Standing in the Shadows

Portraits or Snapshots

Sunday, this one went off. He left for camp this year with a smile (although the actual smiling photo was rather blurry), and a full head of hair. The second guy begins his last summer as a DASAC camper today. This will mark the end of a long run at DASAC, possibly to be continued by one or both of the next kids as soon as next summer, as late as eons from now.

Meantime, I’ve had a high writer moment with a piece that clicked for many readers and incited all sorts of commentary. The question of whether what I wrote about was really about ability to handle generic teen disappointments (not ones we’ve fielded with the exact examples in the essay here in this house) versus facilitating everyday easiness is one that’s under discussion. So was the question of why I think I’m a bad parent. I have learned my teens alternately think I’m an okay, good, and terrible parent. I’ve alternately thought the same about myself, so maybe we’re even.

The weekend was also about parties and visits to people’s new apartments and houses and somehow the theme might just be about coming/going/settling/changing. I could say it this way: growth is not linear or easy or effortless.

I could also say that overnight camp for adults seem rather appealing this morning, especially if an activity could be “uninterrupted night’s sleep.” The camp where I worked one summer had an activity surely health and p/c’ed out by now called “serious sunbathing,” which even then was ironic, but still.

Three to share (not by me):

My friend Carolyn Edgar wrote a terrific piece on Salon about the happy Detroit of her youth:

Two to click onto on Motherlode are Christina Franks’ essay about parenthood post-divorce, something even those of us who aren’t divorced experience (well, I was the kid, too) with our peeps and their kids, and Stephanie Lucianovic’s honest essay about how she finds the read aloud the vegetables of parenthood not the dessert.

Grateful: a sunny morning, the way that when you end up doing work with friends you like—part of my summer of the over-volunteer—you get to connect or reconnect and that’s such a delight, and although I’m sad it’ll be the last one of the season, as ever—ten years—Paintbox Theatre’s ability to entertain and educate at once, this week with King Kong, Jr. (Sneak peek of Saskia’s portrait of Tom McCabe, artistic director and wearer of interesting shoes).

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