A Scout Is- Part 2

I got my gripe with BSA out of the way in my last post, and now I'm ready to share the photo journal I had intended to write last time I sat down to blog. Scouting has been an amazing experience for my son, and he's still on the journey. Last year, when he was attending an event at Camp Miles, a local scout camp in Punta Gorda, I had to drive out to pick him up on Sunday. I had intended to spend a little time visiting with everyone when I got there so I was traveling leisurely, no rush.

It was a beautiful sunny day and as I was alone, I was much more observant than I usually am when entering the camp. I found myself taking time to soak in the beauty of the grounds and appreciating all my son has gotten out of spending time there, disconnected from the daily chaos of his usual surroundings. I turned off the radio and opened my window so I could hear the sounds- birds chirping, cawing, and flapping, buzzing insects. Spending time in nature without computers, phones, and iPods is a rare opportunity for today's teens. I've got to say, I'm pleased my son still enjoys it. Even on occasion when he complains about his impending weekend being taken up entirely by a scouting event or camping trip (a common conflict for teenage boys who remain in scouts, despite the social pressures and distractions that tug at them), he always enjoys being outdoors, getting a good dose of fresh outside air, dirt under the fingernails, and a night or two under the stars. He always sleeps well when he returns too. It's a really good kind of tired.


A Scout Is...

Scouts and other visitors are blessed with the nature of "Real Florida" the minute they pull into camp.

Shortly upon entry, you are reminded with signage, "Scout Law is the law of the camp." 

The 6th characteristic of the Scout Law is kind.

A scout is not only kind to people, but to nature as well. Leave no trace they're taught. 

In other words, leave a place you visit just the way you found it.

The long entry road that winds into camp is lined with tall slash pines, creating a natural hallway into the campgrounds. It's a dramatic entrance into the back of the property.

I couldn't get enough photos of the lush land on this sunny and blue sky day.

The eighth characteristic in the Scout Law is cheerful. It's hard not to be when spending time at camp.

Throughout camp there are spots with different textures and land denseness. Between some trees there was this clearing with what seemed like rows of various plant life; grasses, littorals, and trees.

Thrifty, not a word you hear too often anymore, is characteristic number nine in the Scout Law. According to the dictionary, thrifty doesn't just refer to economical management. It also means thriving, prosperous, successful, thriving physically or growing vigorously.  A scout really is thrifty!

Brave is number ten. Scouts first learn to be brave as they crossover from Cubs and need to learn how to survive by depending on each other, rather than moms, dads, and other caretakers. This develops even more as they learn self-sufficiency and survival skills.

These slash pines tower over the land throughout the camp, like nature's guards.

Eleven out of twelve is clean. Not just clean physically, but of mind for making good decisions.

The final characteristic in the Scout law, number twelve, is reverent. It's quite probable many scouts don't even know the meaning of this word until they learn the Scout Law. But you can bet they learn to be respectful to their peers, adults, and the land as they develop in the BSA ranks.

Finally, a mile or two on the winding road through natural SWFL, you come to the official camp sign.

As you enter the actual camp you see an amphitheater, a lookout tower, a dining hall, pool, and several other structures. It is a full service camp all year.

This lake is significant to our troop. When Cub Scouts crossover into Boy Scouts, the senior members of the troop canoe out by the light of tiki torches from a small island out in the distance, to the ceremony on the main camp where they pick up their new troop members for the first time. It's a great ceremony to mark the official crossover from Cub Scout to Boy Scout.

I have many other photos of the camp and the time my son, his troop, and our family have spent there. We camped at Camp Miles as a family when he was a Cub Scout, and he continues to spend time there and other Scout Camps with his troop as a Boy Scout. 

Scout Law

A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent.

A Scout Is- Part 1

I've been holding this post inside my head for nearly a year now. I'm not quite sure what it's supposed to be. I know what I would like it to be and I would rather not have an agenda. But I know the subject will bring up mixed feelings in readers. You see, what I would like this post to be is a brief photo journal of some thoughts and feelings I have about my son's amazing experience in Boy Scouts. But that will have to wait until part 2 of this post. It is difficult to write about all of the positives without qualifying my disdain for some of the BSA policies. Come on, you follow the news, and you know what I'm talking about. The BSA's BS on homosexuality. First gays weren't allowed. Now the boys who are gay are allowed, and the leaders aren't. At least not if they're "open or avowed homosexuals." Oy. I can hardly believe I support any aspect of an organization that would put such lunacy in their bylaws. But hear me out...

When my son joined Cub Scouts in 2nd grade, none if this had even been on the radar. We- my husband and I, never gave it any thought. Why would we? People are people (if you're singing Depeche Mode right now, I hear ya), so a good leader is a good leader. Our son crossed over to Boy Scouts in 5th grade, like all Cub Scouts who decide to continue the scouting program. After all, this is what they worked for, no more pack camping and co-camping with parents. Just the kids and a few adult leaders, because a true Boy Scout troop is boy run. Anyway, it wasn't until our son was well into his Boy Scout career when all of the policy discussion surfaced. For me, it's a no brainer. Hands down, I do not agree that any boy or any trained and well-intentioned adult should be excluded from scouting on the basis of their sexuality. A few situations here and there might have to be handled a little bit differently, but so what. We do it for female leaders.

I am encouraged to read that at the national meeting in May, the BSA president said the policy of banning openly gay adults from leadership should be changed** in order for the organization to survive and maintain its relevancy. He supposedly requested and expects they'll take action by October of this year. His suggestion was to take it out of the hands of the national organization and leave it up to the charter organization, to set the guidelines to align with the mission of BSA. Seventy percent of charter organizations are religious organizations and they would have the right to set up their own criteria, many will likely support the same beliefs as the original policy. But only time will tell. I'll be on the lookout for updates.

This brings up a major point of conflict for me. As I mentioned, my son was involved in the scouting program well before I became aware of any of this. Now I have to ask myself, is my disdain for the policy enough for me to yank my boy out of scouts and all of the positive experiences he's had, and is still having? I hate to say it, but no. My son is old enough to engage in conversation about all of this. He now knows about the policy and though it might be one that we do not agree with as a family, virtually every other aspect of scouting has been beneficial to my son as a growing young man, an outdoorsman, a developing leader, a member of the community, and a citizen. We will never support the policy, but we support scouting. And I still ask myself, is that okay? Then I think about this...

We participate in lots of things in this country even when we don't agree with every aspect and every policy in the institution. Let's take for instance public school. There are bushels of policies I don't agree with. Over-testing, grading of schools, school choice, over-standardization, VAM scores; I could go on. The point is, I don't pull my kid out of school and put him in some second rate private school or over-priced prep school. He goes to public school. And great things are happening with him there. Are there crappy policies that I'd like to see change? Definitely. But we need to try and change poor policy from within. When so much of an agency, organization, institution is good, we need to try and work on what's bad and not just bail. We need to actively voice our concerns about what's wrong, and speak loudly that we won't stand for it. That's the way we get policies changed.

Where does that leave me? It leaves me with the recognition that scouting has been wonderful for my son. He has been on so many adventures. Actually about now, he's probably hanging off a mountain at Ranger Camp in Georgia, part of Boy Scout Summer Camp. He has developed leadership skills. Actually, he went from being a smart ass and a clown to the current Senior Patrol Leader of his troop. Okay, he's probably still a bit of a smart ass and a clown, but he's learning there's a time and a place. He has learned various aspects of scouting, survival, service, citizenship, trade, and academia all on his way to what he hopes will be his Eagle Scout rank. At a time and an age when many boys quit scouting because they don't like the uniform or there aren't any girls, a few of them stick with it because they see the value in what they're doing.

I hope we hear of some updates to the policy in October. I really, really hope we do. I'll feel a little bit better about the organization my son is representing and cherish a little bit more. Let's hope. In the meantime, my son continues to grow into an adventurous, independent, young leader. He certainly is, as all scouts strive to be: trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent*.  Okay, maybe he still needs a little work on the obedient part, but he's getting there.

Part 2 will include the photo journaling I referred to at the beginning of this post.

*Beginning with A Scout is, these are the characteristics included in the Scout Law.
**In July 2015, BSA updated the policy banning gay leaders.

The Struggle is Real, Even if it is a First World Problem

I'm struggling right now with having to work through the summer. As an educator, I had summers off for almost ten years. In the beginning of my career I worked summers in our effort to get financially stable on a new teacher salary and my husband's equally meager wages. I was young though- high energy- chasing any dollar I could score legally! Then, I worked for a couple of year-round programs until I went to the public school system to be on the same schedule as my son. I wanted to be a mom, and not just outside a 6 to 6 workday. Don't mistake that comment for a lack of respect for people who do it, because they have to. I was there for several years. Last spring I went back to a year round school, and now I'm on summer two, yay. Can you hear the enthusiasm?

But this post wasn't meant to be about working summers. It's just particularly relevant because many of my friends, including all my writing buddies, are not working this summer. They doing wonderfully creative and inspiring things, and they're writing- whenever they feel like it. I wake up at 5:30, cram in a morning work-out, rush off to work, and come home and try to relax, eat dinner, walk the dog, read, write, unwind, and do household chores. And it's hard to find time, open-minded time to write. Last night, I was home alone in a quiet house. It would seemingly be the best time to write. But I just didn't feel like it. I spent most of my downtime over the weekend reading and setting up a new blog for my writing group, but I haven't done any new writing in several days.

Today, I woke up and got dressed in my workout clothes. I walked the dog and brewed a cup of coffee- all things I normally do on Tuesday and Thursday mornings before my pilates workout. But while I sipped my cup o' joe, I was thinking about a movie I saw last night (The Words- yes it's about writing!), and I checked-in to read any new writing in my writer's circle, I decided I'd rather write than workout. Now I'm in conflict... workout the brain and the emotions or the heart and the muscles. The struggle is real folks. My body needs the cardio and fat burning, and my mind needs the thinking and muscle building. It's not that I can't make time for a workout later, it's just I purposely started working out in the morning because I never feel like it in the evening after a draining day at work. So I kick my ass out to the gym or to my living room for pilates just about every morning before I'm awake enough to think about it. No excuses off a good night's sleep.

Not today.

Today I wanted to write.

And I did.

Time, Strength, and the Female Spirit

I am a fraud. There it is, plain and simple.

As I stood in my closet this morning in a puddle of self deprecation that was the discarded clothes I tried on and let drop to the floor one after the other, I realized I am a fraud. I dragged myself back and forth from my closet to my bathroom mirror, chiding my body and anything I attempted to drape over it while I dressed for work. It is Thursday and I worked out every morning this week, including the pilates I had just done thirty minutes before I stood in self loathing paralysis in my closet, hiding from my own reflection. Knowing I have been trying to make healthier decisions and live a more active lifestyle just wasn't doing enough to get it done today. So I stood there in my bra and underwear, clock ticking and the day daunting and called myself a fake, a phony, a fraud.

By now, you're probably thinking why? Many women feel this if not often then at least on occasion. So what makes me different? Let me clue you in. I go to work every day to teach, mentor, and role model to 52 young girls pre-teen to age 18. I work with mostly women (we have one male teacher- brave soul), all charged with the same goals. Our job is to teach young women about overall wellness and self-value. Our entire center is built on 9 guiding principals, several of which I completely blew past in the proverbial right hook to my face this morning. Here's the first one:

Honor the Female Spirit:

We value and promote the female perspective by respecting its distinct needs, creating safe and gender responsive environments, and celebrating the female experience.

You could hardly say I was honoring my female spirit today. More like crushing it, or beating it up. In fact, I don't think I was honoring anything about myself. I thought about how my boobs are too big, how the upper abdominal pudge I've been fighting to burn off in the past 6 months was never even there until I hit my late 30's, how I feel stronger and more fit since I started working out back in January but I don't feel any different in my clothes, and how I wish in the high 90's temperatures of the Florida summer, I felt comfortable enough to wear sleeveless shirts. How in the world am I going to convince girls to love themselves and feel good about who they are if I'm talking to myself this way?

How about this one:

Focus on Strengths:

We look to identify strengths in our girls, their families, our staff and supporters.  Using these strengths as our foundation, we build strong, confident, productive community participants.

Really? I talk day after day to these beautiful young girls about how worthy they are of happiness. We look for the best in all of them, no matter how small things would seem to outsiders looking in. You came to us because you hated school and never attended? Well now, you feel positive about school and have an 80% attendance rate. Bam! Focus on your strength. You struggle in reading but you love Chemistry? Bam! Look at those grades in science. Focus on your strength and use it to build a bridge to the other things. Your parents are less than stellar as role models, but you want to finish school and rise above it? Bam! Focus on what you do best. It's not hard to seek out the promise in my girls. Why is it so hard for me as a grown up?

Another:

Value the Wisdom of Time:

We understand that patience can be as powerful as immediate action, and each has its place.  We value the discernment required for their effective use.

It takes time and patience. Changes are gradual. Be persistent and focused on your goals and you'll get there in time, when you're ready. Not hard to say to a young girl with her life ahead of her right? It's easy to relay to her the whole one step forward, two steps back cliche. Be patient. Instead I look at myself and wonder why a change I made today wasn't showing results yesterday. Why do we give ourselves ultimatums like, if I don't see this happen by this time, it must not really work. How is this valuing the wisdom of time. Why isn't it enough just to spend my time more wisely?

So here's the deal. A few of us talked about it standing around the chocolate fountain provided as a reward to the girls during lunch today. As we each allowed ourselves a dipped strawberry or marshmallow, laughing all along like we didn't deserve to eat them because of what they might do to our bodies (never mind that each if us in the talk ate nothing but veggies and healthy lunches daily), we talked about knowing in our heads one thing and how is aligned it is with what we say about ourselves. It reminds me of an Alanis Morisette song, Unsexy. It's about the inconsistency between what we know and what we feel:

I feel so unsexy for someone so beautiful

So unloved and for someone so fine

I feel so boring for someone so interesting

So ignorant for someone of sound mind

We have the right knowledge, we have the awareness of what it means to the psyche to self-talk this way, and still do it. Why do we find it so easy to tell the girls in our care all the right things and beat ourselves up as soon as we turn away from them? How is that being a role model? 

I know society is rough on women and young girls. That's a no-brainer. If it's this difficult for us, imagine what developing girls are going through. We need to remember to love and care for ourselves and each other. Embracing the beauty of all the women in our lives, and lifting them up through words and support is the best way to role model for young women. And it all starts with what we say to the first one we see in the mirror in the morning. I'm not talking about making excuses for yourself and being content with less than you know you want or are capable of in any aspect of your being. I'm talking about positive affirmations, self-acknowledgement and compliment. I'm talking about giving yourself a break when you haven't lived up to your own expectations. Rather than beat ourselves up for it and tear ourselves down, we need to give ourselves an atta girl for trying and encourage continued effort. We need to be good to ourselves.

I'm starting today with 2 affirmations:

1. Stop insulting myself, effective immediately. 

2. Try every day to find something about myself I feel good about- even if it's really small.

Join me in lifting yourself up and stop beating yourself down. What is one promise you can make to yourself to honor the woman you are?



Here are two versions of Alanis' song. One is a pretty acoustic version, and the second is the original with the lyrics on screen.

Flashback: The Forgotten Dance

In writers group the other night, we got into conversation about our own poetry. For a little while I insisted to the group that this poem had been posted on my blog, way back in the beginning- when I first got started. I even tried to find it in the archives of my blog using the mobile app on my phone.

As the evening went on, and the more I started to reflect, the more I became sure I was mistaken. I wrote this poem during the 2010 Invitational Summer Institute (ISI) of the National Writing Project (NWP) at Florida Gulf Coast University (FGCU). I can't believe it was five years ago! I was knee deep in the journey toward my doctorate. The poem reflects the sacrifice to my creativity I felt while teaching full time, putting in countless hours of studying and producing a massive volume of academic writing, and being a mom and wife. Little did I know at the time it would become an artifact in my dissertation three years later.

NWP changed my life in so many ways, as a teacher, as a writer, as a person. It led me to one of my dearest friends who I later partnered with to begin the writing group I have since come to hold so dear. It led me to the labor of love that was my dissertation. It continues to be a part of the work I do today and inspires me as an educator. Participation in the ISI that year not only informed my teaching, but brought out a side of me that was dormant and waiting to be awakened. This was the beginning of my awakening. As promised to my beloved writing group sisters, here is

The Forgotten Dance

I've lost my artist's pen
It may be buried
Under my lesson plans,
My curriculum maps, my students' work

I think it may be hidden 
Beneath the textbooks,
The journal articles, the sticky notes

I've lost my artist's pen
I may have washed it
Away with the sheets,
The clothes, the rest of the laundry

I think I caught a glimpse of it
In the drawer with my creative license,
My Crayola colors, my Origami paper

I've lost my artist's pen
I may have spotted it
Up high on a shelf
With my photos,
My journals, my poetry

It calls to me in my dreams
It stares at me from the shelf
It begs of me

Remember me
Hold me
Dance with me

A Little Haiku

It's the little things

Saturday night with my boys

Living happiness

Petty Love

Songwriters often pay homage to classic artists by name-dropping in their songs. In country music, lyrics about Willie (Nelson) and the Man in Black (Johnny Cash) pop up here and there. Waylon Jennings is another. Brad Paisley wrote a song about playing "some old Alabama," and even collaborated with them to record the song.

Gretchen Wilson unapologetically proclaims in Redneck Woman, that she knows all the words to Tania Tucker, Bocephus (Hank Williams Jr.), and Charlie Daniels songs. She also shares that she has a poster collection of (Lynard) Skynard, Kid (Rock) and (George) Strait on her wall. And of course, who hasn't heard Taylor Swifts' Tim McGraw? No subtlety there, it's right in the title.

I guess it shouldn't surprise me. Singers and songwriters are likely to be huge fans of other singers and songwriters, probably even bigger fans than those of us in the general public. After all, it's their business, their passion. As a writer I have favorite authors, and as a teacher I have mentor teachers, both local and in the expert field. Why wouldn't we expect the same from artists?

I noticed however, in the past several months there's been a recurring name in country music. It's no surprise to me country artists, many from the south, have roots in southern rock. Many southern rock artists probably have some roots in country music. But without a doubt, many of the younger country artists are rockin' it out to Tom Petty. It seems he's a driving favorite, a hanging' with my baby favorite, a quotable favorite. Since I started realizing I was hearing his name a lot in other people's songs, I began collecting lyric lines (first one in my journal is dated January 10th) knowing there was a piece to be written. I have visited them in my journal several times thinking the inspiration was there, but I just wasn't ready. Until tonight. My friend Helen and I have been playing with song lyrics and found poetry recently, so I decided to read through the two pages tonight. I wrote a poem alternating the country song lyrics with TP's name in them, with lines I pulled from his songs. I am a huge fan of Petty myself and have several of his albums. I've seen him in concert twice by the way, and a Tom Petty concert ticket is money well spent! Welcome to Petty Country.

I've started out for God knows where

I guess I'll know when I get there

A great big world with lots of places to run to.

Slow driving south with the top drop down,

her hair in the wind, Tom Petty up loud.

The sun beat down.

Throw your feet on the dash girl

You know I'm cool with that

And it's Tom Petty free fall by midnight

Don't it feel like something from a dream

She couldn't help thinkin'

That there was a little more to life somewhere else

Waiting's the hardest part, like Tom Petty said.

It's alright if you love me

It's alright if you don't

I still love Tom Petty songs.

I'm learning to fly but I an't got wings

Coming down is the hardest thing

Hummin' that old Tom Petty song

She wanted me to break her fall

I wanna love you 

God it's so painful when something that's so close

Is still so far out of reach

The town lit up, the world got still

Steady as a Tom Petty track

I wanna write her name in the sky

I wanna free fall out into nothin'

Just good times on the way

Tom Petty on the radio

His Hand

His hand
It's been holding mine for years
It held mine on the day we exchanged vows
and it still has the power of comfort and affection, even after 25 years.

Like when he winds a ringlet of my hair around his finger
or tucks my hair behind my ear
Or when he runs the warmth of his hand up my back,
beneath my shirt and touches me skin to skin
I know he is a gentle man.

His hand
It holds my face before he kisses me on the lips,
It holds my hand in a parking lot or during an evening walk
our fingers laced and locked together
His hand heals me.

Like when he rubs out the knots in my shoulders
Or when he puts out his hand as if to say "gimme five"
but he just wants me to put my hand in his hand so he can hold it.
I know this because he's done it for years.

His hand
It lays on my thigh in the car while he drives,
It lays over mine on the couch while we watch TV
and he turns my wedding band in circles around my finger.
His hand warms me.

Like when he picks up my hand randomly and kisses each of my finger tips one by one.
Or when he unapologetically swipes his hand across my rear
even if we're in public or someone else is around.
I know from his hand he still wants me.

His hand
It is so much bigger than mine, with the calluses of a hardworking man
and the touch of a loving husband and father
It cradles and protects mine.
His hand supports me.

The warmth of his skin, the gentle strength in his touch
I love to hold his hand as much now as I ever did
when we walk into someplace strange
when we walk around the block.
Forever, I'll hold his hand.

Word Press Challenge

"Shit! Boooob, come back here!" Bob always knew when the mail was coming, and Sarah should have known better than to leave the doggie door open.  He was sitting beside the picture window staring longingly at the bluejays in Mrs. Fellenbacher's bird feeder across the street when the mailman pulled up. He always had a doggie treat for Bob. Without warning, he let out an anticipatory bark and darted out for the mailbox.

As if things like this never happened before, Sarah nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise, knocking over the expensive bottle of Genuine Vermont Maple Syrup. With a gasp she lunged her body across the table to save the glass bottle from crashing to the floor and making a sticky mess. But her arm slammed over the edge of the plate catapulting it off the table and onto the floor. "Shit!" she shouted again. "At least I saved the syrup."

Bob was off and running and she could already hear Mrs. Fellenbacher, the neighbor shouting,"Teh, teh, teh. Get! Get!" She didn't know whether to run after Bob or clean up her mess. The mess and her half-written thank you note would have to wait. She took off running. "Bob. Bob, come back here." She was relieved to see Bob sitting beside the mail jeep gladly accepting a scratch behind the ear and chewing on a doggie biscuit. She thanked the mailman and he handed her the mail.

Bob followed Sarah back to the house as she flipped through the pile of junk mail to find a letter at the bottom. Elated, she exclaimed to Bob, "It's a letter from Grandma!" Sarah didn't even need to flip the envelope over for the return address, because Grandma always hand wrote letters with a fountain ink calligraphy pen. She opened it feverishly to find just what she was hoping for. A ticket to visit her this summer in Vermont.

It's the Simple Things

Waking late to a sunlit room 

Singing birds outside the window

Two cups of coffee and a bowl of granola,

still in my pajamas

It's the simple things

Floating in the Gulf

Sand between my toes

An SPF 30 protected kiss from the warm summer sun,

bringing color back to my cheeks

It's the simple things

A turkey sandwich, chips, and Pellegrino

An afternoon nap

A double head shower with waterfall pressure,

raining down over my body

It's the simple things

A relaxing dinner with my family

A hazy pastel sunset over an uncrowded beach

Coffee ice cream on a chocolate sprinkle cone,

in the late evening hours

All these things, 

priceless, joyful, simple.