At 11 AM on Wednesday morning, our bus came r o l ling in (take note of the foreshadowing, please) and we hopped on, country girls clutching our lunch bags for an adventure to town. Windows pulled open, doors pulled shut, we followed the trail (road) until there was none left to follow (when the GPS announced our arrival) and disembarked on the property of a white, misshapen building.
Let’s take a break for a guessing game. Or the ultimate test of loyalty to your Bais Chana Alumni’s soul, disregarding lifetimes. You’re going to crack into the name of our destination. Fail after three chances and dropping a comment ceases to be optional. One rule: Honesty. Hint: The first sentence of foreshadowing. You have 30 seconds of brain time as soon as we say go. Alright, GO.
Niiiice. Plamor R o l ler Rink it is. I like how you paid attention in the beginning.
Our friends doubled as instructors as we skated and skated and fell and stood up and did the hokey pokey and skated and that’s what it’s all about. Don’t believe me? You do the hokey pokey in roller skates.
Our rare visits to Wal Mart are more emotionally charged than the monthly pop-ins at your favorite boutique shop. Seldom, painful, surreal. We want everything. We need nothing. And our realities are so far away. (One hour bus ride and never enough money to spend.)
We loaded up on bug spray. Spent too much time deciding which bag of chips was prettiest to hold. And then headed back to camp (the countryside) satisfied, loaded, and tired.
Trip to town: Successful.
Sunset always means class time, but dark skies mean something different each night. Tonight was a poetry slam around the bonfire. People shared poetry they’d written or poetry they loved or short bits of wisdom they’d captured in words. The air oozed with acceptance. Every word, every syllable, every bit of shared soul was handled with unconditional empathy. Sisterly sympathy. We drank in the energy, inhaled the bravery, we spoke until the deep hours of the night.
Thursday: A new sun, a refreshed morning, the mosquitoes were granted a clean slate. For no other reason than the hope a new day brings. Today was a chill day. We had a class on graphology with Mr. Rosenthal. Took the pontoon out into the stillness of our private lake and connected with nature. Swam in the water.
Lay on the grass and cloud gazed with each other.
And made some good memories with some good people in a good place.
And for our unthought of the day: At Mount Sinai, G-d said, “I am G-d, your G-d.” I, G-d, am yours. I can exist without you–I have always existed without you–but I don’t want to. I want to need you. Infinitely.
Now think about that while watching this:
Brain massage. Ahhhhh.