My (half-) sister Florence went to summer camp for two weeks. At age 95, she wasn’t the oldest of the 100 campers. That title went to the 101 year-old-man who “power” walked every morning.
Peter and I were just an hour away, enjoying a week in the Berkshires. We had planned to visit Florence, and after failing to reach her by phone, we just showed up. It took us over an hour to find her because there were so many activities going on, but we caught up with her in the dining hall at lunchtime.
There she was in a navy Walker Art Museum sweatshirt, light slacks, and sneakers. She was having a great time, and was thrilled to see us. She told us about her busy camp days filled with lectures, the gym, swimming, movies and lots of eating. She told us that she attended an event the evening before where they played all the Academy-Award-winning songs since 1937 and that she knew all the words. But, she added sadly, "I can’t remember what happened yesterday."
Florence is charming; she looks twenty years younger than she is. It was great to be with her. It made me wish that we had found each other much earlier in our lives.
Peter took the picture above before we left. As we got into the car, Florence said,
“You know, I don’t refer to you as my half sister—you are my sister.”