I should have known Camp Kalich was jinxed.
On the eve of its opening, I was moving plaques around in my office to make room for the one I had just received for being named the top editorial writer in Mississippi. (“Vanity of vanities! All is vanity.”)
As I was hammering a nail into the paneling, unbeknownst to me the vibration was causing the wooden plaques above me to move. One of them, presented in 2009 as a memento of my year as United Way president, fell off its nail and hit me square near the top of my head. Ouch!
A handful of blood and three examinations by colleagues sent me to an urgent-care clinic for three stitches. When I picked up our two oldest grandsons the next day, I wore a ball cap to hide the damage.
For the last three summers, Timmes, now 7, and Bett, 4½, have come to Greenwood from their home in Nashville to spend a week at Camp Kalich. My wife, Betty Gail, and I are its chief counselors. We organize games, crafts and day trips. We swim, we cook out, we read books. And probably what the boys like best, we relax their bedtimes.
When their tightly scheduled mother, our daughter, asks why they are still up past 9 p.m., we let her know that they are on “camp rules,” not Nashville ones.
Last year, Camp Kalich ended on a teary note. Betty Gail got bit in the arm by our dog when she tried to pull him away by the collar from eating cat food. The bite became infected, and she had to be hospitalized for a couple of days for intravenous antibiotics.
This year, the culprit was COVID.
Sam, our son, tested positive first, two days into Camp Kalich. He isolated at the back of the house, but it was apparently too late. Two days later, Betty Gail tested positive. The next day, I did.
Betty Gail had the worst case, although none of us, thankfully, had trouble breathing or required anything more than over-the-counter medication.
Having made it more than two years without the first known case of COVID in our household, we were suddenly overrun with it.
It is a strange virus. As long as I stayed upright and carried on as normal, I felt better. But once I laid down, the virus would seem to become more active. I sweated through several T-shirts, developed a raspy voice that made me sound much sicker than I felt and had a fever that nearly reached 102 degrees before it retreated. While I had no trouble eating ice cream, Betty Gail had lost all appetite for dairy products.
Our extended family started checking in regularly for updates from Camp COVID.
The morning I tested positive, it was determined that the best thing was to return Timmes and Bett to the safety of Tennessee a day earlier than scheduled. I worried about being in such close quarters with them as I drove them halfway home, where we rendezvoused with their mom. But, knock on wood, more than three days after their departure, they were still testing negative and feeling fine.
Everyone’s experience with COVID is unique. Although we tried to keep the virus from spreading among us, life actually became easier once it did. There was a 24-hour stretch in which Sam was isolated to one part of the house and was assigned one bathroom, and Betty Gail was isolated to our bedroom and the other bathroom. We ran out of “safe” bathrooms for the boys and me.
We got to try ordering groceries online for the first time. The experience was largely satisfactory. The biggest issue was not being able to tell that an item we wanted was not in stock. Plus I almost got tripped up ordering 12 dozen eggs instead of 12 eggs.
While some people love working from home, it’s not my preference. Too many distractions, and while the remote technology works, it’s not flawless. It took at least twice as long to lay out the editorial page than if I had been in my office.
There were some advantages, such as eliminating commuting time and dressing down. But in order for me to have quiet space, everyone else had to adjust their routines, including our two cats. I’m sure by Monday, they will be more than thrilled to send me back to the office.
Assuming I stayed fever-free all of Friday, I have met the CDC guidelines to come out of quarantine Saturday. Betty Gail is counting on it. That’s the day I’m supposed to get the stitches out of my head. If I can’t get to the clinic, I’ve warned her, she may have to remove them.
As for Camp Kalich, it wasn’t everything we had hoped. All the day trips were shelved. Chunks of play time were replaced with nursing time. Even the ceremonial closing of camp was scrapped.
But the boys were good sports about it. They say they’ll be back next year. Plans are for their youngest brother to join them. Maybe COVID will be an afterthought by then.
We can only hope.
- Contact Tim Kalich at 662-581-7243 or tkalich@gwcommonwealth.com.
