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Top 10 Highlights Of Camp Lebanon 2012

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

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Rose’s zip line ride: see number 5, below…

Every year for the past five or so, Jodi and I and the kids have joined 30 or so families from St. Michael’s and St. Albert’s parishes at a camp near Upsala, Minnesota, called Camp Lebanon. The first year I didn’t want to go, a) because with a dining hall, water toys, and showers, it wasn’t really camping; b) because I was going to be surrounded by kids not my own; and c) because I didn’t feel like I knew enough people and wasn’t looking forward to being “on” all weekend.

All true observations…none of which had any impact on my actual enjoyment of the weekend. We’ve been going back ever since, and even organized it a couple of years.

No time to do a complete recap of the weekend, but here are the Top 10 Highlights:

10. Not My Job! I had hoped to be done with my work early on Friday so we could be on the road by 3 p.m. or so. Not even close, and when 4 p.m. rolled around and I was still packing, my blood pressure started to rise.

Then I remembered: We’re not running things this year. We can get up there any time before tomorrow, and it’s all good.

Turns out we made it in plenty of time for Friday evening activities — and with Lily this year, it’s a good thing we weren’t the organizers! Kudos to Sustaceks, Duerrs, and Fredricksons for a great weekend!

9. New Faces. We missed a number of dear friends who weren’t there…but there were so many new families, too, that you couldn’t help but make new connections. I met potential homebrewers, Axis and Allies enthusiasts, future KCs, and just all-around good guys — hopefully next year the old and the new will all show up, and then some!

8. Albany Invasion. Albany, Minnesota, is the last stop for food on the way to the camp. A gas station just off the freeway houses A&W, Subway, Godfather’s Pizza, Taco John’s, and Chester’s Fried Chicken counters under one roof — and Friday afternoon, it hosted nearly every family bound for Camp Lebanon in constant rotation. I’m sure the locals had to be wondering about the volume of strangers greeting each other with hugs and handshakes.

7. Has Anyone Seen… Once we settle in at camp, the kids are off and running with their friends. Jodi and I ate with grown-ups and Lily, and generally soaked up the weekend, only rousing ourselves occasionally to ask around, “Has anyone seen [CHILD’S NAME HERE]?” And we were hardly the only ones.

6. Holy Spirit at Work. More than once, someone stopped to share that the weekend itself, or something someone did or said, was just what they needed — that the Holy Spirit was at work last weekend. But the most striking example came on Sunday morning, when one of my own overextended children decided to disobey Jodi and run off to play with friends. I confronted the child and had a long talk about the responsibilities that come with being family — and I thought it sunk in. Only a few minutes later, a local seminarian, Paul, offered a scripture reflection in which he talked about how family is diminished when one person acts selfishly — and I looked over to see wide, staring, glassy eyes. I asked about it later, and was told, “I heard him and I was like, “Seriously?!” Wow.

5. Zip Line! I watched two grown men race over a wooded ravine, brazen in their talk but white in their knuckles. I watched our priest and seminarian zip through the tree tops — Father was pounding his chest; Paul was all smiles and thumbs up. But best of all, I watched Emma nervously strap up after watching the men, whimpering and sighing a bit under her breath; watched her set out across the ravine tentatively, and watched her slide back over, screaming and giggling, barely able to speak “That was awesome!” to the camera. She is the only Thorp to have done it so far. She deserves applause.

4. Dating Survey. A few friends began asking an unofficial survey question of the couples at camp: “Do you and your spouse go on dates?” Jodi said, “Not really.” I said, “Occasionally.” Then we both said, “Unless running errands or getting groceries alone together count.” The ruling came back: if we are specifically going together and leaving the kids behind, it counts. Oh, yes, we are still romantic!

3. Early Morning Run. Brendan rose at 6:45 a.m. on a Saturday to go running with a few of the guys from school — and a few girls. I rose a little after 7, and when I emerged from the bathhouse, they were coming the hill from the lake: four or five girls, graceful and light on their feet, and two clomping boys bringing up the rear. Turns out the girls were all cross-country runners, and the two wrestlers were the only boys motivated enough to get up that early. What motivated them to keep pace with the fleet-footed young ladies over two or three miles? I’m going with sheer stubborn pride…though at that age, who can guess? (For an alternative explanation, see the video below…)

2. Family Prayer. Family rosaries each night, and Saturday evening mass with sunbaked parents and waterlogged kids doing their best to be reverent. Families praying together with families. There’s nothing better, except…

1. Serenading Lily. Every year we listen to The White Stripes on the way to the camp. This year Lily was fussing until the guitars and drums kicked in, and, to a person, all four of her siblings began to sing to her.

Wish I could’ve recorded them doing it — leaning over her car seat, almost in harmony, and her grinning, gasping, laughing face. She’s pretty good-looking (for a girl).

Our Monsterpiece

/ J. Thorp / 3 Comments
The Eyes Have It: Lily at a fundraiser dinner, taking it all in. That’s not Jodi holding her…she sucked in countless others that evening to do her bidding. (Photo: Michelle LeMonds at Michelle LeMonds Photography)
monsterpiece – n. – a perfectly created monster;
the pinnacle of a monster-maker’s handiwork*

She drinks you with those eyes. Draws you near in dumb adoration, cute-struck, closer and closer. Her spit-shined pink lips part in an open-mouth smile, toothless except on bottom, and saliva pools on her dimpled chin. She’s close enough now you can smell her baby-ness; she’s reaching with her long little fingers for your clothes, your hair, whatever she can grasp, all giggles and gasping shrieks of delight.
She’s got you.
* * * * *
In earlier December, I made the following prediction: “[W]e are having our tomboy, an active girl of about 10 pounds (plus or minus two ounces; 9-15 like her daddy would be just fine), 21 inches long or so. She’s gonna sleep alright, but when she starts moving about, she’ll be our first climber. We shall have our hands full. She will have a Thorp head, of course, and Jodi’s hazel eyes that look green in the right light.”

Dad always cautioned me that when it comes to children, “you get what you expect.” Six days after the official prediction, we were blessed with Lily, who emerged a little lighter (9 pounds, 4 ounces) and a little longer (23-1/2 inches), but very much an active girl and every bit a handful, with a Thorp head and captivating eyes. She sleeps alright, by which I mean not great, and she is fickle, demanding, and persistent. Perhaps we didn’t get a tomboy, but a diva…
 
* * * * *

If she sees you, then loses sight, she cries. If you initiate eye contact or conversation, then look away or fall silent, she cries. If you pick her up only to put her down – whether in her car seat or among her toys – she cries. If you hold her close and sit, she wants to stand; if you stand, she wants to move…and again, if you look her in the eye, don’t be the first to look away. She cries.

Until two weeks ago she refused to take bottle. She wanted to nurse, exclusively and often, and would accept no substitute. To give Jodi a moment’s peace, for the first time in five children, we decided to try a pacifier. She bit it and spit it out. 

Finally her insatiable appetite got the best of her; now she demands the bottle. And when she wants it she wants it: four ounces at a minimum, no matter how much she’s nursed. Sometimes she still screams when you give it to her, but just try to take it from her…she cannot get it to her face on her own, but lie her on her back and she will clasp it to her chest with both hands. Sometimes if you try to help, she gets agitated — but step away, and invariably she will drop it and scream.

She won’t swallow baby cereal. She’ll eat a little pureed green beans, grimacing and shuddering the whole way — as though she knows the adage, “That which does not kill you makes you stronger.”

Whereas Trevor often insisted, verbally and mentally, the world match his ideas about it, Lily makes it so. We’ve tried to wait her out when she gets owly. Thus far she appears to have more time than we do. She’s like a first-quality air-raid siren: made to be heard in the worst conditions, and just as loud an hour or more later.

* * * * *

And she knows what she likes. One night while pacing the kitchen, trying to get her to sleep, I found myself unable to keep from nuzzling the black fuzz on the back of her head. Our other kids would duck away when I do this – they couldn’t stand the prickliness of my clipped goatee. Lily, by contrast, moved her head slowly side to side against my whiskers, then pressed it deliberately into my chin. I turned away, then back to her; again she rubbed her head on my chin, then leaned hard against it. 

Over time, she began to put her bare cheek against my whiskers, then her open mouth, and now, her nose and rapidly blinking eyes. She can barely stand it, but she persists nonetheless. That which does not kill you…

* * * * *

Will she be a climber? Time will tell. She is strong; she rolls easily, quickly, and repeatedly, and as of last week, spins quickly on her belly to orient herself toward whatever she desires, then arm-crawls across any terrain. If she reaches her objective, she grasps and consumes it, first with her eyes, then with her gaping, smiling mouth, toothless except on the bottom.

She’s our monsterpiece. As I’ve said countless times now: “Good thing she’s cute…”

Daddy’s Girls: Y’all realize the only thing keeping Lily where she’s at is the friction of my whiskers on her fuzzy little head — that’s why my head is tilted to hers. Not snuggling…nosiree! (Photo: Katrina Nielsen at Spiritus Capere Photography)

——

 
*”Monsterpiece” was coined by Rose and me a few weeks back, specifically to describe Lily.

Good Help Ain’t Hard to Find

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Last summer, for my bride’s birthday, we bought paint. Emma’s room needed some work prior to the arrival of Lily, and Jodi has wanted the bathrooms redone for quite awhile now. Since the upstairs bathroom gets the most traffic (and since most of the changes there were to be cosmetic) we bought paint for Emma’s room and the upstairs bathroom and looked for time to undertake these projects.

Emma and I finally tackled her room this past fall. She helped a lot – but although I knew she liked to paint, I also figured most of her enthusiasm had to do with it being her room and us using paint she picked out.

Lily arrived, then Christmas and New Year’s, and the bathroom remained untouched. We got new towels to coordinate with new Bird’s Egg Blue shade Emma had helped pick for the bathroom, but the walls remained a splotchy, pale sea green. Finally Valentine’s Day rolled around, and Jodi didn’t want anything. I offered to make sure the bathroom was repainted by St. Patrick’s Day. She accepted.

Luckily, last Friday was a day off for me. I asked Emma to help me by taking down the decorations and the shower curtain. She did, then served as my “gofer,” bringing me tools, etc., as I needed them. As we got closer to actually painting, she asked if she could help with that, too.

“Of course you can,” I said. “Thanks for the offer!”

She helped prep the walls for the first coat, helped roll it on, watched me do the brush work around the edges, then went with me to Goodwill and Menards to look for a medicine cabinet. When we returned late in the afternoon, a friend asked her if she wanted to come over and play. She declined.

“I’m helping my dad,” she said.

“Wow, Rosie,” I said, “I didn’t know you liked to paint so much.”

“I do,” she said, “but I also like spending time with you.”

I melted. I know it won’t be like this forever, but still.

The next day, St. Patrick’s Day, we were the first two up. We put on our green t-shirts and listened to Flogging Molly over breakfast, then went back to work. Later Emma and I and Trevor continued our quest for a medicine cabinet – found an over-the-toilet model we had missed at Menard’s, plus an antique mirror at a shop in Elk River. We returned home just in time for Emma to enlist her mom’s guidance in another project all her own: Jodi and I were going out for the evening, and Emma had planned to make the boys a St. Patrick’s Day cake with green frosting and pistachios. She wanted to do it all herself, but want to get it in the oven before we left, just in case.

Here is the result:

Emma did everything herself, including the decorating. (She learned that it pays to let the cake cool a bit more first.) Her three brothers each ate two small pieces that night while Jodi and I were gone; Emma didn’t taste it until Sunday, since she had given up sweets for Lent. She earned two 10s, and a 9 from Trevor, who said the cake was still a little too warm when she served it. Jodi and I thought it was excellent.

Especially since Lily’s arrival, Emma has been a tremendous help, and she is becoming quite the young lady. For her birthday this month, she wants money to save for a Nook or a Kindle so she can read more without lugging books. I’ve had many opportunities to talk with her these past several days, and I also learned:

  • She is not feeling crowded in her room, despite all the baby stuff – and in fact, she thinks that, despite the nine-year age gap, she will always love Lily so much she won’t ever want her own room.
  • She is thinking about the University of Minnesota (because I work there) or the College of St. Benedict (where she is slated to visit for a Young Authors Young Artists program). When she mentioned a Catholic college, I mentioned Wyoming Catholic College, which sounds like my kind of place – now that’s on her list…
  • She, too, knows she won’t want to hang around me forever, which is why she’s doing it now.

Gosh, I love that girl. And good help is right next door!

Lenten Trainwreck, and What May Be Learned From It

/ J. Thorp / 5 Comments
Courtesy of the History of Lamberton, Minnesota, web site
Teach us, good Lord
To serve thee as thou deservest,
To give and not count the cost,
To toil and not seek rest,
To labor and not ask for any reward
Save that of knowing that we try to do your will.
– St. Ignatius of Loyola

We’re nearly three weeks into Lent and thus far it’s been a train wreck of sorts. On one hand, a couple of daily spiritual investments I’m promised to make I have successfully carried through with thus far. On the other hand, every sacrifice I committed to for this Lenten journey I have failed to observe at least once. I suppose it could be construed as a point in my favor that I chose to “give up” aspects of my day and diet that have apparently become compulsive – however, it’s pretty sad that it took Lent to make me realize how habitual my eating and technology usage is, and even sadder that my newfound awareness has yet to translate into consistent action.

On top of these things, in the back of my mind I hear a soft but constant chant: almsgiving, almsgiving, almsgiving… Have I neglected this aspect of Lent? Just posing the question suggests that I have.

Last night I went to the church for brief Knights of Columbus project meeting. While waiting for my collaborator, I listened in as Fr. Meyers answered questions from the Monday night adult catechesis small groups. The first had to do with the icons of the Apostles in our sanctuary, and specifically, the meaning of the positioning and gestures of their hands. Father offered a brief overview of icons and assured everyone that the gestures do have meaning – then, spying me, he said, “In fact, Jim Thorp, who is standing just over there, is being trained to give tours of the church…”

I began to retreat down the stairs, only half in jest.

Jodi and I are a welcome couple, greeting families who are new to our parish at a regular lunch. We are supposed to offer them a tour of the church, but since we’ve never been on one ourselves, I decided to schedule one with a local deacon who knows the art and symbolism in our church very well. Word got out, and now, it appears, I have become a tour guide.

I am overextended, as always – but during Adoration last night, I identified something else in me that needs deeper reflection this Lent: I have become an Unjoyful Giver.

Consider:

  • Each day I have a meeting or evening activities related to the Church or the Knights of Columbus, I have a knot in my stomach all day.
  • I was impatient to learn whether Confirmation classes were cancelled because of the snow last week.
  • I dread running into people who need volunteers, because I dread being asked.
  • I have begged out of a few new commitments lately (after initially saying yes) because I couldn’t give them enough attention.

You may look at that list and say, “Well, maybe you’ve got enough on your plate – you help out plenty, plus you’ve got four involved kids and a new baby. Cut yourself some slack!” And I would be grateful for the vote of confidence, except for the following facts:

  • I am the founding member of our new Catholic brew club, the Bottomless Pint Brewers, and have joined another men’s group.
  • I am considering other new commitments, in part because they involve the possibility of modest compensation.
  • And upon further reflection, I did not mind the idea of conducting periodic church tours.

The truth is, I want to do what I want to do. I’ll make time for the stuff I enjoy, and the rest I find myself trying to avoid. Also, I pay only lip service to discernment. Aside from the rare weak moment when someone catches me totally off-guard, when I’m asked to volunteer, I generally tell people I’ll prayerfully consider it. In my case, “I’ll pray on it” usually means “I’ll pray around it.” Last night I came to realize that saying a prayer and then considering is not the same as prayerfully considering. I have not been asking what God wants me to do – how He wants me deployed. As a result, I’ve said Yes to things I shouldn’t have, and have become bitter about things I want to do but don’t have time to do well. And I’ve probably declined opportunities I should have leapt at, as well.

Indeed, this is part of the problem with my Lent thus far – I did not delve deeply into what God wanted from me, or think through what it would require. I ran headlong into Lent without looking, without prayerfully considering, without sufficiently preparing. I was looking back over my shoulder to see who was in pursuit, and smacked headlong into Ash Wednesday. I’m still recovering, I think.

Right now, I can think of no worse feeling than doing a half-assed job for God – and the latest edition of “Columbia” magazine gave me some insight into why. See, God doesn’t just love us – He isn’t merely a love-ing God. He is love – all love – it’s his very nature and being. Now, think of how you felt as a child (or even now) when you disappoint someone. If you’re like me, your agony over letting them down is often in direct proportion to how much you know that they love you. For example, if a stranger says he is disappointed in you, that will have less of an effect than if a teacher says it, and the teacher will have less of an effect than a dear parent, grandparent, aunt or uncle.

Now multiply that times a billion.

When you contemplate God as limitless, life-giving love, you realize there can be only one response in return: joyful reciprocation. And then, if you’re me, you realize how far short of that ideal you fall every day, not only in the community and at church, but especially at home, with those you try to love, and who do their level best to love you back.

It is my hope that I can make myself slow down and ask, in the solitude of my own heart, where I am supposed to be, and that I can be still and silent enough to hear the reply. Genuinely prayerful consideration of my strengths and weaknesses, as well as where God wants me to be, should lead me in a new direction, in which I become a Joyful Giver, glad to serve, even when it’s difficult, because I know I’m doing the will of the One who sent me. To that end, I hope to make the prayer at the top of this post a daily reminder. Amen?

Rude Awakening

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Over the past eight weeks, I have lost my heart to our family’s new addition. I love to hold her, feed her, even change her diapers (of course, these early scentless messes are the easiest). Perhaps it’s because we’ve waited so long (seven years!) to have another, or perhaps it’s because we know now that there are no guarantees, but I cling to little Lily and rejoice. She can do no wrong.

So last night, after the elder four had turned in and Jodi and I were getting ready to do the same, Lily was, in turns, playful and fussy — one moment wide-eyed and smiling, the next gassy and grimacing. We thought little of it, since from day one Lily has been fussier and rumblier than all of our previous infants.

When we were both finally ready, Jodi sat propped my pillows, holding and patting our daughter to elicit a burp. I turned on a small bedside lamp that glows softly gold, just enough for my bride to feed by, then settled into bed next to my wife and infant daughter. We talked a bit, then Jodi began to nurse Lily. We prayed together, then I rolled away from the girls and drifted slowly off to sleep.

I woke to “HLLLAT!” and a sudden splash of warm liquid on my bare back and shoulders. “Oh!” I shouted, immediately awake and on my feet. I could feel a viscous fluid running down my back. I tried frantically to reach it, to keep it from dripping on the carpet. I turned and in the dim light saw Lily’s innocent face on Jodi’s wet shoulder. Jodi herself looked at me with sympathetic eyes. “Oh, honey!” she said. As I bolted for the bathroom, she began to laugh.

I came back with a towel looped around my shoulders and back. Jodi was examining her pajamas and the bedding: shirt, shorts, both sheets, the comforter, and multiple pillows were streaked with milky white vomit. Lily seemed very much at peace.

“That was quite the rude awakening, Lily-bell,” I said.

“You should have seen it!” said Jodi. “It came straight out, like a hose!”

“So, more like a spewed awakening,” I joked. “Fear no fluids, right hun?”*

“Right.”

Never rose so quickly — or so widely awake — in my life. If Lily did that every morning at six, I’d never be late again.

—-

* Our parenting motto, once we realized as young parents that our non-parenting friends had no stomach for stories like this one…