I really need to do this more regularly.
Once again, as I glance at the clock, I see that it is a quarter to one in the morning. I'm just starting to type. Yeah.
Cuesta starts on the twentieth! I'm really excited, which is great because I haven't gotten too excited over school in way too many years. I have looked forward to future schooling (i.e. SPU), but not to what I'm actually doing. So this is good! ("This is good, isn't it?" --Helen 'Elasti-girl' Par in The Incredibles.)
I officially love being a camp counselor. Considering that I hated being a camper, I find this interesting. Hopefully I'm the sort of counselor who would have made me like camp. Altogether I counseled twenty-one girls, five of whom I shared with another counselor. I wonder why I disliked being a camper. The boy-girl separation really bugged (and still bugs) me. Not the separate sleeping quarters, but that I never got to see the boys. At Hume I didn't actually speak to Maurice V, one of my closest friends, until day four of camp. My most outstanding memory of Life Camp was Peter getting extremely homesick. He would only sleep over at Maurice's house; anywhere else he'd call halfway through the night. You're probably wondering why my parents, knowing this, sent him for a week of camp. I wondered why a number of my girls had never before stayed from home prior to being shipped off a good distance from home to live, supposedly tearlessly, with people they'd never met in a place they'd never been for four or five days. But Peter wanted to go. Not only was I going, but Sean and Mary M. were going. He almost wasn't placed in Sean's cabin, but thankfully that worked out. The first night he couldn't sleep at all. He told me the next morning he wanted to go home. Of course I hardly saw him all day. That night I remember the bell ringing like a death knoll and Peter grabbing onto me and screaming. He had a good counselor, who took him jogging around the field a while, sending me off after a lap or two, so he stopped crying. Peter was eventually fine. But I never quite forgave the camp for not just letting Peter come to my cabin to sleep. I mean, I and the rest of my cabin were fourteen. Peter was ten. I guess that could possibly encite other kids to all merge into other cabins. Which would be a nightmare. But I can't help myself. When I had a homesick girl I just had her climb into my bunk; the first week I had two with me all five days! But people get so weird. It's tragic because all these fears of the extremely unlikely make opportunities for good impossible to take. So my brother lay terrified in his bed all night long while his sister resided a short walk away. Besides all that, my counselor was terribly unsympathetic. I also remember Anna K. going without dinner because she didn't participate in the field games. Granted she was told of this punishment when she still had a chance to avoid it, but come on. That's good, deprive the girl dinner. Real smooth. Aren't we there to be a parent in one way and a buddy in the other? Obviously I had to discipline the girls sometimes: I took away flashlights, scolded, told anyone who reached for the serving plate while others said grace that she had to get her food last. But I tried to understand where they were comng from. To be honest, I'm not a huge fan of running around in the heat either. Saying 'please' works much better than threatening. Many kids act out i n response to threats. We should be parents when the kids are homesick or hurt or upset. We shouldn't blow off a girl whose crying because her brother just had to be pulled off her. Of course I am too protective of Peter: Mrs. Greenaway the yard duty always told me so!
Now to a topic that won't make me all mad and passionate (yes, I am thinking of Mrs. Reed's words to Jane Eyre): Orson! I wanted to make a doll. I think the heat has made me reactionary. I'm sewing and knitting and baking. Anyway, I browsed through a Sturbridge catalogue and looked at their Halloween stuff. They had a little vampire doll named Norbert who was almost cute. Here he is:
Once again, as I glance at the clock, I see that it is a quarter to one in the morning. I'm just starting to type. Yeah.
Cuesta starts on the twentieth! I'm really excited, which is great because I haven't gotten too excited over school in way too many years. I have looked forward to future schooling (i.e. SPU), but not to what I'm actually doing. So this is good! ("This is good, isn't it?" --Helen 'Elasti-girl' Par in The Incredibles.)
I officially love being a camp counselor. Considering that I hated being a camper, I find this interesting. Hopefully I'm the sort of counselor who would have made me like camp. Altogether I counseled twenty-one girls, five of whom I shared with another counselor. I wonder why I disliked being a camper. The boy-girl separation really bugged (and still bugs) me. Not the separate sleeping quarters, but that I never got to see the boys. At Hume I didn't actually speak to Maurice V, one of my closest friends, until day four of camp. My most outstanding memory of Life Camp was Peter getting extremely homesick. He would only sleep over at Maurice's house; anywhere else he'd call halfway through the night. You're probably wondering why my parents, knowing this, sent him for a week of camp. I wondered why a number of my girls had never before stayed from home prior to being shipped off a good distance from home to live, supposedly tearlessly, with people they'd never met in a place they'd never been for four or five days. But Peter wanted to go. Not only was I going, but Sean and Mary M. were going. He almost wasn't placed in Sean's cabin, but thankfully that worked out. The first night he couldn't sleep at all. He told me the next morning he wanted to go home. Of course I hardly saw him all day. That night I remember the bell ringing like a death knoll and Peter grabbing onto me and screaming. He had a good counselor, who took him jogging around the field a while, sending me off after a lap or two, so he stopped crying. Peter was eventually fine. But I never quite forgave the camp for not just letting Peter come to my cabin to sleep. I mean, I and the rest of my cabin were fourteen. Peter was ten. I guess that could possibly encite other kids to all merge into other cabins. Which would be a nightmare. But I can't help myself. When I had a homesick girl I just had her climb into my bunk; the first week I had two with me all five days! But people get so weird. It's tragic because all these fears of the extremely unlikely make opportunities for good impossible to take. So my brother lay terrified in his bed all night long while his sister resided a short walk away. Besides all that, my counselor was terribly unsympathetic. I also remember Anna K. going without dinner because she didn't participate in the field games. Granted she was told of this punishment when she still had a chance to avoid it, but come on. That's good, deprive the girl dinner. Real smooth. Aren't we there to be a parent in one way and a buddy in the other? Obviously I had to discipline the girls sometimes: I took away flashlights, scolded, told anyone who reached for the serving plate while others said grace that she had to get her food last. But I tried to understand where they were comng from. To be honest, I'm not a huge fan of running around in the heat either. Saying 'please' works much better than threatening. Many kids act out i n response to threats. We should be parents when the kids are homesick or hurt or upset. We shouldn't blow off a girl whose crying because her brother just had to be pulled off her. Of course I am too protective of Peter: Mrs. Greenaway the yard duty always told me so!
Now to a topic that won't make me all mad and passionate (yes, I am thinking of Mrs. Reed's words to Jane Eyre): Orson! I wanted to make a doll. I think the heat has made me reactionary. I'm sewing and knitting and baking. Anyway, I browsed through a Sturbridge catalogue and looked at their Halloween stuff. They had a little vampire doll named Norbert who was almost cute. Here he is:
But not quite. So I set out to make my own little vampire. He's, of course, Waldorf style. He has green eyes, a shy-looking black smile, no fangs, short black spiky hair with a widow's peak (my mum's suggestion: so cute), a roundish body with rice in his behind to make him sitable, arms that bend at the shoulder, and legs that bend where they meet his body. He's passed the child test, which includes carrying and throwing him by his head and all his limbs, with flying colors. His clothes are not made, but the fabric is orange, black, and a black pattern. I've also a spider-clad ribbon I plan to embellish him with. His name comes from the cartoon movies (and books, but I actually didn't know about them) Scary Godmother. I watched this in the fourth grade. I really liked the teen vampire named Orson. For some reason he reminds me of Corey: the really handsome young man with the green scarf in Coffee House! If Corey were thirteen and a vampire, he'd be Orson. My Orson looks nothing like his namesake.
Digitized
Watercolored; in the bottom right corner
The name is perfect, though! I may have to make my Orson some glasses. They're just so cute!
It is two ten now. Guess what I've got going on tomorrow? Bru! We do go there all the time! At least three times a week! Night!
It is two ten now. Guess what I've got going on tomorrow? Bru! We do go there all the time! At least three times a week! Night!
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