Dear Mom and Dad,
Wow. Summer must be for re-doing and rebuilding. Aside from massive amounts of small road construction that make my getting to-and-from camp mornings tricky to say the least, I've also taken on the refreshing of rooms in the house I've been
You know, the kind of thoughts where you look at a wall and say, "Wow, that room would be great if it was green." Which is often followed by, "It really shouldn't take me that long. A few nights at the most. All I need is a color, the paint, some brushes, rags, and oh yea, spackle and wood filler. I can do this."
And yes, after a week of basically not sleeping, wearing down three paint brushes and several
I love working in here and if it weren't for Trish, I probably would still have the pale green/grey that we've had for years along with all the nicks, dents, and severely outdated valences. Now, if I could just continue to make the time to actually sit in here and write. Regularly.
Rest hour is over. More soon.
Here's why I'm writing Letters From Camp to my parents.