It seems there is never enough room. Even though my suitcase is only slightly smaller than Rhode Island, I can’t seem to tuck in the pink tulle petti, the hot curlers, the gold fairy wings studded with plastic gems and fake sunflowers. Some things must stay behind — the ballet shoes? I doubt I’ll have the energy. Surely it’ll be too chilly for this baby doll nightie — oh but it’s so cute. And the braiding book will be missed if I leave it behind. Which doll can I bring? Betty is tinier and has never been to Camp, so Ramona is gracious enough to concede the space to her, this time.

Camp ... Little Girl Camp! The words are prettier than Summer Vacation. Prettier than Ice Cream Sundae, or Season Ticket to the Ballet. The names of my sisters, and my dear friends, danced in my head. Soon we’d be together again, swinging on the swings, sharing secrets, adding to our cache of treasured memories. Pet would be there, but not Liesel. Melissa would come, but not Taffy. Meagan would stop in for Wednesday and Thursday, but then she had to go. The outside world intrudes on everyone’s plans, and reminds us of the difference between Camp and Paradise. Nope, I couldn’t fit another petti in there, no way no how.

I have been to six Camps so far. This will be my seventh, and I still haven’t quite gotten around to writing a Camp report on any of them. Perhaps my emotions then were too complicated to express. Or maybe it’s just my natural laziness. The memory of those weekends will always be with me, even though I haven’t taken photos. To me, it was never about how I looked, or how the other girls looked. Mostly, we look like our daddies, and I am no exception. Until there’s a gadget that can capture the feelings and emotion of an event, photography is simply a pale reflection of what really happened. Besides I always get my thumb in front of the lens.