freedom

I got laid off from Outward Bound yesterday. Although I had been joking about getting fired for a few months, it was a little bit of a shock that my position was one of the ones cut. I mean, as I mentioned in an earlier post, I'm so freakin' cheap and entertaining! At least they aren't going to hire the $80/hour grant writer (at least right now), which puts my mind at ease.

It's funny, actually: although I wasn't working there all that much and today wasn't much different than other days (I'm about to leave for taasc and spent the morning doing some things for taasc, responding to emails, and going for a run), there's a new shine to the day. I actually mailed a transcript request form to my Colby College for boys and girls. I feel like life is pretty good now.

Or, as Alyssa says, "It's good until a couple of pay periods pass by." I adore her.

And this is why we are outdoor educators.

After a trip to Table Rock with the littlest TAASC members and a couple of brave parents, I was in a daze. That group has ten boys and three girls who are nine and ten years old. I was on edge as they wanted to run around on the top of a mountain with undefined cliff edges-- that is, the edge of the cliff might be right behind that lush strip of mountain laurel.

See photos below for details: we have the Lord of the Flies equipped with their bows and arrows or guns and the girls looking competent and entertained. The boys were really pretending to shoot like that off of the side of the side of Table Rock. At one point, after explaining that they couldn't do battle with the sticks (broken bones, splinters of wood in the eyes, et al) I found myself acquiescing and letting them pretend they were guns. Even though Alberto Gonzales thought I was going soft, I drew the line at water boarding.

After the trip I was at Neighbors' for a book club meeting and telling folks (who all have worked for taasc and outward bound at some point) about one incident. This is the incident:

We were on the summit and I had made it really clear that they either had to be with me or Shadow (my co-instructor) while up there. Because of those sneaky edges, if they had to go to the bathroom, they needed to tell us. After hanging out for a while, I noticed a couple of boys laughing and on the trail going down. I asked what they were up to and they laughed that one kid-- who I'll call Spratty-- was down the trail pooping in a bag.

KD: "A WAGS bag?" (Which is a bag designed for poop carry-out in heavily shoveled areas...)

Boys: "No, like a Walmart bag!"

KD: "Go back up to the top and stay with the group." They were still snickering and I didn't want Spratty to hear more of their teasing.

Dave had an extra WAGS bag in his pack that I brought down to meet little Spratty on the trail. I found him standing in the middle of the trail... Walmart bag still empty. I almost did an arm pump. I said, "This is a much better bag for poop," and didn't make a big deal about it. After explaining how to use it, we made a plan that he would stash it behind a bush on the trail and I'd pick it up when we hiked down. Inconspicuous and face-saving.

As I was telling this story, I ended with, "And it wasn't even that much poop! When I carried it down, it was so light..."

Beth pointed out, "Isn't it amazing that we all know what you are talking about and find this to be normal conversation? Like, 'Oh yeah, that poop was so little!'"

Above All, Fashion

My friend wrote this post about running in a hideous outfit... and being seen by a coworker in said outfit.

First, I know the feeling. People often refer to my lime green running shoes as "ugly as sin." (It's the South, you know...) I buy the same style of shoes every time I need a new pair because they feel great and keep me company from the rain to the pavement. They are like little friends.

Therefore, I enjoy my "little friends" regardless of their spangles or smudges, and I wonder what our clothes and shoes must feel after we realize that they are a bit worn or gaudy.

Perhaps we keep wearing them until we hear enough, "Hey, did you buy that purple and aquamarine ski jacket off of David Hasselhoff in the 90s?"

To which we might stiffly smile and say, "Good one...heh, heh" while that jacket gives off a little Eeyore sigh and loses a little loft.

Perhaps we realize that we don't wear that pleated patriotic skirt anymore and relegate it to the back of the closet. Perhaps that shimmering gold gown would look better in the donation pile or costume closet. Perhaps that pair of tapered jeans that you just HAD to have are now tapering into the trash.

I don't know what these tossed off articles and accessories must feel like because they can't talk. So, I decided to catch my current "ugly" running shoes and their predecessors in their quiet downtime and then analyze their behaviour. (Did I put on my latest resume that I have great analytical skills? And that I can write "behavior" like the British?)

Here are my old Blues. Tar Heel and proud, their laces are fringed and they hang out by the window. If they were human, they might be relaxed like a grandpappy smokin' a pipe on the porch and telling stories about when they were as bright as the sky and looking up to the original Grays who came with me to Spain. I would hope that they aren't sad and hanging out in front of the window with a brown paper bag of booze or something. I like to think that my old Blues are happy in their retirement. They still get to bounce around town every now and again.

Here are my Blues mentoring the Limeys saying, "It's okay, we were once as bright as you. You'll fade in a little while... enjoy your tread while you have it."
Here they are, hiding from the world while tucked on the "third floor" of the library. They are sneakers after my own feet. I will never give you back to David Hasselhoff.