Annual Alphabet Tribute to 2014 – Part III — JOURNEY through LIFE IS A VERB CAMP

J IS FOR JOURNEY

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Most of the month of May I spent trying to get from Point A to Point B. From Arizona to Wisconsin. The trip that was supposed to take a week took a month, and culminated with me finally calling in reinforcements to get me home the last 800 miles.

Not what I had planned. Not what I had hoped for. Not what I expected.

Glen Canyon Dam Overlook

And? I survived it. I actually had fun the first week, when the promise of a repaired car by the next weekend was still a possibility.

The second week? Not so much fun.

In fact, even reflecting on the trip and its endless postponements and broken promises…well, it makes me not want to write about it again. Don’t misunderstand me. There were parts of the month that were great. There were soooo many lessons learned. But much of the trip called on deep reserves of energy, and I think I may still be a bit trip-lagged after all these months.

So I’ll just say, I went on a trip last May. It took longer than expected and there were many adventures. For more details, check out the month of May blog posts. It’s all there…

K IS FOR KAREN

Desert Labyrinth

Labyrinth Connection © 2013 Bo Mackison

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
from an Irish headstone” ~ Richard Puz

On July 14 of this past year, my dear cousin and friend died unexpectedly.

Karen was the girl cousin closest to my age; we were fast friends from the time we were young children.

She loved her solitude in a way few people truly understand, yet she was one of the most generous, kind people I have known.

Although she worked in a bank in the days of the first computers —  when computers were so delicate they required special air controlled rooms, were often “down” for unknown reasons, and when working did little compared to the smart phone we now routinely accept as a part of our lives — and she worked with computers when employed, she never owned her own computer.

She didn’t have a Facebook account, she didn’t write emails, she didn’t have internet accounts. Her phone was just advanced enough to transmit photographs and send text, but she only did so on special occasions. But she sent cards for every imaginable occasion and wrote letters, long newsy letters.

In the past month, as I’ve been organizing my studio, readying it for a partial move to Arizona, I’ve come across over a dozen cards and letters from Karen — a congratulations grandmother card celebrating the arrival of my first grandchild, several thank you notes, Christmas, birthday, and several “hello, thinking of you” cards.

As I write my summary of 2014, again I am reminded how much I miss my cousin, once again I’m “thinking of you,” Karen. Missing you so much!

L IS FOR LIFE IS A VERB CAMP 2014

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I had the great honor and privilege to attend Patti Digh’s Life is a Verb Camp 2014 in November. There, a hundred wonderful people gathered for the second annual camp near Asheville, North Carolina.

We danced by the lake at the sun rose over the tree line and the fog hovered upon Lake Kanuga, crying and laughing and hugging and offering deep support and love.We struggled though yoga moves before coffee(!!!) and breakfast while the kindest of kind instructors gently, so gently, encouraged.

I listened to the key-note presentations of two of my poet heroes – Amy Shihab Nye and Ellen Bass. And decided I could call myself a poet again!

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We collected camp badges for doing things like showing up (which can be amazingly hard), speaking out, being ourselves, making strong offers, claiming our birthright as poets.

And I presented my workshop on Desert Wisdom and the Gifts of the Desert – what a thrill for me.  I so loved sitting in our circle and connecting with each other through our precious gifts of self!  (Though I find it almost impossible to comprehend that I did not remember to take a single photograph during either of my workshops. I’ll just have to hold them tightly in my memory — easily done!)

Patti Digh’s Life is a Verb Camp 2015 will be held in California at Asilomar on the Monterey Peninsula.  Serving up loaded scoops of . . . Community. Courage. Creativity. And Compassion. (Wouldn’t it be a fine thing if you were there?)

You Can Sit Here With Us – A Presentation at Patti Digh’s Life is a Verb Camp 2014

Speaking during ‘You Can Sit Here With Me”. Photo by Gale Oliphant

You Can Sit Here With Us is an arts-based project on bullying. And stepping up. And offering hope. And being kind. You Can Sit Here With Us transforms the negative energy of bullying into the positive energy of inclusion and respect through story, art, and community involvement. It’s about the bullies. The bullied. The bystanders. And, the heroes. This performance presentation on bullying, You Can Sit Here With Us, is a collection of stories, a series of monologues.

Kim Joris (see her You Can Sit Here With Us website) moderated the presentation during Patti Digh’s Life is a Verb Camp 2014 in early November. Five women told their stories about bullying – stories about friends and families and co-workers. The stories were sometimes difficult to hear, sometimes heartwarming, always memorable.

I wrote a personal story of bullying and submitted it to the project earlier this year. Then Kim asked if I would tell my story.

Own my story. A chance to speak and be heard.

And so I did. And now I share it here, in hopes that by sharing the negative impact of bullying, people will consider its impact, and practice inclusion and respect.

“Speaking my Truth” Photo by Lynn Walsh

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” ~ Plato

I survived my childhood. But just barely.

It wasn’t the frequent threat of physical and emotional abuse that nearly caused me to take my life just past my thirteenth birthday.

It was an act of taunting and teasing, and a small act of cruelty nearly beyond my endurance, that pushed me close to the black edge of despair and giving up.

That was all? Teasing? Unkind words? Being shamed by girls I thought were my friends?  A cruel gag gift disguised as a birthday present? Yes. That was all. But it was enough for me to want to end my life.

It is impossible to know when an act of unkindness, or teasing or bullying, will be the kerosene that finally ignites the hidden kindling and flares it into a life threatening inferno.

In this case, the spark was a package of extra-large rubber pants for infants, the kind once commonly worn to cover baby diapers.

That’s all? A package of rubber baby pants?

Yes.

I was in the eighth grade, two weeks shy of my thirteenth birthday. I attended a Catholic grade school. The nun taught a combined seventh/eighth grade class and was also school principal. She had over 50 students. She was overworked and I suspect, often overwhelmed.

Sister C. spent much of her day acting as disciplinarian or administrator, not as an involved or hands-on teacher. Copying from the blackboard, rote memorization and test taking were her most used educational tools.

But even under these less than ideal learning conditions, I was happy in school. I was a good student. Obedient. I seldom drew attention to myself. And I had a few friends.

There was little that could keep me from attending school and so on a sunny October morning, even though I didn’t feel well, I never considered staying home from school. But during class, I had the urge to use the bathroom repeatedly, and by 11 am, I’d asked for a bathroom pass a half-dozen times.

I raised my hand again an hour before the lunch break, but this time Sister C. reprimanded me for “being disruptive” and denied me permission to leave the room. After an another half hour of discomfort and agonizing fear, I wet my clothes.

Perhaps if I hadn’t been wearing a dark green cotton uniform, I could have hidden my embarrassment. But the lunch hour bell rang and so we assembled in line for lunch. My shame easily became evident.

I was teased through out lunch, during recess, and after school. Chants of “Betsy Wetsy” and worse echoed in my ears as I walked home from school that afternoon, alone and ignored by my peers.

I dreaded going to school the next day, but surprisingly, nothing was said, and so I believed that my friends had forgiven me. I was overcome with relief and gratitude.

“Join Me? You are Welcome! says Ellie” Photo by Basia Kruszewska

Two weeks later, I turned thirteen. I brought the traditional cookies to school, everyone sang Happy Birthday at the end of the day, and I left the building with a smile on my face.

Typically when the school bell rang for dismissal there was an overall state of frenzy as the eighth grade girls split off to walk home. Questions lingered until the last moment. Who would walk home together? Would I walk home with a friend or walk home alone?

If I was lucky, I walked home with Lara or Anna. We lived only a few blocks from each other. Perhaps I would walk half way home with Kate or Marie. Sometimes I walked alone.

But on my birthday, I was incredibly delighted. Not only did both Lara and Anna ask me to walk with them, but Kate and Marie said they were heading my way. We walked as a group of five.

Even more unbelievable, Kate carried a small shopping bag. I glimpsed a wrapped box inside.

We walked the thirteen blocks to the corner where we split to walk the different streets to our homes. I was laughing, talking animatedly, nearly skipping with delight. When we arrived at the corner, my friends made a circle around me.

“We have a present for you,” one of them sang out. They laughed and cheered.

I was so happy, thrilled by this unexpected generosity.

Eagerly I untied the ribbon, tore off the wrapping paper, opened the box.

Inside was a three pair package of baby-sized rubber pants.

They all laughed. I joined in the laughter, too, hiding my horror. It was better than crying like a baby, and further proving that I deserved their shaming. I walked home the last blocks, barely able to breathe.

Perhaps this was something most thirteen-year-olds could have brushed off or ignored. Just a gag gift. Teasing done in the spirit of a joke.

But it wasn’t something I could ignore.

I was already living on the throes of depression.

I couldn’t bear to think that school would no longer be my safe haven.

I stopped talking to my friends and family. When I came home from school, I sat for hours at a time on the back porch, rocking in an old rocker. Lost and feeling alone, I started thinking obsessively about suicide.

But I was one of the lucky ones.

“Patti Digh and Kim Joris, You Can Sit with Me” Photo by Laura Magane Goyer

I lived with my extended family and my grandmother noticed the changes in my behavior. She asked if there was anything I wanted to talk about. When I refused with vehemence, she still offered her presence and her acceptance.

My grandma didn’t ask again if there was a problem, but every afternoon she watched for me to come home. When I headed to the porch, she offered to join me. I loved my grandmother dearly. I nodded, barely.

Then she’d gather a sewing project to work on or the afternoon newspaper, and come out to sit with me. She’d offer me a slice of bread with strawberry jam, even though I usually refused to taste it. Occasionally she would reach out and rest her hand on my arm, or brush my long hair from my eyes. Her way of saying, I see you, I know you are troubled, I am here.

Eventually, after much silence and much porch swinging, the shame lessened. I chose living.

Do you think this sounds like melodrama? A girl just crossing the threshold to teenager, suicidal because of a joke gift, because of teasing?

Think again.

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” ~ Plato

 

Life is a Verb Camp 2014 – *Camp*anionship at its Finest

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Morning is Dancing © 2014 Bo Mackison

I had the great honor and privilege to attend Patti Digh’s Life is a Verb Camp 2014 last week. There, a hundred wonderful people gathered for the second annual camp near Asheville, North Carolina.

We danced by the lake at the sun rose over the tree line and the fog hovered upon Lake Kanuga, crying and laughing and hugging and offering deep support and love.We struggled though yoga moves before coffee(!!!) and breakfast while the kindest of kind instructors gently, so gently, encouraged.

We sang, some of us off key but with great exuberance, as a group of 100 vivacious, expressive, loving campers sang songs ranging from In My Wildest Dreams to Stars to Amazing Grace. The musicians were out of this world.

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Camp Kanuga, Home of Patti Digh’s Life is a Verb Camp 2014 © 2014 Bo Mackison

I slept in a Kanuga Cabin built in 1909 and on the National Register of Historic Places (for architectural history geeks like me who love that sort of detail).

Cabin 13, by the way, was one of the luckiest cabins with the kindest of cabin mates and social hour visitors, my way of thinking! Love you guys!

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Rocking Chairs Provided © 2014 Bo Mackison

I rocked on the porch with other happy campers as we took in the view of the autumn trees and the lake beyond, and felt so alive in the midst of campanionship and nature’s beauty.

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Geography of Loss Workshop – Found Poetry ©2014 Bo Mackison

I attended a pre-camp workshop presented By Patti Digh and Kim Joris on The Geography of Loss, based on Patti’s book by the same name. Oh what a day that was as a camp warm-up experience…self-awareness, discovery, opening to our stories, creating and sharing with the kindest of communities.

Tears and hugs and compassion, oh my!

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You Can Sit Here With Us © 2014 Bo Mackison

I listened to the key note presentations of two of my poet heroes, Amy Shihab Nye and Ellen Bass. And decided I could call myself a poet again!

I was mesmerized by the stories of fellow campers during the morning Focus Sessions – and I even told my own story in a presentation on bullying called You Can Sit Here With Us. 

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Tandem Typewriter Poets – Maya Stein and Amy Tingle © 2014 Bo Mackison

I attended Creative Spark workshops, one on Creating my Own Adventure (by the above creative beings), another on Being Stabby (felt making) by Deb Reynolds.

I also presented my own workshop on Desert Wisdom and the Gifts of the Desert – what a thrill for this introvert.  I pushed my anxiety aside and so loved sitting in our circle and connecting with each other through our precious gifts of self!  (Though I find it almost impossible to comprehend that I did not remember to take a single photograph during either of my workshops. I’ll just have to hold them tightly in my memory — easily done!)

I had a poem composed for me by the talented typewriter poet duo of Maya Stein and Amy Tingle. (Such wise, wise poems, delivered on the spot, nine lines on an index card.) I now cherish my two poem cards. Amazing! Thank you, Maya and Amy.

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Camp Badges, Camp Memories © 2014 Bo Mackison

We collected camp badges for doing things like showing up (which can be amazingly hard), speaking out, being ourselves, making strong offers (another way of showing up, big time), for claiming our birthright as poets.

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Patti Digh, Offering Hugs and Hope and Happiness and Humor © 2014 Bo Mackison

Of course, Camp is a Verb would not exist if it were not for Patti Digh, who had a dream, and worked incredibly to make it come true. Every time Patti appeared on stage she offered… Hugs. Hope. Happiness. Honesty. Honor. Humor. Love. Love. Love.

Patti Digh – camp director, friend, confidante, mama, organizer, creative, courageous, promoter of social justice, and human being extra-ordinaire. Patti and her troupe of volunteers turned Camp Kanuga into the brilliant Camp is a Verb 2014 with magic, synchronicity, and damn hard work.

Oh the Autumn Colors © 2014 Bo Macksion

Oh the Autumn Colors © 2014 Bo Mackison

And now only weeks away (so excited!) Life is a Verb 2016 returns to Camp Kanuga on the weekend of November 3 through 6. I highly recommend you check out the camp website if you are even the tiniest bit curious. It will be a life-changing weekend!

Community. Courage. Creativity. Wouldn’t it be fine if you were there?