Guys, been working on this story for awhile.  it's not perfect, but this will give you an idea of what the kitchen was like and how Gorgeous Kyle got his nickname.  This story will go right before The Tale of Gorgeous Kyle.  There are alot of small things to fix, but here is the very first written copy. 

 

“--------------,” said the alarm, screaming a hallelujah to only the morning sun.  “Oh my—is it really that early in the morning?  Can I hit the snooze?  Is there a way out?  Do I have to get up—What’s for breakfast?”  Everyone else is allowed to dwell in the sleep and somber of the morning.  I turned off the alarm and punched the mental timeclock for the day and retreated to my jeans, white work hat, and old IU shirt and pretended to care about my looks.  As I proceeded into the lounge room, I realized it was not warm temperatures.  The cold crept through my toes and up to my lungs and I watched as my breathe created the white fog.  This was not the normal weather for May.  I threw on my ‘Steven’s Point’ sweatshirt and wondered once again what Steven’s Point was, who had lost this sweatshirt that it 2x my size, and if I would meet someone today that knew whose sweatshirt this was and it they would want it back.  Maybe I should pack another sweatshirt just in case I do meet this mysterious sweatshirt loser.  I wondered also about the socks that covered my feet and who the previous owner was and why they would give up such comfort.  Meike swore up and down that they were clean and that I would have no worries.  However, a clean sock covering a dirty foot doesn’t seem to fit the cleanly code, neither does clean clothes covering the dirty body. 

“Should I brush my teeth? Would anyone notice?”

I placed my hand in front of my mouth, blew twice, sniffed the air, thought, thought again, then reported to the toothbrush, knowing my smell glands were probably lying to me this early in the morning.  I brushed my teeth with my eyes closed. 4:00am does not reward eye-opening toothbrushing; it is not an act that requires my full attention in the morning. 

I looked around, unsure of myself, thinking I had forgot something, but unsure of what it is.  I walked out of the door, carrying nothing, thankful I was not carrying anything but felt naked.  I stopped turned around—Dave.

A slam of the door follows me and a vision of  blue triumphs from the cabin doors.  I waited for him and his slow pace to catch up to me.  We both had the “early morning pace” practiced, prepared and performed.  Down the winding dirt path, through the gravel makeshift trail and snow, two kitchen workers treaded the path of uncleanliness, sure that neither had attempted any form of cleanliness other than the toothbrush.  Dave always cleaned up later in the day. 

“Good morning, boys,” said the cheerful cook of morning delight, “Still not morning people yet, eh?”

“Morning Rod,” I said inside of a yawn.

“Check the list, we have lots to accomplish today and not as much time as usual.” 

The preplist.  Rod’s only source of organization and communication to the staff.  He flooded it with joy, control and damnation as he is Napoleon to the kitchen. Emeril. 

I looked the list over, the organization of the day.  He looked at me looking at the list.

“You know how to do any of that?”

“I think so,” I lied. 

“Well, let’s see, first things first, let’s talk about aprons.” 

I suddenly remembered his safety first lessons from yesterday.  The apron was essential, cautionary and key as was the handwashing stage. 

“Remember that everyday is your birthday.  Whenever you wash your hands, sing the birthday song to yourself.” 

He sang it.  Out loud.  As we washed our hands.  I wished it was actually my birthday so this moment would not feel so awkward.  We rinsed.” 

“Now remember, wash your hands after you eat anything, touch your face, touch your lips, sneeze, cough, breathe, go to the bathroom, adjust yourself, or touch yourself.” 

I was going to be washing my hands a lot. 

“Now make sure your apron is good and tight, remember no shorts and no open toed shoes.  I wouldn’t want you to loose a toe.  And good you brought a hat. Wear that hat and I won’t make you wear a hairnet.”  I hadn’t planned on wearing the hat.  It just so happened that the hat came with my morning attire.  My hair was precious; it had not been made to be perfect yet.  I wasn’t Kyle.  I didn’t wake to beautiful.  He was looking me up and down, like a drill sergeant inspecting his army before they embarked on this cooking excursion.  I was wondering if he could smell my morningness from where he was standing. 

He was talking again.  “Now, yesterday, we were in quite the hurry and I didn’t have time to show you everything in the kitchen.  Let’s do a quick tour and then you and Dave can work on the cereals and the fussy bar and this morning’s breakfast. 

“First, we are at the handwashing sink.  You’ll be here a lot.  Second, my office. I’m not there very often. These freezers beside me hold…um…cold things, frozen foods, quick foods.  To our left, we have the walk-in closet.  In here, you will find the meat.”  He made a manly grunt as he said mean. “the fresh vegetables, milk, and just an assortment of other odds and ends.  You’ll be in and out of this freezer.  Next, we have the dry goods pantry. In there you will find the cereal, the desserts, any and all canned goods.  Out here in front of the walk-in, you will find the 2 mixers that we use for bread and desserts.  These three huge tables can be used for prep and these ovens to my left are mostly used to make pizza.  You’ll be eating a lot of pizza.  The stove top and the microwave units are here.”  He was pointing all to his left.  “These two fridges, the one on the left between these tables that kind of make an L and then the one on the right over there.  These are used to keep the potato bar and the salad bar.  Notice, we have the kitchen open to the dining room.  We do that so that we can serve seconds to those that wish to have more of something.  We will be serving family style so most families will have enough food, but just in case there is an extra at a table or something.  Now beside all that is the big dishwashing sink.  This, complete with three sinks, and a sprayer.  I love the power of this sink.  All behind here you will notice all of the dishes, pots, pans, everything.  Also, you will notice that there are lots of serving dishes in that cabinet up there.  The last thing.  Through that door over there, you will see the big machine, the dishwasher.  This will be your life saver.  It will do lots of dishes at a time, just have to put it on a tray and roll it through.”  He showed me how.  Information overload. 

“You probably used that during your chapter focus week, right.” 

“Right.”  I hadn’t.  I had chose to set the tables. 

“Alright, then I won’t have to show you anything else on that machine.  Now, you will have questions. Let’s answer them as we go along.  First I want you to put all of these dishes from last night away.  This will give you a chance to get to know this area of the kitchen better.  Then when you are finished, help Dave with setting up the bar for breakfast and start setting up the fussy bar. 

“Rod?” 

“Yes, Already a question, eh?” 

“What’s the fussy bar?” 

“It’s , well, it’s the bar that we have kind of created the last couple of years for the students that are kind of picky and don’t necessarily want what the adults are eating.  It gives them options.” 

“Ok. I’ll get started on these dishes.” 

I knew what I was supposed to do, put away the dishes.  However, I had hardly been in the kitchen and knew nothing of where these giant pots and pans that shrek could take a bath in were to go.  How was I to know where the dishes that I didn’t take out of place go?  How was I to know if I was wrong if I didn’t see where they were in the first place?  Was the secret somewhere on the pan itself?  Was there an outline somewhere to follow upon putting away these lost dishes?  Was there a map that I could follow to connect the missing pieces, the missing places for the missing pots. 

Questions were asked.  Again.  Again. And Again.  With each new and different looking questions, came a new and different looking questions that led to another new and different answer.  The small event of putting away the dishes seemed to eat away the majority of the morning.  However, the question and answer session didn’t help with time. 

I knew I had two choices. I could be bummed and feel depressed about life or I could be excited, let the morning dew roll off my back and look forward.  Besides, if I was going to be putting together the fussy bar later, I don’t think I would be allowed to fuss.  As the statement flooded my brain, I realized that line was ridiculous and that I shouldn’t have even thought it.  I wondered if God or Peter or one of the Johns was up in heaven, standing on a cloud recording my thoughts and actions.  And if they are, I wonder if they stop their recording when they hear something so bland.  Does their pen stop and they laugh at us?  Would they erase it if they knew it would be embarrassing?  Probably not.  They seem to keep a good record of my sins.  Or do they erase them every time I press that “reset” button that Jesus gave us.  Maybe they’re recorded for good, just like Peter’s magic trick of not having a penis.  I know that isn’t leaving my mind anytime soon.  Or how about my little side comments and thoughts that I wish I could take back. 

Reset.

I watched Rod as he talked to himself about items to add to the prep list.  The quiet of the kitchen overwhelmed me and my thoughts were attacking me.  I kept trying not to think about thinking because my thinking would have to be written down and then they would have to think about what I was thinking. And then they would have to be thinking about thinking about thinking. What was I thinking trying to think?  What was I even thinking about?  Then I realized that whatever I was thinking about really had no merit anyway.  And they were writing it down.  Poor them.   

“Matthew.”  Finally, an interruption from my overthinking.  I could stop thinking about thinking.  Stupid metacognition. 

“Yep.” 

“I need you to go into the walk-in freezer and get me…” 

I didn’t really know what he wanted me to get but I figured it would give me a way to learn the walk-in.  However, I suddenly learned that without proper protection in the crotch area, you’ll freeze your balls off in there.

“Matthew, let’s talk about expectations,” as I came out with nothing in my hands, he knew I had no idea what I was looking for and had spent more time in the freezer than I should have.   

“Okay,” was it supposed to be questioned. 

“Our job is serving.  We are here to service our guests in whatever they need.  For the next couple of weeks, we will have visiters coming and going.  It is of the uptmost importance that they feel at home here.  It is even more important that you know where everything, and I mean everything, is.  Now, how many tomatoes were back there?” 

He looked at me and knew.  He knew I didn’t know the answer.  He seemed to have some form of felt sense about him. 

“Tomatoes are…” he was walking and talking and making his way to the walk-in freezer, “…there.”  He pointed to the luscious fresh tomatoes.  “Looks like we have enough, good.  Grab this…” he was walking and talking and grabbing a strainer, “…strainer and start cleaning them.  You can never be too clean hee ha!”  Rod’s laugh, the sound that had the potential to annoy but never did, it only brought about smiles; you wanted to be his friend.  “After cleaning them, cut them up into tiny tiny cubes.”  He paused.  “No wait. Before that, help Dave in setting up the bar and whatever else he needs.  We’re cooking up waffle squares today so I need you.”  I put the strainer and tomatoes back in the walk-in freezer; I knew what my next task was. 

Dave didn’t need my help, but I followed and tried to make empty conversation.  This only works if I have something of interest to say, though, and I didn’t. 

Breakfast happened.  We served, we ate.  And then we had to clean it all up again.  It seemed exhausting, but mostly it was an escape from a certain reality.  I watched as Kyle and Nate made their food disappear.  Kyle was conceited while Nate, Dave and I stayed quiet at the servants table for that is our job, to serve, the pun of our daily lives.  Questions were asked of us, questions we didn’t know the answers to, but knew who would know the answer.  Suddenly we were leaders without leads to them.  We were joined by Alyssa, Fred, and Meike.  They worked on the other side of the peninsula, but lived on this side.  It seemed so far away; I hadn’t been to the other side. They talked of future arrivals and other servants that they knew from the past.  We were becoming a crew that looked to the past; it was going to be a long summer. 

Clean-up. It’s all we ever did.  The guests ate, became acquainted with themselves, and let us clean-up. I’ve always had a secret passion for doing the dishes.  Was that a real passion though, or just my introverted side controlling my want of order and cleanliness? 

Suddenly I felt as though I lost complete control of my stomach.  It turned and it twisted.  I was reminded of Rod’s demand that we know where everything was in the kitchen.  He forgot to tell me where the closest bathroom was.  Did I have to go out into the dining hall?  Would I have to go out in front of people?  What if I loose it in front of people?  Better yet?  Where is the mop and bucket to clean up the fruit loop and waffle mix that just painted the red floor brown.  I pretended to know where what I was looking for was. However, mop and bucket were not found and the question and cleansing were needed quickly before anyone noticed. 

“Why do you need the mop and bucket?” 

Quick.  Do I tell him I was sick?  Lie?  I’m at a Christian camp.  Why would I lie?  Would he send me back to my cabin?  I’m dealing with people’s food here.  They won’t want fruit loop chunks in their chili.

“I was sick.” 

“Where?  I didn’t even see you leave?” 

“Just outside the hallway.” 

“You didn’t make it very far, did you?” 

My embarrassment became his laughing matter.  I didn’t say anything back. 

“Mop and bucket are back here…” he was walking and talking again.  I followed like a sick puppy.  He tricked me into a corner and felt the top of my forehead. 

“You feel alright?” 

“Better now.” 

“Take it easy,” he looked at me with fatherly eyes, “I’ll give you something that doesn’t require working with food today.  However, take it easy.  Clean up the mess and then start washing the dishes. 

I cleaned up my waffles and fruit loops and went back to my cold dishwater.  When I was finished, Rod looked at me.  He was watching me with laughter in his eyes.  I didn’t turn around to make eye contact. 

“You know, Matthew, we have this glorious machine back here that does all of the cleaning of the dishes in seconds.” 

“I didn’t know which dishes it was used for.”  

“All of them,” was his reply. 

“Dave,” I heard him call Dave over to him, “did you clean up the fussy bar and put away the buffet?” 

“Yep,” his answers were always light ad simple. 

“Go lay out…” I stopped intruding on his directions and simply waited for my next task or was I supposed to go get those tomatoes.  I saw my dish pile diminishing while collecting dishes of the current use. 

“You about finished over there, Matthew?” 

“Just about.” 

“Good, I need you to help Dave when you are finished and then we’ll take a short break.  How does that sound?” 

I tried to contain my excitement. I thought I was going to have to be there all day.  I helped Dave.

When I returned to the cabin, I found Kyle and Nate preparing for their day of Grounds keeping.  Kyle clean while Nate remained in a sweatshirt of tired eyes. 

I looked towards our room.  Showering and going back to sleep wrestled in my head and showering won.  However, Dave retreated to the silence of his room.  I figured that sleep won in his head.  He kept the containment of silence consistent in the cabin.  I cleaned and scrubbed what I felt wasn’t dirty. I was probably wrong.  Sweating didn’t happen on these cold snowy days. It still boggled my mind that snow could exist in May and that sweatshirts and toboggans had to be worn when sleeping.  I also made sure now that I didn’t leave fires going in the cabin. 

I picked through my book and fought through tired eyes to shift truth from meaning.  I gave up and let my mind wander, think, and prepare my heart in proper ways.  I tried not to drift asleep in my devotions.  That was something I had to work on. It happened anyway.  The sound of Dave exiting our cabin woke me and I walked back early to the kitchen and my return was on-time. 

We prepared and served another meal.  Instead of a fussy bar, came a potato bar which I knew I would frequent.  The salad bar was to be on display as well.  I became the prep chef commander and chief of those tasks.  Dave and Rod worked on the meals.  I worked in silence.  We all worked in silence.  Rod informed us that the radio was for special days. I wondered what special days were?  He told us that some families and students would be working at the tables in the dining hall.  It would be best not to disturb them.  Not disturbing them was disturbing me.  I wanted music to move me.  It kept the thinking at bay.  It kept Peter and John’s hands from overworking. 

We cooked.  We served.  We rushed.  We became the servants to our guests.  The potato bar went up, the salad bar went up, the salad bar went down, the potato bar came tumbling down, not in a literal sense.  Lunch was always served in a hurry and we rushed to get started cleaning up our setting up.

I questioned what would happen the rest of the day.  I noticed that the small prep list had exploded into a massive collection of job listings.  It now extended beyond the paper.  Dinner was always the main event and needed to be treated like fine china. 

As I looked at the utensils that swam in my soapy full dish sink, I started picturing my faith as a giant working kitchen.  Maybe it was the sereneness of the scene or the tired glazed over eyes from working beyond my means that formed these odd contemplations in my mind, but either way, they were created.  I repeated the verse about god not giving me more than I could bear.  I guess this really wasn’t more than I could bear.  At least, not yet.  I thought of the importance of cleaning up after every meal.  It was ritualistic.  I wondered of its importance.  Isn’t everything just going to get dirty again?  However, you can’t just leave everything to the grime and detestable nature of food.  We take clean dishes, make them dirty, and then clean them gain.  I felt as though this was our continual process throughout the day.  Clean. Dirty. Clean. Dirty.  My life as a Christian came into crystal clear view.  I’m clean today.  I’m going to sin, probably within the next 30 seconds.  I’ve already sinned multiple times today.  I’m going to ask forgiveness again and again today.  I’ll be clean again. Of course then I will sin again. The process will start over again.

I guess the only real difference is that the dishes don’t voluntarily get dirty.  We just have that in our nature.  We have the power to make them dirty.  I guess we also have the power to make others sin.  In the end, I guess it is all subjective. 

My head began to do extensive extremist thinking.  I started seeing the knifes and forks as having personalities.  It was almost as if they didn’t want to get dirty again.  They would fight off dirt like they were superheroes.  In over exaggerated Christian mentality, they became Spirtual warfare.  Instead of the Bible Belt of power, the Carnivorous Knife became king of the saucepans.  This large knife will one day use his will to fight off the dirtiness and maliciousness of mashed potatoes.  In my mind, sword fights of sharpened knifes happened with the medical aid of Dr. Handwash came into view and tantalizing tomatoes convinced other utensils not to chop them up into little tiny pieces.  Revengeful laughter to John and Peter, the writers of my mind, happened somewhere among dish 1,247.  Rod once again asked me to use the massive dishwasher and I asked the knife if that would be okay. 

In our afternoon session in the kitchen, the game became crossing off items from “the list.”  It only seemed like hours ago that we had put away the potato bar and salad bar.  However, its return was evident as I once again prepared what was missing from it, what had disappeared into people’s stomachs.  I devoted my time to preparation for the main event, dinner. 

The process repeated.  Prepare. Serve. Clean-up.  It was the main event.  Laughter happened somewhere among the crowd that ate our delicious slaved-over meal.  We all sat at the servants table staring at the food.  Knowing the orgins of this meal, I wasn’t as hungry.  It was interesting to see how something that got started as a thinking process from Rod’s head was transferred to the prep list.  It passed from there through the ingredients of the walk-in freezer, was heated to melted and oozed together into a meal, healthy and now cold on my plate. 

“This looks beautiful,” Kyle proudly spoke the contradiction.  I had even wondered its taste, “I didn’t say it tasted good, but it will look good going in.  Won’t look good coming out, though,” He laughed at his own joke, wanting us to follow suit. 

“How was grounds keeping?” 

“Keeping the ground looking good.  They really should have just had me walk over it.  That usually seems to work.  Whenever I am around, magical things just happen.  Beauty follows me,” his confidence was never-ending. 

“Wow,” we all had wanted to say what Natefish was able to say.  Of course, he had worked with Kyle all day. I can only imagine the conversation.  It was probably antithesis of my conversations with Dave. 

“Man, I cannot wait to go back and take another shower tonight.” 

“Kyle, didn’t you just take one when we were finished working tonight.” 

“Yeah, but I gotta stay clean.  It’s hard to stay this clean all the time.  I mean, I know it is cold out there, but things happen, and beside, the showers are awesome.” 

“Which one did you use?”  I asked, unsure of whether I should be curious.

“The one that had the bath connected.” 

“The other one is more interesting,” I spoke.  Where was this voice coming from?     

“Why?”

“Well, I had a spider join me this morning.” 

“Really?” 

“Yah, he didn’t last long.  The shower was too small for the two of us to be in there together.”  They laughed at my joke.  It wasn’t that funny. 

“I’ll have to try that shower tonight.  I just want to stay looking good all summer.  That really shouldn’t be a problem,” he paused, “for me anyway.” 

“Kyle, we should just nickname you Gorgeous.  Gorgeous Kyle.” 

“I like it.  I mean seriously, we should all keep a ‘Keep it clean’ attitude. It would be good for our health.” 

“Kyle, we are at a Christian camp, I think we are supposed to keep everything clean.” 

“No, not that way Matt, I mean, we should all stay very clean, in all ways really, but mostly squeaky clean.” 

“But I already started this beautiful beard here.” 

“You mean that peach fuzz on your face?” 

“Hey, it’s coming along.” 

“That’s another reason to stay very clean. I think I am going to start one too.  Natefish, Dave, join in, let’s all grow out.” 

“Possibly,” was their joint response. 

“Besides, I’ll defiantly need another shower after this meal.” 

Kyle was right, we would need to have a ‘keep it clean’ attitude, I guess for fear that we would continue to get dirty again and again. 

Reset. 

As Kyle laid down his Left bar, declaring victory once again, I glanced over to my remaining cards to decipher what card should next be played.  I too had a one-eyed jack in red to play, but it was too late; victory for my opponents was already in progress.  There was only hope in a miracle comeback the next round.  It was quite obvious from this game of Euchre that Kyle and Nate had dominated Dave and me.  This of course added some cocky behavior to Kyle’s demeanor. 

            As I laid down my jack to attempt a trick, I realized it was of no big importance to the already failed hand so I began the conversation.  The silence had somehow become too comfortable in the room. 

            “So, what are you in for, Kyle?” 

            “For right now, I’m outside doing grounds keeping.  I hope to move up to Program when it gets under way.” 

            “Nathan? Or Nate, which is it?”

            “Nate. Grounds keeping, like Kyle.” 

            “Just kind of curious, but do you go by any of those weird nicknames like Natedog or anything?  They seem to be growing in popularity.  It seems that everyone is either going by some mock name.” 

            He looked at me with a blank stare as if he misunderstood the question.

“Some kids at school try to call me that and attempt at the whole cool factor, fit-in dialogue, but it just doesn’t cut it.  I’m not a Natedog kind of guy.  It seems to have its own qualifications that I just don’t meet.” 

            “Well what about Nate cat or Nate—“ I said from across the table with an air of humor and desiring friendly conversation within this first meeting, but feeling rather uncomfortable about what it is that he said.   

            “Fish?”  I said, throwing out the impossible for all to ponder and wonder about and supporting Nate’s lack of fit-in qualities.

            “…” 

            “I like it; from this moment, you shall be known as Natefish,” I said, trying to win the small crowd over with my air for leadership.  I had been there longer.  I did deserve the title, and it would be fitting to have this position.    

            “And just what gives you the right to declare nicknames?”  Kyle demanded with that snicker of jealousy that can only be found with an added hint of pride.  From what I could already tell from Kyle, he has had wonderful moments in the spotlight.  He was a class clown and every ounce of him screamed of cool.  It was as if we knew that we wanted to be just like him, but did not have the guts enough to be just like him.  He seemed to be walking confidence with balls that hung like—nevermind. 

            “I don’t know Gorgeous, just kind of thought it would be a neat addition to his name,” I said nonchalantly. Continually I felt the leadership quality growing inside of me, not wanting it to be stolen from a self-righteous, arrogant, professional like Kyle. 

            “Gorgeous?  I’m glad you think of me that way,” smiled Kyle, whom was finally being included.  With his comb at the ready, he brushed his bushy blond hair back to its shaggy posture and he began to prepare his appearance for the ladies.  He was the type of person that if given the opportunity to wear shades, he would, gladly. 

            Laughter destroyed the silence of the kitchen as we realized that his name fit his personality exactly.  He had not only accepted the humiliating comment, but had also demonstrated his desire to be the Kyle that he always has been, conceited and proud. 

            After laying his Ace of trump to stump any last minute victories, he collected the jumble of cards and shuffled them into a well constructed tower of cards.  Adding his special maneuver to the cut of the deck, he passed each of us our cards.  Another pair of 9s and 10s should provide me a passive round. 

            It was blue.  The weather.  The water.  The cabin.  The bed.  The Mariner’s Cove.  It was a blue that attempted to calm the very nature of existence, but only calmed the perspective as it hit your eye.  The walls were blue.  I was blue.  The sparkling yellow coffee cups that allowed our sugar-parched cravings to be fulfilled by the sweet nectar of hot chocolate, seemed to diminish the power that the calming blue persisted, but joy only seemed to be forthcoming. 

            “What about you?” Natefish asked, examining his cards closely, wondering how he had received the same bad hand that I had and wanting to remain unrude by asking a similar question that did not desire depth.    

            “I’m in for Program like Kyle but Dave and I are working in the kitchen until Program gets started.”  Dave made no notion whether to confirm this factor or deny it but continued to study his cards with progressive depth. 

            “Has anyone heard when it starts?”  Kyle asked as he placed the right and left bar ensuring another victory if he has more trump or by luck wins another trick. 

            “They keep telling me 4-5 weeks, but they are still unsure.”  The gods that be: Mike and Sue Vaal could save us from the clutches of Rod, the head chef. 

            The afternoon sun was beginning to fade over Lake Heron and as we watched it drown from our blue oak table in the dining hall, it slowly became clear to us that this was our summer keepsake; this is our summer to erase and correct. With the lake and these new friends to keep our life normal, our past life, our boyhood was treading water and about to sink in Lake Heron. 

            “How long have you been here?”  Gorgeous inquired. 

            “4 weeks.” 

            “What have you been doing?” 

            “Working in the kitchen with Dave mostly.  Life. Nothing.”    

            From across the table, Dave threw out his Trump Ace to take the trick.  Just two more tricks and we might have this hand.  My ace of spades was begging to come out and play but she was not ready.  She would be ready soon.  She just needed the right suite or the right time.  It should be ready, but we would all be ready to be used at our appropriate times. 

            As the door swung open, Rod, our head chef appeared, waved and ducked into the kitchen.  From afar you could hear him attempting to ask us questions, but those sounds bounced from pan to pan and never reached us.  My eyes were still transfigured towards the sun and the thoughts about this summer.  Although there would be times to talk to my life outside of this, call my girl, there would also be times to enjoy and thrive in this new “ready” lifestyle.  It had time to wait, though. 

            With my 9s and 10s disposed of in other hands, I played my queen with style, only to be overruled by the King.  Luckily, Dave pulled out the Ace of suite.  With a lead of 9 of spades, and no trump left, it was time that my Ace made her appearance. 

            “Hey, what time is it?” Dave interrupted, bringing attention to his usually quiet disposition.  

            “5:00? Why?” Natefish said, looking down at his watch. 

            “We’ve got to be back in the kitchen by 5:30 and I wanted to go get cleaned up.  Who won?” Dave said, getting up, clearing the table, ensuring that it was time to leave and that once again Kyle would have the next hand anyway.  

            “Kyle was in the lead over there, but don’t worry about it.  We have all summer to finish.” 

            As we put away our coffee cups, collected our cards and thoughts, it was quite obvious that we would indeed finish that game and many others in that dining hall at Cedar Campus of Prentiss Bay. 

            The sun continued to set as we walked away from it towards our cabin. We could all use cleaning up, but only Dave would actually clean up.  Kyle and I had already begun the beard process and Natefish had only arrived that same day.  As we put away the cards, we each deposited a piece of ourselves that was not worthy of play, and began to walk in the way of Manhood.  With each step, we would begin to notice that we were ready.  We were indeed powerful. We would not leave as the same boys we had come.  We were stepping beyond and towards a new beginning.   

This weblog is open for Cedar Campus tales.  I am opening it to other crew members of 2004 that were there to comment on what I have written about our experience there.  Believe it or not, I have forgotten some of the stories and some of the things that have happened.  You can help by reading through some of these stories and if you remember something that I have left out, please remind me.  It is still early in the tales and I have not written very much.  However, they will be coming along nicely, if I continue to have the inspiration to write.  I was also not there as long as some of you and your input on our relationship while we were there would be nice.  I will try to do my best at updated any of the xanga specifics.  I'm honestly not very good at that aspect of it.  You can do like picture slide shows and videos.  I'm not that technical.  I will let you know of some other specifics when I come to them.  If you will notice, the stories cannot be put in order.  I tried so hard to get the xanga site to do opposite order so that you can see them in opposite order, but, once again, I am not as smart as the computer.  (if you know how to do this, please let me know)  The first story is called Drowning Fruit Loops and is not quite finished yet.  You will see a Part 2 of that soon.  The next story, Fishy Euchre, ties in how we all got a little bit closer.  (Don't worry girls, your time is coming too)  The next story is the tale of Gorgeous.  We all loved him and adored him and his story so I wrote that one.  Natefish's story is written but not finalized yet, and so is Mr. Hat's.  The tales are finished and the narrative is coming slowly.  My main goal is to get some of the tales down before I forget them entirely.  Please do remind me of some of your tale if you rememeber it.  I felt that if I could not remember the whole tale exactly how I told it, making it up, because it was made up on the spot then, would not be such a terrible thing.  I do remember all of your powers though.  I love you all and miss you and I know that I have been out of the Loop for awhile but let's work together and do something astronomical.  If nothing else, let's do it for Caleb.