I went to camp this weekend. Although I didn’t have to hike in a cave filled with 55 degree water or sail across the lake, only to get stuck in tree roots, I did live my kids’ experience through their dirty laundry. For two weeks Paige and JP got to explore the Laurel Highlands of Western Pennsylvania, and I got to clean it up. The smell of the mildewing clothes took me directly back to my own camp experience.

Mildew is one of those smells you love or hate. I love it. Damp basements, musty antique stores, boat houses. Whatever the place, the smell of mildew can transport me to a fond memory. When I dumped their damp, dirty clothes bags on the floor of the garage (no sense bringing them inside until they were properly inspected for undiscovered nastiness) I was back at Camp Deer Run and the emotions of a seventh grader filled me.

Nostalgic images of New Hampshire nights filtered through my head as I emptied each mildewing item into the washer. What could be better than camp? Isn’t that why the travel industy has created spa weeks with girlfriends and fantasy baseball camp for men? Stuck in my laundry room I conjured up ideas of my own camp. A food tour of Tuscany would be nice, or sailing camp in the Caribbean. A time for personal growth, reflection and a few good glasses of wine.

Camp for those of us in our forties should be about reflection. Shouldn’t I go somewhere and get in touch with who I am? Wait. That’s what I’m doing in this mildew-filled laundry room. The girlfriends, sailboats and crusty peasant bread aren’t here, but I get good solid alone time. I focus on the pleasant moments of my past, skip over the sad, and mull around the difficult. I need a little shelf installed in the laundry room to hold a wine glass and a personal devotion book. I can’t go back to camp but I can make my own haven.

Paige’s shirt grew mold at camp. The mold didn’t come out in the laundry and when I showed it to her she told me that it was the shirt she wore on a twelve mile hike. She said it was really tough, but worth it. “I think I could get it out if I bleached it,” I told her.

“I’m never wearing that again! I don’t want to be reminded that it grew mold,” she exclaimed as she curled her lip in disgust.

Everyone chooses what to reflect on in their life. What memories to keep and what to discard. Where the reflection happens is irrelavant. I hope you have a fond memory today, or make one for tomorrow.

Fondly,

Kathy