I went back over my last few posts and thought, God, what a whiner. Who wants to read the complaints of a frustrated author?
Focusing on the postiive, I will just say that Amy, my book doctor, has been in possession of my precious (re)words for about two weeks, with the hope that she'd get back to me with comments by the 15th. Yesterday. I will not bug, I will not bug, I will not bug.
Now for the fun summer stuff! My beloved Camp Mataponi, my home, my refuge, my heart for nine glorious summers, is celebrating its centennial with a blow-out reunion in Naples, Maine on July 17th. I have been busy reconnecting with people I haven't seen in forty years. It promises to be a weekend of singing, crying, gabbing, more crying. I am planning to bring a giant box of tissues, just for me.
And just a few days later, I'm off to Spain, where, for the second summer in a row, I will serve as a volunteer in an English immersion program for Spaniards called Vaughantown. If last year is any guide, it'll be exhilarating and exhausting, and yes, a bit like camp, with lots of rituals and intense interconnections. An English friend from last year and I are going together this time, and following the week of volunteering with one of collapsing on the beach in Majorca where a friend of hers owns a cottage. Heaven!
