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A quote: “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.” ~~ Berkeley Breathed
I’ll start with a story …
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We were 11-year-olds randomly assigned to Cabin Chinquapin at Girl Scout camp, soon garnering some notoriety as I had brought my transistor radio. One that could pick up the 50,000 watt Boss Radio station in Los Angeles. Between hiking and campfires, we bonded over the Beatles and the Beach Boys.
But years, husbands and kids made us Christmas-card friends. Until the first of us passed. We came at her last request.
I lead us down the pier scattering her ashes into the water as we sing – loudly –“Help help me, Rhonda!”. We jump into the lake, 11 years old again.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock, standard license
Navig8r says: I ordered our next round and was just about to put my quarter in the juke box for Jimmy Buffet. A PA system started blasting Henry Mancini’s Baby Elephant Walk and the ladies started down the pier.
“Looks like somebody lost a bet bigtime.”
“No,” said the bartender. “They’re raising funds.”
“What for?”
“One for a child battling cancer, one for something special for a neglected WWII vet, coupla other causes.”
They kept walking for the entire song, and the air got quite dusty. I thanked God that I had my checkbook, and that I had 4 checks in it.
Dupin says: Hey, we can have fun, too, and that’s just what we’re going to do. We probably have more reasons than you to have fun. We’re just happy to be here.
Not all of us made it.
There were mimosas with brunch, and now we’re slathered with sunscreen and going to enjoy the lake for a while. And this evening, a bottle of champagne will be drunk.
At least one.
Probably two, to remember the three who didn’t make it.
Seven of us received chemo that morning. Four of us survived.
Five years, cancer free. It is a reason to celebrate.
Cameron says: My son pointed out the ladies on the dock. They looked over and waved at me cheerfully.
“It’s been a long time, young man.” the one in red polka dots called out.
“I know,” I answered. “But I have a son now.”
They exclaimed in delight, swam over and cooed over my boy.
“Son,” I said. “You are about to see something really rare.” As one, they sprang out of the water, revealing their long tails.
“They have to come to the water at least once a year. And I used to talk to them when I was your age.”
We were the pioneers, the first generation to grow up on the High Frontier. And like frontiers throughout history, we were living in a harsh and unforgiving environment, where luxuries were few and far between.
On a world where every bite of food, every drop of water, every breath of water had to be provided by technological means, all of them were very precious. I still remember being punished harshly for unthinkingly letting a faucet run while I reached for a cup.
Now we have an entire lava tube sealed up and decorated like the sort of summer camp we used to know only from books and movies set on Earth. The trees may be carefully pruned dwarf varieties, and the lake’s size a trick of forced perspective, but there’s a real dock where the water’s deep enough for us to run canoes or swim.
So here all of us are, middle-aged but running down the dock like kids, eager to jump into a wealth of water unimaginable in our childhood.
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