I just returned from girls' camp. I would post a picture but all you need to know is that my face is red and my hair is curly--several days of detoxifying non-showering was liberating for my wayward, sultry waves. It was actually not cold and snowy. I think the distribution center started that 24 degree rumor in order to boost sales of thermal garments. There was some snow , and it was cold at night--but I had no need for the snow pants I had packed. Unfortunately, I had packed little else. You should know that my ward is still there. It doesn't end until Saturday. What troopers. But our freezer at home only holds so many pre-cooked, balanced meals and snacks and the edge of the bed only had room for a few outfits for me to lay out for Christian before I left so it was essential that I come home and resume the cooking of meals and snacks and the laying out of clothing before disaster ensued.
Anyway, girls' camp provided the context and circumstances for me to do some things that I wouldn't normally do. Here are some of them:
Play Red Rover
Eat vegetables as snacks
Listen (sans eye-rolling) to much harmony, Broadway, and Disney singing
Comment on the beauty of my surroundings
Say "Awesome!" with no trace of sarcasm or irony
Change my clothes non-chalantly in front of teenage girls and other women as if I had played sports or lived in dorms or as if my life were just one great big girly sleepover that I am totally comfortable with even though it isn't. . . and I'm not
Feel happy to see Spanish Fork
Wear my sister's husband's thermals--I'm not saying I didn't' like it, just that I wouldn't normally do it
I did miss my blog but it was nice to see some of my blogmates' counterparts at camp. This reminded me of home, and of blogs. It was interesting to deal with actual people, rather than blogs of people. For example, I had the opportunity (while brushing my teeth wearing a headlamp) to hear about the vacation of Rivers is My Hero from the mother of Rivers is My Hero. I could compare and contrast the account she gave with the account given on Rivers' blog and then come to some conclusion about which form of communication I prefer, but it's a fruitless exercise and one not all together fair to the mother of Rivers is My Hero because when I was talking to her I was surrounded by filth and I' sure she would agree with me that there's no where we would have rather been than at home surfing the internet far away from the sewage-soaked cement floors and feces-smeared stalls that constitute the "biffy."
A few other blogmate related highlights:
Wow, Gretchen was the prom queen! (And she likes country.)
Ilse normally has to be home by 11, except on special occasions, such as prom, when she has NO CURFEW.
Sister Morrisse totally kills on guitar. At one point, her fingers were actually smoking. If she were my mom, I would take her everywhere with me and show her off.
And on a completely unrelated note, on the way home from camp I listened to a story on NPR about bushmen and while I wish bushmen well and feel for their plight I just have to say that they kind of bug me. I mean--I hope this doesn't have some kind of awful racial implication (and I realize that it probably does)--I just don't think I could take any hunter/gatherer seriously.
So I'm home, I'm blogging again and seriously, it's awesome.