Day 329. Who’da Thunk?

I’m a city gal.  Always have been.  Probably always will be.  Born that way.  At ten years old I asked my parents if we could move to an apartment downtown.  At the time we only lived about a ten or fifteen minute drive from the centre of the city, but to me it seemed like we lived in the middle of nowhere.  I hated it.  Well, that’s a very strong word.

I didn’t hate it.  I just longed for the excitement of the city.  The rhythm.  The pulse.  The energy.  There was always something going on.  Constant movement.  And I felt it.  I responded to it.  It made me feel alive, even as a child.

When I was nine years old, my parents sent me to summer camp.  Sleep-away.  It was fine.  I had a good time, except for the two overnight camping trips we took.  Definitely not my cup of tea.  I was NOT one with nature.  Gathering wood for the fire was a pain — literally.  I stumbled and dropped a whole load on my foot.

Major ouch!

Wasn’t crazy about the smell of damp earth.  Smelled mouldy to me.  Dank.  Funky.  The food we cooked all tasted of dirt.  Or at least I thought so.   I could not get comfortable sleeping on the ground.  And when morning came, I was far from pleased to see I’d been sharing my sleeping bag with a skunk.  Thank God I hadn’t been sprayed.