Adult week may have been one ninth of my time at camp, a whole six days more in America adding to my now-impressive tally, however the relaxed nature of the adult programme – a holiday rather than a development camp – meant that pretty much nothing incidental happened. There’s a lot I would like to relate, most of it to do with sugar, but it is forbidden.
The fog of fatigue that had settled with the departure of the keep-on-your-toes kids had thickened into a smog once the adults were well rooted, a smog enriched by kidsickness and holiday-hopefulness reduced evening activities to half-hearted pilgrimages to church and recuperations in the staff lounge. The loss of the Americans (and if I’m being totally honest, their cars as well) was felt throughout camp, not least by myself as my belovéd Petunia was one among the departed. It was wonderful to reunite with Penelope in New York, though I’d like to know how she and Mr Yee-Ha! got home given that their four legs together were no better than their own two alone.
Myself, Barry and CPFMK were working together, me and Barry living with the travellers in Cabin 6, and CPFMK attending during the day. Adult week would be better sold to the staff as a slow wind-down after the kids’ wind-up. Of the many hours that made up a given working day, too many were spent lying in the bunk attending those who wished to enjoy their holiday in the proper fashion: lying in, lying through and lying thereafter. While lying in bed was initially tempting and welcome, the reduced pace, rather like a sprinter after the finish line, had us tired and exhausted after a couple of days. I took to running everywhere when not attending to the travellers to maintain my energy.
One happy circumstance of adult week was the larger portions that were possible. Not on a restricted diet but instead on holiday, the counsellors were free to indulge with the travellers as much as their stomachs could accommodate... I had thirds at most ever meal for the first few days, and toned it down a little thereafter as the huge amounts of food only added further to the slothful feeling.
If there is one incidental detail that must be related it had to be the devastating effect of Richard Simmons’ ‘Dancing Sweat’... there’s much to be said about the benefits of exercise, much to be said about the effectiveness of dancing as an exercise, and further said about the focused combination of the two. When ‘Jazzercise’ was mentioned as an activity, I thought we’d actually do some Jazz. Instead, we got Dick. There are few sights at camp that will summon a greater feeling of collective embarrassment than the dozen or so counsellors (myself included naturally) doing side-steps, ‘hair cuts’ and plies in front of the big screen, while the majority of travellers opted for expressions of entertainment, bemusement or obliviousness behind us. I think that Camp Lee Mar counsellors could bring back the 80s all on their own, if only we could find enough leotards.
I bid the adults farewell without drama, and those I will miss I look forward to being reminded of when I see CPFMK’s finished scrapbook. The big affair was saying goodbye to those among the staff who wouldn’t be joining the group bound for New York later that afternoon. Besides being paid, the only upside to the afternoon were the reminders of how good camp had been, and how great the friends I’d made were when we all bunched up in a staff hug and then dispersed to form hug-lines in front of those staying at camp or going elsewhere. Having friends in Hungary, Slovakia, Germany, Mexico, England, Scotland, Ireland, elsewhere and of course America will no doubt come in handy, but I’m so sorry to see the family spirit that has percolated through camp over the last two months spread thin over so many miles.
‘Til we meet again Lee Martians! :)
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