Betsy Parallel Parks

Today I sit in one of the hundreds of little coffee shops you can find in Phildaelphia. There is Hebrew music playing aloud and hebrew writing on the walls. I like it here. It reminds me of my days in Israel and how I wish I had more time in this Holy Land. I am sipping on what may be the best Vanilla Chai Latte I have ever tasted. Earlier today I explored "Old City", walking along the cobbled streets and admiring the many art galleries and far too expensive boutiques. As the name implies, this area was the first settled area of Philadelphia and therefore contains dozens of historical sites.

When I was little my parents would take my brother and I to "historical sites" where the highlight of my day became getting ice cream at the tourist stop. But now something has changed within me. No, ice cream still is and probably forever will be the highlight of any day for me. You see somewhere along the lines of maturity I have begun to enjoy and appreciate history. After a free tour of the first Philadelphia Fire House I sauntered over to the Betsy Ross House. For those of you unfamiliar with this historical woman, she sewed the first American Flag which was destroyed during the Revolutionary War. But did you know that she supported herself through upholstery work? Yep, just one of the many women who were able to financially provide for themselves when their husband, or lack of, could not. She married a man who died while imprisoned in England, then moved in with an elderly woman and began her work revamping old furniture. She married again years later and had two daughters. You can even visit her and her husbands grave for FREE! As I stood in front of the large stone memorial I imagined Betsy standing before me, a tiny woman with a cute bonnet and a bold heart made strong by grief and sorrow. I bet this Betsy could offer me great wisdom about living in a broken world along with many helpful sewing tips.

But in the end, no matter how much I admired this woman, I refused to pay $4 dollars to walk through her old quarters. Instead I imagined what I'm sure I would see based on the good ol' Bryant days of visiting such sites. A little rickety bed, a petite desk where she wrote many an impassioned letter, and a bathroom far too small for even a teeny human. I felt satisfied with my vicarious visit and left the old, vined building to continue it's romantic life, where many families can bring their restless little girls to admire it's ancient bricks.

And I still have to visit the Liberty Bell!!! Phew.

Here are some other things I have learned about Philly:
-Sleeve tattoos are really popular here.
-I have never seen so many pug dogs in one place in my life.
-You will be fined $300 dollars if you do not clean up your dog's poo.
-Finding parking is the most frustrating and traumatic experience.
-It's not cool to wear regular helmets while biking, only skater ones.
-Parallel parking is an art form
-Coffee is incredibly expensive
And last but not least, lock your car doors.

Love, La Loba

Maggie Poo Poo

Let me tell you about my dog. Maggie is her name and Beaglins' her game. She was the runt of the group and because of this she is slightly smaller than the average Beagle. She is getting old now and has grey hair forming over what once was a sharp brown, black, and white face. Her ears are soft like velvet and I like to rub them in my hands like some sort of exotic material. When she was just a puppy I noticed that on the left side of her hind leg white fur outlines what seems to be a goose. And unfortunately, like many dogs, she likes to eat poo. Hence the nickname Maggie "Poo Poo". Hopefully she hasn't made the connection between what seems to be an endearing call of affection and the shameful undertone it implies.

Ever since I can remember I have always felt pulled towards these four legged creatures that seem to me so human. Every dog I meet seems to have some quirky dislike or fetish or uniqueness that makes it more Homo Sapien than bumbling beast. I suppose there must be some deep truth to that famous phrase "Man's best friend." Either dogs can truly feel emotion similar to that of a human or we are seriously offending all mankind. But what makes them truly unique creatures is that unlike humans they don't try to mask their personality or immediate reactions. If a bulldog is unhappy it has no problem letting you know. When a furry pup is excited to see you it is delighted to pee on your carpet in order to get his point across.

Maggie is, or has become, everything I do not want to be. Don't get me wrong, I love her more than a lifetime supply of free ice cream but sometimes I can't help but despise her behaviors. Let me explain. Maggie spends most of her day sleeping on our couch and if you happen to be taking up space then she has no problem walking all over you as if she were some kind of Chihuahua. Ok, so maybe this has more to do with her masters' incapability to train her than anything but even when it's a beautiful day outside and every other creature of the forest is frolicking about Maggie can only stand to be outside ten minutes at a time or else she self implodes. Everytime I let her outside I yell at her "Be FREE like a dog!" in hopes of reminding her of that dirty-dogginess I know lays deep in her core. And yet the most pitiful of all her pitifulness is revealed during a thunder storm. Simply mention the word "thunder" and Maggie flies under the nearest covering. Even with her master's arms around her and a blanket sheilding her eyes from the flashes of lightening nothing seems to bring any relief to her baseball sized brain. Her deep tremors cause her to breathe heavily as if she had just run dog-sled style carrying a lifetime supply of ice cream across the Prime Meridian. I feel so sad for her during these moments so I whisper comforting words in her velvet ear reminding her that the thunder can't hurt her and that it will soon be over. But this never seems to have the same effect as it did on me as a frightened child (although maybe it's because she's a dog and can't understand English) and soon she jumps off my lap and with head down runs, alas, under my parents' bed where we can never reach her under the black abyss of such a shelter. So we go on living our lives and eventually she crawls out, dust bunnies stuck to her nose, tired from the throes of seizure her body felt were necessary to survive such a natural disaster as a thunderstorm.

I'm not sure why I get so darn frustrated with her when she acts like this. Perhaps it's the merciless Beagle trainer within me rearing its ugly head. Perhaps it's my impatient self. Or perhaps it's because the pitiful creature I see in her is something I fear for myself. Sometimes I whisper a prayer like this: "Sweet Jesus, please do not let me become like this Beagle. Amen."

And yet in the end, she is the snuggliest, cutest ball of fur on this side of town. Sometimes when I cry she meanders over to lick my face knowing that not all is right and offers me what she can. So who am I to judge this sweet, smelly creature? Jesus, have mercy on my dog-judging heart.
Pictures of goose butt soon to be posted.

La Loba

PS I'm driving to Philadelphia tomorrow.

From the Horses Mouth

At a certain point this summer I realized I had to start recording the ridiculous things I was hearing so I began a small journal for doing just that. So here are the funniest things I heard this summer while working with rich teenage girls:

"I've met Nick Lache like ten times. My dad golfs with him."

Me: "Have any of you ever been to a third world country?"
Camper: "Yeah! We stayed at an awesome hotel in Costa Rica."

While sitting on a boulder in a lake: "Where are we getting our water from?"

Camper: "I love going to our lake with my family. We hike our mountain and then at the top we pick fresh blueberries."
Me: "You mean you hike the mountain where your lake house is?"
Camper: "No it's my mountain."
Me: "Oh so you call it your mountain because it's close to the lake."
Camper: "No we own the lake and the mountain."
Me: "Oh."

"If you close your eyes and imagine you're in a movie theater then these banana chips taste like popcorn."
Funny thing is they did.

While rubbing what was supposed to be Gold Bond on her feet: "This powder feels and smells funny."
Me: "Yep, that's because it's powdered hummus."

Me: "Guys, this plant smells like candy!"
Camper: "Really? ... Ew, Jenna you farted."
Me: Hours of laughter

Camper: "This apple chip looks like a cat butt."
Me: "Dang it. You're right."

Instructors: "We're taking showers outside this week!"
Camper(s): hysterical crying

Camper: "What are intestinal worms?"
Me: "Well, it's a parasite normally transmitted when we accidentally ingest traces of feces. They start as eggs and then when they get to our intestines they make home and can grow to be four inches long. Then you poop them out."
Camper: silence

Love,
 la Loba