My life in books

A random excerpt:

July 5, 1997
Dear Shawn (yes I have names for my diaries)

"Here I sit on a hard cement block, but it is the most beautiful place in the world right now as I write in my diary. I am on the beach, the sun is setting and the waves are gently rolling in.

Maybe it's the place, or m
aybe it's just being away from the everyday life back home, but I feel at peace here. Last night I fell asleep so fast. It was the best sleep I have had in a long time, despite it being in a cabin with 6 other girls and God only knows how many creepy crawlies.

The night was silent. The sky was black. The only sound was the calming rhythm of the waves along the Lake Erie shoreline. It was there that I slipped away."

After that entry I found several poems written in a foreign handwriting. Not mine, but that of Geoff Hunt, a counsellor at Camp Oneida. (I am glad he signed his name there because I never would have known that)

He wrote:

If I knew what I want,
Surely I'd go get it,
But once it was acquired
It would get boring in a bit

Like a baby boy inept in play,
Using different toys day to day,
One, two, three, or four
Soon he will be longing for more

So where does it stop,
Where does it end,
To draw the line,
A good question, my friend

Wen we aren't, then we'll find out,
What life was really all about
Whether the money or toys we spent
Or if our lives made a difference!

There were more entries I will share later. It was an interesting find and I have no recollection of having him write in my diary.

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The Book of Me

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