This is my baby brother...

...in 1996.

This is my baby brother...

...today.

Happy 18th Birthday, Caleb!

Scrapbooking/Quilting Retreats: The End

Well, as of tomorrow at noon, the spring quilting season is over. For me, it has been a learning experience in many ways. The top four things I learned: 

1. Flexibility
2. Don’t plan on getting much done
3. I’m rather ashamed of my own gender
4. There’s nothing that feels so good as saying, “No!”

The first thing I learned doesn’t need much elaboration. Women come at the last minute, or decide not to come for whatever reason. They add a day or drop one. They forget towels. The second lesson attaches itself easily to lesson one. There were moments when I wondered exactly how many times I needed to change a door sign. Or how I forgot so-and-so’s nametag. Or lost ladies as I rearranged spreadsheets. And since I had to do all that, I could just about plan the pile of registrations coming in the mail everyday would be a week old before I got them into the database. Not exactly the way I like to work, but flexibility is one of my lifelong lessons. Quilting has been another classroom.

I’m not sure how successful I am, but I’ve tried hard in my life to be low-maintenance. In a large family, it’s almost necessity. And my independent nature helps. But I learned this month that 90% of women are anything but low-maintenance. There were times I wanted to say to one of the ladies, “Really? Would you like me to tie your shoes, too?” I mean, I get the whole concept that these ladies are on retreat and we are there to serve them. But, I hate to break it to them, not one of them is the queen of England. Or even Princess Kate. It made me feel ashamed of my sex and wonder how high-maintenance I can be. I have to also say I can’t wait til Dads ‘n Lads the first weekend of May. For one, I don’t even have to do registration. I have to make a list and do door signs. After that, men don’t care as long as you feed them. And even better, they don’t care what you feed them.

The last one happened late last week. A lady called to say she was arriving at this last quilt session on Sunday and was to leave on Tuesday. Could she possibly extend her stay til Wednesday? “No, ma’am,” I told her as apologetically as I could possibly sound. “The retreat ends on Tuesday.” That was very hard to do when I was happily shouting inside, “No! You have to go home! Quilt is over! And I’m going on vacation!” It never felt so good to say, “NO!”

So, quilt is over and I am truly going on vacation. First, Lisa is taking Andrea and I out all day Wednesday. We’re going to eat and shop…and call it a work day. On Thursday afternoon, I fly to New Hampshire for a long weekend which I will spend mostly with my new nephew (okay, yes, my sister will be around, too) and over at Allyson’s with her most wonderful children. That will be my retreat. And I don’t anything at all except time to chase kids around and sit holding a baby. All of which is much better than quilting.

Minnesota:From the Perspective of a Nomad, Part 4

Everybody knows that people in Minnesota have an accent. It’s a heavy accent, especially on the vowels. I wanted to say to the cashier the first weekend I was here if she asked in a plastic bag would be okay, “Um, sure. But it’s a baaag.”

It’s almost as if they get their O’s and A’s mixed up. I lived with one of the girls I work with the first five weeks I was here. She was born and raised in Minnesota…and you can tell. The funniest exchange we had was the first week I was here and we were headed home from work.

“I wish I had a crackpot,” Andrea said.

“A what?” I asked…for I do know what a “crackpot” is and I wasn’t thinking Andrea wanted to started growing crack in the basement.

“A crackpot,” she repeated.

I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know. A slow cooker.”

“Oh!” The light dawned. “A crockpot,” I said, careful to hold my O’s for all they were worth.

The joke became even funnier when I got a crockpot the next week for my birthday….

There have been many times I can’t understand what Andrea is trying to tell me, but she has the same trouble with my accent. The difference is, she envies me mine. I’m practicing every day to keep my Southern accent – I don’t want hers.

The rounded O’s, heavy A’s and funny sounding “Yahs” make listening to the people in the office odd. Another overused phrase is, “Does that make sense?” I think that comes more from the Dakotas, but I’ve gotten a little tired of hearing it…for since I am learning new things, I hear it A LOT!!!! But the most overused word in all of Minnesota is “so”. It comes at the end of about every sentence.

“I took my dog on a walk, so…” 

“I put that on your desk, Melissa, so…”

“It’s snowing again, so…”

I have yet to not sit and wait for the sentence to be finished. Worse, I thought I overused that word and have been trying to stop. This was not a good move to break that habit.

Alongside their funny accent are names I’ve never heard or thought died off in the 19^th century with the immigrants from the Scandinavian countries. First, every other person up here has a last name that ends in “son” or “sen”: Anderson, Larson, Johnson, Peterson, Haraldson, etc. You won’t believe how many I have in my database! And then there are the first names I’ve only read in books from the 1800s like Lars or Anders, which are top contenders for most popular boy’s names. I’ve learned a couple of girls names I’ve never even heard before: Ardis and Arlys. I think they’re rather pretty, although I can’t say “Arlys” without thinking of Old Yeller.

Growing up, my mother always said we were bilingual: Southern and Yankee. I am now adding a third language to my vocabulary: Nothern/Midwestern. But be forewarned: I’m not quite ready to interpret yet.

My Job: A Camp Registrar

I had many people ask me before I moved here what exactly I would be doing. Like most jobs, I didn’t truly know until I delved into it. Now I can – more or less – tell you.

• Put registrations into the database. This is not quite as easy as it may sound. For one, I am never registering people for only one event. Right now I have registrations in the mail for summer camps, family camps, Mother/Daughter retreat. Dads ‘n Lads retreat and senior retreat. I get between fifteen and twenty registrations a day. As the April 1 deadline for early bird summer comes up, I’ll be getting more like thirty. I guess the good news is I get more mail than anyone else in the office!
• Answer the phone. That’s a given. It’s the worst part of my job, although I am told I have excellent phone skills. (I think it’s the “yes, ma’am” and “no, sir” – no one else says that up here.) I have learned over the years to talk like you know what you’re talking about even if you’ve no clue, so I can fumble through answering most questions. My favorite people to talk to are the one’s coming to senior retreat in May. Because I was in last month’s newsletter, they address me by name and talk to me like I’m a new grandchild. They even include personal notes in their registrations!
• Answer my e-mail. Actually, this is worse than the phones. I get well over twenty e-mails a day – seems more like a hundred. Most are simple answers. They just take time. I almost dread pulling up my e-mail every day since I know it takes a good hour to get through it all…an hour when I could be imputing registrations.
• Assist in women’s ministries. This has been my biggest learning curve. I’m not a people person. I like the safety of my desk. Welcoming ladies, and making sure they’re needs are met, and gabbing about who knows what is a little out of my league. But my part of the job also includes nametags, linen labels, door signs, turn over (cleaning up in a matter of hours before the next bunch of ladies comes in), and maintaining the registrations list. None of it is quite as easy as it sounds when it comes to women….
• Making deposits. That sounds easy, I know. Gather all the checks in my desk, add them up and put them in the nigh drop-off box. While that part is true, because each retreat/camp belongs under it’s own account number, there are reports to run and spreadsheets to enjoy so Marc and Eric know how much money and where it is. I also have to do this for the credit cards we run. Working with all the money again reminds me I never wish to be an embezzler. Too much work.
• Supervise Andrea. She’s my assistant. But she’s also Lisa’s assistant. So during quilt retreats, I don’t get the services of Andrea. I can’t wait until I do. I have this pile of registrations…she’s not as quick as me, but even if she does a quarter of the pile that’s less for me!
• Attend meetings. Everyone is at the weekly staff meeting. But I also meet with Eric (my boss) once a week (for a good five minutes to tell him how things are going, although he’s quickly learned I don’t say much about that). I need to meet with Bill about senior retreat and family camp. I often have sessions with Marc about money or tech stuff. And meetings with Lisa are always twice as long as planned. To think in Texas I wanted to attend the weekly meeting ever so often. Now I’ve had enough meetings in one month to make up for those three years!
• And everything else office related: mailing labels (I produce TONS of those between everyone trying to do mailings), order supplies (I even have my own credit card!), run the postal meter, get the mail (most of the time) and find whatever it is the guys can’t find (which makes no sense – they’ve all been here years longer than I have).

While still on a slight learning curve, all in all I enjoy this job very much. As you can see, it has a lot of variety. Except for getting the deposit done on Thursdays, my days have no routine. In fact, what I want to get done only happens half the time. While much of my time is spent imputing data and creating things from that data, I also get to be creative when it comes to nametags, and door signs, and other things for retreats. I’m no graphic artist, but I like to play around with what little I do know. There is never a dull moment…but if I do ever get one of those, I’m sorting all the supply cabinets. The truth is, there’s a reason the guys can’t find anything. And that is something I can do with no training at all!

Minnesota: From the Perspective of a Nomad, Part 3

Winter. I think next week contains the first day of spring. And Minnesota will still be covered with snow. We got some yesterday and there's more coming on Monday. While everyone up here keeps saying they're ready for spring, I'm happy it's still winter!

Winter up here contains two major things: snowmobiling and ice fishing. Minnesota is the land of 10,000 lakes. And every single one of the 10,000 has ice fishers on it. You see them out there, their trucks pulled out on the ice, or tents set up, or even trailers. They live out their all weekend, some of them all week. I've never seen anything quite like that. And while I wouldn't want to spend my time out on the lakes in the cold temperatures catching fish, it's neat to see.

As for snowmobiling, I've seen those quite a bit. But not hundreds of them. Speeding along the roads, parked at restaurants for a bite to eat, pulled into gas stations to fill up before they go out again. It's enough to make me want to purchase one of my own. And spend all day Saturday riding. Like today. While a bit cold, it was bright and sunny with fresh snow. Would have been a lovely way to spend a day off.

I think the funniest thing I've seen is a recreation sign. One of those brown and white signs pointing to a park, or campsite, or place to play. I've seen many as we all have. But this one was new: a kid on a snowtube. It points the way to a good place to snowtube. Like at camp. Although I haven't been yet. Maybe after the next snow. :)

Scrapbook/Quilting Retreats: Hosting

I didn't get around to blogging this weekend. Obviously. Instead, I was hosting. No, not a website. Over a hundred quilters.

Hosting is part of my job, occasionally. I only have to host once this spring, although I will probably have things to do with the Mother/Daughter retreat in April and the Senior Retreat in May. In the fall, I'm sure I will have to host more. But Lisa thought it would be wise to start me out slow. I'm glad. It's been quite a weekend.

First of all, I don't like large groups. And nearly 120 women is definitely a large group. I didn't have to give or anything. Standing up in front of them to be introduced was bad enough. But part of my job was "mingling". I went from building to building, admiring what the women were working on. Most of them, I admired from a distance. For it takes about every ounce of courage I have to say, "Hi! I'm Melissa." But I did speak to a few of them...the few who have never met a stranger in their life.

I much preferred the other parts of hosting: delivering specialty coffee Saturday afternoon. (Come rain, sleet or snow the coffee will be delivered! And I went through it all: rain, sleet and snow. No to mention trudging through slush, wet sand and snow.) Vacuuming the sandy carpet, finding shampoo for a woman who forgot hers, un-stucking the automatic hand towel dispenser and refilling it the next day. Learned how to use an espresso machine and a cash register. And I had a few women look at me and ask, "What did you say?" when I used the word "y'all". So, I also interpreted. Played valet, carried around sewing machines, and saw some very beautiful quilts. But, sadly, the quilt instructors have not yet brought me over to their side. I shall not be starting a quilt anytime in the  near future.

But I also had some lessons taught this weekend that had little to do with quilting and everything to do with humility:

• Lost my driver's license.
• Got stuck in a snowbank.
• Locked myself out of the house.

And all that within about 10 minutes. 

Actually, I lost my driver's license in the morning. It wasn't in my jacket pocket when I put my camp keys back in it. I wasn't too concerned because I thought I just left it at the house. But after turning the house upside down about three times, I got about as panicked as Melissa Sturm ever becomes. For there is little worse than loosing a driver's license when you have to get it moved to another state over the next couple of months. I filled out the form I would need to send to Texas Monday morning after I called to make sure it was the right one and prayed. A LOT.

But backing up a bit (before I turned the house upside down three times), I got stuck in a snowbank. It rained, sleeted, iced and snowed most of Saturday. By the time I went home that evening, it was a mess. Phil kept the camp as clear as he could, but the road had yet to be plowed, nor the quarter-mile-driveway-with-a-slight-incline. I gained as much speed as I could to get up the slight hill, but only made it half way. So, I backed down and tried again. That time I gained three-quarters of the way. I knew I could do it with one more good run, so I put the car in reverse...swerved...and landed a good portion of my back bumper in a snowbank. Unable to maneuver in any direction, I put on the brake, took my things, grabbed a flashlight and trudged up to the house. From there, I called Wendy who lives next door and will be my landlord next week. I just wanted to tell her she couldn't use the driveway, but she said she'd have Aaron (her 20-something-year-old son) come and dig me out. After turning the house upside down the first time, I went out to meet him, his bobcat and his huge Lab Strider. I gave him my keys and he said he'd do what he can.

Now (aside from turing the house upside down twice more) comes the rest Saturday's story. I trudged back up the house only to find I had locked myself out. After getting over the urge to scream, I marched back down the driveway where I met Wendy and her husband Don who were getting out of their truck parked behind my stuck car to get my house keys off my car keys. When Aaron asked if I needed anything, I humbly had to admit what I had done and ask for my keys. I don't think he thought I was too blond, although that didn't much matter. By this point of time, I did. And least I had a little bit of justice later when he admitted to stalling my car as he pulled it up the driveway...it had been a while since he'd driven a stick.

Sunday morning I risked life-and-limb (not really, I just drove carefully) to make it to camp to pray with the instructors before breakfast. They already knew (because of a text I sent Lisa) to pray I'd find my missing driver's license. I opened up Marc's office to get the chair I had used yesterday...and there was my driver's license sitting on it.

The story? As well as I can guess, when I retrieved my keys to unlock Marc's office, I left the pocket (which is on my chest) open. The license must have slipped out when I leaned over to pull Marc's chair out into the waiting room. And then I sat on it. Needing to dash off to breakfast, I didn't look when I put the chair back and locked up the office again. So, there as my license waiting for me Sunday morning.  Praise the Lord!

So, the Lord has showed Himself very faithful to me this past weekend. And as grateful as I always am for such lessons, I hope my first weekend of hosting is a not a precursor of weekends to come. Hosting is trying enough. Driver's licenses, stuck cars and locked houses are much more. And yet proof that God's grace is, indeed, sufficient.

Small Town USA

I have lived in many small towns in my life. I wouldn’t say the town I will be moving into a week from Saturday is the smallest. The smallest was probably East Brookfield, Massachusetts…although it did have a blinking yellow light. Upsala doesn’t have a traffic light anywhere to be seen.

Here are a few things that tell me I will be the resident of a small town:

•      I can get a library card without proof of address. For one, the part-time librarian’s husband is the maintenance guy at camp. She had already met me and just told me to bring in proof of address when I permanently moved.
•      The next time I went into the library, I presented Wanda (the fulltime librarian) with my card. She scanned it and said, “Oh! You’re Melissa!” I confessed that I was (the TX plates on the car is rather a giveaway). I am no longer surprised that Wanda knew all about me and my love for reading even before I accepted the job. I have since learned that Wanda is information central. If you want to know anything about anyone in Upsala, ask Wanda.
•      Anyone can find you. Although I don’t think I will be attending, I have visited Covenant Community church in Upsala with Andrea (the girl I’m living with right now) the past couple of Sundays. I didn’t fill out a visitor card or anything…everyone knew who I was. And today, the pastor of that church called me at work to see if he could visit and answer any questions I might have. I think it’s a little disconcerting that everyone in town has my number…and knows where to find me.
•      There is one gas station, one café, everyone has a PO box because there is no mail delivery, no traffic lights and you get directions by people telling you to turn at such-and-such church or so-and-so’s house. Thankfully, there aren’t a lot of places I have to find because I don’t know so-and-so.

On a further note, can I just say that the Great River Regional Library system (which Upsala is a part of) is the best system I’ve seen since I lived in Connecticut. It has 32 libraries. I can go to any of them. I can put holds on any item located at any of them and they will be delivered to Upsala. And, on their website I can make a list of all the things I want. When I’m ready for them, I hit reserve and I’ll have them in a week or less (if no one else is in line before me). Libraries and lists…there’s a combination you can’t beat!

Scrapbook/Quilting Retreats: the Beginning

Thursday marked the start of the Spring 2013 Quilting Retreats (which is mostly scrapbooking for part A with some scrapbooking for part D). These will last the next four weeks. I think they originated some odd years ago as a weekend...now most of them stretch to nearly a week.

Spring Quilt is small.Well, at least that is what I've heard. And that's in comparison to Fall Quilt (which is five weeks long, starts in October and doesn't end until December because of Thanksgiving). And Scrapbook A is the smallest of the small. At least, that's the case when there is just over 90 women in comparison to nearly 200. Personally, I am quite thankful to start small. For I have found the 90 some-odd women a little overwhelming...okay, a lot overwhelming.

For me, personally, it hasn't been the smoothest of starts to my camp career. For one, I've never given a whole lot of thought to women's ministries. The few times I've gone to an event of some sort, I feel out of place. Lisa, the women's ministry leader here, is very tuned to all that (as I guess anyone would be after nearly 27 years). And Quilt is her baby. And while I love to hold the babies of other people, I don't love to coddle them. So, I think I've been a slight rut in Lisa's hopefulness that the new girl on staff would jump into her treasured retreat with both feet. For one, I had no clue half the time what she was even talking about. I certainly learned...and will have to cover all the bases by myself (for today was Carmen's last day) this week. And two, there has got to be a simpler way to coddling these women and their dietary needs. I was taught to be easy to please, even if it meant eating lima beans if we were the guests. Apparently, most women are not taught that. I am hoping and praying, after several mini-battles, that the process of doing this has been resolved. Well, at least until the fall.

Thankfully, I get to start out small. I had to help with signing people in yesterday and today, but I have this weekend off. Quilt B next weekend I actually have to host on Saturday. (I get to more-or-less miss out on C and D, minus a bit of welcoming at the sign-in desk.) It was a little overwhelming. I have trouble meeting people in a new situation. I have even more trouble, it seems, when the people are three or four gabbing women. I would have been happiest back in the office, sitting at my desk inputting the piles of summer camp, family camp and Arctic Blast registrations (a youth camp). And I would have been happier if Carmen or Andrea welcomed while I just sat back and observed. Because observing was fascinating!

I have never seen so many boxes, suitcases, storage thingies, laptops, Cricuts and who knows what else come through one door. I watched dozens of women bring in more paper, stamps, tape, rulers, punches, cards, envelopes, pictures, ribbons, stickers, albums and everything you could possibly find in the scrapbook section of Hobby Lobby than personal belongings I moved from Texas. I honestly don't know how they fit all that in their cars. Some bring cushions for their chairs. Others, who are quilting, bring sewing machines. (And we have rooms of tables with more wattage of electricity running to them then I care to mention.) I even saw one woman bring in her own chair.

I feel like I entered a new world this week. One full of laughing, chattering women armed with cutting boards and stamps. And it's more than a little strange. But, it's good. It's new. It's different. It's stretching. And it's good. In four weeks, I'll let you know how it all turned out.