Many kids had cap guns in holsters on their hips. These were loaded with red strips which were impregnated with dots of chemicals, and would explode with a loud bang when the trigger was pulled. 
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The Camper-Waitress Goes to the Fair

The summer my friend Stephanie and I were too old to be a campers but not old enough to be counselors,   we worked as camper-waitresses at a children’s camp in the Connecticut foothills.   Stephanie and I went on to become life-long friends,  but a friendship cut too short by her cancer death at age 65.  (See Aunt Miriam, Diva,  and Postcards from a Secret Admirer)

But what fun memories we had of that summer!  Our parents had paid partial camp tuition for us to have the privilege of working there –   and hard work it was!    We had to be at the dining hall bright and early to eat breakfast,  then wait on the campers,  then clear the tables,  and then set-up for lunch.

We had a few hours off and then back to eat our lunch,  then wait on the campers,  then clear the tables ,  and then set-up for dinner.   And then a few hours off before dinner.

And what did we do with those hours off?   I think we spent much of that time flirting with the camper waiters,  maybe taking a swim,  or drifting aimlessly out on the lake in a canoe,  or playing a little tennis,  and then back to the dining hall to flirt some more with the camper waiters.

But one day we packed box lunches and went with the campers and counselors to the Danbury Fair.   I don’t remember all we saw and did at the fair that day,   but I do remember one very special attraction.

Although like any 50s teenager I loved rock ‘n’ roll,  I also loved to listen to my parents’ LPs –  Gershwin,  and Rogers and Hammerstein show tunes,  hot and cool jazz,  and the Great American Songbook.

And although on that hazy summer day I might not have known she had perfect pitch,  or that she had perfected scat,  or that years later a music critic would declare her voice too joyous to sing the blues –  I knew I was in the presence of a great songstress when Ella Fitzgerald took the stage at the Danbury Fair!

– Dana Susan Lehrman 

He aimed and started shooting ... I found the whole practice terrifying.
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Pickled!

For years I worked on my tennis game but I seemed to have plateaued somewhere between advanced beginner and intermediate.    I blame my parents of course for my lack of prowess as they apparently valued piano over tennis lessons for their kids.  (And by the way after all that money spent,  and those fights with my mother over practicing,  all I can play now are a few opening bars of Fur Elise.)

Then in my 40s I decided to really get serious and joined a tennis club with my friend Shel.   We meant to play at least one night a week,  but although we enjoyed it,  neither of us seemed to have a really strong commitment.   Shel was an elementary school principal and when I’d call her at work her secretary would hear my voice and ask if I was cancelling tennis again.

But after we both retired,  and theoretically would have our days free,  we vowed to play more often and to finally get really good.   Yet somehow we both got busy with other stuff,  and after a few years we decided to drop the club membership and play ad hoc.

Then my husband and I bought a weekend house in a country community that has both indoor and outdoor tennis courts,   and I thought at last I’d have the chance to really rev up my game!    But getting into a regular tennis game wasn’t easy,   serious tennis players,    I soon learned,  aren’t particularly eager to welcome new ones –  and especially ones who’ve plateaued somewhere between advanced beginner and intermediate.

And when I did find a regular game,  it was obvious that I was among the weaker players,  and after a few seasons I was unceremoniously dropped.

Then I discovered pickleball.   I found that I play it far better than tennis and enjoy it far more,  and best of all I was warmly welcomed into a regular women’s game.

As you may know,  the object of pickleball,  like tennis,  is to get the ball over the net,  but the court is shorter,   the racket is smaller,   the ball is bigger, and the game is faster and much more fun.

Now every morning if it doesn’t rain I pursue my new hobby.   So don’t call me between 9:30 and 11:00,  I’ll be out on the court with the other addicts.

– Dana Susan Lehrman