At last — Memorial Day weekend — the kick off to the summer. A big favorite pastime for a good many people is camping during this holiday. The next-door neighbor has his camper all set to go to Lake George. He's been washing and waxing it and fussing over every little thing for about three weeks now.

I remember fondly one of the first camping trips I went on with my parents and siblings. The thought of sleeping in a tent on the ground under the stars seemed like the coolest thing ever. My mother groaned about it though as she pulled twigs and rocks out from under her and grumbling something about getting an air mattress or staying home. Her idea of camping was staying at the Holiday Inn instead of the Ramada. My father's was something along the lines of "Survivor," eating off the land while battling both beast and elements in a fight to the end.

Of course the best way to pass the time at night was to roast marshmallows and get all jazzed up on the sugar. Said marshmallows were usually slathered on our cheeks and when we woke up in the morning we were stuck to the sleeping bag along with a couple dozen ants enjoying marshmallow take-out like it's a drive thru. Breakfast was my father's odd concoction of whatever we had available thrown in with a couple scrambled eggs in a dirty frying pan over the fire. It was called the "garbage pail scramble" and it definitely tasted like the bottom of a barrel. You always got a bug or a bit of dirt in it. "It's good for ya; it'll put hair on your chest," my father would say. So my brothers and me would dive into it but after awhile it finally dawned on me that I was a girl and having a hairy chest probably wouldn't go over well as an adult. He also told us eating the burnt food he cooked would give us great singing voices. Now I know where I get it from when I tell my kids at the grocery store check out that the candy bars are really doggie treats and people can't eat them.

During these camping trips, inevitably, some sort of lake is a must. Some great water pastimes were the rowboat, the paddleboat, and the canoe. All of which are fun and enjoyable; but, damn, it was a lot of work! A day of that and you're so sore and stiff you can just kiss the rest of the week away.

One such canoe trip I took as an adult with a group of friends and a whole bunch of other people I didn't know. It started out okay with everyone rowing and laughing while downing a few beers here and there. After we stopped half way down the river for some lunch and more beers no one felt like rowing so much after that. Along came some guy that had a small fishing boat with a motor. I don't know whose idea it was for all of us to hold onto each other's canoes and hitch a ride with this guy pulling along about 25 canoes but they must have been totally lit. So there we were — a city of canoes slowly being pulled by a motorboat down the river. Next to my canoe was a woman and her husband from Long Island. It's been over 20 years and I still remember this woman's name because her husband kept screaming it over and over again. "Roxanne, you're going to tip everyone's boat so just let go and we'll paddle the rest ourselves," he said. As the wake grew between both our canoes and started jeopardizing the whole fleet of canoes he started screaming it in a panicked frenzy, "ROXANNE! Let go, Roxanne! ROXANNE!! Let go of the canoes! Let go, Roxanne!!!" The whole time she just laughed in her drunken stupor, ignoring him and telling me, "Don't let go, cause I'm not paddling back," Well the yelling continued and just when it started feeling like a crazed carnival ride out of hell all of the canoes tipped over with people flailing about, all our coolers, clothes, fishing gear, everything all in the drink. Yup, I'll never forget that woman!

Ah, the joys of camping are numerous. As a girl, trying to pee in the woods gracefully just doesn't happen. The mosquitoes come out in millions, somebody always gets the runs, the hot dogs are burnt, the sleeping bag always seems to get wet somehow, the tent just won't stay up, there's a run-in with a local animal, the poison ivy just runs rampant like the plague, and the question of 'why on earth did we bring the dog' always comes up after they run away. Added to it is the massive third-degree sunburn you got because you were trying to either get a tan, prove that sunscreen is for sissies, or you used last year's sunscreen which is useless past the expiration date. So on that note, everyone have fun camping this up coming weekend! I'll be with my mother camping out at the local spa.