June 9, 2015
I can't even tell you how nervous I am. And I don't even want to. And don't try to fix me, either. I can remember going away to camp when I was a kid, waiting in a waiting room of some sort in an airport, having diarrhea. That was then and it is no different now. Same diarrhea, just an older version of myself. I want everything to be perfect and this is a problem. And I want to never worry again and this is unrealistic. All of you already know that I am hard on myself. And you already know that I am my own worst critic. I know you know this and I know this about myself. Believe me. Well covered territory. I'll just be nervous until I get to camp and that's that. The end. Love, Me.
June 9, 2014
June 9, 2013
June 9, 2013:
When I was a kid, my parents sent me away every summer to sleep away camp for one month. I’ve learned that this is an east coast thing, not a west coast thing. Also, I think it’s Jewish east coast thing. My favorite camp of all time as a camper was Camp Med-O-Lark in Maine, (as a counselor, there is no better camp on this entire planet than Hidden Valley Camp. I am not exaggerating, merely stating a fact). This time of year, when I was a kid, was all about packing for sleep away camp. I had a big, black trunk my mom decorated with fluorescent, permanent paint pens. She wrote my name over and over in these fabulous colors, all over the foot locker. We had to be very careful with my trunk, my mom would start packing it early, a few weeks before I left. If she left the lid open, one of the cats would pee in the trunk, all over my clothes. We kept the lid shut. Once I was out of school, my mom and I would go, just the two of us, to Phar Mor. Phar Mor was a gigantic, grocery store sized store only for toiletries. It was at this time I learned what the word toiletries meant. Not to do with toilet. Going to Phar Mor with my mother was a highlight of getting ready for camp. We would walk slowly behind our bright orange shopping cart, I would drape my arms over the handle bar, and we would lazily, but with purpose, go up and down all of the aisles. I would pick out my shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, razors, shaving cream, (why did we shave our legs at camp? Obviously, this was before my hippy days in college, when I did not shave anything, and my father informed me that only the women peasants in France refrain from shaving their legs), mousse, hairspray. I guess I was a pretty high maintenance girl. It amazes me I did all of those things at camp. I think it was Boca’s influence on me.
Now that I am a grown up, I can see that the important part of this part of the summer was not buying all of these products that I loved so much, although I really did, (and still do), love buying toiletries. It was the time I spent alone with my mom, a very rare and special occasion
June 9, 2012