About 5 weeks ago, Lee got an email. One of those too-good-to-be-true emails. So good it must be spam.
The email was from Israel’s Ministry of Tourism, inviting Lee on a press tour for the Jerusalem Marathon. All expenses would be paid for the 1-week trip – all they would ask is that he write about it on Brew Drink Run.
My first response when he told me was, “You MUST go!” And then my next question was, “Do they allow paid guests?”
The answer was yes.
I was still dubious that it could be true, and kept waiting for the catch. The email claiming, “we just need your credit card and social security number…” It didn’t help that four days before our departure we still didn’t have flight information. To pack, or not to pack?
But then Lee’s email box chimed with the message we’d been waiting for – flight confirmation from Savannah to Tel Aviv. It was real.
A couple of frenzied days of preparation, and three long flights later, we found ourselves in the passport control line at the Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv behind two other Americans. My ears perked up when I heard one say, “I didn’t get my tickets until Thursday! I really didn’t think this trip was happening – I was kind of shocked.”
I figured these must be our people – and sure enough they were two other bloggers in our press group. There were about 18 of us in the English-speaking group (more about some of them here), along with Russian and French contingents.
Past the border control we met our wonderful guide, Ori, who directed us to our bus to begin the drive to Jerusalem.
Our first stop was one of my favorites of the whole trip – the Mount of Olives.
I grew up in the church, and stories about Jerusalem and the Garden of Gethsemane and the Mount of Olives are more familiar to me than any other tales from my childhood. We stood on top of that famed mountain, next to a group of tourists and a man with a camel looking for riders, and Ori pointed out the sites.
It went something like this: over there – that’s where Jesus rode down on a donkey into Jerusalem before the Passover. That is the gate where he entered the city on a path lined with palm branches. See that church over there? That’s where the Last Supper is believed to have been. Do you see that smaller dome over there? That’s the church of the Holy Sepulcher, built on Golgotha and around Jesus’ tomb.
I could see it all in my mind’s eye – I could see Jesus and his disciples there. It was as close to a feeling of time travel as I’ve ever had.
The next day took us into the Old City of Jerusalem. To walk the winding streets of the Old City is to weave your way through a labyrinth of cultures and ages. All of the walls and paving stones are the singular tan color of Jerusalem stone, and it’s not easy to tell one street vendor or falafel shop from another. But if you look at the people, the differences are striking.
On one street, you may jostle for space next to a woman wearing a burqa as you hear the Muslim call to prayer echo off those tan stones. Turn a corner and you may find yourself bumping into a Jewish man with long sidelocks spiraling down from under his broad-brimmed black hat.
At any moment, you’re likely to to see Christian pilgrims from all over the world walking the stations of the cross, following the last steps of Jesus before his crucifixion. Some carry crosses on their own backs, while others chant prayers in many languages.
I stood at the Western Wall of the old Temple Mount and said a prayer next to a woman who was rocking back and forth, cradling a holy book and repeating prayers in Hebrew. I tried to imagine Jesus driving out the money changers before teaching there – right there where I was. It was somehow so real and surreal at the same time.
As a person of faith, but one who also values peace and tolerance among the faiths, it was a lovely sight to see – this mosaic of cultures and peoples and religions. I never felt unsafe. I never felt threatened. It seemed there was something special here for everyone, and everyone was welcome to experience it.
But just read an article about Israeli politics – or better yet, ask an Israeli – and you find a real tension under the surface. Get outside the walls of the Old City, take a drive past the Palestinian neighborhood a
nd see the imposing security fence erected around it. Take note of the black-charred sections of that wall, sites of some earlier violent display. See the traffic backed up on the interstate as people gather in central Tel Aviv for another political demonstration. Stroll a quiet marketplace, and notice the young police officers with automatic weapons, armed for a siege of a scale I can’t fathom.
nd see the imposing security fence erected around it. Take note of the black-charred sections of that wall, sites of some earlier violent display. See the traffic backed up on the interstate as people gather in central Tel Aviv for another political demonstration. Stroll a quiet marketplace, and notice the young police officers with automatic weapons, armed for a siege of a scale I can’t fathom.
Here’s what I understand. Israel is a special place. If you’re Christian, Jewish or Muslim, the area is sacred to your faith. Even if you’re not religious, but of Arab or Jewish descent, you claim an important history here. But it’s been a tumultuous history for thousands of years – each group fighting for power and control, each sure this is THEIR chosen land. The pendulum swings first one way and then another, and it swings like a wrecking ball.
I have more I want to say about this trip – about the people and places and even the marathon. But it seems overwhelming to try to put it all down at once. So for now, here is what is on my heart.
Israel is a beautiful land and a holy land, filled with beautiful people. But it’s so much more than that. I went into the trip with an open mind, hoping to understand more about the area’s history and the politics, and hoping for a spiritual connection. I certainly got the latter, but as for an understanding … I came home realizing that I don’t know hardly anything. And certainly without a clear idea of how peace can be won.
Happy 104 months to you, my best girl, and happy spring! I love the way each season carries with it milestones from year to year – benchmarks to measure growth. I often find myself saying things like, “Is it really time for THAT holiday again?!,” as the special dates sneak up, and are suddenly and unexpectedly close.
One such milestone is the annual Daddy Daughter Dance at your school. You’ve been attending this dance since kindergarten in 2012. On the one hand, it doesn’t seem like that long ago. But then I pulled up a photo from that night, and was struck by how much you’ve grown in three years.
That first dance, I snagged several pictures of you twirling with your Daddy.
With each year though, you spend more of your time dancing with friends while all the Daddys look on. This is as it should be – just another sign of your growing independence.
The day of the dance you wanted to curl your hair, so we rolled your pretty blond locks on hot rollers and gave them a couple of hours to set. This was a good opportunity to practice viola, and I love this shot I snapped of you playing in curlers, looking enthused.
We took the curlers out and I even let you wear some of my lipstick, which of course made you look way too old. And of course you loved it. You looked beautiful.
You had another very grown up experience this past month – your first rock ‘n’ roll club show! Your Daddy and I are fans of The Gaslight Anthem, and you’ve been exposed to enough of their music that you’re a fan now too. You love to pick Gaslight songs when we’re in the car and belt out the choruses along with us.
So when they announced a tour stop in Charleston at an all-ages venue, we asked if you wanted to come along. I knew the biggest obstacle by far would be the late hour of the show – we’ve talked before about your inability to stay up late. We warned you that it would be well past your bedtime, but you said you were game, so we got three tickets.
When we arrived at the venue, our first stop was the ticket booth. The window was up high, and as your Daddy and I got wristbands to show we are over 21, you hopped and jumped and strained your neck higher, trying hard to see over the window ledge.
The women at the ticket desk said, “And you have someone in your party who is under 21, right?” And we laughed while your little head kept bouncing up, up, up. “How could you tell?” we asked.
Once inside, you got lots of stares – some of surprise, many of respect. We found our way to the perfect viewing location for you, up on a small balcony to the side of the stage. From that perch, you could see the audience and the band without having to be down with the crowd surfers and the beer spillers. We snapped on your noise-canceling headphones to save your ears, and enjoyed the people-watching.
There were two opening acts, and you waited patiently through both until it was finally time for The Gaslight Anthem. As the band members walked on stage, the lead singer looked up and caught sight of you. He motioned to the others and pointed, and then they waved at you. You waved back.
A few songs in, you leaned over to me and said, “The singer is cute. I need to get his Animal Jam login name so we can be friends,” referring to a computer game you like to play with buddies. It amused me to think of you and Brian Fallon playing Animal Jam together – you in Savannah and he on a tour bus.
You were a total trooper, but as the clock approached 11 p.m. you literally began to fade, sliding down until you were seated on the floor, propped against my leg. We decided you’d had enough, and left just a couple of songs before the end of the show. You were so tired as you stumbled to the car, and I wondered if you were regretting staying up so late.
“So what did you think, Camille?” we asked.
“That. Was. Awesome.” you said, in a voice that was tired but sure. And I admit, your father and I felt quite proud.
Last month was also bittersweet, in that your Daddy and I got to take a trip to Jerusalem, but you stayed at home. You were none too happy about this, but on the plus side you got to enjoy some quality Boo time. You also got to see your cousins before school every day and on the weekend, and I know they helped pass the time. I am so thankful that you get to grow up with those two nearby, who are like brothers to you.
I was glad the trip timed out so that we arrived home just in time for St. Patrick’s Day. The schools close because everyone will be at the parade, so it meant we had the whole day to spend together as a family. We biked downtown to join frien
ds on the parade route, and soaked up the warm sunshine and the festive spirit.
ds on the parade route, and soaked up the warm sunshine and the festive spirit.
Thank you for another great month, sweet girl, full of familiar milestones and new experiences, too. I’m so glad I get to be along for the ride. I love you so much.
Happy one-oh-three, my sweet girl, the super-fantastic new acolyte at First Baptist Church of Savannah!
This last month contained a nice first for you – the first time you were given the job of acolyte at church. For a dozen years I’ve watched other kids march down the center aisle and light the candelabra up front. I’ve watched those kids grow and grow until they were too old to acolyte, replaced by the next group of young recruits.
And now, somehow, it is your turn.
The first Sunday in February, you donned a red robe and held your torch in the church foyer, enduring all the unsolicited advice about not tripping and not setting anything on fire that wasn’t a candle. But you weren’t too worried, because you weren’t walking that aisle alone.
John Foxx is in the 8th grade, and would be your mentor. He’s one of the kids I’ve watched grow up with every trek down that aisle. Somehow that sweet, small child is now tall, with a longer stride and a confident gait. He’s always been a friend to you, and not just at church. He goes to your school, and when you first transferred there in kindergarten and were all alone, John Foxx came to your class to have lunch with you. It’s not cool to be an upperclassman hanging out with a little kid, but no one seems to have told John Foxx this. He’s always ready with a smile and a hug for you, and on this Sunday morning, John Foxx promised that if your candles wouldn’t light, he’d be there to help.
I proudly watched you make your way down the aisle, and then you two split at the front of the church to go to your separate candelabras. John Foxx lit his candles quickly, while you more slowly and deliberately moved through yours.
Then that tricky center candle just wouldn’t light. After several attempts, you finally gave John Foxx “the look,” and he walked over and lit that center candle for you. I breathed a sigh of relief and felt a warm happiness, seeing again his kindness and friendship.
Kindness and friendship are two gifts that are so important to me as your mother. Yes I want you to be smart, yes I want you to be successful, but more than these I want you to be a kind, loving person. This world needs kindness and love, and I want you to add to the balance of good.
And that’s why it meant so much to me when I got your teacher’s email this month. Oh we’ve had several parent-teacher conferences. We’ve reviewed test scores and talked about your academic strengths and weaknesses. But this email was about your heart, and it was so lovely it brought me to tears.
It was the week of Valentine’s Day, and the class was given a writing assignment. The instructions read, “Someone who has a ‘heart of gold’ is a person who is very kind and caring. Describe someone you know who has a heart of gold.”
The children could write about anyone – a family member, a classmate, a friend. In her email, your teacher said, “I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that 8 children wrote that Camille has a heart of gold. I’m sharing this with you because I feel like it is important that you know how much your child supports and cares for other students in our class.”
My heart swelled. How affirming it was to know that you are a friend and a peacemaker in your world. When your classmates think of kindness they think of you, and that’s a fulfillment of so many of my hopes and prayers for you.
You bring so much light and joy to my life, and I am proud of the way you share that light and joy with others too. I couldn’t be more proud of you. I love you so much.
Hello sweet girl and Happy New Year to you! 2015 will go down in your personal history as the first year you were awake as the clock struck midnight – though I can’t say you were particularly happy about it. But hey! You did it!
First, let me back up a moment. Christmas was wonderful, and Santa granted your request for a new bike – a much bigger bike, ideal for keeping up with Mom and Dad as we wheel around the neighborhood.
We biked to Boo’s for lunch and gifts, biked to neighbors for an oyster roast, and had an all-around grand day.
We spent the next few days happily hosting Nana and Granddaddy before loading up the car and heading south for a bit of January camping. Our destination was Fort Wilderness, the Disney campground in Orlando.
We didn’t have plans to visit the Disney parks, but the resorts are so packed full of activities that we didn’t feel like we were missing much. We were in the good company of friends, and pitched our tents in the middle of Disney’s “wilderness,” complete with very nice bathrooms and a heated pool and a beach and playgrounds and general Disney awesome-ness.
The only un-awesome part was the weather – chilly and rainy. But that didn’t stop you and Lola and Fletcher from biking around the campground or even swimming in the pool.
New Year’s Eve we took camping chairs to the beach where we’d have a clear view of the fireworks over the Magic Kingdom at midnight. Cool as that was, I knew this was going to be a tough sell for you – the girl who hates to stay up late.
Sometime around 10:30, you plopped down on my lap and cuddled in close for warmth. It was very chilly on that windswept beach, and I didn’t mind a bit when you fell asleep on me. We hadn’t packed any blankets, and all we had with us for warmth was a towel – a wet towel. I pulled it over us anyway because at least it cut the wind.
A few minutes before midnight, I nudged you awake. The fireworks were simply spectacular, and even if you were too groggy to really enjoy it, I’m glad I got to see them with you.
Ah … the subject of bedtime. We spent the first several years of your life strictly enforcing bedtime rules because we all benefitted from a solid evening routine. But now that you’re older, the routine is so set that it’s hard to get you to adapt to any changes.
For the moment, sleepovers are more difficult because you just want your buddies to be quiet and go to bed. They’d rather stay up talking and playing. I imagine as you get older this will change, but it has led to a few foiled sleepover attempts of late.
So when it was time to send you off to Girl Scout camp last weekend, I wondered how you’d fare in a cabin full of girls who might prefer pillow fights to sleeping.
But thankfully you rolled with it, and seemed to have a great time despite the fact that the temperatures were in the 30s and your cabin had only screens for windows and no heat. You’re one tough cookie!
A couple of nights ago, it was my turn to read to you and tuck you in. As is our routine, we crawled into my bed for a couple of chapters of Little House on the Prairie, and then a cuddle or two after reading. You usually ask to sleep in my bed, knowing the answer will always be no. I wasn’t kidding about our strict bedtime rules – from your toddler years on, we never let you sleep with us for fear of creating a bad habit.
But this night, as I held you, I could feel your breathing get deeper and slower as you drifted to sleep. My first impulse was to usher you off to your own bed before you were too deeply asleep to make the trip on your own.
But why? You’re no stubborn two-year-old, fighting for power in a bedtime struggle. You are my sweet 8-year-old girl, getting older by the moment, and moving toward a time when you’ll be the one staying up late. So I settled in and listened to you breathe, and enjoyed the warm weight of your head on my arm.
Until I coughed. Your eyes flew open, and you slid out of bed. “Ok Mama,” you said, “Time for bed.” And then you walked to your own room like the big kid you are.
Parenting is full of such contradictions – of countless evenings spent persuading your child to sleep in her own bed, and then suddenly wishing she’d stay snuggled up next to you for just a bit longer.
You’re all at once my baby and my young lady
and I love both parts of you. Always and forever.
and I love both parts of you. Always and forever.
Happy 101 months sweet girl, and Happy Christmas Eve Eve!
We’re all a little travel-weary tonight, having just driven through hours of thick holiday traffic in a pouring rain to get back home from Tennessee. But the visit is always worth the trouble. You spent the last several days in the company of cousins Stella and Jane – the second time this month you’ve seen these girls! Considering that they live in Texas, this is no small feat.
For Thanksgiving, we flew to Dallas to spend the holiday with them in their new home. We ate, we played, we had adventures (like a visit to a dinosaur trail!), but mostly you kids did what kids do best – you got up way too early each morning so that you’d have plenty of time to laugh and scream and jump and run and thoroughly enjoy each other’s company. Go to sleep. Repeat.
When we got together with them again this weekend in Tennessee, it was happily more of the same. You love each other dearly, you drive each other nuts, and you can’t wait to see each other again.
Our travels this month also included a couple of nights with Mr. Glen in Big Canoe, where you’re free to explore the woods behind his mountain cabin. Your day was filled with activities like “birdhouse rehab,” and lots of time spent clearing leaves from the creek with a stick. Was it necessary to clear those leaves? No. But it was satisfying work, and you were glad to do it.
All this traveling has, obviously, meant lots of time in the car. We don’t mind if you watch movies in the car, but lately you’ve resisted, saying, “I don’t want my brain to turn to mush.”
Sigh.
One time, probably 2 years ago, you asked me why we limited your TV time at home. And I told you that watching too much TV makes your brain turn to mush. I didn’t mean it literally, but you took it that way. No matter how many times I’ve tried to explain my hyperbole, you seem to be honestly a little afraid that if you watch too much TV at one time, your brain will liquefy and begin oozing out of your ears.
But I’m not complaining. It’s nice to see the things you’ll come up with to do in the car. For example, on this Tennessee trip you borrowed my laptop so you could write a book. It was a chapter book in which a you and a group of classmates are studying worms and then you TURN INTO WORMS! Adventure ensues. Your story is really quite fun, and it was a proud mama moment when you piped up from the backseat to ask, “Mama, how do you spell ‘treacherous?'” I love that brain of yours.
That brain has really been churning over the idea of Santa Claus this year. We’ve played the Santa game all your life and we’ve enjoyed it, but your Daddy and I have not taken it too seriously. We didn’t want to build it up so much that when you learned the truth you’d be devastated.
You will ask me sometimes if I believe in Santa. I usually dodge answering, offering something like, “Well, I do know there are presents under the tree on Christmas morning…” or turning the question back on you.
This year, you seem on the verge of figuring out the game.
The other day we were coming home from school when you announced, “I can tell you one thing, I do NOT believe in the Easter Bunny. I mean, come on. A bunny? Hopping around and dropping off presents? That’s crazy.”
So your Dad asked about the tooth fairy. Is she real? “Oh yes!” you said, without hesitation. “Of course the tooth fairy is real!”
As for Santa, you have a buddy at school who claims it’s really the work of parents, putting out gifts while you’re asleep. “What do you think?” I asked you.
“I don’t know!!” But at least you don’t sound upset about the whole thing, just curious. And you’ve avoided asking us directly for the truth. If I had to guess, I’d say that deep down you probably realize it can’t be real. But you want to play the game, so we’ll keep playing.
As a child, I loved the excitement and anticipation of Christmas Eve almost as much as Christmas Day itself. As your mama, it’s no different. I can’t wait to wake up with you tomorrow to make cookies for Santa (or for your parents – who can be sure?), go to church, be with family, and then go to bed with those excited Christmas butterflies in our bellies. I couldn’t think of a better gift than spending this season with you. I love you sweet girl!
100 Months!! Welcome to the triple-digits, my love!
In the past 100 months, I’ve written letters to you in our dining room, in a car, and on an airplane. I’ve written them as near as 10 feet away, and as far as 2,000 miles. But I’ve never before written to you in a hospital waiting room.
I just gave your Nana a hug and a kiss before she headed in to surgery. She hurt her back last week, and we’re hopeful the surgeon can help her feel good again. I’ve been staying with her in Tennessee this week to help out while she waited for surgery. It wasn’t easy to leave you, and you weren’t happy to be left. I slipped a note under your pillow before I left home, telling you how much I loved you and that we daughters must take care of our mamas when they need us. And I thought to the future for a moment, and to a time when you will be a grown up and I will need your help. And I feel certain you’ll be there for me, sweet soul that you are.
This last month covered Halloween, typically one of your favorite holidays. You love playing dress up, and always relished in planning your costume and knowing that for at least one day, everyone else wanted to play dress up with you. And give you candy, too!
But this year, we were both happy to bid goodbye to Halloween and have the calendar flip to November. You have never liked scary things, and this Halloween seemed to expose you to more of them than in the past. I suspect that’s in large part because your friends are getting older, and some of them are beginning to like the scary side of Halloween.
Gone are the days when all your playmates dressed as princesses, Star Wars heroes or cartoon characters. Now, sometimes they’re dressed as blood-soaked villains wielding bloody butcher knives. I don’t know how many nights, as we tucked you in, your voice took on a trembling tone as you confessed, “I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight. I can’t stop thinking about…” and you’d describe whatever was the latest thing to frighten you.
We sympathized. We shared coping techniques. We never let you crawl in bed to sleep with us, though there were times I wanted to. But I also wanted you to know that you are strong, and you are safe in your own bed.
You stopped eating breakfast by yourself downstairs in the morning on school days, opting instead to bring your bowl of oatmeal upstairs. You’d sit on the floor of my bathroom as I dried my hair, explaining, “I don’t like to be alone.”
Your teacher turned story time into “Spooky Story Time” at school, and you’d tell us how you’d sit in the classroom with your fingers in your ears trying to block the words. I don’t think the stories were truly scary, but by some point, even a hint of ghoulishness was enough to scare you.
The season wasn’t a total loss though – not at all. You had your first orchestra concert – a Halloween-themed performance with no scary costumes allowed. You donned your beloved black cat outfit, and looked adorable warming up, your viola propped underneath your hood and cat ears. The concert was wonderful.
Your Boo threw another great BooFest party, full of piñata-busting, apple-bobbing fun.
A new game this year involved a relay race where to goal is to sit on balloons to pop them, and I do believe it was a favorite.
We visited the Valles family in Winder, explored a corn maze and picked out pumpkins. You weren’t thrilled about the maze (“this is going to take forever!”), but delighted in choosing the perfect pumpkin for carving.
Halloween night, we joined up with some of your good buddies for trick-or-treating. While I think jellyfish are terrifying in real life, thankfully your best buddy Lola’s adorable jellyfish outfit didn’t frighten you. We made use of your Ahsoka Tano costume for one last hurrah, and had a great time tromping through the neighborhood collecting goodies.
Then November came, pushing away thoughts of Halloween, and turning our minds toward Thanksgiving. Next week we’ll travel to Dallas to visit Jeff, Michelle and your cousins. After a week away from you, I’m very much looking forward to a week of togetherness.
We’ve just heard from the surgeon, and your Nana is out of surgery and everything went well. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear it – I sure do love my mama an awful lot. It doesn’t matter how big I get, I will always love my mama. I think you know a little something about that too.
