Finally.
After three summers of wishing and applying and trying and not, I am a counselor at a summer camp.
It's as hard as I was told, but also more manageable than I expected. Granted this is only the second full week of camp, but still, I'm not dead (though I do have a cold).
So far, the Cub Campers, or "cubbies" as they are called, are my favorite. Our first week of camp brought over 50 7-9 year old kids. In my cabin I had eight of those little children, and they were wonderful! Yes, one night I had four of them crying at once over being homesick and the constant worry of spiders. BUT, each had their own sweet personality and desire to learn and enjoy camp!
This week is the first of two Junior Camps, (ages 10-12) and is proving to be less tiring physically, but more tiring mentally. Introverted as I am, I have found that I need to be the one to start conversations a lot of the time. Which is an introvert's NIGHTMARE. But God is good, and I am doing fine. I think. I have one day off a week, and that is giving me a much needed break from all the craziness that is constantly thrown at me. So off I go, to enjoy the rest of my freeeeee day.
Let's see how the rest of the week goes!
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Friday, June 7, 2013
Costume Party
After a full day of struggling to find a 1920s era flapper dress of any type, Grandma and I opted to make our own. From the first desperate Google searches a month ago after I learned of the theme for my summer camp's banquet, to now, I had resigned myself to not really having a dress. Trying to save moola for my big trip next year (more on that to come) I did not want to buy a silly dress that would never be worn again!
So, my determined Grandma decided we would make our own. Hitting towns in both California and Oregon, we finally met our fist success at Goodwill stop number two. A plain-jane black dress was purchased for only $4.49. Encouraged by our cheap find, we scooted on to a real-life costume shop. I felt like I was in a movie; fluffy feather boas (one of which I bought), long silky gloves, pirate eye patches, and fishnet stockings galore. After making it out of the trap of imagination, we arrived at the fabric store, where we bought the classic fringe for the dress. Who would've thought that would be the most expensive part of the dress?!
Back on the home front after a stop at Dairy Queen, we rummaged through Granny's sewing supplies. Many of which hailed from the days of her mother's sewing business. Finding little lengths of sequins to compliment the outfit's design, we excitedly began to cut and sew and glue. The headband was born first. And now, as I type this, after . . . more hours than I'd like to count, we are just finishing up the last bits of the dress. I can't believe we were able to pull something like this together! Yet there it is, chilling on a 52 year old, all metal, singer sewing machine. (Pictures of the outfit will come later.)
Man, we're good.
So, my determined Grandma decided we would make our own. Hitting towns in both California and Oregon, we finally met our fist success at Goodwill stop number two. A plain-jane black dress was purchased for only $4.49. Encouraged by our cheap find, we scooted on to a real-life costume shop. I felt like I was in a movie; fluffy feather boas (one of which I bought), long silky gloves, pirate eye patches, and fishnet stockings galore. After making it out of the trap of imagination, we arrived at the fabric store, where we bought the classic fringe for the dress. Who would've thought that would be the most expensive part of the dress?!
Back on the home front after a stop at Dairy Queen, we rummaged through Granny's sewing supplies. Many of which hailed from the days of her mother's sewing business. Finding little lengths of sequins to compliment the outfit's design, we excitedly began to cut and sew and glue. The headband was born first. And now, as I type this, after . . . more hours than I'd like to count, we are just finishing up the last bits of the dress. I can't believe we were able to pull something like this together! Yet there it is, chilling on a 52 year old, all metal, singer sewing machine. (Pictures of the outfit will come later.)
Man, we're good.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Mushroom Hunting
Today I got to experience the excitement of wild mushroom hunting.
With two dogs and four people hauling the "wisdom of age" with them, I traipsed up and down Brown's Mountain in Oregon searching for Morel and Bolete mushrooms. Then, this evening, I cleaned and cut all the Morel's while grammy worked on the Boletes. I also found bear poop.
All in a day's work.
With two dogs and four people hauling the "wisdom of age" with them, I traipsed up and down Brown's Mountain in Oregon searching for Morel and Bolete mushrooms. Then, this evening, I cleaned and cut all the Morel's while grammy worked on the Boletes. I also found bear poop.
All in a day's work.
Monday, May 27, 2013
The Story of My Life
Last Monday was rough.
But not in a bad way. If you are one of my good friends, you should know by now that I am a bit . . . absent-minded, clumsy, and the more tired I am, the more I struggle with the English language (the only language I know). With these facts fully in your mind, prepare yourself for a brief look into the Embarrassing Life of Elena.
It was already starting out to be a long day. Work from 10-5 was relatively busy, and because of the end rush, I left about 10 minutes late. My friend's car was completely empty, so I stopped off to put some gas in on my way back to campus.
Upon pulling into the gas station I realized I didn't know which side of the car contained the gas tank. Parking in the mini lot to the side I hopped out to check. Right side. With no pumps free, I decided to take a lap around the block. I pulled out onto the busy street, then turned right to start my circuit. Noticing that there were two lanes I quickly switched into the right turn lane. The light in front was red, so I slowed to a stop behind the car in front of me and began to wait.
And wait.
I jammed alone to the radio for a song and a half.
That's when I looked more closely at the car's lights in front of me (off), and eyed my proximity to the side walk (real close) with suspicion. A moment later, I realized with the wave of embarrassment that only comes when alone-- this was no turning lane. It wasn't a lane at all. The cars in front of me . . . were . . . well . . . parked.
Do you know how painful that was for me to type?! Just keep reading. It gets worse.
I pulled back into the actual road, finished rounding the block, and turned back into the gas station. Out of the car I got, ready to tackle filling this car with gas. Since I hadn't filled a car since Christmas time-- in Hawaii might I add-- I was a bit apprehensive. But I soldiered on, and was promptly stumped with how to open the door to get to the gas tank. Long story short there, I got it open, (after a phone call to my friend).
Now, to get the gas. I put my card in. Didn't work. Oh, that's because it was backwards. Re-try. Pressed credit. Wouldn't work. Pressed debit, several times. Finally, it worked. Realized I didn't know my pin so I cancelled it. Then I had to go into the store per the gas pump's angry red letter directions. -__- Went in, paid with cash. Got back out ready to roll, and happily placed the nozzle in the tank, so ready to get the ball rolling. But, when I gripped the handle to start the flow of gasoline, surprise, surprise, nothing happened.
I double checked everything that I knew to check. I even went back in to ask the cashier if he gave me the right gas! All was in order, so after a couple minutes of struggling while the other three people at their pumps watched me, I leaned around and asked the guy across from me for help. Bless his heart, he came around and with one glance, leaned over and flipped up the little handle on the pump itself.
It worked.
But not in a bad way. If you are one of my good friends, you should know by now that I am a bit . . . absent-minded, clumsy, and the more tired I am, the more I struggle with the English language (the only language I know). With these facts fully in your mind, prepare yourself for a brief look into the Embarrassing Life of Elena.
It was already starting out to be a long day. Work from 10-5 was relatively busy, and because of the end rush, I left about 10 minutes late. My friend's car was completely empty, so I stopped off to put some gas in on my way back to campus.
Upon pulling into the gas station I realized I didn't know which side of the car contained the gas tank. Parking in the mini lot to the side I hopped out to check. Right side. With no pumps free, I decided to take a lap around the block. I pulled out onto the busy street, then turned right to start my circuit. Noticing that there were two lanes I quickly switched into the right turn lane. The light in front was red, so I slowed to a stop behind the car in front of me and began to wait.
And wait.
I jammed alone to the radio for a song and a half.
That's when I looked more closely at the car's lights in front of me (off), and eyed my proximity to the side walk (real close) with suspicion. A moment later, I realized with the wave of embarrassment that only comes when alone-- this was no turning lane. It wasn't a lane at all. The cars in front of me . . . were . . . well . . . parked.
Do you know how painful that was for me to type?! Just keep reading. It gets worse.
I pulled back into the actual road, finished rounding the block, and turned back into the gas station. Out of the car I got, ready to tackle filling this car with gas. Since I hadn't filled a car since Christmas time-- in Hawaii might I add-- I was a bit apprehensive. But I soldiered on, and was promptly stumped with how to open the door to get to the gas tank. Long story short there, I got it open, (after a phone call to my friend).
Now, to get the gas. I put my card in. Didn't work. Oh, that's because it was backwards. Re-try. Pressed credit. Wouldn't work. Pressed debit, several times. Finally, it worked. Realized I didn't know my pin so I cancelled it. Then I had to go into the store per the gas pump's angry red letter directions. -__- Went in, paid with cash. Got back out ready to roll, and happily placed the nozzle in the tank, so ready to get the ball rolling. But, when I gripped the handle to start the flow of gasoline, surprise, surprise, nothing happened.
I double checked everything that I knew to check. I even went back in to ask the cashier if he gave me the right gas! All was in order, so after a couple minutes of struggling while the other three people at their pumps watched me, I leaned around and asked the guy across from me for help. Bless his heart, he came around and with one glance, leaned over and flipped up the little handle on the pump itself.
It worked.
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