A Staycation to Write Home About

In 2009 the Merriam-Webster dictionary added the term "staycation, defining the word as "a vacation spent at home or nearby". In this summer of recession, many are opting to stay home by the pool or the beach rather than take an expensive vacation. We sometimes forget that some of the most beautiful and interesting places are less than an hour's drive away.

This past weekend I took my family on a "daycation" (okay a day trip) to Salem. Breaking free from our South Shore cocoon, we figured we'd see what that other shore had to offer. My last trip to Salem was almost ten years ago. My sisters were visiting from out of town and we thought it would be fun to check out one of the haunted house attractions (with my two-year-old in tow). Chasing after my son as he fled the premises was not one of my finer parenting moments, and so I hadn't been back to Salem since.

Now that my children are eight and eleven, Salem seemed a more manageable expedition. We began our day at the Peabody-Essex museum. The admission fee for adults was seriously discounted (thanks to a pass from The John Curtis Library) and our kids were free. Our first stop in the museum was an incredible exhibit called Trash Menagerie. The exhibit featured a variety of animals, insects, fish and other creatures made from recycled trash and other found objects. The rabbit made from cigarette filters and an insect made from Singer sewing machine parts fascinated my kids. With lots of hands-on activities, this was the perfect way to start our visit.

Our next stop was the Yin Yu Tang house, a 200-year old Chinese house that was dismantled, shipped and completely rebuilt inside the museum. Stepping across the threshold was like stepping back in time, and the free self-guided audio tour gave us a wealth of facts about what it was like living in such a home in China. My kids loved the koi fish but were less than thrilled to learn that the children of the house were the ones who emptied the various chamber pots.

After our tour of Yin Yu Tang, we wandered through the rest of the museum, viewing everything from photographs of surfers to figureheads from old sailing ships to a wedding dress made entirely of seashells. When my younger son accidentally triggered an alarm, we decided it was a good time to leave and have our lunch.

We timed our visit perfectly as the town common was the site of the Salem Culture Fest, a gathering of artists, artisans, musicians and other unusual vendors. With the smell of patchouli wafting past, we sat on the grass, listening to music and eating our picnic lunch. At one point, a group of adults and children set up a tent nearby, carrying armloads of gauzy, brightly colored scarves. We assumed they were vendors preparing to sell their wares, but then everyone in the group grabbed a scarf in each hand and began swaying and waving them in unison. Interpretive dance? Religious cult? Whatever they were, it was our cu e to finish lunch and move on.

After lunch we wandered down to the waterfront, stopping briefly at Crow Haven Corner, the oldest Witch shop in Salem (more patchouli, lots of candles and a Chihuahua at the front counter greeting customers). We worked up a sweat walking out to the small, square lighthouse on Derby Wharf, so the kids cooled down with enormous ice cream cones from a nearby cafe. Passing by the Witch Trials Memorial we eavesdropped on a tour guide's description of the panic and hysteria that gripped Salem in 1692 and cost twenty men and women their lives.

As we walked back to our car at the end of the day, the kids caught glimpses of the Pirate museum, the Wax museum and several other attractions we hadn't had time to see. "Can we please come back to Salem again soon?" they pleaded as we headed for the highway. My husband and I exchanged a satisfied grin. Our daycation to Salem, Witch Capital of the World, was a "wicked" success.

Thank God for Summer Camp

All hail the summer savior, that lifeline I have come to call "mother's little helper". I'm referring, of course, to summer camp.

I have friends who can't wait for school to let out. Partially due to the release from homework, lunches and bus schedules but mainly because they can't wait for their children to be home with them 24/7. In June, a friend of mine and a mother of four children asked me "Aren't you looking forward to having your kids home with you all the time?" to which I replied "Hell no!" Now, I love my children, and I enjoy spending time with them, but the problem lies with spending time with them together. My kids love nothing better than to needle each other, which leads to complaints, whining, tears, tattling and eventually someone's hands on the other's body. Which leads to more complaints, whining, tears, tattling and...well you get the picture.

And that's where summer camp comes in. Wedged in between our trips to the beach, Canobie Lake Park, the movies, relatives and the zoo are those blissful weeks when someone else is responsible for enriching my children's lives. For those few short hours, I can feel confident that my children are exercising their bodies and their minds, away from the temptation of video games, television and the computer. (And when I say temptation, I mean my temptation. After enough begging, pleading and cajoling, I tend to cave, especially if I am trying to get something done).

Planning for summer camp is my favorite winter activity. I mean really, who doesn't love trying to envision your entire summer schedule in the dead of winter? Let's spin the roulette wheel and try to guess which camp my children will feel like attending in five months. Will it be nature camp? The YMCA? Park & Rec? Choose wisely my friend, because if you hesitate there is someone right behind you, hungry for your child's spot.
My younger son is pretty easygoing when it comes to camp, so this year he opted for Park and Rec. His counselor was great, he had friends in his group, and his only major complaint was that there seemed to be an unusual shortage of Italian Ices (perhaps the boat from Italy was held up in customs? Or maybe Italian Ices are out of season.)

My older son is a bit more challenging when it comes to camp. He's not a sports enthusiast, and he's done nature camp for several years. So this year we chose College Academy (or as my friend refers to it: Bill Gates Camp. Yeah, Bill Gates is a geek but he's the world's richest geek, so I say bring it on!) My son has been enjoying days filled with cartooning, video production and something called "Going Green" a class that focuses on recycling. And yes, Fantasy Adventures (a generic title for Dungeons and Dragons). Say what you will, but each day when he steps off the bus and I ask about his day, his reply always begins with "Great!"

One year I re-painted my entire living room during the first two days of summer camp, which set the bar for summers to come. Since then, I've always made a mental list of all the things I'll get to once the kids are in camp. (Forget about the fact that I never got to these things while the kids were in school). Stripping wallpaper, weeding flower beds and re-painting trim were all projects I had hoped to achieve in the weeks when my children were at camp. Yet when a friend would call, luring me to the beach or to lunch or a quick trip to Boston, I'd always allow myself to be swayed, thinking that there would be plenty of other camp days to get my to-do list done.

And now that my younger son is finished with Park and Rec, and my older son has just a week of camp left, did I accomplish any of these tasks?

Umm...let's just say these will be wonderful, enriching, bonding activities my children and I can do together in the remaining weeks of summer.

The Magic of Harry Potter

All hail the summer savior, that lifeline I have come to call "mother's little helper". I'm referring, of course, to summer camp.

I have friends who can't wait for school to let out. Partially due to the release from homework, lunches and bus schedules but mainly because they can't wait for their children to be home with them 24/7. In June, a friend of mine and a mother of four children asked me "Aren't you looking forward to having your kids home with you all the time?" to which I replied "Hell no!" Now, I love my children, and I enjoy spending time with them, but the problem lies with spending time with them together. My kids love nothing better than to needle each other, which leads to complaints, whining, tears, tattling and eventually someone's hands on the other's body. Which leads to more complaints, whining, tears, tattling and...well you get the picture.

And that's where summer camp comes in. Wedged in between our trips to the beach, Canobie Lake Park, the movies, relatives and the zoo are those blissful weeks when someone else is responsible for enriching my children's lives. For those few short hours, I can feel confident that my children are exercising their bodies and their minds, away from the temptation of video games, television and the computer. (And when I say temptation, I mean my temptation. After enough begging, pleading and cajoling, I tend to cave, especially if I am trying to get something done).

Planning for summer camp is my favorite winter activity. I mean really, who doesn't love trying to envision your entire summer schedule in the dead of winter? Let's spin the roulette wheel and try to guess which camp my children will feel like attending in five months. Will it be nature camp? The YMCA? Park & Rec? Choose wisely my friend, because if you hesitate there is someone right behind you, hungry for your child's spot.
My younger son is pretty easygoing when it comes to camp, so this year he opted for Park and Rec. His counselor was great, he had friends in his group, and his only major complaint was that there seemed to be an unusual shortage of Italian Ices (perhaps the boat from Italy was held up in customs? Or maybe Italian Ices are out of season.)

My older son is a bit more challenging when it comes to camp. He's not a sports enthusiast, and he's done nature camp for several years. So this year we chose College Academy (or as my friend refers to it: Bill Gates Camp. Yeah, Bill Gates is a geek but he's the world's richest geek, so I say bring it on!) My son has been enjoying days filled with cartooning, video production and something called "Going Green" a class that focuses on recycling. And yes, Fantasy Adventures (a generic title for Dungeons and Dragons). Say what you will, but each day when he steps off the bus and I ask about his day, his reply always begins with "Great!"

One year I re-painted my entire living room during the first two days of summer camp, which set the bar for summers to come. Since then, I've always made a mental list of all the things I'll get to once the kids are in camp. (Forget about the fact that I never got to these things while the kids were in school). Stripping wallpaper, weeding flower beds and re-painting trim were all projects I had hoped to achieve in the weeks when my children were at camp. Yet when a friend would call, luring me to the beach or to lunch or a quick trip to Boston, I'd always allow myself to be swayed, thinking that there would be plenty of other camp days to get my to-do list done.

And now that my younger son is finished with Park and Rec, and my older son has just a week of camp left, did I accomplish any of these tasks?

Umm...let's just say these will be wonderful, enriching, bonding activities my children and I can do together in the remaining weeks of summer.

Memories of Michael Jackson

This week there were several “celebrity” deaths reported but none as shocking or surprising as that of Michael Jackson. While I wouldn’t call myself a fan (I’m not one of those hysterical girls you saw crying uncontrollably at his concerts) I will say that I had an appreciation for his talent.

The first record I ever bought was “Rockin’ Robin” by Michael Jackson. My friend Patti Mirenna sold it to me for fifty cents (unbeknownst to the real owner, her older sister Jolene.) I played that 45 over and over, listening as the music mixed with the pops and scratches of the vinyl. (Remember 45s? You had to put that little yellow adapter in the middle otherwise the record would slide all over your turntable making the music sound even more psychedelic than usual.) Although I enjoyed The Jackson 5, I was really more of an Osmond Family fan. Michael Jackson had the pipes but Donny Osmond was dreamy.

Fast-forward a decade to December 1983. I spent the first half of my junior year of college studying abroad. Spending time in France, England and several other European countries left me significantly out of the loop when it came to American pop culture. Returning home after four months in Europe, my sisters pounced on me not to find out about the latest Paris fashions, or whether the men in Italy really pinched your butt as you walked by. The first thing they asked me was “Have you seen Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’?” Of course I hadn’t; the phenomenon had not yet reached European shores, and so we plunked ourselves down in front of MTV for what seemed like hours (and probably was) and waited for the next showing. (Remember those days before the Internet and YouTube when you had to wait for something to be shown? For that matter, remember when MTV actually showed music videos?)

Of course I was blown away by the music, the dancing and the special effects, but most of all by Michael Jackson himself. Clearly he was a visionary when it came to music, but even more so when it came to showmanship. The “Thriller” album went on to become the highest selling album of all time and a superstar suddenly became an icon.

Over the years my admiration for Michael Jackson’s talent was tempered by his increasingly odd behavior: A chimpanzee for a best friend; purchasing the Elephant Man’s bones (and even more disturbing, purchasing the Beatle’s music.) A hyperbaric chamber installed in his amusement park of a home; the allegations by young boys. And through it all, the ever-changing face of Michael Jackson. A friend’s daughter once innocently asked, “How did Michael Jackson go from being a black man to a white woman?” How indeed?

For many, the passing of Michael Jackson will be one of those “Where were you when you heard…” events. I was on my way to TJ Maxx to find a dress for my husband’s reunion. When I heard the news, I wandered through the store, telling anyone who passed that Michael Jackson had died. I guess I needed others to share my disbelief, to validate the shock I felt. How could such an iconic figure be gone so suddenly?

As millions mourn, I join them in recognizing the loss of an immense talent. Despite the financial woes, legal battles and bizarre behavior, I will try to remember the Michael Jackson whose voice first entertained me for hours on a cheap turntable and entertained the world for nearly five decades.

Hooray for Summer

Summer is officially here (though you'd never know it by the weather). The last of the homework has been turned in, the kids are out of school and our routine is out the window. Still, there are things that I am looking forward to over the next eleven weeks (and how is it that eleven weeks sounds both incredibly short and impossibly long?)

I'm looking forward to our upcoming visit with my-out-of state family and friends (though I am not looking forward to my husband's high school reunion: at his last reunion I compensated for the fact that I knew no one by taking advantage of the open bar. My only memory is of hoovering five or six mini crème brulees from the dessert table...10 years is just not enough time to erase that first impression).

I'm looking forward to taking my kids to the beach. They're finally at an age where they can swim and surf without my constant, hawk like gaze upon them. I might even bring a book with me (or maybe just a magazine. I wouldn't want to push my luck) I'm not looking forward to the inevitable sunburn my children will get despite the long shorts, surf shirts and gallons of sunscreen I pour on them. I'm also not looking forward to seventy pounds of beach sand in my van over the course of the summer, but hey, motherhood’s a sacrifice.

I'm especially looking forward to visiting my friends with the beach house. Friends who have beach houses are right up there with friends with pools. They can make or break your summer. Top of the list are friends with pools and a beach house.

I'm looking forward to our annual trip to Canobie Lake Park. This is a great place for our kids because it allows me to gauge just when they are ready for our first trip to Disney. If they can't go on the big roller coasters, then I can't bring myself to spend thousands of dollars for a week in the Magic Kingdom. Last summer my older son finally went on the corkscrew coaster with me, so we're making progress

I'm also looking forward to the water park at Canobie Lake, Castaway Island. It's comforting to know that no matter how hot the day; the frigid cold water that gushes from every direction will still shock you into a heart attack. And though I'm the first to admit that I'm out of shape, going to any water park makes me feel like a supermodel. No matter how I look, there will always be someone who looks worse, and that person is usually wearing a string bikini. I walk out of that place feeling like a goddess.

I'm looking forward to those evenings when I surprise my kids by taking them out to JC's or The Dairy Twist for an ice cream. As the sun sets and the moths begin beating themselves against the neon lights, we debate the merits of soft serve versus hard, jimmies versus chocolate dip. These are our biggest decisions of the day.

I'm looking forward to eating dinner out on our deck, listening to our neighbors play in their yards, the smell of their grills as they cook burgers. I'm looking forward to catching fireflies and watching for shooting stars during the Perseid meteor showers in August. I'm looking forward to drinking a Mike's Hard Lime in the evenings as my kids tell me about what they've been up to in camp that day.
I'm looking forward to meeting friends at the YMCA outdoor pool and having Papa Gino’s deliver right to my picnic table (I am not looking forward to that sudden whistle blow that means we have to evacuate the pool immediately...sometimes its because of thunder and other times its because of a foreign object floating in the water.)

And just when I think I cannot take another perfect summer day, I'll be looking forward to school starting again.

Dispatch from Camp Squanto

For 37 years, Hanover sixth graders have performed a rite of passage; spending a week at Camp Squanto in Plymouth. Throughout the week, the middle schoolers enjoy games, crafts, sports and other activities that their sixth grade teachers have spent months planning. But Camp Squanto is about more than just archery, boating and fishing. Hanover's children spend those five days on a voyage of self-discovery. For the child who has never slept away from home, it's learning to overcome homesickness. The child whose parent does everything for him learns to clean up after himself and others. A child who typically follows others may emerge as a leader. The lessons that are learned at Camp Squanto are all about team building, relying on yourself, and doing things outside of your comfort zone.

Longtime resident Brenda Maver missed this experience by a matter of weeks. Brenda and her family moved to Hanover the summer before she entered seventh grade. Some of the first friends she made in Hanover regaled her with stories of their Camp Squanto experience. Brenda can't help but wonder how her life would have been different had she had that experience herself.

And now, 31 years later, Brenda finally made it to Camp Squanto. Mother to 12-year-old Mitchell, Brenda, along with several other parents, volunteered to put family and work aside for a week to assist the teachers with this year's trip to Camp Squanto. Brenda and I talked about her week over coffee and it was clear from the beginning of our conversation that the event had a profound impact on her. As the mother of a fifth-grader, I was eager to learn what my child had in store for next year.

Brenda explained that long before the bus leaves for camp, the sixth graders have chosen a tent mate, someone who is their buddy for the week. These tent mates then chose other kids to be part of their campsite groups, approximately 35-40 kids per site. This way the children are able to surround themselves with other kids that make them feel comfortable. The campers are not limited to choosing friends within their homeroom or academic team. However, when it comes time for activities, the groups are then broken down into other groups that have been predetermined by their teachers. This way the kids are with their friends yet also making new friends throughout the week.

A typical day at Squanto can begin as early as 5:30 a.m. should a camper decide to try fishing. Breakfast is at 8 with morning activities following from 9-12. These might include crafts, archery, rock climbing, boating, or a number of other activities that have been developed by their teachers. Lunch follows at noon, with a 45 minute "siesta" afterwards. Kids participate in a series of structured activities such as yoga, self-defense, and swimming throughout the afternoon, returning to their campsite before dinner. Evening events include Beach parties, "Squantonian Idol" and games like Bingo and Capture the Flag.

One of the things that impressed Brenda the most was the tireless devotion of the teachers who work non-stop to make the Camp Squanto experience a memorable one for their students. It's not uncommon for a teacher to work 18 or more hours over the course of a day. The teacher who's there to supervise fishing at 5:30 a.m. might very well be the same teacher that comforted a homesick child just a few hours earlier. The sixth grade teachers spend months planning all aspects of the week. Having them in the role of camp counselor allows the children to be supervised by someone who has nurtured them for nine months throughout the school year, rather than by an unfamiliar camp employee.

The most amazing aspect of the week for Brenda was watching the children reach inside and achieve things they would have not thought themselves capable. Her voice broke with emotion when she spoke of kids in her group who started the trip scared and very tentative and by week's end were voted Campers of the Week for their homeroom. While some may question the lack of academic component, she feels that the lessons of inner growth and teamwork are invaluable. "The kid who returns on Friday and rates the experience a 6 will then rate it an 8 by Monday morning", Brenda says, 'and by the time that child is 18 years old, he'll rate it a 10."

Brenda wonders whether she would have been a stronger, more independent person earlier in her life had she gone to Squanto as a sixth grader. Calling one of her childhood friends from Hanover she was asked, "Did all your dreams come true?" Brenda admits that the experience is changing the way she parents her children, making her less likely to do something for them in an effort to save time and letting them have greater responsibility.

For the 225 kids who went to Camp Squanto this year, it was the experience of a lifetime. And for Brenda Maver, it was the chance to finally fulfill a dream.

No Money to Burn

I fell into conversation with some friends at the Memorial Day parade recently. We made a special point of attending this year since my youngest son was marching with his Cub Scout pack. What our parade lacks in duration (don't blink!) it makes up for in community spirit. As my friends and I chatted, I commented on the number of people who had turned out for the parade and lamented the fact that this year's annual bonfire was cancelled due to budget concerns.

This was clearly the first time my friend had heard the news. As her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped, she said "What do you mean there's no bonfire this year?" As the sad news sank in, I empathized with her and reflected on just how different my emotions were from the first time I witnessed the bonfire.

Here's a bit of personal history. I hail from New Jersey, a place where the Fourth of July is celebrated with two events: The parade (which goes on for hours complete with blaring fire trucks from several surrounding towns) and our annual fireworks. Each year my parents would pack us into the car with blankets and snacks and drive to the local fairgrounds. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting (and listening to us kids whine, "When will it start? How much longer?"), the fireworks would commence with breathtaking intensity, followed by the requisite "ooohs" and "ahh's". When the last rocket was fired at the end of the grand finale and the cannon-like echoes faded away, we would all head home with the feeling that the Fourth of July had been properly commemorated. In central NY, my husband’s town celebrated in a similar manner, though on a smaller scale.

Upon moving to Hanover, my husband and I were surprised to learn that the town didn't celebrate July 4th with fireworks. Driving through town that first year, I noticed a sign that said "Bonfire Saturday" but didn't think much of it. It wasn't until our second or third year as residents that we finally decide to investigate.

Sitting on a blanket with our young son in tow, we watched as the fire department began to light the enormous pile of pallets. We both thought it odd that such a large fire should be lit so close to a school. As the flames grew to a roaring pyre, and the baking heat reached all the way to our blanket, my husband and I looked at each other and it was clear that we both had the same thought: "What the hell?"

Instead of the majesty of fireworks we felt like we were dropped into some pagan ritual straight out of a Shirley Jackson story (and if you've never read her short story "The Lottery" you owe it to yourself to check it out.) Kids were running around in the firelight, adults were laughing and joking. I could only imagine what passing airplanes must have thought. When we'd had our fill of the heat and smoke, we packed up our child and our blanket and headed home. "That was weird," I commented to my husband, who agreed.

And yet, we returned to the bonfire the next year, this time with a group of friends and their children. Somehow it seemed less bizarre when shared with others. It's been ten years now since we moved to Hanover, and for most of those years, we've faithfully attended the bonfire. And while it still strikes me as an unusual way to celebrate the beginning of summer, I realized that the bonfire is less about pyromania and more about spending time together as a community.

When I discovered that the bonfire had been cancelled this year due to budget cuts, I was surprised by the intensity of my disappointment. Was there a way to find funding for the event? Perhaps a corporate sponsor? How about the Taco Bell Bonfire? (It’s muy caliente!) Or maybe I could do a little digging and find a government grant? I'm sure someone would like to perform a sociological study on community gatherings and the impact of fireworks versus fiery pallets. No?

Sigh. Perhaps the economy will improve next year and our town will be back to its old torchy ways. In the meantime, we'll just have to resign ourselves to the fact that until things get better, we just don't have money to burn.