Purple Music

Some sights and sounds and words and music never lose their magic.

"Turn me and twist me and show me the elf. 
I looked in the water and saw (myself)!"

If you remember saying these words, 
you'll know where I'm coming from.

I once was a Brownie and young Girl Scout.

I still remember the ceremony when I received my golden Brownie pin and had to do a good deed to turn it right side up. I remember selling boxes of cookies. I remember walking from old Harmony School (no longer in existence) two blocks east to a church (also demolished) on the corner of 74th and West Main Street for our meetings. I remember the pride with which I wore my uniform to school and my anticipation in attending those weekly meetings.

I remember bringing home the crafts I'd made that my parents kept almost forever, like a wooden slat and shoe lace mail holder. I also remember a game of catch with a jack ball that got out of hand at another meeting when I got shoved face forward under a lunch table. That's when one of my new front teeth was severely damaged, and the beginning of my major dental problems began.

I still have my old Girl Scout Handbook, and I've noticed how the badges have progressively become less domestic and challenging, and have a considerably reduced number of requirements. Way back when, our program was more about service and practical skills than Beverly Hills fluff.

My early love for Scouting came rushing back when my oldest daughter first put on her Brownie uniform, and it stayed with me some 30 odd years later when we started a troop in Arizona that grew from 6 girls to 50 before we turned it back over to their parents. It was with me, the night I received my 50 year pin and the day I walked, with hundreds of bridging Scouts, across the Mill Street Bridge.

My enthusiasm for Scouting was there in the 70s when I became a co-leader for her troop, then leader for my middle daughter's troop. It was rampant while I learned and honed my skills along with the girls and other leaders.

It was there when I worked at day camp while I was pregnant with my youngest and just as strong when I came back the following year to work with all the girls during the day, and let my baby splash in a big metal washtub by the flag pole before heading home. She and I still regret that I wasn't able to be her troop leader as well.

I've loved all the opportunities Girl Scouts gave the four of us over the years, especially the numerous trips down to Camp Butterfly where all three of my girls were with me for a week or more at a stretch. One year we went down for three weeks in a row--individual troop camp, core camp, and we finished our stay with family camp. It was a summer we'll always remember!

The evening in between the departure of all the other Scouts and the arrival of the Scout families, my girls and I had the whole camp to ourselves for several hours.

The counselors had gone into town to blow off some steam after dinner. The girls and I went down to the lake. Some raccoons were washing and eating some mussels; birds were calling from the trees; mist was gathering over the water; the moon and stars were shining on us. The camp was suddenly so quiet it was as if we were all alone in the world, but not lonely because we were together.

The nicest thing about this kind of camping is that we had the benefit of a support staff of young, energetic, knowledgeable, well-trained counselors who helped us enjoy swimming, canoeing, sailing, horseback riding, hiking, repelling, archery, star gazing--you name it,
we learned and had a blast doing it.

I think the thing I enjoyed the most was spending mornings at the lakefront, coming up for lunch, singing grace, eating and then singing while each table washed up their dishes, and finally going back to our campsites for an hour to rest before the afternoon and evening activities began.

While I'm sure the rest period was as much for the counselors as it was for the campers, I found it one of the most peaceful times I'd ever experienced before or since.

The girls and I traveled to camp in our Honda Civic so we had to limit ourselves to bare necessities, even though I did have a camper shell clamped to the roof. That shell had to hold our four big duffle bags of clothes, mess kits, pillows and sleeping bags. To that I added sturdy, string hammocks about the size of my fist, a boom box that doubled as a cassette tape player and several tapes that contained music suitable for nap time.

My youngest quickly became fond of Chopin, Bach and Tchaikovsky, and sure enough, as soon as we lashed our hammocks to the trees next to our cabin and climbed into them, she'd ask me to play the "purple music." (Tchaikovsky's label happened to be purple!)

Everyone had an extra piece of rope tied to another tree so we didn't even have to put a foot on the ground to rock ourselves to sleep as we swung to and fro, listening to the breeze rustling the leaves overhead and the sweet sounds of classical music.

How many times do we go on vacation and rush here and there until we come home and need to "rest" up from our sojourn?
Not so when we came home from camp, 
despite all our time in the sun and fresh air.

How many times do we rush through our day, doing all the extraneous duties we assign ourselves without taking time out for a quiet moment to recharge and listen to the beat of our own heart and the sound of our children growing up and away from us?
Too often, I think, and not nearly often enough.

My children's young lives passed by in the blink of an eye. Sadly I remember too little of them.

I let the pressures and stress of a family business and unhappy marriage take precedence over my paying attention to more important things like our day-to-day moments together.

I'd love for my children to follow my lead and write down the stories of their lives, now while they're still fresh in their minds. If they did,
I could relive those moments all over again;
this time through their eyes.

I cannot return to those important days and cherish them as I might have, but I do have today and I've turned a new page. Today I am building new memories, for them and for me.

I gather each good time we share like precious pearls on a string, one happy occasion after another.

I cannot ease or erase the sorrow or anger or disappointment we shared in the past. I can only step into a new beginning, a new way of loving and living in the moment.

I wake up each day, knowing we have one more chance for another purple music moment of peace and joy and love.

Our time together at camp was a welcome break from the chaos of our lives back home. 
It was all the sweeter because we knew that in the shade of those trees we were happy and safe and filled with love for each other.

It was indeed the best time of our lives.