Breakfast was bacon, eggs, fruit and yogurt. We all tucked in immediately after the prayer.

Father Brian brought fresh cups of coffee to Barb and Bill. They seemed to appreciate the low octane version more than mine. Apparently I would never be employed as a barista. No biggie. I felt perhaps a sommelier was more in my wheelhouse anyways.

Bill and Brian conversed about daily plans. Ordering new supplies, Saturday camp clean up prior to the two week girls session starting on Sunday, a trip into town, and then paying the honey dipper, as they were scheduled for a visit to empty the septic system this morning. I tried to make a mental note to be far away when they arrived.

Barb turned to me. “Make sure you come by Arts ‘n Crafts to paint your bowl. I fired your pottery in the kiln yesterday. It’s a nice piece, Anne!”

“Thanks! I will add that to my plans for today. And thank you for encouraging me to try something new. I’m kind of amazed at how arty I have been at camp. I feel as though I have discovered a creative part of me that I didn’t know existed, although I may not ever achieve fame for my creations.” I grinned.

“I feel that as mothers, we have forgotten how to relax. Throwing a pot or painting allows you the opportunity to not only relax but reflect. Art is therapeutic. And no one expects you to be the next Beatrice Wood, Anne.” Barb tapped my arm.

“Who is she?”

“A talented ceramic artist who lived to 105. She started using clay at the age of 40. She created bowls, teapots, vases and sculptures. She was a rather irreverent and shocking in her day. Beatrice once said she owed it all to art books, chocolate and young men!” Barb and I giggled.

“Forty, eh? There is hope for me yet!” I nodded. “I will head down before lunch.”

“See you then!” Barb replied.

Once I had the kids safely ensconced with the child care counsellors I started up the stairs. Despite Barb admiring my bowl I didn’t figure I was going to make a fortune as a ceramic artist. I wasn’t going to make a fortune as a nurse either but it definitely helped pay the bills and, with opportunities such as this, allowed my kids and myself a fantastic experience. Who knew?

The morning medications went by without much excitement. I was cleaning up the health office and had started to pull the after lunch meds when Amy popped her head in.

“Hey Nurse Anne. I have a wet sleeping bag again.”

“Lawerence again?” I asked and Amy nodded.

“Would you mind very much doing some incognito laundry again?”

“No problemo. I will sneak in during first instruction.“

“Cool beans. Thanks!” Amy gave me the thumbs up and disappeared.

I finished up in the clinic as the bell rang for first instruction, I ran up the stairs, borrowed the laundry room keys from Brian and ran down the stairs and out to the Deer Hut. The place was deserted so I had no problem getting in there and grabbing the soggy sleeping bag without being seen. I rolled it up and tucked it under my arm. As I stepped out of the hut I was assaulted with a wall of stench so thick I could almost see it. It made me gasp. I looked down at the sleeping bag as a possible source and lifted it to my nose to take a hesitant whiff. Nope. I looked down the road and realized that the “Honey Dipper” truck had arrived and was in the midst of evacuating the septic tank. My timing was crappy.