redeyevision

Firstly, let me say I'm the one who should (is) be whole-heartedly embarrassed.

For a lame, blog-stalking post shamelessly naming names and lamenting lost lusts.

I suppose this cyber, rabbit-trap experiment had a point, but I can offer no explanations other than this:

Earlier that evening, my wife's friend had been over and we were yukking it up about our similar camp experiences. Apparently, they're darn near one-size-fits-all.

Only in that old context years ago, could you even recover a vague inkling of who I am.

Even some type of description will never exfoliate the cloudy layers of memory. I just wanted to use the word exfoliate.

But what I'm trying to say is, I have this memory issue. Sometimes it's too good and hauntingly accurate. It does that to me - strange places and time warps. That's what that place was, a time-warp.

So, strangely, I recalled your name and still see many of the faces from that summer when I can barely remember old girlfriends.

It's called myth-building. And boy do we love to build them. The greatest ones are built for the people we barely know.

And that's you and I. We don't know each other. That makes it fun.

My fellow bunkmate Tzion, rode in with you on a bus from New York.

"She's got that pure, classical, light-skinned, European look," he tried to tell me in his broken English.

Sometimes a friend can mark you like that from the get-go. You know, just like the first day of school, we get labeled. I guess I kept a tab.

I tell you, there's something about the great outdoors. And being in a strange place.

Never meant to embarrass you. Sometimes, I just love to show off my recall.

We did spend one day, chaparoning a science trip to Binghamton together. You are a good conversationalist.

And very pure. I mean that in the purest, pure sense.

But please, it's not necessary to be embarrassed. There's only do and do not.

Hope the children are doing well. Me? It's currently a (loving) headache raising two boys, one 5-months the other 20-months. But perhaps someday they'll make it to camp, possibly a camp stuck near the Catskills - as a counselor preferrably.

May they be lucky to meet intelligent, beautifully talented and graceful Canadian Olympic skaters. You know you were one (Olympic skater), don't be so modest. Or tell me lies.

Please forgive me. It's been a long, hot summer. And I promise to quit splashing your name all over this blog.