Theatre Under the Tent

The nights were humid as the summer's haze coated our skins under the tent as we all fell asleep.  I no longer feared to dream without a blanket, as that was not an option.  Also, I became eager to welcome the performance of the spiders with no reservations.  They pranced like ballerinas on their stilted bent legs starting off with plié (without jumping), including the tendu.  It was interesting how they remained balanced upside down being fluid and graceful as their bodies were grey-brown tutus.  They circled each other as the reflection from my flashlight was their spotlight.  I was careful not to move like a loyal patron of the arts afraid any jolt will frighten them away.  How grateful I was that they never fell on my face. Tchaikovsky and Prokofiev (famous ballet composers) and many others would of been extremely proud of their eloquent European movements.  Thank goodness! I no longer had anxiety of the spiders.  How amazing my fears magically disappeared as I lay motionless like a stiff corpse. Showtime was as usual, the actors and actresses climbed from their places appearing exactly after midnight.  Obviously, I had the best seat in the house while my camp mates quietly slept.  I had no idea and could careless how these creatures of nature entered the tent.  Overall, I was grateful for the silent lullaby performances that never failed by peacefully putting me to sleep.

Trail Mix

It was difficult to sleep on my very first night, as I tried in vain to listen for the silence of nature.  This was my first trial out in the wild with no warning or stories to calm my fear inside.  Strangely,  the others in the tent perfectly sound asleep.  Again, my idle brain began to wander back home where I thought I left all my fears.  I am not a good gambler, therefore, my bet to move up a bunk from the ground floor did not pay off.  At night I was met by the puppet masters who were dangling images of daddy long legs (spiders).  Too terrified to scream or even gulp my eyes stayed glued to spiders who dared to perform for free.  I didn't want to be their audience, but they demanded my presence.  The glare from my blaring flashlight kept them alive and well, as they enjoyed the spotlight like actors on a stage from hell.  Interesting how they entertained my fears putting me slowly too sleep, unlike the counting of sheep.  The next day, I woke to the sound of the dining bell chiming.  Instantly, we grabbed our clothes onto our skin as some rolled out of their garments from bed.  Like military soldiers darting quickly into space we lined up for the breakfast march.  Camp began to settle slowly onto my bones living in the rural was not so bad after all.  As a skinny lanky kid with legs of straw the rations began to make a place on my bones.  While walking back to the camp site with the sun holding firmly onto our backs, my thoughts floated back to home, as if at any moment I would be walking back through the family's front door.  

Dinner and Night

While sitting on my bunk the sun's reflection rested upon my head,.  Soon afterward, the dinner bell rung with a melancholy chime, reminding me of the sound of the Gregorian mellows that would disturb the dead.  We quickly jumped (as told) off our bunks, and lined up to march back down to the dining hall to dine with all the campers.  The food was the most I could get out of it, as my eyes opened wider than a baby crying from its mouth. My counselor noticed my composure, unlike my camp mates who dashed towards their line of choice.  So she held my hand and took me to a serving line.  I thought all was well until she turned and walked back to the table, then my knees began to shake.  Standing alone was never something I crafted, but now it was sink or swim.  The server looked at me and shook his head very pleased that I said "thank you" and "please".  My  favorite item was the pancakes because of the ability to eat as much as you could, like any pancake house.  Servings were gracious and received my bow of courtesy, as I moved from one station to the other.  Even a nibbling mouse would roll on its back laughing with glee to eat so much cheese.  After we digested our pleasures a man directed the crowd to sing "Peanut butter" and "my spaghetti that rolled onto the floor," which are the most of the lyrics I can now remember.  I began to reflect on the days when myself and the siblings would sing into the whirlwind fan, spewing out trickles of gurgling lyrics.  I never knew how to sing alone as the person always standing as backup, but at camp did nicely and learned to chime in.  After a good stuffing of introductions by the camping directors, we lined back up and took the plight to our campsite.  It was a bit of a dusty evening, as the sun tried to hide it tail as best as could be behind the skinny hills.  Perhaps, the sun also had a little too much of a fill, like the feedings from the dining hall.   A little bit into the walking moment, I glanced up and spotted the sun still struggling to rid itself.  But like a child played hide and seek before trying to get indoors with a good night.  We kicked a few pebbles while laughing with each other, holding hands as partners until the familiar sight of the green sheeted castle (tent) slowly came into view.  For some strange reason or another I embraced the moment and threw myself into the belly of my bed.  It was a strange nurturing feeling as I felt a motherly love attached to its threads.  Some campers changed in the space between the beds and one of us changed under the sheets to avoid the stares.  The night blanketed the camp and the moon tried its best to dangle some light between the flaps, even when Jacky snapped the sides together.  I never knew such  darkness, but the darkness recognized me.  After having a bit of scare with chipmunks outside, I nerved up and begged my soon-to-be close camp friend Tiera, who I thought had a peculiar name, if we could switch bunks.  So with pleasure and empathy she jumped off the top and gave me her bed.  I counted myself lucky, even if the sheep did not put me to bed.  So after midnight, I became restless and decided to climb down the bunk into my suitcase.  After moving around the clothes as quietly as could be, I located the flashlight my mother sent with me.  It was on the checklist, but as usual she always managed to suit herself and sometimes making a little situation a little bit worse.  It was a heavy duty yellow rimmed device that even a fisherman could use when out on the rocky seas at night.  The flashlight had eyes larger than a saucer and a silver moon glare, enough to scare anyone who dares.  I held onto it for dear life, as I climbed back quietly in my nightgown onto my mattress.  Then I told myself good night.

Rest in Peace

After walking for no more than 20 minutes from the bus depot, we arrived at an opening, just slightly uphill at the campground with a path that showed signs of traffic.  Our section was a bit isolated from the other tents, which made the camping experience surreal.  It was no joke!  I am into the woods and the only way out is down the hill that we came.  My counselor motioned us to a particular tent that would be our castle.  It looked a bit forbidden, but Jacky gently pulled the flaps apart, and peered inside as if she was afraid of the unknown.  She sighed with a smile of relief and waved for us to enter.  Our tent was pitched on a sturdy plywood based platform, that was high enough to keep us from scrapping up soil into the entrance, and to keep any little critters from finding a home.  There were four sets of bunk beds with two on each side with enough space to rock and roll.  I struggled to lift my suitcase that contained every clothing, except my dressy clothes.  Again, I wondered if I would ever return back home.  With no time to linger on that thought I tried to lift my suitcase.  My campmate saw my cheeks puffing as I held my breathe to lift the butt of the suitcase off the ground.  I am sure my suitcase was grateful for the lift.  With a hard thump, the swollen belly of my suitcase was standing like a tub right smack in the middle of the bunks.  To avoid further embarrassment, I claimed the bed where I stood.  Next, like a sailor who drank his last Dark Rum and Coke, I unbuckled my plaid red coat.  Yes, the beginning of the journey has ended, yet another would soon take its place.  My eyes flickered in the dim setting as the sun was also eager to get us all to bed.  Interesting how the other girls were so happy and eager to claim their bunks.  Some jumped others rolled another even did a cartwheel on the floor. But I couldn't fathom why everyone, except myself, was so thrilled.  In the meanwhile, I began to take inventory scanning with my eyes the bunk frames.  They were the reproduction of the body of some type of sturdy tree, possibly of pine with stains of green embedded in the creases of the wood.  Also, the mattress was thinner than the one on my bed at home.  After examining, I concluded this was a trap and my mother will be coming for me soon, but that was wishful thinking.  For the next three weeks this will be home.  Next, we were instructed by Jackie (my counselor) to introduce ourselves.  She was very pleasant, as I stated, so it was easy to oblige.  We were assigned draws to place our garments.  Again, the girls quickly ran to their bags and started to unpack their belongings as if we were all placing bets at a betting shop.  Patiently, I stood in place waiting for them to claim all the draws when Jackie pointed for me to start as well.  My mother told me to leave all my things in the suitcase, as if there were built draws and pockets.  I left her orders, as an echo in my mind, and placed a few items in the draw.  There was a moment of silence as my unzipping of the suitcase caused everyone to slightly pause.  The only thing missing was an orchestra to introduce the next scene.  I slowly pulled out my nightgown and a quilted sky blue robe with ribbons that buttoned down the front.  My slipper, I placed on my bunk with the fleece pajamas, being careful that they did not land on the dusty platform.  One camper pointed, and with bravery inquired if I will wear that outfit to bed.  I never turned to look, but shook the back of head with a nod of "yes".  Like a magician ready to pull a rabbit out of his hat, they stood still wondering what was next.  I had not the courage to dare venture out another garment as most of them were a bit worn.  Finally this was my chance, as I played the moment of silence in my head, to bury the dreaded red plaid Westminister Abbey coat deep into the draw, finally it can rest in peace.  

Ready for the Post

As I stood gazing at the ground, a tiny spot of water landed in between the parted hair on top of my head.  As I bravely looked upward, the month of June began to shower her likeness of me softly onto my face.  The light blue sky reminded me of the plane ride from England, as myself, mother and siblings headed towards my grandmother in the United States.  It was a ripping moment, as my memory floated up over my head trying to run behind laughing clouds that were rolling away.  It was at that moment, time stood frozen.  I remember wiggling my little hands from the grasp of my father at the airport to join my siblings, who were already in line for boarding, along with my mummy--that's what many English children called their mothers.  He had taken me to the restrooms and we became detached from the family.  How quickly my life would of changed, if he held on a little tighter.  It was not any different from boarding the bus for camp, except that my mother was eager to send me.  Nevertheless, I blinked my eyes, to forget about that daunting moment, that haunts me unto this day.  Perhaps, history repeated itself again at nine years old, but in a different context?  Now back to my story.  After the tiredness of twisting my feet inward and outward softly on the green baby moss, like the heaviness sight of the gothic erected  Westminister Abbey-- the plaid red coat my back, finally my name was called.  I was instructed to lineup with a group of young girls, who sneered as we met each others eyes.  But, with no more than a rabbit's jump, I landed perfectly into my place in line.  Also, my counselor name was "Jackie" who was a petite, fair-complexioned, yet olive in flavor and pleasant young woman that helped me overcome challenges.  Now, I will gladly discuss in more details my relationship with Jackie further on in my future blogs.  At the sound of the whistle, and the blaring of the camp trumpet--as if we were all off to the races--the six little camper girls marched forward into the pine-smelling woods.  My green-blue suitcase (unknown to me) was on its own future mission, as it purposely dug its invisible heels into the unearthed soil, leaving a trail behind me.  All in all, the sun peeked between the treetops and graced us with her shine by beaming heavy on our little heads.

No Bones About It

Peering out the bus window with a lump stuck in my throat, dreading the embarrassment of claiming my own world stuffed into one big green-blue hideous suitcase.  As the second to the last rider to exit the bus, I dragged my feet slowly for the soles on my cruddy shoes were already at a good tear.  I refused right away to put on the "Skippy" flat sneakers (called Trainers in London), as instructed by my mother, to wear as I arrived at the camp.  The shadow that I thought left me at the bus stop still loomed.  My mother's ranting clinking in my head reminding me that wherever I go someone will be watching me.  With that thought in my mind, like a chipmunk searching for someplace to scamper, I dragged my suitcase a few feet away from the bus, and changed into the commanding flat pair sneakers.  Soon afterwards, I joined the line and like a brigade stood stiffly waiting for my name to be called.  My hair with brown-golden hues that shone reddish in the sun covered one part of my face from fear.  My head was slightly bowed down, as I stared at the ground beneath my ability to purposely turn inward my feet.  It was soft and covered with green baby moss that gave my feet an unusual balance.  I called it Mother Earth in my head relieving me with a sigh of comfort. Fairly, it gave me a sense of peace to know that I was standing on some type of spiritual ground.  At nine years old, I knew my inner peace would come from the surroundings of the camp, it was a strange feeling, as if I belonged to the camp and it belonged to me.

Camp Bus Ride

My mother gave me a short "push" motioning me to step up the stairs onto the bus, as the driver placed my over-sized suitcase under the bus.  It was a huge, hideous, green-blue with a large silver buckle to fasten the zippers-- that she tied with a "twisty" from the Ziploc bags-- to keep from sliding out of its place.  I was too stiff to turn and wave goodbye to my mother, but I can hear the thundering of her heels losing sound as she walked away.  The stares I encountered while seeking a seat on the bus was as if the shiny silver buttons, on my long trench plaid red and green coat, were traffic lights.  All eyes were on me, but I was not uncomfortable because of my longtime experience of feeling out of place.  The bus engine shocked then gurgled and we were off on the road to camp.  I held onto the top of the bus seat as we swerved gently around the bend.  Downtown waved goodbye and the road grabbed the wheels.  We arrived like ants on a mound, descending from the bus.  Finally, I arrived at my first day of camp.

Camping Without Walls

It was a sunny day, but I didn't feel the sun's shine.  I never left home without the other three siblings we were always glued to each others shadow.  I knew the day was coming like the warning from the principal's school letter informing my mother that I need more social skills.  So she agreed to send me off to summer camp.  It was a quiet breakfast before we headed to the old green painted station wagon.  It was my mother's first car and we thought it was a grand engine until my friend told me it was like the Brady Bunch.  But it took us where we no longer had to walk to the grocery store or laundry house.  We arrived at the landing as instructed in the directions to the pickup location.  She was always a tickler for following the rules so we drove exactly 25 mph and not a mile over.