My Walk

I dug through my drawer for an acceptable waking outfit. I put my shoes on and noticed how worn they are. I really must replace them someday. Grabbing my beloved mp3 player and stuffing it in my pocket I try to recall what TAL I get to listen to. Oh yeah. Camp. I really must take out garbage as there's day old chicken packaging in there and it's libel to make my dear husband wretch once it starts stinking.

I open the door and step outside. What in the name of all that is good and holy??? I'm punched in the stomach by the humidity. For a moment I wonder if I should have my bathing suit on instead of shorts and a tshirt. I realize it's going to be a long 35 minutes. But I have Ira to keep me company and fire him up on the old player. It feels good to be doing this again, even if it's torture. Ira starts to lull me to Paw Paw, MI where he's reporting on summer camp for kids. I'm regaled with stories and songs of this magical place called camp.

My familiar route is getting more and more For Sale signs in yards, I note. Is that a bad thing? It's a lovely, if too homogeneous neighborhood. I pass by one red brick home after another. Must have gotten a deal on this brick, I think to myself. God bless the person who invented the HOA and deed restrictions! This camp thing sure sounds like fun. Maybe if I'd been able to be sent away to a place like this where no one knew me as a kid I could have fit in more than when I was in school. The comraderie is intriguing and enticing.

Woah, what's this? This woman is relating a story of when she was at camp and a rock shot through the window and landed right in her soup. It said "We don't want your Jew camp". Then these men in bedsheets riding horses burned a cross outside the mess hall. They started taking the counselors away one by one. Then they took the girl. The 50's sure were scary. What the...? She's now saying it was all a lesson in politics? What in the world. Next story isn't much better. The camp stages a mock hostage situation, again to teach some twisted lesson. Maybe I'm glad I never went to camp.

Okay, I'm starting to wind down. Too bad I have a ways to go. I'm drenched in sweat. I can't believe those stories! I also really can't picture Ira hanging out at camp with a bunch of 10-year-old boys. He doesn't seem like a camp person.

I arrive home and open the door. The air conditioning hits me as if I'd dove into the Arctic Ocean. I'm immediately chilled and quite out of breath. I did a good thing. I'll finish TAL tomorrow.