Dear Little Old Neighbor Lady....

I feel that it is time that we had a friendly neighborhood conversation. And I don't mean about how you get your flowers to look so pretty or how your lawn is a neat as a pin.

No, I'm sorry, but I'm talking about how you feel it is your right to patrol the visitor parking spaces at the end of our little driveway.

As you know, dear neighbor, back in June you gave me a scolding because I chose to park in one of those visitor spaces. Little did you know that I parked there because I got home before the Big Guy on a Sunday afternoon. And because I had to work the next morning, and he didn't, we didn't want to play the car shuffle game. You know this as well as I do since we all have 1 car garages.

So I parked there.

And did so because at the time, I didn't realize that they were visitor parking spaces. Because to my knowledge, visitor parking spaces are usually marked with a sign. These are not.

Anyway, if you remember, you decided at 6:00 a.m. on that Monday morning that I needed to get the tongue lashing of my life because I parked there. You stood in your driveway and wagged your finger at me. You proceeded to tell me that if I park there that waste management can't collect your trash because you want to put your trash can on the grass corner at the end of your driveway (which shares road space with the visitor parking spots).

We interrupt this ranting for a visual of the above mentioned visitor spot....

The Two Visitor Spaces, and the Grassy Corner where she wants to put her trash...

Now back to our regularly scheduled blog post...

I had to remind you 3 times that I'm leaving for the day, and therefore, waste management will have no issues getting your trash.

Oh, but you're smart! You said in a rebuttal statement, "But when you leave then she'll park there" referring to our mutual neighbor.

I kindly, but firmly, said, "I'm sorry you have an issue with this, but I need to leave" and rolled up my car window and took off. All the while I'm praying to the Lord above that I don't get into an accident while driving 80 MPH so that I don't miss my bus into Minneapolis.

And ironically 3 days after we had our issue, we all received a friendly letter from the homeowners association reminding us of various rules and policies--including parking.

Wonder how that came to be? Which of course, this letter got me labeled as a trouble-maker by the Big Guy and my co-workers. Thankyouverymuch.

But I have just had the last straw with you.

And as much as God says I need to love my neighbor, I'm sorry, but you're making it really easy to break that rule.

The last straw came when my mother was in town to visit. She was here from Montana. Perhaps you missed the Montana license plates on her car? Or that the white Explorer has never been at our place in the past. I mean, you know exactly when the mail comes each day and even commented that the Big Guy and I both drive silver cars. So, you had to have known that she was visiting.

So, one afternoon, as my mother is leaving to go to my grandfather's house, you proceeded to stop her and tell her in front of all the neighbors collecting their mail, "You can't park there! That's for visitors!"

And when my mother so kindly said, "Yes, I know. I'm a visitor." you continued to tell her that the spot was for visitors, and that we as town-home dwellers have "...2 spaces, the garage and your drive way, that's it!".

After countless statements of, "I'm a visitor, I'm visiting my daughter" you finally came around and said, "OH, you don't live there? I thought you were her sister."

And as flattered as my mom was, she seriously thinks you need to get your eyes checked because she has more gray hair than she would like, and is clearly pushing 60.

So, as much as I'll say a little prayer for you, I'm sorry to say that you won't find me leaving you cookies at Christmas time.


I got the idea for this blog post from The Jason Show. I never thought to do this on a blog, and boy do I feel better. I try to make this a family-friendly bloggy, but I am human, and I need to vent my frustrations just as much as the next person.

My Little Country Kitchen Never Expected THIS....

I love to shop online. Especially at Christmas time. Don't get me wrong, I love the holiday spirit and all that goes with it. But driving to the mall, to park 8 miles away and battle the cold wind, snow and such is just not my thing.

So, when shopping online came about--LOOK OUT!!!

Because of that, I now get all sorts of catalogs in the mail. One of my favorites, Terry's Village, is probably responsible for sending me the other catalogs as well. I'm a sucker for Terry's Village snowman stuff, apple stuff for my kitchen, etc. etc. etc.

Yesterday, I got home and found a new catalog on my table. Collections, Etc. It claims, "Almost everything 19.99 or less."

Well, now you're talking! Show me what you have for 19.99 or less, little catalog.

I will admit, not as cute as Terry's Village--but when I saw this, well, I was speechless. (It's OK. I promise it's family friendly and G rated.)

And that doesn't happen often.

Anyone need a white elephant gift for the local office party?


NOTE: I tried to copy and paste the photo, but I got a big, bad, nasty gram in the form of a pop-up that said, "Um, don't even think about it....". So, I'd post the photo, but can't. Sorry.

2012 + Olympics in London = 1 item off my Bucket List

The Olympics are over.

Boo.

I really like the Olympics. I have my favorites for the summer Olympics: swimming, synchronized swimming, diving from the platform, diving from the spring board and even synchronized diving.

You would think I must like the smell of chlorine or something.

Regardless, I love the Olympics. I doubt that the winter Olympics will ever be in Minnesota. I mean, the only place to ski would be either Buck Hill or Lutsen. Since they are no where near one another in the state, it would make it sorta hard to have all the skiing stuff.

But then again, if China can fake most of the fireworks and swear up and down that the girls on the gymnastics team are 14--then maybe Minnesota can make a mountain in downtown Minneapolis.

Just move that Mary Tyler Moore statue first--don't want her kikki beret to get lost.

We interrupt this blog post for this special update:

If you're scratching your head right now saying, "Was Mary Tyler Moore from Minneapolis?" the answer is a big, fat no. But the show was based here. And on the Nicollet Mall (which is a street) there is a statue of her outside of the old Dayton's department store (which became a Hudson's, then a Marshall Fields and is now Macy's). Here's a photo of the statue:

Love how MTM is rocking the pea coat and mini-skirt. Obviously, she's not from here. Who wears a pea coat (read: fall/winter) with a mini-skirt, in Minneapolis at the same time?

Answer: a tourist who was told, "Oh, it's not THAT cold in Minneapolis!"

Now back to our regularly scheduled blog post....

I have always wanted to go to an opening ceremony at the Olympics. So.....I've decided that since all reports on the History Channel lately state that the world is coming to an end in 2012 because the Bible Code says so--I'm getting my rear end to that Olympics!

It's really a bonus trip for me. Why, you ask? Well, working at camp has it's rewards. And that reward, my bloggie reader(s) is that I have camp friends who live in London.

Friends in London = free places to stay.

You bet your bottom dollar (or in this case, British Pound) that I'm staying there. For all those times that I've put someone up at my house, it's payback.

But I am serious. I'm going. And thankfully I have a good relationship with my financial planner (we went to college together) because when I tell him in 4 years that I need to withdraw my life savings just to afford 2 tickets for me and the Big Guy for the opening ceremonies, he won't question it.

Just because you smell like Ben Gay doesn't mean you're old....

Oh.

My.

Goodness.


My feet are killing me.

If you guessed that I worked at a project that required me to stand for long periods of time, or worked a shift in a retail outlet or waited on a few tables in a restaurant--you would be wrong.

But if you guessed that I went on some long...long...long...long training walk? You would receive a gold star!

In case, you haven't stopped by my blog before--or have, but just didn't pay attention--I'm walking in the Breast Cancer 3-day Walk. Check out my 3-day page and 3-day bloggy here.

And no. You don't have to donate any money to look at the page.

Why am I doing this, you ask? My friend Amy (hence the team name, Amy's Angels) was diagnosed with breast cancer last October.

She was 33.

She's now 34.

She's in the clear--no cancer is left and she's now in the final phase of her treatment. The chemo is long over and her hair has returned (and again--it is SUPER CUTE in her short style!!). We are so thankful that Amy is a year older and healthy!

But the reality is that women who are Amy's age get lumped into a category of "it's nothing". But her "nothing" turned out to be stage 2 breast cancer.

This walk has one purpose: to raise money for cancer research. And to date, our team has raised $28,602.50.

We would have $28,603 if someone would have paid the full price for the cupcakes sold at a bakesale.

I'm not bitter or nothing. It's not like being in the Top 10 teams is important.

OK...moving on....

When you decide as a participant that you'll be in the walk--you agree to first raise a minimum of $2200.

Yeah. That's a lot of money.

And a lot of cupcakes!

Now, we have to live up to the challenge of walking 60 miles over 3 days.

To help prepare for that, we do a lot of training walks.

A lot of walks.

Today, a group of us (Amy, Katie, Pam M., Angie and myself) walked 15 miles. Which for a bunch of girls who have never done this before, isn't too bad.

I'm very proud of our accomplishment.

Now we just have to do it 3 days in a row, plus 5 more miles each day, in about 4 weeks.

Mental note: pack the Ben Gay

Happy Birthday, Grandpa!

On Saturday the Big Guy and I headed down to see my family and celebrate my grandpa's 80th birthday.

Some folks are probably saying, "Good Lord, my parent's are in their 70's. How is your grandpa so young?"

Well, let's put this in perspective. My grandma gave birth to my mom when she was 20. My grandpa was 21.

They were young when they started their family. There is no science here folks. Nature took over.

Now, fast forward to 1971 and my mom was 21 when she had me.

I'm lucky. I have young parents. And young grandparents.

Some of my best memories from childhood revolve around my grandparents. My grandpa would often take all the change out of his pocket, hold it in his hand, give me a peek at the coins and let me guess how much was there. Often times I was close enough that I would get to keep the change.

$1.78 to a 9 year old is a big deal!

My grandma wasn't a kissy-love-on-you kind of grandma. She believed in tough love. She was a pack-a-day (or more) chain smoker and chain coffee drinker. But that aside, she was a talented seamstress and loved to paint old saw blades.

My grandpa had to be careful with his saws. If he wasn't looking one would end up as a clock with some nature scene painted on it.

Visits to my grandparent's always ended the same. Good-byes, see-you-later, and call-me's were plentiful. Then as we drove away, grandma always stood in the dining room looking out the window waving until we were out of site.

Sadly, in 1996 my grandma passed away from a 2nd heart attack. The bypass surgery that happened in November 1995 wasn't enough prevention. She did what she could too. She stopped smoking on the spot and cut down on the coffee. But it all wasn't enough.

Shortly after her death, my grandpa had an auction to "start new". It was a tough decision for all of us. But you just don't argue with a man 40+ years older than you are who is a widow.

The day of the auction, the yard was filled with monarch butterflies. The younger grand-kids started calling them "grandma" when one got close. And to this day, anytime we see a monarch butterfly we say "Hi grandma!".

Needless to say, when you say it around people who don't know the story--they look at you like you've lost your mind.

The birthday party brought this full circle. The Big Guy had an experience with a caterpillar while I was in the house working on the video (see below). It went like this:

BG: You should have been out here. There was a HUGE caterpillar on my shoe and we couldn't get it off! Apparently it will turn into a monarch butterfly....
Kelley: Wait. You had a to-be monarch butterfly on your shoe?
BG: Yes. Why?
Kelley: I don't think I've told you this. But we, as a family, consider monarch's to be grandma
BG: Really? Well, she must like me because she wasn't moving.
Kelley: Consider that a compliment. She was really hard to please
Aunts & my mother (together in unison): No doubt!

So, apparently, the Big Guy got a seal of approval from grandma.

The only other excitement at the party was my God-daughter Abbey (who's 3). She had a splinter in one of her little toes. I helped her get it out and in the process she found the solarcane sunburn spray. Conversation went like this:

Abbey: What's this
Kelley: That's solarcane.
Abbey: What's it for?
Kelley: That's for sunburns
Abbey: I have a sunburn
Kelley: No you don't.
Abbey: Uh huh. (pulls up her shorts). Look. Right here.
Kelley: Abbey...that's a skeeter bite. That's not a sunburn
Abbey: Yes it is.
Kelley: No it isn't.
Abbey: Yes it is.
Kelley: Don't try it kid. I know all your tricks. You're not getting any solarcane.
Abbey: Oh....OK.

Even though grandma wasn't here, I know she was looking down at us, enjoying the fact that we all came together to see grandpa for his birthday.

He is now on his way out to Montana with my mother.

I'm waiting to hear if they both make it to Montana or if one of them was mistakenly left at a truck stop somewhere in Wyoming.

Enjoy the video!

Note: When you click the play button, it may seem as thought it's "stuck" on buffering. It's not. Just be patient. The video itself is about 10 minutes long.

And yes, that is me, at my 10th grade church confirmation. Don't I look happy!

Gratulerer med dagen, Bestefar!

(That's "Happy Birthday, Grandpa" in Norwegian).

Confessions of a Fat Girl....

It's 10 p.m. on Monday night. I have had today and Friday off. I had Thursday off too--if you count it as that, considering I came home from work not feeling well. There went 6 hours of hard earned PTO. Darn it.

Tonight I'm getting out what I plan to wear tomorrow. I'm no fashionista. Trust me. I get up at 5:30 a.m. and I am then out the door before 6 a.m. to catch my bus which leaves at 6:30 a.m. to then get to work before 7:30 a.m. My fashion consists of comfort. Pure comfort.

Ahhh....the life of a commuter, who chose to live outside of the city to be with the Big Guy.

Ain't love grand.

Anyway, I've decided on a brown capri pant with a tan shirt. I noticed that the pants need to be ironed. And my idea of fun is not waiting to do that tomorrow morning. I'm lucky I can find the bathroom in the morning, much less function enough to iron.

As I'm ironing out the worst wrinkles in the world, I think to myself, "What's the use. By the time I get out of the car at the park-n-ride, my pants will have the 'fat girl crease'."

Don't know what that is? Oh, let me share it with you.

It's the "stretch lines" that are created when you sit down. They stretch over your hips and thighs. And when you get up, you have a ripple effect with the wrinkles that you've now created. In fact, the wrinkles are so tight they don't come out with an iron the next time you wear them.

Oh, and don't you dare tell me that the skinny girls get it too.

Yeah. They get it only over their hips.

They don't get it over their thighs.

No, my pants are too small or too tight--in case you're wondering. In fact, they're a little big. Thank you. But geez, with all this walking, you'd think I'd be 3 sizes smaller.

Oh. Wait. With all the walking comes an increased appetite. Yeah. The idea to lose weight on this walk has been shot all to hell and back.

So, there it is. My rant of being a fat girl.

I'm off to bed. To hopefully burn off the gigantic bowl of ice-cream I ate tonight. You do burn calories when you sleep, right?

Another Camp Moment

The other day a co-worker placed on the inter-office classifieds, "Canoe Lessons". She's headed up to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA) next weekend and had never paddled a canoe. She felt it was time to get some lessons.

I had to share with her the Great Staff Bonding Experience of 1994. But told her that I'd be happy to show her how to canoe.

I mean, as a camp person it's my duty.

That, and showing how to roast the perfect marshmallow.

We met at Lake Calhoun today (she had a 1/2 day off, I had the whole day off) and I showed her how to paddle a canoe.

We went over hand positions. We went over J strokes. C strokes. And how to bring your canoe to a dead stop. She also asked, "So, what if I tip. Then what?"

I have to say, I was mighty impressed that my canoe skills were still in check.

As we were leaving, my co-worker so kindly paid for the canoe rental (and lunch! Thanks again!!), and as she was taking care of the bill, I hear 3 girls talking about wanting to rent a canoe. It went like this:

Girl 1: Let's ask if you need parents
Girl 2: No, let's ask how old you have to be to rent a boat
Girl 3: No, let's just say, "I want to rent a boat."

I turned around and said "She's right" (pointing to girl #3). "Don't give them any indication that you're young. Just pretend like you're old enough."

SIDE NOTE: I realize that there are age limits for a reason. But let's face it. The girls are in life vests, and in water that would probably only be chest deep. So, please do not leave me a comment telling me that I'm a bad adult for suggesting the the girls not disclose their ages. I am not their parents. That is a job for their parents, not me. And if the people in the canoe rental hut had any sort of sense, they would clearly see that these girls were no more than 12.

Back to the story...

Girl #3 says, "See! Told ya!" Then she points at my t-shirt, "Hey! She goes to your camp!"

I looked down and realized that I was wearing a Camp Lincoln & Camp Lake Hubert Alumni shirt. I look at Girl #1 and said, "You went to CLH?" She said, "YEAH!!!" with a big, wide smile.

So, right there, in the middle of the Lake Calhoun beach, I talked to a girl who went to camp this summer for 4 weeks and lived in Fawns. When I told her that in 1996 I was a counselor in Fawns she said, wide eyed, "really?!?!"

Either she was really excited that I was in Fawns or that she can't believe that someone as old as me was young enough to be a counselor in 1996.

I'll go with the fact that she was excited about the Fawns common thread.

I heart Camp...

So, I'm reading a little BooMama and she was talking about her mission trip to Africa. She's on a bloggy break and is reposting some "greatest hits" of her blog. Check it out here.

That got me to thinking about working at camp. Every year, around this time, is when camp would be coming to a close for the summer. The last of the kids left the day before. The staff had a night out--doing things that I probably shouldn't mention on the family friendly bloggy--and are now packing up their cars and heading out of town back to civilization.

You'll probably see clouds of dust following 25 cars going 85 miles an hour down Camp Lincoln Road in about 3 hours as camp is coming to a close.

Anyway, I love camp and more than ever I love stories about camp. Any time camp people get together, they try to out-do each other with tales of campers going crazy, staff who didn't pull their weight and how often they did a kitchen raid.

By the way, I've only done a kitchen raid once.

OK, maybe 6 times. In one 4 week session back in 1998.

Don't tell Bill Jones.

With camp, there are always fun stories. Here are some of my favorites:

Singing Hills Girl Scout Camp, Waterville, MN

• Ness broke her leg: OK. Not really. My friend Dynessa and I worked at camp together and we played a trick on the camp director. In fact, we played tricks on her all summer. The best was when we made a fake cast and pretended that on the weekend off, Ness broke her leg and that she couldn't cover the waterfront (she was head lifeguard). This is what happens when the staff are given keys to every cabinet, door, room and shed on camp. We raided the craft supplies, made a cast and pulled a good one over the director. At dinner, Ness cut the cast off, walked in the dining hall and it took the director a while to realize that Ness was actually walking.
• Staff Training Canoe Trip of 1994: This trip was the worst 3 days of my life. Not only did the new camp director feel that this was the best way to teach a new staff how to canoe, build a fire, use a compass, and so on....it was also 3 days of sheer hell. You know it's bad there are white caps on the river and your canoeing into the wind. We set up tents at the first camp and our camp director excluded herself from the group (bad sign). The rest of us piled into an 8 man tent (there was probably 15 of us in there) and bonded. We woke up the next morning and my best friend said, "The man I marry better love me for who I am because he has to wake up to this every morning" while pointing to her wild hair and no makeup. This is also the same trip that my best friend never got her shoes wet. She claims experience (after all, she was a Gold Award Winner). I claim shenanigans.

Camp Lincoln & Camp Lake Hubert, Lake Hubert MN

• P & C: So, Camp Lincoln & Camp Lake Hubert (CL/CLH) have P&C (pop & candy). The kids get to go 2-3 times a week and have a small glass of pop and 1 candy bar on each visit. The kids have a pre-paid store account and it comes out of there. Staff, are on the honor system and can go to P&C any time they like. Wendy Legg & I taught target sports. Wendy taught riflery and I taught archery. We went to P&C probably 5 times a week. By our names, we noticed someone wrote "Holy P&C Batman!" Wendy's reply "If you worked with children carrying guns and bows, you'd go to P&C too!!" I triple love Wendy. I still talk to her to this day. She was the first person at CLH to talk to me and make me feel a part of the group.
• My First Sailing Experience: Sailing at CL and CLH is a big deal. So, when our cabin got to go sailing for an evening activity, I was so excited. I'd never been! That evening, a little girl by the name of Rosie was earning her Skipper Award in sailing (THE sailing award) and she was "captain" of our boat. She looked at me and said, "Kelley, you have a very important job. If the boat tips, you need to take the mast of the boat and slip it between yourself and your life jacket. OK?" I looked at her and said, "Ummm...what?" She said, "Yeah, we need to make sure that the boat doesn't turtle. Bill Jones gets mad if the boat turtles." I said, "Um...turtle?" (remember, I taught archery). Rosie says "Yeah, that's when the boat is completely upside down. But don't worry. We don't tip too often." And thankfully we didn't. But boy, I was nervous.
• 300 Plastic Drink Cups = 1 Awesome Practical Joke: Yes. I broke the rules. Practical Jokes are against the rules. But this guy had it coming. Paul was the program director at CL and he thought he was such a good joker. So, I challenged him. He was all talk, no action. I sealed the deal when I took 300 plastic Dixie sized cups and lined them up in neat little rows on the floor of his cabin. I then filled them with water. I did it on his day off. He came back to camp, opened his cabin door to make his way to the bathroom and was stopped dead in his tracks. He could only grab 2-3 cups at a time to dump out the water to make a path to the bathroom. Needless to say the next morning, there was a note on my desk that said, "you win". Ha!
• Mice. In my cabin. Yuck: Well, the cabins sit empty all fall, winter and spring. So, it is not uncommon that a cabin gets a mouse (or 5 or 100). I moved into my cabin when I started at camp full time in 2002. First thing I notice? Dead mouse in the trash can. Great! One night, I'm in the cabin, eating a little snack, and I notice a mouse pop his head out from under the recliner. I froze. I couldn't move!! My roommate, Kerry, comes home. I tell her what I found. She's very positive and talks about setting traps. I wasn't buying it. So, Kerry went off to find someone. Who does she bring. Paul (yes, the same guy from the plastic cups). He was bound and determined to get that mouse. Hearing the drama in our cabin, another camp person, Ian (also known as Silk), came by to help. So now, imagine a cabin with two grown men. Both British. Both determined to get this mouse. They tried catching it with their hands. They tried to put a box on top of it. Nothing was working. Paul grabbed a broom and was going to get that little mouse. Not to be outdone, Ian grabbed......a flyswatter. In case you're wondering, the mouse was not caught. It went out the hole it came in. The next day, the maintenance guys sealed up the hole.

The best part about working at camp is hands down the friendships. I have so many wonderful friends all over the world. I wouldn't have traded one minute of camp for any other job. Yeah, camp doesn't pay all that well--so kids who need to make money over the summer don't usually pick working at camp. But to me, that didn't matter. I have friends across the USA, in England, Australia, New Zealand, and many other places.

At camp we have a saying: CFAB (pronounced "see-fab"). It stands for Camp Friends Are Best. And really, they are.

I Swear I Took Geography....



My mom is in town (still) and we were watching the opening ceremony of the Olympics on Friday night.

I always love watching the opening ceremonies. I still remember way back when (in 1996) when the Olympics were in Atlanta. I loved how Janet Evans ran the Olympic flame up to Mohamed Ali and he lit the cauldron.

Now don't tell me that THAT didn't make you just cry red, white and blue tears!

So, during the ceremonies I heard the following comments from my mother

On the outfits the girls from Hungary wore
"Boy, that is butt ugly" (click here for a preview)

On the roll call of countries
"I swear I took geography, but where in the world is Saint Kitts and Nevis?"

On the fact that some countries only have one athlete
"Well, that pretty much guarantees that you get to be the flag carrier doesn't it?"

Regarding the fireworks
"Do you think that they got a good deal on those fireworks considering most fireworks are made in China or some other Asian country?"


Personally I enjoyed the opening ceremonies. Here is my take on it:

Best Opening Ceremony Duty
The guy who lit the cauldron. That guy got to be suspended above everyone and made it look like he was running around the top of the Birds Nest. Seriously...how cool was that!

Coolest Moment
Besides running around the top of the stadium, I would have to say the 2008 drummers who did the count down on the lit drums. Now that was cool.

Funniest Moment
When President Bush was caught looking at his watch while slumped in his chair in the VIP box. Oh, GW. Enough said.

Moment that Created an "awww" Factor
When the little boy from China who walked in the ceremonies with Yao Ming. That little boy was so proud and the story is that he saved 2 children from his class when the earthquake hit earlier this year. He said, "I had to help, I'm the hall monitor". The hall monitors in my elementary school just wrote us up for running in the halls and got to bring the milk for milk break. I doubt they would have come back to save us if the building caved in. Plus, to see him next to Yao Ming--how cute was that!

The "Huh?" Moment
What was up with that giant painting that everyone was making? Did you see that? They had giant "stamp pads" for people to walk through and then walk across a canvas. What's going to happen with that thing? And why didn't people change it up a bit? Take your pink shoes and walk in a normally green area.


There you go. My take on the opening ceremonies with my mother.


For Christmas, she's getting a globe.

Oh...to be in college again....

In reading my daily dose of Big Mama, she re-posted an old post while she's taking a bloggy break. To read it click here.

I swear to you that I am a long lost sister to Big Mama. I laughed out loud at her post because it was exactly the same as my college days. Swap out Texas for North Dakota and you've got my college career. Though I never got a 13 on a quiz, I have had my share of failures.

We won't go into how I failed psychology twice.

Or that I was dismissed from college--twice.

For those of you who don't know, I work in higher education (if you look up the word irony in the dictionary, you will find my photo). I came to realize that this was my passion back in 1995 when I was entering my sixth year of college.

I loved college and that is why I was there for so long.

OK, not really. But at least I wasn't there as long as my friends Patrick and Rich. They were both there for 8 years. And all they got was a Bachelors.

Anyway, I did love college and it was then that I decided that I wanted to work at a university for ever and ever, amen. I did graduate from my undergrad with a pretty decent GPA. I went onto grad school and missed a 4.0 by one class (I got a C in conflict resolution. I got docked points for missing 2 classes not because I didn't understand the content!). I currently work for a university where all of their classes are online.

Yes. They are legit.

No. They aren't a diploma mill.

Yes. The students get a good education.

Yes. They pay for classes if I want to earn my next degree.

No. I will not be earning my PhD.

So I thought it would be fun to run down my favorite memories of working in higher education. After all, school is about to start for some universities. I've picked my two favorite moments at each school to date:

Murray State University, Murray KY

• Largest marijuana bust on campus (back in 1997) was in my building. Not only did the guy pop out the bottom to his closet drawer for a hiding place, when we busted him, he was so high that he offered the arresting officer a snack.
• A bunch of hall directors were in the same grad program and we car-pooled to classes off campus once a semester. One particular evening, we stopped for gas. Meghan was sitting in the car, door open, and saw a dime on the ground. She reached over to pick it up and fell out of the car. Imagine a glam, New York City girl, laying on the ground of a local gas station, laughing hysterically.

Xavier University, Cincinnati, OH

• I was blessed with the fact that my RA's at Xavier really bonded together during staff training. The night before the halls opened, the hall directors were walking through each residence hall to see the RA's bulletin boards and door signs. My building was last and we came upon my RA's in the quad playing "Over the Mountain". This is where you say, "Over the mountain if you've ever been to England". If you have been to England, you leave your "safe spot" and run to another safe spot. Person left without a safe spot decides the next over the mountain clue. After we were done looking at everything, I came out to my staff and they asked if I wanted to play. I said, "yes!". Soon, I look over and I see one of my RA's peeking around the corner to see if the upper administrators were gone. He ran back to the group and said, "OK, all clear!" I said, "What do you mean...all clear?" He said, "We're playing dirty over the mountain." My eyes were as big as saucers and I said, "You can't play that! This is a Catholic school!" They looked at me and said, "Oh, Kelley. That's why we go to mass on Sunday."
• The time that I had to discipline a suite of boys for alcohol. Four guys lived in a suite. Discipline at Xavier is consecutive--so if you get caught freshman year and are at level 1 discipline, and you get caught 3 years later, you are at level 2. It doesn't start over year to year. This suite of boys was trouble from day 1. Boy #1 was on level 5, so he was kicked out of the building. Boy #2 and Boy #3 were at level 3, so they had to pay a $200 fine, have community service and I had to call their parents (FERPA, anyone?). Boy #4 had never been caught. I had to have a talk with him to say, "If you were smart, you would have taken the fall for your buddies." Oh, and that fine of $200 each? Yes, they paid it. In pennies. Needless to say I didn't find it funny (at the time) and put that $200 charge on their bursar bill. And part of their community service was to roll the pennies and get them out of my office.

Bowling Green State University, Bowling Green, OH

• The Hand Towel Dilemma. I had a group of guys on a wing who one night were so intoxicated that they ripped the hand towel dispenser off the wall. We put it back. They did it again. So, we decided, no hand towels. They tried to tell me is was "unsanitary". I told them to help me find a way to stop the towel dispenser from being ripped off the wall. When they couldn't I said, "You find a way, you'll get your towels back." They went without towels for a long time.
• The girl who had an illegal toaster oven in her room and decided to heat up a sandwich. However, she forgot to take the sandwich out of the cardboard take-home box. Cardboard + toaster oven = small fire. In a panic, she threw it in the hall. Which scorched the carpet, set off the fire alarm and had the fire department come out.

As much as I loved being a hall director, I soon learned that it wasn't for me. I met some great people and am so proud of the staff I had at each school. I have RA's who are now teachers, doctors, and everything in between. I wouldn't be who I am today if I had not worked at each of these schools.

And for the record, I did complete my masters in the 2 year time frame.

Relationship Reflection....

Before I started work this morning, I did a little blog-hopping. One of the blogs I read, this young lady was talking about random life and what not and she started talking about her boyfriend. I deducted via the posts I read that she's close to my age (mid-30's). And in her blog she had a post that talked about the fact that her boyfriend would always be that--her boyfriend. In other words, the boyfriend was not husband material.

I am happy that she discovered this now--and not 10 years into a marriage.

But when I read posts like that, I start to doubt my own relationships. And I have no idea why.

And to be honest, I hate that I do it. Because there is nothing to doubt.

I've been seeing the Big Guy for 3 years. We met online (Match.com if you're keeping tabs) and started seeing each other 2 weeks before I moved to camp.

That says a lot right there that a guy would hold onto the fact that he wouldn't really see me at all that summer--but would wait around to find out.

Oh, we've had our ups and downs like any couple. We don't see eye to eye on politics (I'm a democrat, he's an independent), religion (I'm a Lutheran, he's a lapsed Unitarian), or gun control (I hate guns--even though I know how to shoot one and grew up around them, and he has a gun or, two, or 10). I get frustrated that he loads the dishwasher other than I like, hate that he leaves his socks in a ball, and worry about his health. I also hate the fact that I'm the only one who cleans the house--but we all know that if I asked him to clean, I'd re-do it anyway.


Yes. I would.


But there isn't one thing that I can't list that makes me say, "Yeah, no....this isn't worth it."

Because even though he puts the glasses at the back of the dishwasher, or won't vote for a certain politician who's name starts with O, I can't imagine life without him.

He's the first one I want to call when work is a pain in the rear end.

He's the first one I want to call when I have good news or even bad news.

He's the one who I think about sitting next too at family functions playing with the kiddos and being a gentle giant, but then turning around to be the stern father.

I know I can't change the blogging world. As much as I would like to send out a memo that says, "Please do not talk about how you're questioning your relationships", I can't. Because a blog is an open diary. And a diary is personal and that means they can write what ever they want.

I just have to be strong willed to say, "That's them. Not me."

Gotta Love Them Lutherans....

I got this from my mother.

WE ARE PLEASED TO ANNOUNCE LUTHERAN AIRLINES IS NOW OPERATING IN MINNYSOTA!

If you are travelin soon, consider Lutran Air, the no-frills airline.>

You're all in da same boat on Lutran Air, here flyin is a upliftin experience.

Dair is no first class on any Lutran Air flight.

Meals are potluck.
Rows 1 tru 6, bring rolls;
7 tru 15, bring a salad;
16 tru 21, a hot dish, and
22-30, a dessert.

Basses and tenors please sit in da rear of da aircraft.

Everyone is responsible for his or her own baggage.

All fares are by free will offering, and da plane will not land til da budget is met.

Pay attention to your flight attendant, who vill acquaint you wit da safety system aboard dis Lutran Air.

Okay den, listen up. I'm only gonna say dis vonce:
In da event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, I am frankly gonna be real surprised and so vill Captain Olson, because ve fly right around two tousand feet, so loss of cabin pressure would probably mean da Second Coming or someting of dat nature, and I wouldn't bodder with doze liddle masks on da rubber tubes--you're gonna have bigger tings to worry about den dat. Just stuff doze back up in dair liddle holes. Probably da masks fell out because of turbulence which, to be honest wit you, we're gonna have quite a bit of at two tousand feet, sorta like driving across a plowed field, but after a while you get used to it.

In da event of a water landing, I'd say forget it. Start saying da Lord's Prayer and just hope you get to da part about forgive us our sins as we forgive dose who sin against us, which some people say 'trespass against us,' which isn't right, but what can you do?

Da use of cell phones on da plane is strictly forbidden, not because day may confuse da plane's navigation system, which is by da pants all da way. No, it's because cell phones are a pain in da wazoo, and if God had meant you to use a cell phone, He wudda put your mout on da side of your head.

We start lunch right about noon and it's buffet style wit da coffeepot up front. Den we'll have da hymn sing; hymnals are in da seat pockets in front of you. Don't take yours wit you when you go or I am gonna be real upset and I am not kiddin!

Right now I'll say Gr ace:

Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest
and let deze gifts to us be blessed.
Fader, Son, and Holy Ghost,
May we land in Dulut or pretty close.

Doin' the Right Thing...

I have a confession to make.

I love giving stuff to people.

This doesn't necessarily mean giving something that I purchased to someone. That's fun too. But I love to be able to give the things I don't need anymore away.

One of the ways I do this is through Freecycle, a yahoo group that you can join for free.

NOTE: Signing up for Freecycle = a mailbox full of posts from this group. You do have the option of not receiving the e-mails. Just be sure to read the set-up information.

Here's how it works. When you have something to give away, you write "OFFER" with a description. If you have a need for something, you write "WANT" with a description. Once these needs have been met, you write "TAKEN" with the same description you used in your original post.

I usually don't use this unless I want to get rid of something. People put anything and everything out there. Including food from picnics and fill dirt from landscape projects. I've put on Freecycle an old computer that was BEYOND repair, an old set of dishes, a chair, etc. The latest item for Freecycle was a futon.

This futon is one of the last items from the Big Guy's college days. And since we were in college in the early 90's, you know what kind of futon this was. Those that sat maybe 5 inches off the ground, with a lumpy mattress that folded over a wooden slat frame. As we're creeping up in age (ugh...), it really isn't the best thing for us. And since it was technically the "guest bed", and with my mom visiting, we needed to make some changes. I thought that the suggestion of putting the futon on Freecycle would have been a hard sell. But the Big Guy was all for it!

I put it out there, "OFFER: Wooden Slat Futon with Blue Mattress" and a description. We would even offer to deliver it.

The replies came in and I went with the first person. She lived in Roseville (North West corner of the metro area) and wanted to know if we would really deliver that far. Yes, of course! I told her my mom and I would make a day of it and be there in the afternoon the following weekend.

I then got an e-mail from her that made me just say, "wow". This young woman recently left a relationship and had a whole lot of nothing. She was starting over. She said that this would be a true gift and someday would return the favor when she could.

My mom and I made the trip yesterday and we met her at her home. She was renting a small room in a large house, on the top floor. I helped her carry in the lumpy mattress and the overpowering smell of cat urine about knocked me over. I of course put on a brave face, a big smile and told her, "When you move out, be sure someone helps you with this. It's not a one person job--even if you just push it down the steps!"

I helped her put it together and showed her how it worked. It was then that I got a peek of her place.

She literally had nothing.

In the corner was a mattress on the floor.

Besides the futon, she had a TV stand and a small TV.

And her lap top sat on a small end table.

I wished her luck, shook her hand and left.

I got back in the car and looked at my mom and said, "Wow. She wasn't kidding. She had nothing." I told my mom about the smell and it reminded me that people will do anything to prove their Independence. If the rent is right, if the neighborhood is safe, and if she can prove that she's picking up and moving on--the smell is the last thing on her mind.

I called the Big Guy later that night (he's working a night shift) and I said, "You should know that the futon went to a girl who really had nothing." When I shared that with him he said, "Wow, I know I said that Roseville was too far to drive, but I feel good knowing it went to someone who needed it."

See, even the Big Guy can turn into a puddle of mush now and again.