Wabenaki Braves! HOW!

When I was a kid in the 70s, I used to go away to a boys summer camp called Camp Wabenaki. I have some great and enduring memories of the place -- the wood cabins named after Indian tribes, the rocks (everywhere), and the "shaves" given by the camp director Ralph Hittman as we trudged past him on our way to the dining hall.

One of the first things you learned at Camp Wabenaki was the history of the place. Wabenaki in Algonquin means "Place of Stone". I'm not sure if that's an accurate translation, but it made sense to me at the time. Another thing you learned was how to respond to a fellow camper's call of "Wabenaki Braves!!!!!" The reply was "How!!!!" It all seems so silly now, but it gave us a sense of unity; a sense of belonging to something special. That the camp director was a former U.S. Marine who saw combat in the Second World War explains the lesson. Many of the "practices" he put in place - from cabin cleaning, to making beds with hospital corners, to raising and lowering the flag to a bugle call - were right out of the U.S. Military handbook.

I made some great friends there. I kissed a girl for the first time. I learned how to swim there. The list goes on and on. The memories are flooding in so fast now that I am editing as I type this, back-tracking through the entry, writing in new sections as I go. But one of the most enduring memories was the home sickness I felt as both a camper and a counselor.

My earliest memories of feeling home sick goes back to 1974, when I was a camper. I was 10 at the time (on 2nd trip), and I remember becoming terribly anxious the minute I got there. I would cry inconsolably about all sorts of irrational thoughts, such as "what if my family is in trouble?" This, despite the fact I had two older brothers with me at the camp as counselors. I didn't matter. I missed my friends. I missed my parents. I missed home.

My counselor then was a guy named David. How he tried his best to deal with my bouts of home sickness. One day, he got fed up and grabbed a handful of pine needles and asked, "Have you ever smelled this in the city? There's so much to appreciate out here and you're hung up on going home. Forget home. Smell this. Have fun. Let go." I suppose his words did me some good, not because of his reasoning, but because he did it in front of the other campers. It was then I realized how I was acting like a three-year old, and felt shame over my behavior. But it didn't stop me from being home sick. I just learned how to hide it better.

Flash forward to today. I am writing this from my hotel room in New Delhi, India on a two-week business trip. I left behind all that is dear to me in this world -- my home, my family -- and I miss them terribly. I am home sick once again, and what's helping me get through it is my experience as a Wabenaki Brave. I think of all those moments lying in my bunk alone with my thoughts trying to sort through what was real and what wasn't, crying because I wasn't home.

I can't help but have those same feelings right now. I wonder if they'll be okay. I wonder what I'll do if I get some bad news from home. Car accident? Robbery victim? House fire? This is the shit that races through my head; the same shit that kept me awake crying as a 10-year old. I'm 43 now and I'm crying because I'm not home. Only this time, I have no camp counselor to help me snap out of it; no "how" to my "Wabenaki Braves".

Chasing Rabbits

My dog Chester is without doubt the smartest dog in the world. Really. It's true. He intently watches TV. Yeah, I know that's not much in the way of proof, but it's really all the proof I need.

He also has a jones for stray rabbits. He's already been tried and convicted for chasing one to its death. Last summer, he ran it down after a four block struggle and decided he was too tired to take a bite out of it. So, he stood over it and gave me this goofy "look what I caught look." Of course, he did this is full view of our town's code enforcers, one whom has a penchant for saving little creatures from harm -- including the ducks and geese that pollute our parks with their feces.

Long story short, I got dragged into municpal court where I pleaded my fine down to a whopping $125!!! Fast forward to today, it seems that before Chester "killed" the rabbit last summer, it got busy and now there are several roaming around our neighborhood for him to chase. Either that or the parents who brought them as Christmas gifts suddenly went on a PETA-bent and decided that "catching and releasing" them into the wilds of suburbia was a good idea. I swear, the furry little bastards are showing up all over the place and Chester is acting like a junkie in a crack house. His harness is starting to shred from the strain of his pull.....

Wonderful Tonight.....

Eric Clapton's song has been in my head since I woke up this morning. I'm not really sure why. But anytime I sing it in the shower or in the car, I can't help but change the lyrics. My favorite lines to change are in the last verse:

Original version

It's time to go home now
and I've got an aching head,
So I give her the car keys
and she helps me to bed.

My revision goes something like this:
It's time to go home now
and I want to go to bed,
So she pulls down my trousers
and she gives me some head.....


I never get a chance to complete the last last verse because when I reach that part, I'm usually interrupted by my lovely wife who yells at me, "sing the right words!" Like many a high school teen of the late 70s/early 80s, "Wonderful Tonight" was her "prom" song. It is a mortal sin - sacrilege even - to be parody this song in any way. It's blasphemy, I tell you. 

Anyway, all are invited to complete the parody for me......

The First on this Thread

I'm going to try and keep this as simple and as random as I can.

Every Saturday evening, I am going to try and post something interesting, relevant, and, if need be, personal for all the world to read. The operative word is "try" because I really suck at writing prose (essays included) and simply don't feel comfortable with self-publishing my poetry. I also suck at typing.

But I have a lot to say and I am looking for a wider audience than my small circle of family and friends. Who knows -- that circle may not increase by much, but like all the other successful blogs I've read, they all start out small and grow virally if there is something interesting posted. That is my hope, but I won't hold my breath. I am very humble that way and besides, I really need the air.

Until next Saturday....Peace.