Battle of the Bands Results AND Monday Bullets (aka The Dirt)

First up, Battle of the Band Results. I've got my theories, but this was the least voted battled I've posted in a while. Don't know if you just didn't care for the contenders, the battle was overlooked in our never-ending quest to Get Things Done, or what... BUT, for a Brief Moment this was a very tight battle between Sir Mix A Lot and Richard Cheese. And then it wasn't. (BTW, the song was Baby Got Back) and I think both versions are hilarious and iconic in their own ways. In the end, Sir Mix A Lot ran away with it. Final tally:

Sir Mix A Lot: 11

Richard Cheese: 7

Anyone else notice that if you reverse them you get 7-11? There was a day when I loved 7-11 (as in the convenience store). Let's all say Big Gulp, because I know you want to. As for me and my vote, I'm sincerely torn in this battle. I think the original by SMA is hilarious. If you haven't seen a group of skinny white chicks karaoke this song, you haven't laughed nearly as hard as I have. Funny, funny stuff. On the other hand, the arrangement by Richard Cheese also seriously tickles my funny bone. I guess I 'll vote with the majority on this one for Sir Mix A Lot (my vote doesn't count for anything anyway), but it was a tough call for me.

In other news...

• Thank you, Bryan, for pointing out in my comments on the last post that if I were a terrible or "wanna be" writer he wouldn't bother CPing for me. Ironically, that little gem infused me with some much needed inspiration to tackle my WiP again.
• However, I think there is something to be said for taking a break from your novel when you're in the very unproductive state of writing and deleting. Maybe that is a good time for thinking. Or reading a book by someone else. Or both.
• I just finished Paper Towns by John Green. I'm not sure I can continue to read his books. I'm consistently awed and amazed by how good he is. I then go a through a period of self loathing, wherein I can never write anything even close to that good. Followed by a period of telling myself that we all write differently and no matter what "I will never be John Green" and "the world doesn't need two John Greens anyway."
• My blogging has just sucked. My blog reading has sucked. I wish I could explain this in a satisfactory way. Alas, I cannot.
• I'm strongly considering going back to camp this summer. It sounds innocuous and not a bit scary, right? Wrong. This is a camp I grew up at. Loved. Haven't been to since 1992. It terrifies me on so many levels that I'm not sure I can even list them all. I wanted to go back about five years ago, but didn't because of my migraines. I'm still very worried that the pace of camp will be too much for me and that my migraines will flare up and I will be DOWN. I also fear that it won't be the same magical place I remember. Heck, I know it's changed. I've been to their website. It's changed. Yet, it's still the same. If that makes any sense at all.
• So, I've been dreaming about camp (literally and figuratively), thinking about camp, and trying to work up a strategy to 1) get through camp, while 2) loving going through camp. I'll keep you posted on this one. If I do go, it will mean three weeks this summer of no cell phone, no computer, no internet, no TV, no nothing. Me. Nature. God. Kids. Fun. That's it. It sounds freakin' wonderful, doesn't it????
• I wanted C-Man and H-Girl to go to camp. For one week. They couldn't live without their cell phones that long. Sigh. I wanted to say, but didn't, that they both say they believe in God and Jesus, but they weren't willing to give up their phones. Yet Jesus gave up his life. However, if it takes guilt to get them there, I'm not willing to do it. Jesus wasn't guilted into dying for us. It was a gift. You can either accept it or not. Simple as that. However, it made me think about the things I've been (and not been) willing to give up in my own life. Which makes it tough to throw any stones at anyone else.
• However, the disappointment remains that they will never have the great life-changing camp experience I had. Not because they couldn't have it, but they didn't want it. 
• Last, but certainly not least, we are about to find out who is right about the man in my mother's life. Yes, I'm talking about the one she's been emailing with for the last six months or so. The one I'm sure is a scammer and she's sure is about to be her next husband. He's FINALLY saying he's leaving Australia (where he's been "trapped" by various and sundry issues that I only have vague notions regarding, because I wanted to stay out of that loop). Yesterday she tell me his flight is booked and he'll be here Wednesday night. This morning, she tells me that he said he went to pick up his boarding pass at the airline and was told that me might have some taxes to pay in order to leave. I was like "That is the biggest pile of bologna (thank you Oscar Meyer, or I'd never remember how to spell that word!) I've ever heard." Mom seemed to see the sense in my statement, but still has faith in the dude. Whatever. I'll eat a paper plate if he shows up. My money is on him needing money (from her) to "leave" the country.
• Alas, as you can see, there is disappointment aplenty to be had here. At our meals we pass the fried chicken and the disappointment. You don't get one without the other.

And that is the all the news that is fit (and unfit) to print.

R IS FOR RIFLERY

Image found on photobucket.com

The summer before seventh grade was the first time I went to Stony Glen Camp.  For five weeks during the months of July and August, the Pioneer Girl Organization rented out the site and it was all girls all the time.  That year I went for just one week.  However, I loved it so much that each year I would increase my time at camp until, by the time I was in high school, I was staying for the duration.

Each week every camper participated in three activities every day.  One of the choices was Riflery.  I signed up that first week, even though there was an additional cost, and my money for extras was limited.   It turned out that before anyone was even allowed to touch one of the .22 rifles, there was a list of 10 rules that had to be memorized.  These were Safety Rules.  It became apparent very quickly that this was Serious Business and not Fun and Games.  There was always a sense of Respect on the Range. 

I discovered that I loved to target shoot that first year, even though I was not very good at it.  I continued to shoot every year after that when I came to camp.  As I started staying longer, and staying consecutive weeks, my shooting started showing improvement.

One year we had an Instructor who was Outstanding.  It was actually a He.  He was married to one of our counselors who was there all summer.  He not only taught all of the Riflery classes, but he would let us shoot on our Free Time if we wanted.  If we wanted??? I was there every day.  He also let us shoot the same rifle every time.  They were numbered.  Mine was number 2.  It wasn't perfect.  The sighting was off on it.  However, if I adjusted it slightly below the dark cirlce and to the left, I could cluster my shots in the dark black bulls-eye area.  Under his tutelage, I soared up through the ranks.  Marksman.  Marksman First Class.  Sharpshooter.  If I'd had a few more weeks with him, I don't know how high I'd have climbed!!!  It was a wonderful experience.

Take a deep breath.  Sight just slightly below and to the left of the black dot on the target.  Let half of my breath out.  Slowly pull the trigger.   Repeat five more times.  Done.   Wait until the "All Clear On the Range."  Go get that target.

After I graduated CILT, graduated college, and quit that job in New York, I had a chance to go back to camp for one summer as a counselor.  They needed a Riflery Instructor.  So, I went through a Training Class with the NRA and was Certified.  It was one of the most rewarding and scary things I have ever done.  For those five weeks, it was MY job to make the girls in my class not only better marksmen, but to always respect the weapon.  I had one Hard Head during those five weeks, who probably will be responsible for a few of my gray hairs in the future, but I think even she got The Message by the time it was all said and done.

Example of an Idiot with a Firearm:

image found on facebook

Rating: Passion  

Have you ever been to the gun range and fired a rifle or handgun?  If so, did you take a class or have an instructor who made you feel the responsibility of being safe with your gun at all times?  Did you experience a thrill when you learned how to shoot accurately at the target?   Have you ever thoroughly enjoyed something that you never thought that you would?

DAY 17: LETTER TO SOMEONE FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD

Dear Stony Glen Camp,

The first time I set foot on your grounds was the summer between sixth and seventh grade. I only stayed for one week, but I knew I would come back the following summer. I loved everything about you. I had no idea when I signed up to take Riflery as one of my three summer activities that it would turn into something that I loved. Loved and Respected. The cabin I stayed in that summer didn't have electricity; in fact, most of the cabins didn't have electricity, so I became well acquainted with where my flashlight was at all times. I never was all that keen on swimming in the lake, but I loved to slip down there alone at quiet times for contemplation and reflection. This was church camp, and I was doing a lot of thinking about God, Jesus, me, and how that picture all fit together.

One of the things I loved best was all of the singing. We sang after each meal in the dining hall. After breakfast, the counselors who played guitar strapped them on, and we sang songs about God. Some of them were so pretty that they squeezed my heart hard. At lunch and dinner, the high schoolers led the songs. They didn't stand up or anything. They just took control by leading. Those were all fun songs acapella style. At night, we broke apart by division and did an evening activity. Those were always so much fun. That meant that four or five cabins would join up (girls all in the same age range). I don't remember so well now what the fun things were that first year. I know that as time went on one of my all-time favorites was Capture The Flag. After the fun was over, we always made a campfire, sang some more, a counselor gave the message, and then we went to bed. I always slept really well at camp.

My riflery obsession eventually led me to try my hand at archery. I never was quite as good an archer as I would have liked. I also became dissatisfied very quickly with just one week of camp. One week quickly turned into two weeks. Two eventually turned four. I would have stayed five, but I was too old by that time. I was already there for the duration of camp. I liked camp so much that I took the Camper In Leadership Training Program (CILT) when I was in high school. That took two years of overall time and two weeks of camp time for two years.

That second year of camp it hit me like a rocket launcher that at the end of the second week I would no longer be a camper. I would graduate CILT, and they would expect me to be a counselor. That meant that I could no longer hang out with my friends. My days of living at Sam Grey were over. This was devastating. Sam Grey was the best place ever. Sam Grey was this A-Frame house with electricity set far away from the rest of the camp, where the high school kids lived. Sam Grey was the bomb. I never wanted to leave Sam Grey. How did I not see this coming? Ironically enough, the theme song for camp this year couldn't have explained my predicament any better than I could. The chorus started like this: "Mmmmm I want to linger, Mmmm a little longer, Mmmm a little longer here with you." We sang it every day. Check that. Everyone but me sang it every day. I cried through it every day. Two weeks of crying.

Adulthood was coming for me and I wasn't ready. They didn't put it in the manual. I checked. I kept praying for time to stop or slow down and it steadily moved forward until the day of graduation. One day I was a camper and the next I wasn't. Snap. The next three weeks I was a counselor. I was a fairly miserable counselor, but I was a counselor nonetheless. The following summer, after my senior year of high school, I came back as a counselor and it was completely different. I knew I was coming in as a counselor, so this summer was I was perfectly aware that I was a grown up now. Being a counselor this time around was a lot of fun.

Stony Glen Camp, so many of my best memories happened with you. I learned so many things about fire building, riflery, archery, people, and myself, that I wouldn't have learned if not for you. Most people transition into adulthood so seamlessly that they are only vaguely aware that it is happening. One day they wake up and realize that it snuck up on them, passed them by, and they cannot pinpoint the when or the where. That is not my story. I know exactly when and where it happened. It wasn't painless, easy, or desirable. I was dragged through the doors of adulthood kicking, screaming, and crying, because I knew that something beautiful was dying. I would never get it back and there wasn't anything I wanted more. However, you are patient and waited for me to come and appreciate you from my new perspective of adulthood. I did. That next summer I realized it was my privilege to give each girl the wonderful experience that I had every year. If they left with a heart filled with more love, faith, songs, confidence, and joy, then I had done my job.

I haven't been back to see you in almost twenty years, but I can picture you clearly in my mind. The website indicates that you have undergone some changes. I prefer not to think of that. I like to picture you the way I remember you. On those nights when I wake up, and cannot fall back to sleep, I imagine myself in Milner Cabin. It is the only cabin close enough to the waterfalls that you can lie in bed and hear the water as it goes over the falls. When I was in junior high school, I prayed every year that I was placed in Milner Cabin so that I could fall asleep listening to those falls. The sound of those waterfalls is still one of the best sounds I've ever heard.

Love,
Robin


image stolen from Miss Angie at My So-Called Chaos