Campfire Songs

As we age we obsess over turning back the clock and how we want to be remembered.

When I die I want to be cremated and have my ashes scattered over the Pisgah National Forest in Asheville, North Carolina. Because, nestled in Asheville is a place that defines how I want to be remembered.

Camp Kahdalea.

It is camp. In every sense of the idyllic, stereotypical, movie set way. And to a latch key, kid who made friends sparingly it was heaven.

I found my childhood soul mate in the form of rolling green hills and frolicking horses and wooden gazebos.

Over the years I was a camper, a junior counselor and a counselor at Kahdalea. Originally founded in 1962 by Julie and Monty Oates, my first taste of Kahdalea came tinged with the sweet southern caress of the strong, South Carolinian hand of Julie Oates – we learned riflery and we had nut cups at the end of summer banquet.

Nut cups. It was sublime.

(I later taught riflery as a counselor...yep, that was kinda cool.)

Although Kahdalea was sold, during my time there, I still believe the current owners understood then (and still do) what Kahdalea is and I plan to make sure Baby C gets to experience it.

What is “it”?

It is not a memory, not the time the horse bit my leg open while I was teaching riding, not a particular friend, not learning how to rock climb, not Slippery Rock or Ghost Town Amusement Park, or seven 10’s in cabin inspection worth of Biltmore ice cream or Christmas in July.

My second to last summer as a camper I was tapped to be an Honor Camper. Girls are selected based on a specific trait that they have exhibited in an exemplary fashion throughout the camp term.

A handful of girl’s each summer are chosen to wear the silver K on their green kerchiefs, sit on the Honor Council and lead Friday night campfires every week.

I confess I am not sure today, where my silver K and kerchief are stored.

But I do remember the characteristic for which I was tapped.

Dependability.

(Some of you can stop laughing now.)

I am 37 years old. I was tapped to be an Honor Camper when I was 14.

Twenty-three years later I still cringe when I realize I have engaged in undependable behavior.

For every unreturned email, lapsed thank you note, plan cancelled - I feel it in my gut that I am letting a third party down – Kahdalea. And frankly, that kills me a bit more than the impact on the poor soul I have just blown off (without meaning too!).

I confess that I believe I have not lived up to the expectation – the strength - that others saw in me.

And those of you, who know me well, know that I try. I really do. But dependability is not necessarily in my top three attributes.

So that is the “it”.

One thing. One silly camp ritual. One major impact on a young girl.

In this day and age of botox and cleansing diets and pilates and all such forms of regaining or clinging to youth there is only one thing I regret about aging.

That I have lost that which made me stand out among others; that made others have faith in me.

So with every pilates hundred to wear last year’s size jeans, I will work to gain back the right to wear my silver K.


RECESSION FASHION P.S.
The nude shoe is "it" this spring and summer. I am in love with the Nine West Gleamy heeled sandal in Natural Leather. Wear it with shorts, cargo pants, jeans, or sassy sundresses.
http://tinyurl.com/y7cze2p

NOT The One With Joey's Bag

God forbid you are in an accident; the enduring fear is that you are not wearing clean underwear.

Seriously, is this really a consideration? If laundry has gotten that out of hand I’m going commando before I dig in to the dirty clothes pile.

And I guess that puts a whole different spin on things.

But really it is not what I am wearing but rather what is in my purse that I have always thought mattered more should perfect strangers need to identify me.

I tip toward the morbid in my inner monologue. So much so that in my twenties, a time when I took a lot of long walks by myself, I ordered a Road ID velcro info tag that attached to my sneaker.

I chose that brand primarily because in addition to emergency contact information, you could add a brief motivational statement. In case I was a missing person I wanted to have something that the media could share that helped give some insight about me.

I know.

Anyway, as you know by now I love fashion and have been pouring over the lists of spring must haves. For all of my fashion passion I have never grasped the “It Bag” concept.

Why does a bag define /chronicle who you want to project?

For a woman, it is what lies in the depths of her purse that speaks more to the life she leads than just a trendy vehicle for carrying her wallet.

The truth is our purses and their contents are an intimate, all access pass snapshot of who we are, what we prioritize and how we live.

In the 90’s many of the beauty and fashion magazines regularly had a “What’s in Your Purse / Make-up Bag?” piece featuring a model or celebrity. Inevitably a famous mother of twins carried her beauty essentials of *just* Chanel lipstick and argon oil, gum, keys to her Saab and her Crunch Fitness membership ID.

Um, yeah.

I used to try to create a perfect purse and its contents in my mind that would convey the person I was aspiring to be – a buttery, saddle colored, leather Chloe hobo bag containing a deep amythest python clutch style wallet, my passport (just in case), a decorative lipstick case (okay, seriously, who has time to snap open a case, remove tube and swipe on your lipstick?!), a book I am halfway through reading and my old Blackberry (I loathe my iPhone but please don’t tell the love of my life!).

And here is my purse in real life as of this moment – a JPK Paris cocoa, nylon and leather bucket bag (washes off anything, this is more for me than the 20 month old) containing:
- a stretched out red leather Levenger wallet with receipts from my exciting business trip to Philly,
- a pepperspray dispenser bedazzled with Swarvoski crystals and a skull and bones motif,
- four finger crayons in blue, purple, red and green,
- a small black nylon bag with two bobby pins, three bandaids and two different kinds of chapstick,
- a book I haven’t started but have been toting around for a month,
- a key chain with a stuffed lobster in a mini MHC tshirt,
- two cheerios,
- a receipt from my Bliss facial,
- my iPhone *sigh*,
- my federal government id with the broken key to my file cabinets (rob this cubicle!),
- two miniature 1000 Grand chocolate bars, and
- a skin brightening serum for which I paid too much.

I would like to think that if anyone found my purse they would think I was a pretty decent person. I am fairly down to earth (chapstick & Philly) and care about safety (pepperspray & bandaids). I am a mom (crayons & cheerios) but I am also a woman (facial receipt & serum). I have dreams (the unread book) and reality (the work ID).

Not sure what the stuffed lobster says.

I think though that I am okay with what the contents of my purse say about me. I like the jumble of chaos and splurge and real that accompanies me every day in my purse. It is a comforting reminder of who I am and the life I am building.

RECESSION FASHION P.S.
I own four different kinds of mascara. I adore mascara. I never *ever* leave the house without mascara. On a recent trip I FORGOT mascara. Crisis. I ran to the nearest mascara supply - Rite Aid - to get mascara. Now I am not totally ridiculous - knowing I had a supply at home I grabbed the Wet n Wild econo-brand mascara and called it done. Well hello bright eyes! For $1.99 I have found my new go to mascara -- Wet n Wild MegaProtein Mascara in black. One swipe (post eyelash curler) and I had glossy, long lashes. No kidding. $1.99. Run. Now.