first camping trip of the season

last year, we bought a camper. A 26ft Zinger Bunkhouse to be exact. And we love it!
The only thing i would fix about camping is that Jim didnt get out everything he thinks we need, and just relax, that he would NOT be on his computer inside the camper, and that we had one more day each weekend to enjoy our times together.
This weekend, we made our way to Lake Glory Campground in Catawissa, PA, about 1 1/2 hrs away from our house, north. It is Knoebels 2nd campground, running a shuttle to the amusement park.
We got there on Friday at dinner time and met my mom at the check in office.
The sites were wonderful, large and flat.
The campground is just a few minutes from the amusement park and another great attraction that we found.
Rolling Hills Red Deer Farm.
What a fun place. We boarded a pull behind tractor and fed the beautiful Red Deer some special treats.
We learned all about these wonderful animals and truly enjoyed our 1 hr tour.
I highly recommend visiting. www.reddeeratrollinghillsfarm.com

Then, after a little snooze, we headed to Knoebels, ON THEIR BUSIEST DAY EVER!
It was Penn State and WVIA ( tv station) day. The park is wonderful, no admission, just pay as you go!
The wait isnt normally long, but we ended up waiting 45 minutes just for 4 pieces of pizza!
I love this park! I do not love that people bring their dogs to an amusement park. I think carrying your chihuahua on your shoulders is weird...there I said it!
Either way, Audrey had a great time on the rides( sorry no camera was taken in, less to carry)
The next time, I will not be taking a stroller.

All in All though, we had a very nice and relaxing weekend and look forward to many great weekends camping this summer.

One more from I once was...

The Implants

My parents had managed to buy a small store along the interstate that ran through the town.  It was the only grocery store, restaurant, tackle shop and gas station in a 25-mile radius. You could get take-out; can goods, and worms all in one stop.   It was situated across the field from my grand parent’s house.  My parents said they had moved because they wanted to get away from the rat race, their ranking for the city.  Though, I knew that it was because my mother didn’t enjoy the thought of living so far away from her parents.
The town was situated in the middle of nowhere.  It had a population similar to that of a small funeral.  Funny that I make that comparison, since many of the townspeople walked around like they had died a decade before I was born and just hadn’t realized it yet.
I was their only child.  The locals referred to my parents as the “implants”.  If you weren’t born there, “implant” was the closest you got to acceptance.  I was, by all rights, really an implant myself.  It was fitting.  Though I was born in that small town, my roots weren’t planted there.  They couldn’t and didn’t identify me by who my people were.  ‘She’s Ida’s daughter; you know, Donna’s kid that went to school with Mike and Neil.’   I was always just ‘that chubby little red haired girl from the store.’

Report Card

Report Card

I had run the short distance between this house and my own, down the dirt road.  I could almost hear the change dropping into my piggy bank.  Three A’s and 2 B’s meant $2.00 I opened the door, report card in hand.                          
“All we can afford to give you is this quart of cabbage and some pennies,” he said.                                                                                                                     “That would be fine”, I said.  “I like cabbage, Pop.”                                        
Within moments, I was out the door.  I headed home, 15 cents in my pocket and $1.85 worth of canned cabbage in my hand.                                                      
Later, my grandmother would say how they laughed about that day.  Then, I would hold out my hand and ask for the money she owed me!

Roller Skates: Part of I Once Was

Roller Skates

It was my 8th birthday, and I had finally gotten those roller skates that I had wanted so badly.  They were white and they had pink shoelaces.   I screamed with joy when I opened them.                                                  
“Now,” my mom said, “There are a few rules for the roller skates.”              
“First, long pants,” she said
I understood, fewer scratches.                                                                          
“You must wear your dad’s long socks as well. Then the top of the skates won’t rub your legs.”                                                                                                      
I shook my head.  Whatever, you say, I thought.                                            
“Also, you have to wear the knee pads and elbow pads and long sleeves whenever you skate.”  She held up each item as she listed them.                  
“Where can I skate?” I asked, anxiously.                                                          
“On the porch until you learn how to stop and start.” she answered. “Then we’ll see.”  She let out a heavy sigh.                                                                          
Our porch was cement, 15 feet long and 6 feet wide, but it was a beginning.
“One last thing,” she said.                                                                              
“What?” I asked.  What else could she possibly add to this?                          
“Pop has a helmet for you over at his house.  You have to wear the helmet; no if, ands, or buts,” she said.                                                                                      
“Can we go and get it now?” I asked.                                                              
“Ok,” she answered, with a smile.                                                                          
So we walked across the street and down the dirt road to my grandparent’s house.                                                                                                              When we got there, my dreams of becoming a professional roller skater were shattered.                                                                                                              “See how this fits,” my grandfather said, putting the helmet on my head.      
“This isn’t a skating helmet,” I said disappointed.  The delight in my eyes, dimmed.                                                                                                               He pushed the helmet onto my head, and pushed the plastic visor up.          
“No,” my mom said.  “It’s one of Pop’s snowmobile helmets.  It’s safer than a skating helmet,” She said.                                                                                    
“I can’t wear this!” I yelled through the mask covering my lips.                      
“You will wear this or you won’t be skating at all,” she said.                          
So, I wore the helmet, and the socks, and the kneepads, and the long pants.  Every time I skated my head would wobble and my body would sweat.        
“Safety first,” she said.

Like a Lady: Part of I Once Was

Like A Lady

“Stand Up!” he yelled.
With a look of familiar confusion, I stood.                                                      
“Now,” he said, annoyed, “Sit back down, on that couch, like a lady.”                      
I sat.  
“No! Now damn it, stand up!”  He yelled again.                                                    
I stood once again.  He sat in his chair, on the opposite side of the living room.          
“Quit flopping on that couch.” My grandfather was stern.                            
“Now, slowly, sit back down,” he said softly, almost a whisper.  He paused with each word.                                                      I lowered myself onto that couch, my eyes never leaving his.                          
He yelled to my grandmother. “Bunnie, would you look at this!”                
“What?” she asked, coming into the living room from the kitchen.  She stood beside him, hands placed on her hips.  A dishtowel rested over her shoulder.  
“Stand Up!” he said, motioning to me with his hands.                                      
Yet again, he asked me to sit back down ‘like a lady’.                                        
I lowered myself back onto that couch, just as he had asked.                        
“Okay, that’s enough!” my grandmother said, shaking her head at the sight.    
“I’m just tired of seeing her flop,” he said, leaning back in his chair.  “Besides, she’ll wear out my cushions.”

So I wrote a book, sorta , once....

About my Gram, the woman who lived 100 yards from my house, who helped raised me everyday of my life.
And I wrote it as a healing process for myself some 11 years ago.
And it DID heal me.
I came across the document on my backup file and I realized I need to store it somewhere else, other than in print form and on here, so I am going to post the short stories that make the book every once in awhile, just so Audrey has them.

I guess the first little snippet of these short stories is the place to start
SOME OF THIS IS TRUE, AND SOME OF IT MY HEART JUST MADE UP.



Clean Air


I remember the smell that permeated from the small house in the bend of the dirt road, steamed cabbage and spicy perfume.  It circled through the kitchen, out through the screen door, and onto the porch.  My grandparents lived there, comfortably.  They had journeyed three hours away from the hustle and bustle of the city.  Towering trees and hills surrounded their little white house.  On the guided words of my grandfather’s doctor, they moved into the clean mountain air.  It would clear his lungs of emphysema.  I was born into that clean air.  He died there when I was just 10 years old.  

When You Grow up...

Dear Audrey:

Sometimes I catch you pretending. You have such a great imagination. You pretend to be a doctor or a fireman, sometimes a superhero! 

Often, you break out your microphone and sing us a song.

What you are not and will never be is ordinary, somehow my heart assures me of that.

But on just an ordinary day, I glanced over and caught you doing the cutest thing.

You had placed a book with a picture of a ballerina in it onto the floor and you were studying the book and twirling around just as the girl in the picture. 

I am amazed sometimes by your cleverness, by your silliness.....by your love of life! <3