Oleoresin Capsicum, Elvis, and Me . . . Let’s Make Human Noises

It was a gorgeous day as usual. Sun shining, grass green, the whole bit. The focal point of the mountain, camp, was in full swing. Children and staff were busily making two-to-several zillion string lanyards, hands becoming dry from the effort of tightening. Processed, sugary goods were purchased from the gift store; a game of David and Goliath was in its early stages on the field. Others were testing their climbing abilities at the Rock Wall (Rocky), playing Sharks and Minnows in the pool, or asking their counselor to play her ukulele. A typical afternoon at Timber Mountain.

Almost simultaneously, all were stricken with extreme coughing. The watering in my eyes was insufficient to cool the burning as I wheezed and agonized, the A-frame my only refuge. Upon entering it, I discovered very quickly that this was the closest place to the agitation’s source. I needed to be as far away as possible, so I stumbled in the opposite direction as fast as I could.

“What’s (cough) happening? What is it?” Campers asked, flocking to the staff, which had camp omniscience.

“Don’t worry, it’s only the (cough) insulation,” we told the children.

“Insulation?”

“Yeah (cough). They have (cough, wheeze) to insulate (cough) the new addition to (cough, cry, feel like dying) the Boys Staff cabin.”

“Oh.” Cough. “Okay.”

“Just go (cough) along and (COUGH! COUGH!) play now,” I said.

I, along with the kids, sought a place to breathe again. But unlike these unsuspecting campers, I knew that this was no insulation problem.

It was Elvis.

“Elvis” is the name camp uses to refer to bears so as not to upset the children. Elvis had entered the building and was poking around the trash, then spent time hanging out around the BB gun area and archery. So “just a very little bit” of pepper spray was used to ward off the bear (read: bears, plural. Mama, baby, and teenager bear). It didn't work really . . . at all, but it made me want to leave the area.
It reminded me of Yosemite’s warning: “Actively discourage wildlife from approaching you.” Hmmm. Elvis, I don’t think you should do it. It’s really not in your best interest to come near me . . . it’s too nice outside, I’m busy right now . . . not a good idea. Not really in the mood to be approached.

When facing a bear, you should make yourself appear as large as possible and make human noises. For me, this means holding my arms out as far as they will go while yelling, “I am making human noises. I am a human, and I am making noises. Human noises, in fact. Got that, Elvis? HUMAN. NOISES.”

And we were all safe. I hope that is the only time I encounter "a little bit" of Oleoresin Capsicum.

It’s Never “Just an Eraser”

Upon examining past writings, I found this from my freshman year at Vanguard:

“The principle of functional fixedness was brought to my attention a few days ago. It states that people can become so hung up on the intended purpose of an object or situation that they fail to realize how else they can avail themselves of it. For example, my class was told to look at an eraser and come up with alternative uses for it. These uses included hollowing it out and using it as an ipod case, as a doorstop, etc. While some were odd, such as a makeup applicator, or impractical, such as a toothbrush, the point of getting out of our comfort zones and being resourceful was well-taken. It was not "just an eraser"; not quite in the same way that it is never "just the wind", but not an eraser in that things are not always as you first perceive them. With a little effort and thought and perhaps more time, new uses can be discovered for almost any situation or circumstance. So, don't despair--it's never 'just an eraser.' It's always something more.”

I often have the problem of not seeing what’s directly in front of me. Of missing the most obvious solutions.

So . . . maybe I should start viewing everything in my life as more than an eraser: feeling stressed about school? It’s more than an eraser! When I look at where I am now and where I want to be in a few years, I begin to wonder how the gap will ever be bridged and think . . . it’s more than an eraser! When I look at who I was 3 months ago and who I am now and I can scarcely see the resemblance---definitely not just an eraser.

And so God comforts me, putting me at peace once more.

I'll post about my camp summer soon: stay tuned, my 3-ish readers! :o)