In the time since I’ve last blogged, a lot has happened to me. I’ve successfully taught over 30 kids how to dive. I’ve been pushed into the lake with all of my clothes on, on numerous occasions. I’ve gotten sunburnt and I’ve gone back to pale. I’ve memorized a million names, traded a gagillion silly bands, and exchanged a countless amount of hugs. But only a few recent events have really prevented me from writing, essentially because it was all too much to handle that I wasn’t ready to process it all in a written form.
Since we last chatted, three counselors left camp and went back home (one of whom was the girl who slept in the bed less than a foot from my bed) and a few other counselors got in a pretty serious car accident. In light of these events, I began to realize something I was only just beginning to skim the surface of, and that’s just how precious time can be. I don’t want to get all melodramatic on you and whatnot, but I’ve spent a lot of time on this blog explaining what this camp is doing for me. Still, I haven’t really expressed my appreciation for that. I don’t want anything to disturb my experience here because I know one week, one day, one hour, one minute will be time too soon to leave.
I also began to realize just how much, in such a short period of time, I’ve come to care so much about the people here. I have been here for almost five weeks now, most of the counselors have only been here for four and the kids have only been here for three. Yet still, in that time, amazing things have happened, things I didn’t begin to notice until the possibility of them falling apart seemed plausible. I didn’t know I cared so much until I was put into that position and my heart, my gut, and my head made me realize it.
Alright, enough of the dramatics, let’s get to the real heart of this blog:
In an effort to shed some light on what exactly I meant when I told people “this summer I am working at a sleep-away camp, like The Parent Trap!” I wanted to dedicate a blog entry on the daily happenings here at camp. Other than special events, like the Fourth of July, every day goes pretty much exactly the same way.
7:15 AM – As the responsible camp counselor I am, I have to get up before the kids so I can spend the rest of the morning helping them get ready. So, at this time, I peel myself out from my cocoon of blankets in attempt to prepare myself for the day.
7:30AM – Wake the girls up. From this time until breakfast it is up to me and the able minds of two other counselors to make sure each girl has brushed her teeth, combed her hair, changed her clothes, and put on her shoes. All of these actions are things these 10 year olds can do independently, yet still every morning I find myself sitting on my bed asking the same questions over and over again: “Who has their shoes on?? Who’s brushed their teeth?!” How this morning routine can repeat not only once but every single morning boggles my mind. Yet still, like clockwork, this is how my mornings start.
8:10AM – Breakfast. Meals here at camp are…. not exactly a picnic. Because the tiny dining hall where we fit all of Lower Camp is big enough to house a squirrel and his family, the kids are not allowed to get up and serve themselves. Therefore meals such as breakfast consist of constant children screams such as “FRUIT LOOPS! PB&J! ORANGE JUICE!” At the beginning it was all very overwhelming, but now it feels like more of an organized chaos. I’ve got a food distribution system down, and I’ll be dammed if anyone disturbs it!
8:40AM – Clean up. Back at the bunks the girls finish everything they didn’t have time to do before breakfast. Although most of them see this time as ample time to get to the next level on their DS gameboys, it’s really meant as time to make their beds and put their stuff away.
9:30AM – It is this point in my day where I really feel like the father figure of our little bunk family. As all of the campers prepare for their first period, I say my goodbyes and head off to the pool where I have my first swim lesson. Because I do swim lessons usually about four to five (out of six) periods a day, it all gets very monotonous.
In the morning at the pools, I have the babies of camp (ages 6-8), girls one period, boys the next. This is where I feel most at home with my capabilities of teaching because 1) it’s in a pool and 2) the kids are at a level of swimming where they can actually learn something of value. The older kids have been swimming for awhile and are too used to their form and structure. The babies are more like clay, ready and willing to be molded.
After two periods at the pool, I begrudgingly make my way to the lake. The walk from the pools to the lake is a tough one, only because I know I’m spending the rest of my day there. The lakefront, where we teach the rest of the lessons, is lovingly known (by me) as the ghetto of Lokanda. The kids hate it, and with great reason. They can’t see the bottom, it’s dirty and cold, and there’s fish, snakes, and snapping turtles swimming around like they own the place. What I want to know is who walked up to this lake, saw all of these creatures, and decided it would be a great place for a summer camp. As challenging as adapting to this change in environment can be, it’s still all very exciting. Having to teach in a lake keeps me on my toes, because it’s all very new to me. If there’s anything I’m becoming good at, it’s evaluating each child indendently and figuring out effective teaching methods for them. Working at the lake is also helping me get over my fear of bodies of water where I can’t see the bottom (a fact I left out during my interview, when my head counselor asked if I would like to accept a position as a lakefront lifeguard…).
After the three periods in the morning, it’s lunchtime. Sometimes the days feel like time is counting down to the next time we can eat. At camp, you never really feel hungry. Hunger feels more like an alarm clock. Oh, it’s 1pm? I must be hungry. Meals are such a funny thing here. There is never any quiet; if the kids aren’t screaming what food they want, they’re singing songs and chants. For someone’s birthday, the Lokanda way is not to sing them the traditional happy birthday song, oh no. Lokanda is much too classy for that. Instead, we sing that song, plus another four after that, all totalling in about five minutes worth of singing, dedicated to the birthday child who is forced to stand on a chair and awkwardly watch as this serenade occurs.
One song the kids never seem to get enough of is called “Hil-la-lee” and, if in the real world, might operate as a mating call. If, god forbid, one of the kids sees a counselor talking to another counselor of the opposite sex, said child automatically assume this conversation means they’re dating. After eavesdropping on this captivating conversation, the kids then proceed to make up a rhyme about the two counselors, all in the matter of two minutes. It’s actually quite amazing how quickly they are able to come up with a rhyme (example: one of the counselors name is Francesca, a seemingly difficult name. But that didn’t cause my girls to hesitate, who were able to create this rhyme about her and the guy counselor she was talking to in the span of a minute: “Wherever there’s soda, there is fresca, wherever there is Ree, there’s Francesca. Hil-la-le-la-le-laaaaa).
After lunch is rest hour. Almost always I make plans to do something productive: write for this bad boy of a blog, talk to my mom on the phone, exercise etc etc. But 9 times out of 10, lack of sleep always conquers whatever I initially had planned, and I spend rest hour in my bunk, attempting to nap while all seven girls in my bunk run around on a sugar high.
After rest hour is periods four through six, my morning repeated. After sixth period and before dinner is the campers’ time to shower, a time also known as: remain constant and complete eye contact as these kids run around completely in the buff. It is all a very strange experience. I remember before camp started, my group leader warned us about shower hour and how the kids run around without a care in the world. At the time it didn’t sound very out of the ordinary, but now that I have lived it every day for the past four weeks, I coming to understand why the forewarning was necessary.
Dinner happens and then comes free play, where all the kids stay outside, playing on playgrounds and with each other, as the counselors (besides the ones on duty for free play) get some alone time in the bunk to shower and appreciate the silence. I love free play, whether on duty or not. On duty is a lot of fun, because I get to hang out with all the kids I teach in a non-teacher setting. It’s during my times on duty during free play that I’ve scored the most silly bands. By the time I come home at the end of the summer, my arm is going to be a cornucopia of multicoloured dinosaurs, giraffes, and penguins. I know you’re jealous!
After free play is evening activity. Because I work all six periods of the day, I always get evening activity off. Which is kind of a downer because every so often the evening activities are actually kind of awesome. A few nights ago, all of my girls had a disco with the boys their age. The age their at now is hilarious because they want to put on makeup and talk about boys, but the second they’re forced to occupy the same space as a boy, they forget how to formulate words.
Once they get back from evening activity, it’s bedtime for the campers. My girls go to bed at 9:30, which means my night off begins at 9:31. At this point we check out and do one of the two things there are to do at night in this place: go to the staff lounge to stare at facebook, or go to the local bar to hang out and buy ridiculously overpriced drinks (of soda… of course). It’s not exactly the Ritz, but hey, it’s home, it’s with my friends, and I love it.
My curfew is at 12:30, and by that time I am so completely exhausted from the day I don’t have the energy to do much of anything else but pass out. I set my alarm, check my phone, and fall asleep to the melodious sounds of the girls in my bunk talking in their sleep (“not the needlepoint!”).
It's hard to put into words just how, in every very calculated day, amazing happens. But it sneaks up on ya. A period passes, an hour passes, and it can feel insignificant. But then a moment happens, and it's like in the cartoons, when the light bulb lights up because it all makes sense. From a hug, to a hand hold, to a craft made is Lauren Art. It all seems so ordinary on paper, but when you live it, it's magical. It's those little moments that make every hardship worth it. It's those little moments that are the reason I wanted to come here this summer, and the reason I will most likely return next summer.
Alright, this blog has officially become much too long. Writing here is getting so much harder, from a combination of no computer and no time. I spend a lot of tenda lovin’ care on each blog, and it pains me to have to split up my writing into small increments of time. Because of it I’m beginning to feel like my writing is becoming very disjointed, a feeling that I do not enjoy.
This blog took especially long to write, and for that, I apologize. I put it off and I put it off and then finally when I sat down to write it, so much time had passed I didn’t know how to translate it all into words. Expect another blog very soon of exactly what’s been happening since I stepped onto the 12737 area code. Until then, thank you all who have sent me mail and packages. They are a godsend and I am forever grateful.
Yours,
Megan
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
When It Rains, It Pours
If last week was the honeymoon period, this week was a sharp pull back to reality. Last week, there wasn't much to write about, because there wasn't much going on at camp. No kids were here and only a few counselors inhabitated the huge campus. This week, it was almost as if this universe was pulling me back to remind me: oh wait, this is actually a job, and not a vacation. Fancy that.
The beginning of the staff orientation week began with the rest of the counselors (all 200 of them) coming to camp. Although all with varying accents, ages, home countries, and specialties, we've all come together with the same goal in mind: lets have the best summer possible.
Because I am a lifeguard during the day, and a counselor to the kids at night, the whole staff orientation week felt like a big game of pulling both of my arms in two completely different directions. As a lifeguard, I felt obligated to get all the areas ready and get to know the people I would be working with during the long, hot days. I left most of my sweat on the docks at the lake as I tirelessly scrubbed, cleaned, and painted (getting most of the paint on my own body parts, but still managing to get a little on the docks as well).
Still, as my back ached from running the paint roller across the blindingly white docks in the hot summer sun, I couldn't help but think of all the time I was missing out in getting to know the other counselors that I would not only be working with, but be LIVING with (among you know, 30ish young girls as well).
This apprehension of not getting to know people didn't last long, because the next day I woke up with the most excruciating and mind-numbing pain on the right side of my mouth; so bad that I forgot what life felt like before the pain. (Side note: the pain was localized on a molar that I had received a filling on in March, and had to get checked out later because I began to feel sensitivity, a week before I left for camp. After my California dentist reassured me that no, you will not be needing a root canal, I left the West Coast a strange feeling in my gut because I knew, knowing my luck, I would end up needing that root canal at the most inopportune moment. Like being stranded with limited communication and zero transportation in the mountains of New York State, for example. )
After crying in front of my boss and fellow coworkers not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES, I was able to make an appointment with a local dentist to see if I needed an emergency root canal. While I waved goodbye to everyone boarding buses to go to a local mall, I got ready to leave for my dental appointment. Thanks to the lifesaver that is Carole (my boss) and the sweet little old man Arnie (who's in charge of Nature), I was driven (at approximately 4.2 miles an hour, bless Arnie's lil' heart) to a neighboring dentist in Pennsylvania.
Even though I dread the dentist office 99.9% of the time, the pain had gotten so awful at this point, I practically leaped in the seat and begged these strangers to stick their fingers in my mouth. Plus side, the office had floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Delaware River, which was a nice change in scenery from my California dentist, where the scenery consists of an old popcorn ceiling and posters about Crest White Strips.
While zoning out watching the geese in the river dive for fish, my bird coma was interrupted when the dentist decided the best method to find the tooth that would be needing the root canal would be... TO. PUSH. ON. IT. He jumped nearly 10 feet in his seat when I screamed a scream that could stop traffic in Manhattan (but, in my defense, who's reaction to hi, I'm Megan, my right lower molar hurts is to APPLY PRESSURE?! )
Thanks to the eventual Novocaine, my initial impression of Mr. Dentist Man soon began to change. I drifted into a nice day ream of geese and fish and wondering what life would feel like as a geese diving for fish, all the while trying to not think about the drilling sounds and burning smells coming out of my mouth.
The procedure didn't last long, and when it was over Mr. Dentist Man decided it would be best to leave the gaping hole in my tooth as a gaping hole, so as let the infection drain and have a cotton ball serve as a replacement denture until I could get it filled at another appointment. Maybe it was the Novocaine talking, but this sounded like a swell idea to me as I said my goodbyes and hopped back in Arnie's car.
The rest of the week was a combination of how's your tooth?! and freaking out that there was still so much to do before the kids came that Saturday. Because I am with the little girls (ages 6-9, what was I thinking?!) we spent most of our time unpacking their bags (HUGE economy size bags, that could easily fit two of me and half of the 49ers starting line up), making their beds, folding their clothes, and holding back feelings of jealously and resentment towards our own parents who didn't send us to such a cool camp with such cool gear.
After a staff party on Thursday night where I insisted to the kitchen staff (mostly Mexican) that they absolutely needed to speak to me solomente in espanol when they saw me around camp, the camp dream I had been dreaming for months now seemed closer to becoming a reality.
Friday was chaos day. I spent most of my time running between lifeguard stations at both the lake and the pool helping last minute details, and with the other counselors making glittered up welcome signs for the campers. By the time I laid my head on my pillow that night, I took one last deep breath, appreciating the silence that would soon disappear in mere hours.
The next day, Camper! Welcome! Day!, felt similar to a high school graduation.... for a high school I never attended. As new faces (for me) got off the buses from Florida, Long Island, and New Jersey, I helplessly sat by all the returning counselors ran at abnormal speeds to get the first hugs from the kids they hadn't seen for ten months.
After this initial reunion, we divided all the campers into their separate age groups (There's 750 kids that divide into Lower, Middle, and Upper Camp ranging from ages 6-17. I'm in Lower Camp that's divided further into the Frosh- ages 6-8, Soph- ages 8-9, and Debs- ages 9-10. I have the Debs, otherwise know as the "old timers" in Lower Camp), and attempted to begin ice breaker games in the least awkward way possible.
Because it's only been a day since I've been with my girls, it's all still very get-to-know-you. Besides me, there is literally one other red headed girl counselor in the entire camp and, of course, she's in the bunk next to me. Because of this, all of our campers constantly confuse us, deciding instead that we're not "Megan" and "Jennifer" but sisters, who will respond to both names. First goal for summer? Make. This. Not. Happen.
I have so much more I can write about, like how strange it is to live with seven nine-year-olds 24/7, or how extremely hard it is to have absolutely no "me time", or how standing in the sun for six hours straight is so draining, or how every single moment can be so tiring, yet completely rewarding at the same time. But, alas, I have run out of internet time. (This job is seriously testing my write-under-pressure-and-time-constraints.)
I'm sorry for the length, I can often write with no end in sight. But, forewarning, I could write for so much longer. I'll try and keep it down so as to not lose readers, but just plan to proceed for caution in the future :)
I hope everything is well on the Golden Coast. Send me mail! It's really the only form of entertainment we have here.
Love you all.
Best,
Megan
The beginning of the staff orientation week began with the rest of the counselors (all 200 of them) coming to camp. Although all with varying accents, ages, home countries, and specialties, we've all come together with the same goal in mind: lets have the best summer possible.
Because I am a lifeguard during the day, and a counselor to the kids at night, the whole staff orientation week felt like a big game of pulling both of my arms in two completely different directions. As a lifeguard, I felt obligated to get all the areas ready and get to know the people I would be working with during the long, hot days. I left most of my sweat on the docks at the lake as I tirelessly scrubbed, cleaned, and painted (getting most of the paint on my own body parts, but still managing to get a little on the docks as well).
Still, as my back ached from running the paint roller across the blindingly white docks in the hot summer sun, I couldn't help but think of all the time I was missing out in getting to know the other counselors that I would not only be working with, but be LIVING with (among you know, 30ish young girls as well).
This apprehension of not getting to know people didn't last long, because the next day I woke up with the most excruciating and mind-numbing pain on the right side of my mouth; so bad that I forgot what life felt like before the pain. (Side note: the pain was localized on a molar that I had received a filling on in March, and had to get checked out later because I began to feel sensitivity, a week before I left for camp. After my California dentist reassured me that no, you will not be needing a root canal, I left the West Coast a strange feeling in my gut because I knew, knowing my luck, I would end up needing that root canal at the most inopportune moment. Like being stranded with limited communication and zero transportation in the mountains of New York State, for example. )
After crying in front of my boss and fellow coworkers not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES, I was able to make an appointment with a local dentist to see if I needed an emergency root canal. While I waved goodbye to everyone boarding buses to go to a local mall, I got ready to leave for my dental appointment. Thanks to the lifesaver that is Carole (my boss) and the sweet little old man Arnie (who's in charge of Nature), I was driven (at approximately 4.2 miles an hour, bless Arnie's lil' heart) to a neighboring dentist in Pennsylvania.
Even though I dread the dentist office 99.9% of the time, the pain had gotten so awful at this point, I practically leaped in the seat and begged these strangers to stick their fingers in my mouth. Plus side, the office had floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Delaware River, which was a nice change in scenery from my California dentist, where the scenery consists of an old popcorn ceiling and posters about Crest White Strips.
While zoning out watching the geese in the river dive for fish, my bird coma was interrupted when the dentist decided the best method to find the tooth that would be needing the root canal would be... TO. PUSH. ON. IT. He jumped nearly 10 feet in his seat when I screamed a scream that could stop traffic in Manhattan (but, in my defense, who's reaction to hi, I'm Megan, my right lower molar hurts is to APPLY PRESSURE?! )
Thanks to the eventual Novocaine, my initial impression of Mr. Dentist Man soon began to change. I drifted into a nice day ream of geese and fish and wondering what life would feel like as a geese diving for fish, all the while trying to not think about the drilling sounds and burning smells coming out of my mouth.
The procedure didn't last long, and when it was over Mr. Dentist Man decided it would be best to leave the gaping hole in my tooth as a gaping hole, so as let the infection drain and have a cotton ball serve as a replacement denture until I could get it filled at another appointment. Maybe it was the Novocaine talking, but this sounded like a swell idea to me as I said my goodbyes and hopped back in Arnie's car.
The rest of the week was a combination of how's your tooth?! and freaking out that there was still so much to do before the kids came that Saturday. Because I am with the little girls (ages 6-9, what was I thinking?!) we spent most of our time unpacking their bags (HUGE economy size bags, that could easily fit two of me and half of the 49ers starting line up), making their beds, folding their clothes, and holding back feelings of jealously and resentment towards our own parents who didn't send us to such a cool camp with such cool gear.
After a staff party on Thursday night where I insisted to the kitchen staff (mostly Mexican) that they absolutely needed to speak to me solomente in espanol when they saw me around camp, the camp dream I had been dreaming for months now seemed closer to becoming a reality.
Friday was chaos day. I spent most of my time running between lifeguard stations at both the lake and the pool helping last minute details, and with the other counselors making glittered up welcome signs for the campers. By the time I laid my head on my pillow that night, I took one last deep breath, appreciating the silence that would soon disappear in mere hours.
The next day, Camper! Welcome! Day!, felt similar to a high school graduation.... for a high school I never attended. As new faces (for me) got off the buses from Florida, Long Island, and New Jersey, I helplessly sat by all the returning counselors ran at abnormal speeds to get the first hugs from the kids they hadn't seen for ten months.
After this initial reunion, we divided all the campers into their separate age groups (There's 750 kids that divide into Lower, Middle, and Upper Camp ranging from ages 6-17. I'm in Lower Camp that's divided further into the Frosh- ages 6-8, Soph- ages 8-9, and Debs- ages 9-10. I have the Debs, otherwise know as the "old timers" in Lower Camp), and attempted to begin ice breaker games in the least awkward way possible.
Because it's only been a day since I've been with my girls, it's all still very get-to-know-you. Besides me, there is literally one other red headed girl counselor in the entire camp and, of course, she's in the bunk next to me. Because of this, all of our campers constantly confuse us, deciding instead that we're not "Megan" and "Jennifer" but sisters, who will respond to both names. First goal for summer? Make. This. Not. Happen.
I have so much more I can write about, like how strange it is to live with seven nine-year-olds 24/7, or how extremely hard it is to have absolutely no "me time", or how standing in the sun for six hours straight is so draining, or how every single moment can be so tiring, yet completely rewarding at the same time. But, alas, I have run out of internet time. (This job is seriously testing my write-under-pressure-and-time-constraints.)
I'm sorry for the length, I can often write with no end in sight. But, forewarning, I could write for so much longer. I'll try and keep it down so as to not lose readers, but just plan to proceed for caution in the future :)
I hope everything is well on the Golden Coast. Send me mail! It's really the only form of entertainment we have here.
Love you all.
Best,
Megan
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Time Is Such A Funny Thing
It is Saturday afternoon here in Glen Spey, New York, which means that I have officially been here for four days. Funny thing is though, that short time that I have been here feels absolutely immeasurable.
Being here at camp, time feels like we're stuck in a bubble; our own little camp bubble. Here in our camp bubble, meals happen early, and don't wait for you to be hungry. Sleeping in close quarters with strangers feels natural. Talks of drunken memories from college and first date horror stories from high school happen often and late at night. It is in this camp bubble that I've forgotten what midterms, papers, and lack of sleep feels like. It is here in this camp bubble that I've met some amazing people, who (whether or not this camp ends up being a total dud) will make this summer a positive experience, no matter what. While I've only known these people for a few days, in our camp bubble it feels like we've known each other for a lifetime.
I shouldn't be surprised that time has such a different feeling here in New York. The strange and unnatural quality that time can have began to follow me the second my feet walked onto the runway towards my plane. On Monday night, I took a red eye to Newark, New Jersey. By the time we landed at 6:30AM (3:30 California time), my body was unsure what to feel.
Thankfully, instead of being forced to deal with my jet lag by having to function normally, I had to spend the next seven hours waiting (in the form of sleeping and eating, followed by more sleeping and more eating) in the airport for everyone else to get there, including our ride which would be taking us to camp. Finally by 1PM, every bag had been claimed, every girl had been located, and our van had arrived. After a very short time getting to know these six girls, we were off, unsure of what to expect, but absolutely excited to find out.
In a trek that was supposed to take two hours, we clocked in at almost four hours, thanks to a combination of road kill, GPS failure, and misfortune. About one hour into the journey, while participating in lively conversations about tattoos, my ear drums nearly popped when one of the girls screamed at the top of her lungs. In what felt like milliseconds after that moment of sheer volume, our van suddenly tapped something hard, on our right side. What followed felt similar to that moment after you've been spun around a baseball bat a few times, and now have to look up and figure out what the hell was going on. Thankfully, that feeling didn't last long, as some very vocal girls began to scream: "WE JUST HIT A DEER! A. DEER!!"
Our driver (another specialist counselor) pulled over in a gas station and turned the van around so we could began to inspect the damage from afar. What we found was that the deer was no where to be found, and in his place was what we initially thought was an animal limb, but actually turned out to be parts from the bumper of our van, including the New York license plate.
After calling someone at camp to verify that, yes, driving without a front license plate is in fact illegal, our van went back to the site of deer murder, and participated in a game of: can we park on a highway, run out and grab our license plate, and not join the deer in roadkill heaven, all in a matter of 5 seconds. After getting the license plate, confirming that the deer was in fact dead, and solidifying my fear of the movie Bambi, we continued on in our journey, still reeling at the fact that in Deer v. Van, we had come out victorious.
After the deer scenario, I didn't think the story of Megan Travels to Camp could get any more interesting, but thanks to our sheer dependence on the GPS technology (followed by its inevitable failure) we found ourselves driving aimlessly in the Catskills Mountains, attempting to figure out which direction was north.
Finally, after traveling for much too long, we arrived at camp. It all felt like a dream, like we were going to get out and find out that we had in fact gotten the wrong directions from the kind mountain folk, and we were going to have to get back in the van and drive for another 4 hours. But, it wasn't. It was all real, and it was my home.
The rest of the day was quite uneventful. After our first meal, we spent the night getting to know the international counselors, where I successfully mastered using my British accent (so long as it remained to three to four word sentences such as "to the loo" and "is that your shirt?") .
Although the past few days have been pretty boring (I can now say with confidence that I AM the CPR Master), I wouldn't have had it anyway. As of now, only the lifeguards and ropes course people are here, and I am having an absolute blast getting to know them. I can't imagine what it's going to be like when the counselor count quadruples in size this weekend, and then all 750 campers arrive next weekend. Although camp is small in size and still pretty tame, this summer is promising to be one that will change my life forever. If anything, the people I have met, and the others I am sure to met in the near future, will broaden my scope on life and give me so much to learn.
For now, there's not much to report. But that is sure to change soon. And I cannot wait.
Until then,
Megan
Being here at camp, time feels like we're stuck in a bubble; our own little camp bubble. Here in our camp bubble, meals happen early, and don't wait for you to be hungry. Sleeping in close quarters with strangers feels natural. Talks of drunken memories from college and first date horror stories from high school happen often and late at night. It is in this camp bubble that I've forgotten what midterms, papers, and lack of sleep feels like. It is here in this camp bubble that I've met some amazing people, who (whether or not this camp ends up being a total dud) will make this summer a positive experience, no matter what. While I've only known these people for a few days, in our camp bubble it feels like we've known each other for a lifetime.
I shouldn't be surprised that time has such a different feeling here in New York. The strange and unnatural quality that time can have began to follow me the second my feet walked onto the runway towards my plane. On Monday night, I took a red eye to Newark, New Jersey. By the time we landed at 6:30AM (3:30 California time), my body was unsure what to feel.
Thankfully, instead of being forced to deal with my jet lag by having to function normally, I had to spend the next seven hours waiting (in the form of sleeping and eating, followed by more sleeping and more eating) in the airport for everyone else to get there, including our ride which would be taking us to camp. Finally by 1PM, every bag had been claimed, every girl had been located, and our van had arrived. After a very short time getting to know these six girls, we were off, unsure of what to expect, but absolutely excited to find out.
In a trek that was supposed to take two hours, we clocked in at almost four hours, thanks to a combination of road kill, GPS failure, and misfortune. About one hour into the journey, while participating in lively conversations about tattoos, my ear drums nearly popped when one of the girls screamed at the top of her lungs. In what felt like milliseconds after that moment of sheer volume, our van suddenly tapped something hard, on our right side. What followed felt similar to that moment after you've been spun around a baseball bat a few times, and now have to look up and figure out what the hell was going on. Thankfully, that feeling didn't last long, as some very vocal girls began to scream: "WE JUST HIT A DEER! A. DEER!!"
Our driver (another specialist counselor) pulled over in a gas station and turned the van around so we could began to inspect the damage from afar. What we found was that the deer was no where to be found, and in his place was what we initially thought was an animal limb, but actually turned out to be parts from the bumper of our van, including the New York license plate.
After calling someone at camp to verify that, yes, driving without a front license plate is in fact illegal, our van went back to the site of deer murder, and participated in a game of: can we park on a highway, run out and grab our license plate, and not join the deer in roadkill heaven, all in a matter of 5 seconds. After getting the license plate, confirming that the deer was in fact dead, and solidifying my fear of the movie Bambi, we continued on in our journey, still reeling at the fact that in Deer v. Van, we had come out victorious.
After the deer scenario, I didn't think the story of Megan Travels to Camp could get any more interesting, but thanks to our sheer dependence on the GPS technology (followed by its inevitable failure) we found ourselves driving aimlessly in the Catskills Mountains, attempting to figure out which direction was north.
Finally, after traveling for much too long, we arrived at camp. It all felt like a dream, like we were going to get out and find out that we had in fact gotten the wrong directions from the kind mountain folk, and we were going to have to get back in the van and drive for another 4 hours. But, it wasn't. It was all real, and it was my home.
The rest of the day was quite uneventful. After our first meal, we spent the night getting to know the international counselors, where I successfully mastered using my British accent (so long as it remained to three to four word sentences such as "to the loo" and "is that your shirt?") .
Although the past few days have been pretty boring (I can now say with confidence that I AM the CPR Master), I wouldn't have had it anyway. As of now, only the lifeguards and ropes course people are here, and I am having an absolute blast getting to know them. I can't imagine what it's going to be like when the counselor count quadruples in size this weekend, and then all 750 campers arrive next weekend. Although camp is small in size and still pretty tame, this summer is promising to be one that will change my life forever. If anything, the people I have met, and the others I am sure to met in the near future, will broaden my scope on life and give me so much to learn.
For now, there's not much to report. But that is sure to change soon. And I cannot wait.
Until then,
Megan
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Why Hello There!
So it's T-minus 6 DAYS until I board a red-eye to the concrete jungle of dreams.
In case you're just joining: I am spending my summer in New York to work as a lifeguard at a sleep-away camp for two months (Think: The Parent Trap). Since this experience is going to be many firsts for me--first time on an airplane alone, first time lifeguarding a lake, first time to New York, first time living in a non-California state etc etc--I've decided to do what I do best and write about it.
My brain is still in lizard study mode for finals, so I don't think it has quite hit me yet that I'm leaving for two months. But regardless, I am still absolutely terrified. Every 10 seconds my brain thinks of an outrageous question or situation and makes me feel like I've been punched in the stomach. Falling asleep is the worst, I'll give you a little preview:
"Oh my god. After I leave for New York, I am never seeing all of my graduating friends again.
What if there's a post-apocalyptic disaster that affects only the West Coast, and they all DIE?!
WHAT IF THE POST-APOCALYPTIC DISASTER HITS THE EAST COAST AND I DIE?!
What if I die in the airplane before even getting to New York?
I don't want to die and have the only famous person I've met still be MC Hammer. I'm too young!"
And then of course I fall asleep to the sweet melodious sounds of "Can't Touch This" while reminscening on that special day when the Hammer (yeah, we're besties like that) hugged me and gave me his autograph on a piece of receipt tape. Oh, memories.
Still, I think the most terrifying fear is this (and I feel about four years old thinking this, so there you have it): What if they hate me? I've gotten myself in pretty deep, there's no backing out now. I took all the lifeguarding classes, doing CPR on a dummie with no legs about 1,200 times. I can't turn back now.
All of these fears, although quite awful, have yet to truly mask the excitement I have. I have never done anything quite like this in my life. I'm the play-it-safe girl. It's the reason I go to school 1 hour away from my hometown, and the reason why I am a part of the serial single girl club (monogamy is for quitters! is our motto).
Although it may get old to you, it never does for me: THE FINAL COUNTDOWN SHALL NOW COMMENCE!
SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....
In case you're just joining: I am spending my summer in New York to work as a lifeguard at a sleep-away camp for two months (Think: The Parent Trap). Since this experience is going to be many firsts for me--first time on an airplane alone, first time lifeguarding a lake, first time to New York, first time living in a non-California state etc etc--I've decided to do what I do best and write about it.
My brain is still in lizard study mode for finals, so I don't think it has quite hit me yet that I'm leaving for two months. But regardless, I am still absolutely terrified. Every 10 seconds my brain thinks of an outrageous question or situation and makes me feel like I've been punched in the stomach. Falling asleep is the worst, I'll give you a little preview:
"Oh my god. After I leave for New York, I am never seeing all of my graduating friends again.
What if there's a post-apocalyptic disaster that affects only the West Coast, and they all DIE?!
WHAT IF THE POST-APOCALYPTIC DISASTER HITS THE EAST COAST AND I DIE?!
What if I die in the airplane before even getting to New York?
I don't want to die and have the only famous person I've met still be MC Hammer. I'm too young!"
And then of course I fall asleep to the sweet melodious sounds of "Can't Touch This" while reminscening on that special day when the Hammer (yeah, we're besties like that) hugged me and gave me his autograph on a piece of receipt tape. Oh, memories.
Still, I think the most terrifying fear is this (and I feel about four years old thinking this, so there you have it): What if they hate me? I've gotten myself in pretty deep, there's no backing out now. I took all the lifeguarding classes, doing CPR on a dummie with no legs about 1,200 times. I can't turn back now.
All of these fears, although quite awful, have yet to truly mask the excitement I have. I have never done anything quite like this in my life. I'm the play-it-safe girl. It's the reason I go to school 1 hour away from my hometown, and the reason why I am a part of the serial single girl club (monogamy is for quitters! is our motto).
Although it may get old to you, it never does for me: THE FINAL COUNTDOWN SHALL NOW COMMENCE!
SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....
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