♥️
my mom grew up going to the Heart and i had the privilege of attending twice as a young girl during our brief furloughs in the States. i loved camp: the traditions, the horses, the crafts, the songs. most of all i loved the Guadalupe: serene green and shaded by cypress. we practiced swimming, canoeing, and fishing, and spent reflective Sunday mornings dressed in white by its banks. despite last week's destruction, i wouldn't trade our time by the river for anything.
my time there wasn't perfect. i spent my days trying to navigate a culture i only experienced every four years. during afternoon siestas, i begged God over and over to delay the rapture so my parents would still be on earth to pick me up after camp. i cried in the bathroom for reasons i don't remember, wading through that difficult stage of having emotions too big for my growing body.
the year i left Thailand for college, Jane Ragsdale personally invited me to work as a counselor-in-training. honored, i agreed and spent the summer reconnecting to the roots i never claimed in Texas. i met parents who went to camp with my mother and saw her portrait on the wall of the office, a smiling young recipient of the Jo Jones award given to a camper demonstrating the highest character. while i still felt as awkward as ever among my more confident peers, i felt reassured that i belonged.
i returned as a full-fledged counselor after my freshman year, but this time a culture of resentment towards leadership was brewing. by the end of summer, the internal tensions had erupted. i had seen behind the curtain and was devastated to find that not even the Heart - this heaven on earth - was left untouched. even Jane was more human and complex than i wanted to believe. my grandparents picked me up and i tried to leave it all behind.
in the years that followed, i would suddenly be reminded: the smell of cypress, the soft coo of a mourning dove, the lyrics of a silly camp song. it felt like a long-gone era i couldn't speak about with anyone. over time, i learned to hold it all close: the disillusionment and the bone-deep feelings of awe.
when i saw the footage of the devastated Heart, i couldn't believe my eyes. i've seen destruction before, but never on paths i've walked for months on end. the river i loved turned monstrous, sweeping decades of history away overnight. i checked the camp's Facebook and read the horrible news. our Jane, the Heart's constant presence, was among the dead. i'll never forget her rosy-cheeked smile, her love for ice cream, her sure voice over guitar strums in the dining hall or by the waterfront. and most of all, how she always saw me, remembered me, and welcomed me in. as a little shy girl and an older shy college student, that meant everything to me and always will.
4d ago
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heartbreaking & beautiful tribute 😢❤️ thank you for sharing this piece of you with us, my love 🫂
4d ago
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the other day i went out to an unfinished nuclear plant with some old highschool friends. we cut a hole in the fence and ran to one of the massive, truly massive cooling towers. it was terrifyingly big, like really, seriously, huge. it was my third time there and definitely had not lost any of its effect on me. the four of us stood underneath it for a good forty minutes. looking up through the top to see the last touch of sunset resting on the rim, and later planets. we stood there for long stretches of silence until someone would shift their weight and the crunch of a couple pebbles underfoot would echo so loud and clear we could all hear it.
we sang there in the echo beneath the tower until it was totally dark.
later, in the front seat of my best friend‘s car as we played american football i cried. i don’t think anyone noticed, i think they were busy with whatever they were thinking about. i cried because of how long i had gone wanting this feeling. that i hadn’t seen these old friends in months and had been struggling to meet anyone i felt could be the kind of people i wanted to really love like i did my friends from highschool.
i want people to love so badly, to go to a sketchy abandoned nuclear plant and watch the sunset and sing together. we forget how long it takes to make friends like that i guess. it’s only been one semester, and i shouldn‘t let that be me down.
i love you all so much :)
Jan 29, 2025
I have a lot of terrible memories that took place there but there are also beautiful memories. they had a comfortable warm and inviting home in the country and in the moments where I wasn’t being confronted with my family dysfunction I felt so normal. They called the bedroom my sister and I would stay in the princess room; it had two twin beds and a huge collection of VHS tapes, board games, and vintage children’s books. When I grew up my boyfriend and I got to stay in the one of the grownup rooms with en suite bathroom, pictured, which was a defining moment for me. I loved waking up before everybody, making coffee in the sun room, sitting there and reading the Dallas Morning News looking out into the garden. My grandfather sold the house before we had our falling-out and they’ve since passed so I couldn’t go back even if I wanted to.
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I would also say my paternal grandfather's house, which sat on a huge tract of land with pecan and pomegranate trees which we would pick up off of the ground. An irrigation dam ran behind it. In the winter, I would stomp on the cracked dry earth to break it beneath my feet, and shatter the ice that would form in the bird bath.
The walls were lined with my great grandmother’s pastel art from when she went to finishing school and my grandmother’s embroidery pieces. There was a wood paneled library with smoke-stained classic books, many of which I have with me today. My dad and his brother had a play room painted in primary color blue, yellow, and red, and my sister and I could play with all of their old toys and look at their old books. My grandmothers glass shoe and bell connection as well as her vanity set had all been left exactly as they were and I would admire them every time we visited. She died before I was born but I always felt a strong connection to her and I would love to have space to display her collections someday!
And I adored my grandfather who had been so prickly with my father and his brother but was so sweet to me. He would always give me porcelain dolls he bought on QVC. his house smelled like rotten bananas because he would buy them and forget to eat them. He died when I was about six years old and I said why couldn’t it have been my other grandfather that died (lol). I miss him a lot and I think he would be proud of me! 🫶
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Oh and my mom‘s dead gay best friend Jackie’s house which he shared with his partner Aaron, a sculptor who was close friends with Cormac McCarthy. I learned everything about sophistication in decor from them and their house was my favorite place on earth. He would have a huge Christmas party every year and go BALLS TO THE WALL DECORATING; other professors from the university and artists would hobnob and I would eat inappropriately too many hors d’oeuvres (he would get all of his charcuterie and shrimp cocktail from COSTCO). His kitchen had black and white checker board floors with cherry red accents and Betty Boop decor. I miss him so much too!!!
Jul 18, 2024
An old man comes into my line , hunched over and dragging his feet,
As he puts items on the conveyor belt i see his knuckles white, and taunt with letters spelling “R-I-T-A”
RITA reveals his youth to me, she paints à vision of the couple behind him
I can see him standing with à woman, who’s young with à soft voice that creeps under the music my job is playing.
She buys à single bag of candy smiling as her child pulls on her arm.
Her partner, doesn’t seem to match the town we’re in and when he puts cash on the counter his knuckles read “R-I-C-O” instead,
RICO’s face mixes into someone from home and I wonder if he’ll live the same life as the man in front of him or meet the same fate as the latter.
Will he be able to retire in à sleepy town like Rita’s lover?
Or will he die young, far away from the smiling girl trying to prove himself?
His mother would wake up in à cold sweat to 30 missed calls. She’ll think of him at 6, nervous for his first day of school and collapse on the floor at his funeral. His childhood friends would rush over even though they haven’t seen him outside of Facebook in 16 years
But they’ll remember the important things, like him learning to ride his bike and getting à tattoo to match his dad for his approval even though it didn’t work. His dad would look at the casket and shed his first tears in à decade realizing that perhaps he was too hard like his father before him
After the quiet of the funeral, his friend would go back home to his empty apartment and have à longing for home and feel the need to visit home to see his mother to reminisce.
She would be the woman coming into my line now. Smile lines reveal to me the years of joy he’s brought her and in her bag, 6 oranges symbolizing good luck. She tells me the good news of her son visiting and tells me while talking that hes far older than me
I smile and ask her to guess my age “17” she says proudly. I feel disappointed that she didnt guess correctly. Everyone says that I’ll miss these years of mistaken Identity. But in my youth I wish to skip it. At age 20 , I wish I had à life of tattoos and lines that express à life full of laughs
I’m aware that with this change that no one will see me as the girl that I am anymore but this refined thing. No one would see me as carefree and fun loving as à mother but irresponsible and immature. At the young age of 40 no one will see me as curious but nosy and stupid
By then I won't be insecure but desperate, by then I should be wise.
I wonder if the woman in front of me remembers her first boyfriend vividly or her mother cutting her deeply for the first time or does she just feel the grooves that have been carried in her
At 60 will she remember being at the edge of the windowsill at 14 and view it as an error of her youth? And when she saw the same signs of decline in her own daughter will she ignore it like her mother had done her and instead clasp her daughters hands in prayer and force her to her knees. Or would she view her daughter pulling away as necessary instead of à sign of abandonment and remember that in her youth she was her daughter and vice versa
Feb 13, 2025
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after five years of grad school and subsequent job search, i can finally say i have successfully changed careers 😭 i start my new job counseling kids at a community mental health clinic on Monday. yesterday was my last shift at the grocery store that was an escape from my horrible corporate job and a sustaining force throughout grad school. it’s so bittersweet to leave the sweetest coworkers i’ve ever had and the most fun i’ve had at work. it’s immeasurably healing to quit a job for only good reasons. my coworkers got me a cake, everyone wrote notes in a card, and the goodbyes throughout the day made my heart swell. i even got to tell the good news to my favorite instacarter 🥺 after i clocked out for the last time, my friends joined me for gelato at the cafe and we strolled the store for a final time, this time as simply a loyal customer.
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