Happy F-ing B-day America

blah, blah. spent most of the day on the beach. blah, blah, moved green turtle nests this morning. blah, blah, chilled on the NPS beach. blah, blah, brakes seized on the triz. blah, blah, wasted afternoon fixing it. blah, blah, went to irish. blah, blah, thought about you. busy day... i am tired.

Wash Your Worries Away

I love rain... there is comfort in its renewal... wiping the slate clean; rejuvenating; invigorating. i love walking in it, but i also love the safe feeling of shelter when you are hiding from it. I love the mesmerizing clouds. i love the sound; like plugging your ears in the shower and letting the water run on your head. i love how it smells after it rains. I love the puddles and the track you get up your back when you ride your bike through one. i love that showers bring flowers...

A Special Place

Seventeen weeks of my life I spent in a secret place; a magical place. It was a place where dreams really did come true. Though those that knew me in my everyday life didn’t know about this place, nor did they, or could they understand the profound influence it had on my life. Growing up, the highlight of my year was going to MDA camp.

As a child MDA camp was a place to go to be normal; a place without limits. A place where the impossible became possible. A place where kids confined to wheelchairs could go swimming in the lake, boating, fishing. A place to dance... The memories play in slow motion like a slideshow set to the song “love can build a bridge”.

As I grew into my late teens I switched from being a camper to a volunteer. I didn’t need camp to break down any physical barriers for me anymore… but it was important that I be there to help break down those barriers for my friends. We started going to camp at the age of 6… we grew up together. I always felt a sense of guilt that I never got worse… but my friends did. Some of the long-time volunteers used to tell me how important it was that I be there… that seeing me seemingly beating the disease was inspiring to my friends that were losing their fight. I never felt that way. I didn’t want to be inspiring, I, like the others wanted to be normal; not an all-star athlete or a guitar hero, just normal. I was almost normal, but not. I vividly remember one friend, Robert, asking me out of the blue why the disease hadn’t progressed in me; as if I was stronger than him, or if there was something that I was doing that he wasn’t…not that I was just lucky… He died the next year just before camp; his sister wrote a note to us telling us how much he loved camp and how it lifted his spirits every year. One of the older volunteers read the note to the newer volunteers in the cabin so that they could hopefully realize how important this week was to the campers. I never went to his funeral, never acknowledge his passing until the first words of the letter were being read. Then it poured out. We know the fate of most of the campers at camp years ahead of time... But it doesn’t make it any easier.

The older I got, the more I was able to control my emotions. Camp is an emotional place and leaving every year was hard. I remember the first year that didn’t cry when I left camp. I actually felt more upset that I didn’t cry. What did it mean? Was camp not special anymore? Camp was still special. But for me it had lost its innocence. As my generation of campers grew older the harsh reality of life could not be avoided. While it took the letter to come to terms with the loss of Robert, I still haven’t acknowledged the loss of my longtime partner in crime Ramon… The time has come though... in a couple weeks I will tell Ramon’s story, with the much needed closure.

For years at camp we referred to the real world as the other 51 weeks of the year. But for many campers MDA camp is their only chance to experience the real world, to feel normal, to come off the sidelines and be in the game. Camp is the real world. Camp is what is good in the world. In one special week everybody at camp—volunteers and campers alike--are exposed the deepest depths of humanity. You find in you the compassion, love, and spirit of life.

Today I experience camp through my mom. For about 6 or 7 years she has closed her beauty shop for the day and taken her employees to camp to cut hair for the camp prom. Prom is probably the most important night at camp. Most of the kids don’t get to go to their high school prom. So this is their opportunity to get dressed up, get their hair done, and dance. I am proud of my mom for doing this. I think she understands the importance of camp to everybody, and I think she recognizes how important it was in my life. I think this is her way of giving back and being close to me.

So tonight my thoughts are with the campers cuttin’ up rugs on the shore of Lake Huron.

Symbol of Freedom--Gone

Its true... Seven months of flaming red bristles protruding from my chin; vamoose. The Obama Freedom Beard is gone, but what it represents is not... The decision was not an easy one, but just as wearing a flag on your lapel does not signify patriotism, growing a goatee does not necessarily represent freedom... however, I can't think of a better symbol of freedom than a goatee...

Here is your last look-
Your welcome mother.

Winds of Change

So ECT lost the District contract for my job which means that after October I would have to be employed by another contractor if I wanted to keep my job at the refuge... Well ECT has offered to create me a position in New Smyrna. I would be the only ecologist on this side of the state and they have lots of work for me. Things have kind of gone stale here at the refuge and I have pretty much plateaued in terms of professional development... so I am seriously considering selling my soul to consulting to take my career to the next level... plus I am only guaranteed one more year at the refuge after Oct anyway. I don't really have any more details, but it is somewhat reassuring to have options. This place has been interesting. I have learned a lot about myself and the universe. Many of those lessons have been humbling and many have been enlightening... i need to reflect...

For you

The rains have come. I picked these for you.

Somebody Woke Up on the Wrong Side of the Hive

Remember that scene in Tommy Boy when Chris Farley and Dave Spade got pulled over by the police and jumped out pretending that they were being attacked by bees? Well that sort of happened to me this morning. Right as I was going through the security check point at KSC a bee stung me on the neck then fell further down my back stinging me several more times. I reached back and the bastard stung me on my hand too. I proceeded through the check station, pulled over and jumped out of the Triz flailing like I was having a seizure on the dance floor at Market Street on 80's night... the coast was clear. Then about an hour later I got back in the Triz and Mr. Bee was chillin on my shoulder. I tried to fling him out the window but missed... Thankfully though, I never saw him again... The throbbing pain sort of made me laugh; certainly woke me up.