The Hostess with the Mostess *

I'm still in limbo. No replacement in sight; Polka Dot is who knows where; I haven't heard whether she still wants to be a Camp Host or not, so my education continues to grow.

Here's my spot. Nice, huh? The whole park is green at the moment so I can't see the lake but the view's still spectacular, in general.

The past few days have been interesting. We had to call in the Mounties when one camper began threatening passers-by with bodily harm because,

"Evil was pouring out of them..."  So I rode up and asked,

"Sir...is everything OK?" He was meek and mild, sitting at his picnic table with his dog, but my time at Community First taught me enough to remain in my golf cart, in the road. He brought up his unpaid status as I searched for his tag through my totally blurry heart-shaped sunglasses (Susan, I still get great comments!)

"It's not fine, sir. There's been a report of a disturbance," yada yada, until ending with, "Please don't yell at the campers."

...and off I zoomed to inform the Rangers. I love writing that...makes me imagine I'm in Lonesome Dove.

While I waited for backup, I decided to restock the rest rooms and that's when I found the man's present on the floor, which another unsuspecting camper discovered in the dark and traipsed on out the door. 

I told you I didn't sign up for this, but I can't exactly pull out my umbilicals and move elsewhere; not when I've just bought that car I can't drive because I can't afford extra trips until next month.'s payday. I'm putting things up on my Etsy shop as fast as my fingers can type, hint, hint.

Fortunately the poor Ranger Assistants, who apparently had visions of Lonesome Dove, too, took care of that problem. When the Sheriffs arrived to escort out #17, #11 got nervous and packed up before they got evicted, too. They tell me it'll only get worse as the summer progresses.

But it's a beautiful spot, no?  Did I mention I saw my first rattlesnake?  Two women I'd directed to a walking path were standing in the road so I stopped. They pointed out the rattler along the side of the road.

"I'm afraid someone will run over it," the less fearful one said, then told me a story about some place they'd visited where they go out and shoot them on the road for sport. I didn't mention an old co-worker, Maria, who loved to run them over in her truck to and from her home way out of town in New Mexico. She'd go backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.

I stared, transfixed, as my greatest fear SLOWLY uncoiled its 5-foot length and began slithering away.

"It's crossing the road. They do that," one of them mentioned.

"What," I asked, "like the chicken?"

There was a potential problem with another site which looked as if Staten Island exploded, but this morning, as if awakening from a bad dream, I saw the occupants were gone and every piece of garbage they imported was gone, too. Plus they paid up before they left, apparently. Go figure.

So despite the cooked-up meth in the shower, the Devil worshiper eviction and Pig-Pen's relatives, I'm still here, in sunny Southern Oregon. 

* Just something Mom used to say.