would need Ambian if we all slept under this every night.

Going back to camp today made me never want to leave. Alas, I couldn't stay and play, I had to get my photos and interviews and get back to write up the story.... but oh I wanted to stay. The thought occurred to me to call into work and never return, which considering that the camp ended the next day might have been unwise. But on the way home, I actually considered changing careers. Seriously. I spent the 40 minute drive home doing the math on how I could take my vacation days all at once and be a camp counselor or even quitting all together and somehow becoming a year-round camp-master. I've considered it before, other than writing, camp has always been one of my greatest loves. It gave me a place to learn who I was without my parents around and I was given a lot more space, and limitless inspiration to do so. I thought about becoming a teacher, because it was the only occupation I could think of where I could run a camp during the summer.

They're swarming, I hate it when they swarm. I do much better with kids when I can push them in the pool if they bug me.


Perhaps this is one of those dreams that will have to wait awhile though. I don't think I'm quite done with this journalism thing yet. It was because of journalism that I even got to go to camp today and bring back all those good memories... I even got to write a story and publish half a dozen photos of the camp that will hopefully help it get more donations and positive publicity. I'm doing good works here, meeting awesome people, and getting to tell their stories. That's worth something, but don't be surprised if one day I say goodbye to it all to run rampant with 11-year-olds in the woods and eat s'mores every night.

You and I both know these are worth giving up a long-trained for writing career.

The Derby Bio

Name: Dixie Snarlin'
Number: 2
Position: Blocker
Height: 6'1 on skates
Favorite things: hitting, striking, and maiming people... also tacos.
Quote: "I will punch you in the neck."
Bio: Dixie was born from a hurricane in the dirty south. She raised herself on the river, wrestling gators and hitting people for raising their eyebrows in her general direction. She was transplanted to Columbus when the Port Authority and the National Wildlife Association combined forces and ruled her "an endangerment to the preservation of the alligator population." A river rat, she's hell on wheels in a tank top and a tutu.
In real life: She works for the newspaper writing obituaries, it keeps her humble to see that there are still deaths that come through that she hasn't caused.
When not on skates: people mistake her for a sweet, harmless southern girl in little dresses and ballet flats. But that's okay, the one's who don't see it coming have much funnier looks on their faces when they go down.
Fun Fact: Dixie is perpetually armed and has weapons hidden everywhere, all over the world... and behind you.

I'll continue to update on my roller derby shenanigans. It's too fun not to.

Better

I'm almost scared to write this, just in case the universe might be tempted to prove me wrong... but things feel better. My house is clean, I understand my job, and I even bought some cute new boots yesterday.


These aren't them, but I like the ones on the top left.

I feel like I'm controlling things, which for a control freak like me, is fantastic.
And yes, I'm aware that at any moment, the world might decide to squish me like a bug, or upset my life so badly that I won't know which way is up, but in the new-ness of the new year, I feel like I can handle it.

I make a list of resolutions every year, just like most people, but even more important to me than setting goals for myself and trying to be better, is making a list of things I've accomplished.

It's easy to remember that I didn't lose the weight or sleep more, or give up sodas like I'm sure I pledged to last year, but it's a little harder to remember what things I did that helped me in ways I couldn't have even thought to ask for at the beginning of 2010. And when I sit and think of that list, it comes to me that I'm okay with not kicking that soda habit, because this past year was the one that I:

-finally learned to whistle
-graduated college
-got a big kid job (WITH BENEFITS!)
-learned how to play roller derby
-dyed my hair blonde (and rocked it)
-moved into my own apartment
-got a pet
-got a tattoo
-got closer with my family (despite the tattoo)
-let myself fall hard for a boy

Looking back, I did okay. Letting myself fall for a guy led to getting my heart broken, but I'm okay now and know more about myself, love and life; Getting a real job led to learning some startling realizations about fairness and how to deal with people; and roller derby, well, mostly it just led to bruises... but just think about how cool it's going to be to tell my kids and grandkids about it all one day.


"See kids, there the paramedics are, taking away that hoe from the Alabama team... it wasn't Granny's fault that she got her nose broken, bitch was back-blocking."

Yes, I made a lot of mistakes this year... I fell on my ass several times both literally and figuratively, but I survived everything. Sure there are things I regret doing, or not doing, but I don't want to focus on that. I want to start this year focusing on the all thing things I accomplished. And hey, even if I fail at that, there's always next year.

A Borrowed blog from Adele Elliot

This is a borrowed column from a friend of mine who writes a column for The Commercial Dispatch. Adele, If I could switch with you so you could be Snarlin', for a day, I would in a heartbeat.

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The Commercial Dispatch
Adele Elliott: Pseudonyms

In an early scene of "Sweet Bird of Youth," Chance Wayne tells The Princess Kosmonopolas that he always keeps a spare name in his pocket. "Don't you?" he asks her.

This is a concept that I have long embraced. My various aliases have distinct personalities. Some even have their own appearances. One of my alter egos writes all my letters of complaint. The real "me" is too Southern and too polite to cause much trouble.

In New Orleans, my various identities not only had unique names, but distinctive wardrobes, as well. Occasionally, we all need to wear different hats. It's just that in my case, switching the "hats" also involved extensive costume changes.

Some people only need one name. Cher and Madonna come to mind. "The Madonna" is someone else, altogether.

Of course, a few of us require an entire title. New Orleans musician Ernie K. Doe was the self-proclaimed "Emperor of the Universe." "The King of Pop" always means Michael Jackson. Elvis was just "The King," and John Wayne will forever be "Duke." These guys certainly have a lot of royalty between them. That's not the only thing they have in common. They're all dead, too. Maybe it's not a great idea to claim a regal designation.

Recently, it has become apparent that I need another fictitious persona. I have been following the Tri-City Roller Dolls, our own roller derby team. They all have a stage name, usually one that aims to inspire fear.

"Dixie Snarlin" is a personal friend, and a lovely person. I didn't think this moniker was at all appropriate for her. She is a photographer and a talented writer. I have never seen her snarl.

"Sonja Blade" may be a terror in the rink. However, I know her as a very kind person, into animal rescue and a mother of two beautiful girls.

But, I do grasp the concept. A name says so much. There are names that make you think "bimbo," or "nerd," or maybe "redneck." (I won't say which ones.)

I've known a few "Diannas" in my life. They truly believed that they were goddesses. Just "Diane" is entirely different. Changing a letter or two removes any connection to the divine.

"Elizabeths" have the most choices. They may be "Liz," or "Beth," "Betty," "Lib," "Lisa" ... well, I found 50 in English alone. (I didn't count the ones in other languages.)

Each nickname evokes the image of an entirely distinctive person. Surely, a "Bess" is so very different from an "Izzy."

But, back to my "roller derby" name. I will never again don roller skates. (My last experience ended badly, with a sprain and a fracture.)

However, I would like to have a name that arouses a bit of respect, if not complete terror. I would use this when dealing with aggressive telemarketers and rude people of every sort. You've heard of "road rage," well this is my answer for "phone rage."

Surely, The Princess Kosmonopolas understood what Chance meant by "keeping an extra name" in his pocket. She was really movie-star Alexandra Del Lago, traveling incognito. Oh, Tennessee Williams. If only you were here to pen my "roller derby" pseudonym.

Adele Elliott, a New Orleans native, moved to Columbus after Hurricane Katrina. She can be found sharing life lessons and musings every Sunday at cdispatch.com

Bad habits

I'm lazy.

I know we're all lazy to some degree. Save a few dynamos like my sister-in-law Beth who somehow both works and keeps a huge house immaculate. She also finds time to do all sorts of side projects like building, painting and selling birdhouses, jewelery, valentines day baskets, etc., and doing work at her church. She also always remembers to send birthday/anniversary/just-thinking-of-you cards/ thank-you cards, always perfectly on time of course; and is the most organized woman, financially and in every other way, I have ever met. But I have never been able to do any of those things, and despite a box full of thank-you cards and stamps on my bookshelf just a-waiting, I don't think I've sent a thank-you card since I was 10.

I think that if I had more drive, better self-control, I could be more like Beth, but I succumb to sloth every time.


Sloth's are cute, but unproductive.

I haven't vacuumed my house since I my new roommate moved in, which was almost five months ago. My room is a mess, as is the kitchen and other rooms of the house which I frequent and the majority of the mess is my responsibility. (My roommate is very neat, with the exception of an aversion to dishes, which I share and cannot blame him for. Fortunately he seems mostly indifferent to my newly acquired messiness as long as it doesn't directly affect him.) I used to be neat, annoyingly so even, but I also had smaller spaces of living to play with. But I have so much open space now... nearly 1500 square feet of it in my antebellum basement apartment. And it's so much easier to just clutter an area and move to a different one. I like my apartment, and love the rent and that I have space to stretch out and have company, but I hate that it's hard to keep up.

I hate being messy and having clothes on the couch, and the chair, and the dresser, and clean in the laundry basket. But I can't bring myself to take care of it all. I don't have all the time in the world, but I do have time. When I get off from work, I'm tired, but I could do productive things instead of relaxing with online TV until it gets dark or I have to go work/derby/do something. I could, and yet almost daily choose to do only a little, if anything at all. And I hate myself for it. I can do better... I will do better.


Always have I envied the people who get an assignment and immediately do it. They just do it. No waiting, no need for a deadline or pressure... they can just accomplish things. And then they're done. While I procrastinate (usually with excuses of "doing better work under pressure" or something equally lame). And I have a really bad habit of letting all my good habits fall away when one does. If I'm doing well, I'm doing REALLY well, with eating right and taking my vitamins, everything is in place, but If something happens and one thing falls away, like dominoes, everything falls down. And it is so hard to pick up all the dominoes in a set and then one-by-one replace them where they were... it's why very few people play dominoes.

So I'm a mess. I have a lot of self-destructive habits that need to be fixed, and I've found the mess to help me. I needed someone who didn't have everything all together to help whip me into shape. Why not someone with the golden glow of perfection like my loving Beth? Because a fattie doesn't want to take dieting advice from someone who's obviously never eaten anything. They won't be able to get it as well. Things that are habits for them are just that -- habitual, meaning they don't need to think about it. So how are they going to help me?


I will force-feed you a cheeseburger.

So J is my newly enlisted life coach, and though she may think she's unqualified, I think she's going to be amazing.... if nothing else, we're going to have some great stories to tell (much like the time we both got swine flu and went camping). I'm glad to be back, or at least trying to get back. And I'll keep updating on the journey.