So Says The Mouse In My Hair

And so Ends My Summer Sabatical

So, you ask yourselves, where has Sarah been all summer long? I pine for her random playful words that so love to dance across my computer screen. How I do long for her bright and cheerful words of love and scorn. How I’ve missed knowing her opinions On life, love, and the pursuit of happiness. I so wish she would come back.

Well you must have a genie in your bottle because 1. it would be just like a genie to grant this wish that you made with only sarcasm in mind, and not the one about the lotto and 2. Here I am.

And boy do I smell bad. There’s something weird about summer camp sweat. It smells completely different from your normal, average, everyday kind. And it wasn’t just me, either. Everyone else said their sweat smelled different too. I know because I asked. Someone said it was the lake’s fault. And if the lake was involved, then I suspect the milfoil’s involved as well.

(Speaking of milfoil, now I understand what the big deal is, and if you would be so kind as to PLEASE keep it out of any bodies of water that I might ever come into contact with, I would be most appreciative.)

Also, I’m sorry… or not… to report that Sarah’s Stepfordization was a failure. Somehow all the talk about kindness and goodness ended up sounding sketchy and disturbing. The idea that the camp was a "safe haven from the world" managed only to make me feel isolated and resentful of the fact that I was unaware of what was going on in the world. And the idea that you can get through a trip to the toilet on five squares of toilet paper is just plain traumatizing.

And yes, I broke the cookie pledge. But that wasn’t until the last week of camp which doesn’t even count because it was post-nervous breakdown.

On the other hand, I did get to teach kids how to canoe. And yes, that is a big deal. Have you ever taught someone how to steer a canoe? Yeah. And I got to do LOTS of hiking.

(FWI, there’s some fabulous hiking to be done in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. You’ve gotta try it.)

And the girls were fantastic. Most of the time. Well, some were fantastic all the time, and some
were fantastic some of the time, which leaves just a few who were just a pain all the time. And that all averages out to "And the girls were fantastic. Most of the time." Note to those who may be affected by this: Eight and Nine year old girls’ feet find every possible stumbling opportunity when coming down a mountain.

But it’s good to be home. No, let me reword that. It’s good to be able to cook my food again. Yesterday I went home and picked blueberries (the real kind, and let me tell you, they’re STUNNING this year) so that I could bake a blueberry pie. I ate salmon. Did you hear that? I got to eat fish! I slept on a mattress. A mattress! I saw clothes that I’d forgotten I owned because it’s been three months since the last time I’d touched them! There’s no charcoal left on my Red Sox hat! Yay for the little things in life.

Not to mention the fact that my cat has got to be excited to get out of the house. She hasn’t been getting along so well with the new puppy.

So that’s as good a wrap as I can put on Summer ’05. Welcome to the fall semester. And Dear Miss Eliza’s back in town if anyone has a question. In the mean time, I need a shower.

posted by Sarah Eliza @ 2:03 PM