I'm not 20 anymore

I know I am stating the obvious. Yesterday, I went back to the beloved resident camp where I spent more summers than I am ready to admit. We were celebrating the life of the property manager, Lou and dedicating a bench that was made in his honor. It was an opportunity to see friends I haven't seen, in some cases, in 20 years.

Lou was an incredible person.  He always had camp ready for the summer, in tiptop shape. Somehow, he was one step ahead of what needed to be done. He rescued campers and staff from snakes, wasp nests, and flat tires. He often greeted me by calling me Gorgeous George. He did that for years, and finally asked me if I knew who that was. Turns out, Gorgeous George was a professional wrestler- not a beastly one, thank goodness. Only Lou could get away when a greeting like that. One awful Sunday morning, I hit a dog driving to camp. I was near hysterics. He went back to the spot I described, looked for it, knocked on doors and gave me the full report to comfort me. With his arm around me, I remember his words,"it's probably fine. Dogs can take a pounding." The last week of camp he would say he was so sad when everyone left.  Every year I heard him say the same thing and every year he meant it.

The camp memories came flooding back. S'mores and wood smoke and Dirty Dancing playing in the cabin while Tiff and Booper re-enacted the final dance scene. Nobody puts Baby in the corner. I used to plan a beach theme for my campers as an excuse to make our Wednesday dinner a beach cookout. In Deerwood, I told Tigger every detail about the weekend I went to visit a friend at the beach and met a boy. The girls said they heard us talking and we nervously asked what they heard. Only laughing. Phew. Kody and Indy and the happy train. Fun dances in Troop Wing. Combining the words slut and lush to form the Slushy Club in Marmee. One dreadful week I had Brownies and I remember a specific incident getting ready to go to the Shower House. A stray pair of underwear ended up on the ground.  After no one claimed them even after being asked to check, I made them all hold up their underwear to find the owner.

At this reunion of sorts, a former camper of mine reminded me that we took a trip together to Maine for whale watching when I was 23. She now has an 19 month old daughter. Then I had to admit something to myself.  As I looked at the peaceful ripples on the lake, I realized I'm not 20 anymore. I still think of myself as 20. Especially when I'm at camp.  I feel I was at my best those years I spent at camp.  But I was always 20, maybe 21 so I could drive the camp van. How did I get to be this old? I've always reserved the right to have a mid-life crisis. No one birthday phased me more than another, basically because those birthdays must have been for someone else.  I wasn't getting old. I don't know what I was getting, but old was not one of them. I don't feel my age on most days. 

This morning might have been an exception. About an hour before my alarm normally sounds, there must have been thunder in the 50 mile radius of my house. I know this because my shih tzu feels the safest place during thunder is on top of my head. Which is exactly where I found him. When the alarm did go off, my eyelids felt like lead. My belly hurt from eating too much junk yesterday. I had this weird, twingy pain in my back and no desire to move. I think I felt my age and I'm dismayed it happened so quickly after admitting I'm no longer 20. That didn't take long at all.

About that bench?  Last summer, my friend Mary and I visited the camp so I could wonder over the many changes that have taken place in the ten plus years since I had been there last. We walked around the lake, to the fishing dock, and saw Lou's bench.  Upon sitting on it, we looked at each other and started to laugh.  It was quite an uncomfortable bench, not any place you'd want to rest for any length of time. Forgive me if I don't sit on his bench to recall my fond memories of Lou. Especially since I'm not 20 anymore.