Phlox & Zinnia

I’ve been avoiding this blog, and I’m not sure why. Maybe because this month I haven’t been a Negative Nelly™.

Real talk? I love my job as a camp counselor. Yesterday I spent a good 30 minutes looking up new friendship bracelet patterns partially so I can find new stitches to teach the kids and partially because I just rediscovered my bag of friendship bracelet string and there’s nothing like the ego boost of when a camper sees something you made and goes “Woah, can you teach me how to make that?” I spent an hour of so half-watching “Marvel: Agents of SHIELD” with my dad and making the confetti bracelet.

I’ve been working at a day camp with the 5 and 6-year-old girls ever since the summer before my senior year of high school. My love for it steadily grew as I got older, wiser, more clear with boundaries, and more understanding of co-counselors—maybe they don’t have to adore every second of hanging out with children to be a good counselor. I’ve gotten to the point where I have my routines: I spend the drop-off time coloring on the floor, trying to make conversation with the new kids, then I transition to doing the 7 different activities with the kids and honing in on the quiet ones or the more troublesome ones, and at the end of the day I play cards with the 5-year-old boy who sat on the floor and cried quietly the first day he was in after-camp care. I get beat by middle school girls at Egyptian Rat Slap, I lose my voice yelling to get kids to listen to information about after-camp care, I say hi to the Badgers (5/6-year-old boys) during morning snack, and I go home and watch TV rather than read the library books that I keep renewing.

This job has been instrumental in me recognizing that I want to be a teacher, which is a tad ironic since it also made me realize there is no way on God’s Green Earth that I would want to be an elementary school teacher. It’s the relationships—even the ones with campers who after 3 years of being out of my group have finally stopped thinking I’m cool and have stopped hanging out with me and with campers whose names I cannot remember for the life of me. I know now that teaching is all about relationships, and I know I love having relationships with kids because I work this job. I love that I can invest deeply for a summer and then skim the surface of that relationship as time goes on as campers get older and remember less about their crazy 5-year-old antics. Now that I really think about it, it’s taught me to let go of campers who I really loved and allow them to grow into someone who doesn’t need me to stand inside the bathroom just in case they can’t get their wet swimsuit on their body again. Even though I still have some doubts about my professional path (as does nearly everyone except for my two parents—thanks guys), being a counselor shows me that I’m aiming in the correct general direction.

It’s also just plain fun to be a counselor. Messing around with 5-year-olds is an art; whenever I go swimming in the pool, all my campers go, “ALEX IS THAT YOUR SWIMSUIT?!?!” and I get to say, “Maybe” or “No, I’ve been wearing this all day” or “What are you talking about?” I get to make a camper giggle and say a few sentences, a camper who at the beginning of the summer the counselors questioned if she could speak English at all. I get to play card games (mostly War because they are 5) and eat chicken nugget and tater tot leftovers. Sure, when kids talk over me I get frustrated and sometimes I get sick of repeatedly telling kids to not touch the wrestling mats or cross a line close to the rock wall and I don’t like all of my campers, but it’s overall good.

I’m already sad that in all likelihood I probably won’t be working at this camp again. RIP Alex, Gazelle Counselor Extraordinaire.

Recs: If you like romance novels (I mean, this is like pure romance with nothing else), The Hating Game is great and I’m insanely late to its hype train. Here’s the friendship bracelet tutorial playlist that I curated yesterday; the “Rag rug” or confetti pattern is the one I’m working on now. Chef R Paul and I will be trying out this Grilled Zucchini Taco (scroll for a bit) recipe for Bachelorette Men-Tell-All night tomorrow, so my resident vegetarian Sarah will let you know how it goes.

P.S. This is weird and unplanned, but this post parallels the themes I wrote about exactly a year ago in "Hand Holding & Bracelets." The camper who I said wouldn't want to hang out with me anymore is the same camper I'm talking about who actually stopped hanging out with me. AND I watched Brooklyn 99 today. The universe is pranking me or something.

P.P.S I got accepted to write on the post calvin, so I'll be posting an essay there every month or so! I'm not planning on giving up this blog or letting it go completely public, but I honestly have no idea how next year is going to go so stay tuned for the fate of this blog.

A couple things. One, the second to last day of camp is way better than the last day of camp. Two, I didn't know a good concert could stick in your mind for so long. I’ve been stewing on this one for a week and my mind is a little all over the place, so I’m going to try splitting this into parts.

I’ve been dreading writing this entry because I feel like I’ve said all that I’ve been thinking about for the past couple weeks. Not doing the things that I should be doing and just reading a bunch of books? Covered it. Enjoying working my job despite some of the leadership and some kids that have some issues? Beaten that horse. Feeling existential about going back to college soon and how time is going fast? For sure.


A couple years ago, I realized that it was hard for me to be someone who consistently went deep in every single conversation. I dated this guy from my senior year of high school through my freshman year of college, which was a rocky time in my life regardless of his involvement. In the beginning, he would ask me all these philosophical questions and we had some long talks, but as the relationship progressed he ran out of questions and I didn’t really want to spend my time navel-gazing. I would try to get him to talk about his day and what happened to him, but that didn’t seem important to him to convey to me. We would just twiddle our thumbs and wait until tomorrow to do the same dance over again.


I feel like this is what has happened with my writing here. I set out to just tell stories from my day to day, but I put this pressure on myself to write these deep philosophical musings about time and life and the whole she-bang. I do think about these things and it’s nice to get them out in the open, but these thoughts aren’t particularly groundbreaking. They also feel kind of didactic in a way, which is something I hate in a story.

So with that in mind, I’m just going to talk about some of the things that happened to me this week and something that I’m particularly excited about.


We’ve been doing these Kidz Bop Dance Along videos, and the “How Long” became a favorite in the first week. My head counselor then came up with the idea that the Gazelles could do this dance for the whole camp on the last day. But then we found out on Wednesday that Thursday was the last day for one of our campers who absolutely loves doing this dance. We performed it for my boss, who okay-ed it, and the next day got up in front of 250 other children and counselors and danced it out. I was so proud of them that my heart almost burst when the older kids gave my campers a standing ovation. Plus, who doesn’t love 5 and 6-year-olds doing a choreographed dance that they aren’t coordinated enough to do?


A Bobcat (4th and 5th grade boy) beat me in Spit twice this week. I got a little competitive. We discovered another deck of cards in extended day (and I brought in another deck), so in addition to the kids playing war with cards the size of a mega piece of paper, we’ve started playing Trash, Spit, Egyptian Rat Screw, and Clockwork Solitaire (I have yet to find the time and patience to teach them Euchre). Sarah and I one day mostly ignored the kids while she taught me how to play Solitaire, which I never bothered to learn because Lars played that game and I didn’t trust any game that Lars played, and then trounced me at Spit. Summer camp keeps bringing back my own childhood: first friendship bracelets, now card games.


Two of my campers came up to me and said, “Lars asked us whether we liked Annika or you better, and we said we liked you both. We asked him who he liked better and he said Annika because she was a better drawer.” I found out from Lars that it was them who responded to him liking Annika better by saying, “Is it because she’s a better drawer?”


I’ve been listening to “Pray as You Go,” a daily podcast that features a variety of music and a reading of a Bible passage with reflection questions. It’s been a good way for me to make space for devotions in the morning (I listen to it while I shower, so it’s not as devout as you’re imagining), and the readings keep me engaged. Two weeks ago it read Matthew 13:10-17, where Jesus tells the disciples why he speaks in stories directly after telling the parable of the sower. I had some philosophical thoughts about how this can be taken in a positive light—that Jesus uses stories to teach people since their ears are closed to the truth—but you can probably figure out where I was going with that. I’ve also heard some pretty harsh passages, like Matthew 15:21-28 where Jesus rebukes this Canaanite woman twice before healing her daughter. It seemed so cold and unfeeling for Jesus, and even when I tried to suss out what he was teaching (that he was coming for the Gentiles also, that he respected a woman in Biblical times) it didn’t seem to add up. I’m still struggling with it, to be honest.


Tonight I’m going to see one of my top two favorite bands, Lydia. I talked about their new album a couple weeks ago in my recommendations. In a couple hours, I’m going to hop in my car, park in Arlington, and take the bus into Harvard Square to go to a concert by myself. I’m a little nervous, but I’m so excited. The opener is fantastic, and the pictures I’ve seen on Instagram look so cool. Plus, I’m just going to be around people who know when I say Lydia I’m talking about a band, not a person.


August really is the Sunday night of months. School is coming, and my thesis is looming. Check in with me next week and see how I'm feeling about being done with Meadow Breeze for the summer.


YouTube - Chasing the Dream: How to Build an Outdoor Shower
Around two years ago, I was with Lars in my dorm room having our Sunday Family Skype when my mom told me that my aunt was thinking about a new business adventure that involved buying a big old farmhouse. I rolled my eyes (because Auntie Ruth has a lot of ideas but has some struggles with follow through) and thought little of it until I heard a couple months later that she and Uncle Tom bought the house. She has chronicled all the work she and Tom have done turning that house into Quinnbrook Farm in the past year and a half on her Instagram page (@anneclay1 and #quinnbrookfarm). Lately she’s been recording the projects they do on her YouTube page, and I gotta say they are really classic Huizenga antics. It’s a little bit of HGTV with some family banter and misadventures. If you want to know what it’s like to be in my living room when all the Vander Klays (my mom’s side) are together, watch this video.

the post calvin - “I Know All About You” by Jules Ludema
In the interest of full disclosure, I worked with Jules in the Rhetoric Center, she’s a good friend of mine, and I looked over this piece for her. You shouldn't read it just because of that but because it reflects a lot on something that I haven’t felt yet—what it means to know a place and how that feels (and how it is kind of an illusion)—in a way that shines a different light on the city I’ve grown to call one of my many second homes. Honestly, everything on the post calvin is worth your time; Meg Schmidt basically summed up this entire blog post much more elegantly in her latest post “Sorry, Mary Oliver”.

Week 4 is like a melting popsicle—you know you are supposed to be enjoying it, but all you can think about while it drips is how sickly sweet it is and how stifling the air is and how sticky your hands are and how sad you are going to be when it is gone. And you just can’t bring yourself to lick away the oozing juice to get to the still frozen core, which is what you wanted at the start.

I came up with this simile as I was walking across the parking lot just having closed the arts and crafts room for extended day. I'm not sure it really makes sense, but I kind of like it.


As humans, we are constantly dealing with the passing of time and how that passing brings the closure and beginnings of events and times in our lives. It seems like most of our lives we view this passing in a binary—either wishing it would speed up or dragging out the seconds. But lately I've been feeling a little more ambivalent than these two views would accurately describe. I love camp, but I also cannot wait for it to end. But when it ends, I'm forced to reckon with the fact that I am going back to undergrad for the last time in my life (and that I have spent the summer reading YA instead of articles on college freshman’s understanding of genre).


It reminds me of the “already not yet” eschatology that I learned about in 10th grade in my religion class. Jesus has already come, inducting in the new earth, but he hasn't come again to complete this transformation. We're in this kind of limbo where we have this amazing hope confirmed but not yet completed. Time feels like this kind of limbo state too. When I look at my life, I'm filled with excitement and dread concurrently for things that I have done, things that I am doing, and things that are meant to come.


Often times this limbo makes me miss things before they are done simply because I know they will be done. I feel this to an extent with camp, but I really felt it a week ago when I finally went to the Kingdom Hearts World Tour Orchestra concert in Boston. I had heard the orchestra was coming to Boston in February, bought tickets in March, and now was finally getting to exist in a room with people who love my favorite game as much as I do. It became real as Lars and I shared a smile after we spotted a guy wearing Kingdom Hearts (KH) shirt walking the opposite direction. As we turned the corner to get to the theatre, all I could see were people lining up to get inside. Some of them were cosplayers and the kind of people you would imagine at a concert like this, but most were people who I would pass on a street without a second glance.

The point is, the moment I sat down and looked at the video screen and the empty chairs awaiting musicians, all I could think was, “This'll be over in 2 and a half hours.” I had waited and anticipated all this time, and now I could hardly enjoy it. I put it out of my head for the most or the concert, but the sadness hit me again when we stood up, collected our things, and made our way home (which was a comedy of errors).


One of the details that stuck out to me on my last read through of M.T. Anderson's Feed, probably one of the most important books I've read, was his treatment of nostalgia. In the book, the trends that the characters are into are always based on ironic misunderstandings of the past. Towards the end when everything is falling apart, people start getting nostalgic of times that are closer and closer to them until they are nostalgic for the present moment and become frozen in this nostalgia feedback loop. I felt like those characters in the midst of other KH nerds—nostalgic for the very moment I was in.


Being in the moment is cliché, and I'm not sure if it's the answer I'm looking for in these musings. Knowing that the moment is going to end helps me focus on the important things while I am still experiencing it, but focusing too much on the grains of sand slipping through my fingers makes me lose those important things altogether.


Seeing this event for what it was—passing—allowed me to see something more—the beauty of the impermanence of live music. I liked hearing live music because its imperfections reminded me that actual humans were behind these pieces of art, both in composing and performing them. Every note that passed was a moment in time that couldn't be exactly captured again, and they reignited the life of pieces that in some ways had become a part of the soundtrack of my life.

Is that too cheesy?




Poetry: “I saw Emmett Till at the grocery store this week” by Eve L. Ewing
I saw this poem a lot this week, commemorating what would have been Emmett Hill’s 77th birthday on July 25th. I don't think I quite understand it, but it mourns the lynchings that were so present in America less than a hundred years ago.


Books: Out on the Wire by Jessica Abel
This graphic novel is all about the art of narrative radio storytelling, which seems like an odd medium choice. It is very dense and hard to follow at times due to the meta nature of it (a graphic novel made up of interviews of radio people talking about how to conduct good interviews and cut down hours of time into seconds or minutes). It overwhelmed me, but in a way that made me want to buy the book. As a lover of story podcasts, it paradoxically made me want to never even think about making a podcast of my own and want to make one right now. Even if you aren't into radio, it has some great insights into how to do stories well.

I started out this week on a lower note than usual. The kids were bothering me, I didn't sleep well the night before, and I couldn't seem to connect with any of the kids. Over the years that I have worked at camp, I've become less inclined to pick them up, let them sit on my lap, or give them piggy back rides. Some of my campers from past years still try to climb all over me, which reminds me that I don't let my current campers do that. At the start of the week, I wondered if that was a part of the reason I wasn't connecting on a deeper level with some of the kids by now.

After some reflection, I'm seeing that I'm showing my affection in more meaningful ways this year, even if it seems more detached. I let kids hold my hands and do trust falls with me, but I also talk and listen to them. I cheer them on the rock wall and I teach them how to do friendship bracelets (that either end up on the floor or on their wrists). I'm becoming more mature and seeing how relationships are built on more than talking or traditional shows of affection.

This view is something that I want to take with me as I go into my student teaching and the rest of my professional career. During my student aiding sophomore year, I had a tough time connecting with the students. Exhibit A: I saw one of those students this spring. He recognized me, and said something like, “I know you. Where do I know you from?” I was too insecure about my abilities and too aware of my liminal time in the classroom to actually talk to and get to know my students while I was there, and due to that I didn't make an impact on them (also I was pretty inept at the whole teaching thing). Instead I sorted them into archetypes and then wondered why I didn't look forward to teaching like my classmates did.


One of the campers who I talked about in my last post, the one who asked me about my least favorite part of the job, told me that next week is her last week. I'm honestly super bummed because I look forward to hanging out with her, even when she hogs my clipboard and sticks tape in my ears. She said, “It's my last week until next year!” To which I said, “But next year you'll be a cool Giraffe [4th and 5th grade girls] and you won't want to talk to me.” She protested. I don't know why I was self-sabotaging—she was my camper two years ago and we are still friends now. Maybe I keep worrying the worry that kept me from connecting with my aiding students—that time is going to steal my friendships away.


Maybe that's why I'm keeping this blog—so that my professed lack of time (I say “I'm so busy” as I watch 4 seasons of Brooklyn 99 and refuse to call or FaceTime people) won't wither my friendships. At the same time, writing this isn't the same as cultivating friendship face to face. But then again, when I write these posts I feel how I feel when a Gazelle says “I want to learn the double box” after they struggled with a single box two weeks ago. I'm getting more delight out of this than I expected to.


What I'm trying to say is relationships are built on the traditional things like sharing stories and asking questions but also are built in the little moments that we pass by. Thanks for creating and sharing these little moments with me, friends.


Podcast Episodes: Jennifer Elsie Foerster reads from “Coosa” - Poetry Foundation
I loved this episode so much I went to my library website and tried to find Foerster’s book Leaving Tulsa. I had to eventually interlibrary loan it (because only 2 libraries in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts had it), but I currently have it in my hands and I am so pumped. This poem is from the June issue of the Poetry Foundation Magazine which features poets from Native Nations. It’s the first poem read on the podcast that made me scramble to read the actual poetry (well, feel like I want to scramble to read the actual poetry. I had a breakfast to eat and children to attend to later on). The imagery in this poem is so beautiful that it reminds me what poetry is at its heart—beautiful words—and how pretentious it is and how necessary it is.

Hand Transplant, DNA, and a Backwards Heart - The Moth Radio Hour
This one's for you, Ana Bulger.

The main reason I’m recommending this one is the first story. I've become a little obsessed with The Moth because now that I'm not going on runs (whoops) I need podcasts that can be self-contained in 15-25 minutes rather than an hour. The Moth is perfect for that. I listened to this one as I walked to the library to pick up a hold. A scientist relates her research about the theory of a finite universe to her relationship with Warren, a man different from her in every way. It's a love story (I'm a sucker for those), but it's one told through the lens of a scientist. When you subsist on love stories written by sentimentalists, it's nice to hear a real one with a different take.

My funniest story from this week is when I told a camper I loved them. I was sitting in the arts and crafts room in extended day, and Lars was talking about fast food chains. He mentioned Wendy’s, and I said, “I love Wendy’s. I would kill someone for a frosty.” I hear, “Bye Alex!” from behind me, and I turn to see one of my little Gazelles waving with her mom standing behind her. Feeling flustered because her mom just heard me talk a little graphically about my love for fast soft serve, I said, “Bye I love you!” Realization dawned on me, and I stammered something as her mom and I awkwardly laughed. It wasn’t my best moment. At least I didn’t say something worse.

I got recognized by my boss for my good work this week. It didn’t feel as good as one of my campers from two years ago clinging to my legs after he thanked me for my good work. It didn’t feel as good as a Gazelle seeing me and holding out her hands for a hug because we didn’t get to talk to each other that much that day. It didn’t feel as good as one of the four-year-olds climbing up five feet on the rock wall and laughing the whole way down.

When I got into work on Friday, I found out our head counselor was out for the day for a job interview. On Thursday I had assumed the role as head for a couple hours, and it was very stressful. It doesn’t seem like head counselors have to do so much, but I quickly understood that I often turn to the head to make decisions about how to fill the extra time, when to discipline campers who don’t listen more seriously, and worst of all what to do about counselor interpersonal issues. I wasn’t looking forward to doing it for the whole day. It went better than expected; the Gazelles came out having an average camp day, which was my goal. When one of the Geese (2nd & 3rd-grade girls) who I had two years ago (different than the camper mentioned above) asked me what my least favorite part about this job was, I said being head.


I’m realizing that moving up in the world isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I love all the stories like the first one—ones that center campers in the middle of them. Being recognized by my co-workers and taking more responsibility by being head are ones that have more social (and economic) capital attachment to them, but they take my attention away from interacting with the kids. I’m starting to understand why my mom doesn’t “move up” and take on administrative work. She always says she would miss teaching too much to try to implement all her ideas of how to better run the school, and honestly, I didn’t get it. Now I’m feeling it on a microscopic scale. My boss gets to make all the decisions and run the camp, but he doesn’t get to learn 30 names of campers from one group and a smattering from other groups or see campers come back again and again.  This seems dramatic for me to say as a 20-something, but it’s lonely at the top. The cost of power is fulfillment and relationships. 

I’ll take explaining what capitalism and propaganda are to a Greyhound (middle school girls) over deciding what counselors go to where during free time any day.


Music: Liquor - Lydia
WOW this album is so good. Lydia is one of my top two favorite bands, and while I didn’t completely love all of their singles from this album and was worried about their musical direction, they didn’t disappoint. The songs by themselves are great, but as a whole they flow seamlessly together into a hazy blue atmosphere of beating drums and electronic piano riffs. From my first listen, a couple of my favorites are “Friends,” “Goodside,” and “Way Out” (the title of this post is from “Sunlight”).


Books: Circe by Madeline Miller
WOW this book is so so so good. My little 5th-grade self that read our mythology book cover to cover a hundred times was slain repeatedly by this amazing book. Circe is a fantastic and riveting character, and Miller effectively weaves together many strands of myths into a story that explores growth inside and outside one’s self. Again, Goodreads reviews are really worth checking out for this one.

When I was working extended day this week, one of the older campers started to talk about how the counselors must get happy when kids leave on a vacation. “They [the counselors] must be like ‘YESSS’ inside,” he said as he wandered around the arts and crafts room.

He’s not wrong. Even if you only have a kid for a week, their little oddities and personality quirks can grate on you, especially if you constantly have to redirect them or force them to do activities. There’s always a piece of you that breathes a sigh of relief when that camper’s name doesn’t show up on the attendance for next week.

He’s not exactly right either. I, having to turn this situation around a little bit, brightly said, “That’s not always true! You know what my favorite part of the day is?” Some other campers offered some classic answers—swimming, popsicles, rock wall. “Nope. My favorite part of the day is sitting in this room.” Even when there are 15 of you all asking me to start your gimp or teach you the triple circle stitch I added in my head.

Hi friends!

I was thinking about how awful I am at communicating with my friends, and I was thinking about all the stories from my week of camp that I would tell my friends if I was face to face with them. But I don’t just reach out to people and say “Hey, here’s something that happened at camp today that I think you would enjoy to keep up with my life!”

So here’s my solution.

Because I like to know what people’s days are like, the little day-to-day activities that get lost in the shuffle of greater memories, I’m going to be sharing mine. To be perfectly honest, this feels kind of self centered and just more like a public form of journaling. As I’m writing this out, my brain is screaming, “No one cares Alex! Your life is not important enough to read about!”

Fair enough. Take this as an invitation to leave this site and never come back if you agree with me. You have enough things competing for your attention, and my little thoughts don’t have to be a part of that.


The thing that is consuming my life right now is camp. I work as a day camp counselor to 5 and 6 year old girls, affectionately known as the Gazelles. As this is my fifth year working at camp, I know a thing or two about how to nod at gibberish coming out of a 4 year old’s mouth, reminding a 5 year old to flush and wash their hands, and make sure a 6 year old participates in activities and doesn’t say mean things to other campers.

A couple of things that have happened during the first week of camp that have stuck in my mind are: a camper running straight into the glass portion of an open door, this same camper later having a 15 minute meltdown because she didn’t get to be the tagger in the group game of tag, a camper sobbing because we didn’t have a popsicle for her at the moment and she couldn’t wait for another counselor to get another one, me teaching a fourth grade boy how to make a Chinese staircase friendship bracelet (he currently has 3 on his wrist), and the whole group of Gazelles getting derailed in science when Mrs. O asked what we could use to heat things up and someone started to talk about their sunburn.


It’s exhausting as ever. Being on eight and a half hours (and then some) really takes it out of you the first week. I spent my first month of summer saying I would work on my honors thesis in the afternoons after camp (spoiler: I’ve looked at my data for maybe one hour). 

But really, this week has been the first time where I have truly loved my job. I love getting to know all my campers, and I love when I can remember a camper’s name from last year or saying hi to a kid in another group when we pass in the hallway. I love teaching the Gazelles how to make a box stitch, even when I find 85% of the gimp I cut and start strewn across the floor, forgotten for easier and more instantly gratifying games. I love when one of my campers who was scared to touch the rock wall at the beginning of the week gets halfway up, and they then descend back to the floor grinning about how they climbed higher than I can reach.

I’d tell you that I’m wiped and I wish I had more time to read and waste away my days, but in truth I’m excited when I get out of bed and when I see my camper’s faces. I can’t wait to sit in the arts and crafts room and banter with some of the older campers. I’m too tired to think about my senior year of college approaching and the rest of my life because I’m busy building memories for kids that won’t remember this day a year from now.