Aug
25
I didn’t write much publicly about helping with a children’s grief camp last summer. It was right in the midst of the divorce and buying my house and in retrospect I can hardly believe I managed to do anything at all, much less spend a week in such a demanding environment. But this camp gives back more than it asks, and I know I was processing loss and sorrow and change just like everyone around me. It was so bolstering to be among such good caring people, and I felt the exact same way this year.
The Courageous Kids camp has been going on for 30 years here in the Eugene area, serving children affected by the death of a loved one. I learned about the organization through hospice and have been working with them for a while now, in support groups and also a day camp earlier this summer. It sounds like depressing stuff — grieving children! — and it can be sad and heavy at times, but mostly it is a wonderful chance to be in a unique role with kids. Not their mom or teacher, someone who can listen and support and joke and cat-herd and just kind of share part of their world that might be hard to access in regular life.
We had a variety of ages: littles, middles, and teens. The littles were often a mercurial bunch, buffeted by too-big feelings about everything and prone to foot-stomping and weepy meltdowns. I really cannot say enough about the endlessly patient folks who were their cabin counselors, gently ferrying these kids through the days and nights with the most creative suggestions and distractions while always, always listening.
As a parent, when you consider a job that involves working with kids I think it’s logical to assume that you can simply draw upon your own parenting experiences and skills. But the way these young cabin staff members could talk to kids, acknowledging their feelings while expertly pivoting them towards solutions — it was really something. Of course, these are not our own children, but I kept thinking how my own tendency might be to say something like “Hey knock that shit off!!” as opposed to, say, “I hear that you’re wanting to get to the next activity, but our friends are still playing, so I wonder if we could find something else fun to do for right now?”
I do think I fall short in the teacher-vibe department (my cabin-mate is a special ed teacher and the way she could use her voice and words with young kids was BEYOND impressive) but I can bring humor to the table, and that’s my own personal best way in with all the ages. Silly jokes with the younger kids and brainrot with the older ones, and the feeling like I am their ancient crumbling mummy-dust peer of sorts. I know that sounds very HOW DO YOU DO, FELLOW KIDS and it’s not NOT that, but is at least a well-meaning version of that.
A bunch of us were sitting at the art cabin one afternoon and one of the teen girls randomly told me, “You look like some nice old lady.” I burst out laughing and teased her for that and for a while afterwards when I would see her I would wave an imaginary cane and tell her she was such a sweet little girl and then sometimes I would cackle like a witch and she would double over giggling. “I was kidding,” she’d say. “What’s that??? I CAN’T HEAR YOU, DEARIE,” I’d respond, groping blindly in the air.
There was swimming and art-making and singing and chef-made kid-friendly meals and candletimes for remembering loved ones and sand tray activities and games, four long busy days and nights in a beautiful setting. Swallows drawing giant swooping curlicues in the air and feeding nested babies in the lodge rafters, the glittering Fall Creek reservoir nearby, the great rising swell of cricketsong in the evenings.
It feels like such an incredible honor to have been part of this camp, and I am particularly grateful to have had the chance to go back. Last year was a bit of a fever dream, and this time I felt like I had more to give. But whatever I was able to contribute, I was paid in dividends. I can’t begin to assign a value to the experience of being in such a caring community. I’ll be there every year they’ll have me, just some nice old lady soaking up the good parts of humanity.
Aug
15
One thing I was told about Miss Mabel Dawg is that despite being the barkiest of the breeds she was not in fact a barker. And you know, the first few weeks I had her, she was pretty dang quiet! But I will say now that she is a comfortable and confident little Ween she has Found Her Voice. It is a very very very very loud voice that is not only noisesome but shrill, designed to be heard from underground badger lairs and ignite human eardrums with a rusty lighter.
That is perhaps her most unfortunate quality because while she is a wildly clever little thing she also has fat rough-chop lines of crushed Adderall where certain brain cells should be. Every now and then she will catch sight of herself in a mirror and oh my GOD, the insanity. WHO IS THAT OTHER DOG?!??! THE ONE THAT IS IDENTICAL TO ME AND MY SURROUNDINGS IN EVERY WAY THEY MUST DIE BY SONIC WEAPONRY
Her other embarrassing quirk is how she behaves when new people come to the house. Dylan, her biological sibling, is the exception, she is used to him and does not act like a stage-12 weirdo, but other people get the intense Mabel treatment which is to be barked at in a frenzy then smothered in way too much attention while simultaneously having their shit wrecked or stolen. My sweet friend Patrice had her prescription sunglasses filched from her purse and chewed before either of us even realized. Other people must endure Mabel obsessively crawling into their lap, nibbling them, and basically trying to wear them as a skinsuit while also barking every time they get up, so it’s all kind of A LOT with visitors.
She is a hot mess really but god I love this dog, and I love how she and Billy have evolved into such a hilarious odd couple. Their behavior is endlessly entertaining to observe, a mix of nonstop wrestling and play-fighting with some moments of peace/tolerance/affection and partnered mischief. (Their big combo move is for Billy to knock something off the counter and then Mabel takes off with it.)
Mabel has certainly changed the dynamic with Billy, and I do sometimes miss the quieter just-us phase I had with him. I do my best to make sure he still gets individual attention, which sometimes just means putting him above Mabel’s leapzone for pettins. He also sleeps with me at night while Mabel is nearby in her crate. I think he does enjoy having a constant source of play, and while Mabel tends to be the more enthusiastic/annoying participant in their shenanigans, Billy can definitely give as good as he gets. He can also be a deeply hilarious instigator, darting at Mabel and then skittering away sideways in Halloween mode, or exploding out from under the bed to crocodile-roll her.
These are two extremely smart, affectionate, and high-demand pets, and they truly fill my life. I have not had a moment of loneliness with them in my house, and while that includes being able to go to the bathroom without someone or someones right at my feet or moaning outside the door, I would not trade it for anything. Sure, my home is always a mess now with toys and fur and Folexed carpet stains and I can’t have knickknacks or good furniture or houseplants, it’s logistically overwhelming and expensive to leave town for even one night, my bank account is routinely drained by vet bills and pet food, I am officially the crazy divorced lady with a giant cat and a tiny yappy dog, every article of clothing and shoes I own has been dragged around the house and nibbled, every time someone goes by the house barking ensues and I live on a fairly busy street, I can’t stay out for long without feeling like I need to come home to them, I cannot eat a single bite of food without two starving maniacs swarming me, Billy has ransacked my jewelry drawer so many times I can only find a couple matching earrings any more, and every time I open a door to the outside or the garage I have to figure out how to get one aging human body through the opening while simultaneously stopping two small lightning-fast shitweasels from escaping, but SOMEHOW, the pros outweigh the cons.
They are such different animals and such a sensory delight in their own way. Billy is as soft as a cloud, a giant downy duckfuzz fluffapotomus whose belly fur I can bury my face in. Mabel is a bony sleek creature like a baby deer with the softest ears and face, and never happier than when she is right up against me in some way. They both smell like bread and sunny dusty attics and fritos and afternoon naps. Sometimes when I am very very lucky I get to cuddle them both at the same time and it is the best feeling. I love them so fiercely, I’m so happy they are such a big part of my life.
I can’t imagine wanting to share my home with anyone else.
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