VBS: The Delta Variant

VBS 2011--happy singers (all 70 of them, packed in together--remember when?)

Over the past 20 years of my tenure at church, our annual summer Vacation Bible School has been a constant, but with some variants. As with all kid-centric activities, flexibility has been the name of the game, and I always expect to face a few  unexpected developments. Memories…

There was the kid-who-shall-remain-nameless who felt sick mid-morning, then promptly GOT sick—on the sofa in the pastor’s office. The pastor was out of town, and we MAY have just cleaned up and never told him. Possibly. There was the sweet 10 year old who, it turns out, was highly allergic to just one of the 47+ varieties of Pop Tarts (we usually provide a fun junk food breakfast for our teen counselor helpers prior to opening, and of course had unwittingly served up POISON that morning). And who can forget the jolly piggyback rides the counselors used to give their young charges throughout the sessions? Not I, not after one jolly rider pitched over the head of her counselor, and ended up looking like she’d been in a car accident. Luckily, she had incredibly cool and understanding parents, but it certainly could have gone the other way.

But, even if I had the flexibility of a top yoga teacher, I wouldn’t have been prepared for Delta. This experience has been akin to crawling ashore after a shipwreck, only to be hit by a dune buggy. You think you’ve made it home safe, then, whammo. But after cancelling 2020’s festivities, we really wanted to try and find a way to make VBS happen this summer. The result is a very scaled-down version of things. 

Yesterday was our kickoff. The day dawned sunny (yay!) and also blisteringly hot and humid (not-so-yay). At 10 AM our little friends arrived, sunscreened and masked up and ready for fun. 

On the plus side: the decision to limit the time to two hours (10-noon) was a wise one.

On the minus side: the way the temp rose, maybe those two hours should have been 4-6 AM (hey, I was awake!)

Plus: holding this in late August, we caught some families who’ve never been able to attend in late June due to vacation schedules.

Minus: we lost a number of families for whom June was the only workable time.

Plus: we gave everyone a personalized, filled water bottle to tote and hydrate through the morning.

Minus: we sent the bottles home to be refilled and returned tomorrow. Maybe we should have kept them at church?

Plus: We had the cutest puppet yet for gathering time (Sparky the Dragon)

Minus: We were short staffed, so I ended up being both puppeteer and puppet. Shari Lewis must be spinning in her grave.

To sum up: it went well, all things considered. And today, as I arrive at church at Delta Dawn (couldn’t resist) for another sanitized and cautious get-together, I will say a prayer that this surge too, shall pass, and our sweet kiddos make it safely to Vaccination Day.

VBS 2021--masked and distanced and outdoors

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Sibling Revelry

Brotherly love, Summer 2021 edition

“You’d better get along with your sisters, girls. It will be the longest relationship of your lives—longer than with your parents, longer than with your spouses, longer than with your own children.” –Joanie (AKA Mom)

Growing up was no walk in the park chez Cunningham. My sisters and I were raised by overgrown children, Joanie and Tom, who meant well, but had zero control over the Monkey House that was our domicile. We girls truly loved each other (and our parents), but at times the impartial observer would be hard-pressed to guess that. 

I do remember playing elaborate games of Barbie and Ken with Maureen, though, and both of us doted on Carolyn, who was several years younger. But then came school, and suddenly there were friends to make, friends who were much more entertaining and glamorous than the kids we shared rooms and bathtubs with. For the remainder of our youth, we jumped when any of our buddies beckoned, leaving our siblings in the dust. We figured there’d be time, later, to nurture that “longest relationship of our lives.” Not then, however.

Mo’s death at age 23 was a massive wake-up call—our little circle was broken, forever. It took a year or so of grieving in our separate ways, but then C and I found our way back to each other, and a friendship that has sustained me in the 40 years since. 

My children similarly began as a very tight-knit crew, but as their lives expanded, those bonds were sometimes strained. Sheridan and Evan in particular were joined at the hip—until they weren’t. They grew to have separate social circles, and their “BFFs” were not always one another. As with my sister, our five have found their way back to amazing relationships, but I still recall the fallen faces of the younger brother or sister discarded by the older one in favor of his or her fellow third graders.

And here we are with Aiden and Peter. As the pandemic began, the boys had just returned from a visit to their family in Taiwan, and had settled back into kindergarten and preschool. Overnight, the shutdown happened, and then it was just the two of them as sole playmates, for months and months. Sheridan and Ya-Jhu homeschooled them, and they didn’t seem to miss being with other children (at the height of the COVID scare, we’d whisk them home if anyone else appeared on the playground). 

Fast-forward to Fall 2021, and their impending return to school. They are excited; Nana is a mess. I keep turning tender brotherly moments from the past year over and over in my heart, and I dread the boys’ separation. Deep down I know it’s good for them to socialize again (way deep down). But then there’s a moment like this recent one...

Peter, at almost five, has an adorably quirky way of pronouncing certain words, and he calls his brother, emphatically, “Eden.” I finally asked him why, and Peter responded, matter-of-factly. “I call him Eden because I love him!”

God bless you, “Eden” and Peter, as you step once more out into the bigger world. Never forget how much you love each other, my sweet boys.

Click Bait

Honey-lavender glazed donut—where is such deliciousness?? Click to find out!

The classic “gotta read it” headline immortalized in journalism classes was an old NYC tabloid one: “Headless Body Found in Topless Bar.” Now I ask you, aren’t you the least bit curious? Even though I’m revolted by my morbid interest, I confess I often read on when I encounter a boffo header. And, with the internet, click bait come-ons are everywhere; for example, email subject lines like one from a religious magazine that landed in my inbox this morning: “Is your smartphone causing you to sin more?”( Hmmm, maybe…only if “sinning” involves “cursing at my smartphone when the battery dies”).

Then there are those devilish online “rabbit hole” posts. You know the ones: there’s a picture of an actor you know can’t possibly be more than 50 years old, with the caption “At age 100, she’s still with her partner!” and then I begin clicking compulsively through 75 photos to get the juicy details, at the end of which I have totally forgotten the name of the 50/100 year old movie star I’m seeking an update about. And by then it’s 6 PM and I haven’t started dinner. 

I was thinking the other day—wouldn’t adding click bait headlines to my life spice things up? There are days when I’m hard pressed to imagine anyone more boring (boring-er?) than me, with my mind-numbing daily routines. But if I wrote about myself (which, if you’ve read even one of the past 472 posts, you realize is what I basically do) and then added a dash of intrigue, maybe I’d be able to imagine that I am, in fact, a creature of romance and mystery (or at least, that I’m not the most boring –boring-est—person I know).

So here are a few TRUE incidents from this past week, along with suggested headlines:

Terror on the Beach! Shark Bites Swimmer in Ocean City! Only 40 Miles from where Elise Stands with Her Toes in the Water! 

Frantic Treasure Hunt! House Key Mysteriously Disappears! Stolen by a Wily Thief? Or Left in the Glove Compartment of Car? Read On and Find Out!

She Was the Oldest Rehoboth Summer Children’s Theatre Cinderella Ever, and She’s Still with Her Prince Charming! You’d Better Sit Down Before You Check Out THIS Amazing Photo!

Tragic Missed Connection! Wi-Fi Woes Doom Long Distance Call with Long Distance Son! Will He Ever Contact Her Again?

Negligent Grandparents “On Duty” when Tiny Lego Disappears Up Little Grandson’s Nostril! ER Averted When Pa Turns Him Upside Down?

Nightmare On Highway One! Heavy Traffic on Friday Summer Afternoon Shocks Beach-Bound Driver! How Can This Possibly Be, Elise Wonders?? 

Walked an Hour Without Her Fitbit! Why Is She Convinced It Doesn’t Count? Exercise Experts Weigh In!

I think I’m on to something here, folks. Now all I need is to add a soundtrack to my life and it’s a whole new ball game.

What should my theme song be?  “I Will Survive?” “Mairzy Doats?” “Crazy?” Cast your votes and let’s make this happen!

My toes were probably shark-safe 

Word Perfect

With the Bruics, June 2017, Dingle, Ireland

While I consider myself truthful, I have been known to embellish things just a tad, only when such a teensy addition would make the story immeasurably better, of course. I often feel a kinship with storytellers of ancient days, sitting around ye olde fire. I’d begin, “So…I killed a deer today. Pretty much it.” “Tell us more!!!” my rapt audience would plead. “OK, well, the deer attacked me first, and wrested the bow and arrow from my hands.” “Wow!!!” “And after it was dead, I carried it 20 miles through the snow, uphill both ways.” “Now you’re talking!!” See what I mean? SUCH an improvement!

Whereas reporters have no such leeway. Much as I’m sure they’d love to add a pithy comment here, a hilarious anecdote there, they are duty-bound to capture what was actually said by their interviewees, and not a syllable more. No wonder I opted out of journalism school! 

There is a trend nowadays to add an element of reporting to personal essays, in order to make them more timely, and, therefore, marketable. Recently, a couple of my editors have asked that I get a quote from a source or two, to beef up my narratives. While I certainly comply, it is not without a decent amount of trepidation. What if I (gasp) misquote these people???  My M.O. is paper and pen, not voice memos and the like, so my post-phone call routine is to try my darnedest to decipher my scribble-scrabble that passes for notes. Did Pastor Mary really move to a “fram” in rural Ohio? Does Dr. Peters truly believe that artificial intelligence is good? Or, maybe, bad? Or, is he neutral about the whole thing? I write my pieces and hit send, dreading the possible fallout from my subjects. So far, everyone has been pleased…which means that I am way overdue for an angry email from an irate expert, who threatens to sue me for putting (the wrong) words in his/her mouth. 

I am currently writing an essay about my very favorite bed and breakfast in Ireland, where Rose, Julie and I stayed in 2017, for a publication called “The Heart of the Hotel.” In all my travels, I never encountered innkeepers with bigger hearts than Jimmy and Noreen Bruic, of The Forest of the Roses on the Dingle Peninsula. I referred to my four-year-old notes from our visit. I emailed Jimmy for some clarifications. Even now, as I am about to submit, I picture the kind and serene Mr. Bruic, his face uncharacteristically contorted in fury, accusing me of getting something (anything) wrong, thus ruining his business forever. 

“Practice makes perfect” (who coined that phrase? Need to give the proper credit to the author!) so I will press on, as a newly-minted member of the press. The writing game continues to evolve, and so must I. I am spending time today investigating recording devices, in my ongoing quest for accuracy. 

But I'd love to quote Jimmy as saying, “sure and begorrah.” 

Guess not. 

Stop the presses!! I goofed!!