Art Camp Virgin           

5 07 2017

Today, I went to summer camp. 

 I am sixty-three years old and this was my first time.

Let me clarify a few things:

                I was allowed to go to camp when I was a kid; I did not WANT to go to camp, so I didn’t.

                I like to work alone in my studio.  I am not a “painting party” kind of girl.

                When I am invited to an event, my instinct is always to decline.

So, how did today happen?

A woman I know – let’s call her Connie (because that’s her name) – has seven of the most amazing grandchildren on the planet.  These kids range from three to nineteen years old and have wildly different personalities and interests.  They all, for some reason I don’t understand but am ever grateful however, like me, even calling me Aunt Paula.  I feel like I hit the jackpot!

Well, every Wednesday, Connie has all the grands at her house for art and craft day and I was invited to join them.  My usual reluctance to leave my house made a momentary appearance and then evaporated at the thought of seeing all those great kids.

So, I went.

We all had a wonderful time pouring specially mixed paints onto canvases and making them do cool and pretty things by attacking them with butane torches – it was high drama with laughs and oohs and aahs (and dirty fingers and stained clothes).  We enjoyed a spectacular grandkid-dy lunch of grilled burgers and hot dogs and French fries, seasoned with many more laughs. When it was time for me to go, the hugs from those kids were like a tonic for my spirit.

I did not realize just how much my heart needed to be lifted until they did it.

Sometimes, other people see our needs more clearly than we do.  We call those people friends.  Thank you, my friends.  I do not take one moment of your affection for granted.  What a treasure. What a gift. Thank you.

By the youngest artist in the bunch. Pretty darned nice for a three-year-old (with some big kid help).

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