Maybe I had been a bit over-hasty in my enthusiasm.
Fortunately, my fears faded significantly as the evening wore on. Dinner had been excellent, chords were being strummed on a guitar, and the members of this new club were embracing me in a warm welcome.
Saturday started with a clatter at 7:00, but the sun was shining brightly and I quickly fell into the rhythm of scraping and painting cabins, and exchanging laughs and banter with the other volunteers on my team.
Several hours later, I was seated under a Ukrainian flag, wrapped in a sari, enjoying a multi-course, multicultural meal. The evening ended in a conga line, which highlighted the talents of dancers many years younger than I, as well as a few very limber limbo-ers who remembered my grandfather from his days at Toronto Rotary!
By the end of the weekend, I was exhausted – and energized – by the work, the fellowship and the deep sense of accomplishment we all felt when we surveyed the results of our efforts.
“You’re a trooper,” my sister pronounced when I returned.
“No,” I responded. “I’m a camper.”