It feels like summer camp.
Hot. Humid. Beachy. Kids out of school. Tourists. Lazy slow weather. Smells of fun fried food. And at times like this I don’t know how I got into or why I got into freelance writing/editing/consulting in the first place. Stuck working all hours. Seriously loaded with work, and only my feeble old self to discipline myself. But no. It gives me the freedom to create my own schedule. As hurting financially as I am these days, my current method of income allows me to have moments of summer camp. Seriously.
For instance – I worked my butt of for a couple of clients yesterday – so today, I was able to take off for 12 hours to visit the Galil Mountain Winery, one of the two I represent. I’m ridiculously excited. Minibus, rest stops, annoying companions, getting lost in soybean fields…hell, if you squint it could be Jewish sleepover camp in Michigan all over again! But with alcohol! Good alcohol! Should make the trip back to town all the more special. But seriously, it’s one of the most beautiful wineries in Israel, and 300 meters from the Lebanese border at that. Just see for yourselves:
What got me on this summer camp metaphor in the first place (not that it seriously doesn’t have that vibe anyway) is a special activity that was conducted at one of my meditation groups last night. This low-key vaguely Zen-oriented therapeutic session has a member who has experience in Mandala drawing. I don’t know too much about this, but it’s Mandala is a Sanskrit word for circle, and in Buddhist and Hindu traditions, it is a sacred form of drawing. In the west, some folks have taken these techinques and created a sort of “return to childhood” therapy out of it. We began with a guided meditation, a really calming yet imaginative journey, which led us to start drawing. We all had a black sheet of paper on a cardboard backing, and a white or light yellow colored pencil. The only rule: start drawing from the very center. It was amazing fun. And summer camp? During the guided meditation, the sense of ripe raspberries was so dominant I could taste them – and the memories of camp rushed back – picking those raspberries all day long, getting to eat mountains of them with whipped cream, good friends, tents, campfires, real support, real love, real happiness. Mandala-making was quite special. And today I get a day at camp to boot.