Day Three-Camp Kay-Athens, Georgia-2015

In years past Camp Kay might last a week or even two weeks but now that I’m a big girl things have changed. We didn’t have Camp Kay last year. Everybody was too busy being busy.  I think the three day abbreviated Camp Kay we just experienced we can hold in our UGA hearts a long, long time. I’m not too sure about how long the memories will last for for Uncle Ben because I overheard him telling Aunt Kay he thinks he might not live more than a couple of more weeks. He called us the Precious “Princesses of Primp” and he said we were doing great at it because we took the obligatory two to three hours to get all that war-paint and Fuji-water splashed on this morning right before we ate two water melons, four pounds of tomatoes, a pound of boiled peanuts and enough grapes to make five gallons of good wine if you stomped on them hard enough (he said). Then we packed our bags in twenty-seven seconds flat and left.

FullSizeRender222As Uncle Ben later said, “All good things must come to an end. the Bulldog Lovers Club have packed up and are heading back to South Georgia in the sleek white “Escape-mobile” with the “Ego-Boost” tag on it. It was not quite like the old Western movies he said he used to watch where John Wayne got on his trusty steed and moseyed off into the sunset but it had to do. We blazed out of there in a cloud of dust and with one long honk on the horn we were out of sight. I’m pretty sure Uncle Ben hid all the chips and candy we took to Athens with us. I think he has to sneak around and eat chocolate because it isn’t good for him. He tells Aunt Kay he has a lot of trouble keeping his ‘weight up.’FullSizeRender225






We had a good time downtown before we left for home. I’m not sure what this rope we are swinging on in the pictures is attached to but we heard on the radio as we were leaving the Athens City Limits that a huge water tower had toppled over near Broad Street and rampaging water had washed away over twenty businesses that are now all stacked up together down on the campus on Lumpkin Street.

Oh well. As was said in the movies a long, long time ago, “Tomorrow is another day!”

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You should be able to simply click on the lovely blue shawl of this sweet old grandmotherly woman and be taken without further ado to where they just so happen to sell copies of this adorable little book. If you don’t know how to go “Click” with your mouse just forget about it. You won’t understand the book either.


The Camp Kay Soap Making Class Failure report.


Now you have got to admit that is a pretty large hole in the bar of soap. The photographs are the same bar of soap. I had a frightful scare when I thought the soap had attacked me.

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This is the same bar of soap. There is little question you could drive a Mack Truck through the hole in this soap.





In every great success story there is always a failure or two and Camp Kay is no exception. It has now been over six months since Camp Kay last convened. I want you to understand that I am using the word ‘convene’ rather loosely because we convene at our convenience. Each day we convene sometime between 10:00 AM and 3:00 PM.

I’m bringing this up because I am beginning to suspect that our lax system of rules (generally speaking – the time we convene) may have contributed greatly to my present consternation over the poor quality of a good deal of the soap we made.

The soap I kept was made for me, myself, personally. It was made from twelve years accumulation of old soap I kept in a plastic Double Bubble, bubble gum pail. That’s another problem I seem to be having. My soap all smells like Double Bubble. I smell like Double Bubble, bubble gum and yesterday a four year old munchkin in Wal-Mart tried to bite a chunk out of my calf. I’m talking about a piece of my leg. Little American kids have really well developed teeth by the age of four.

All we did was melt the soap down and pour it into molds I made. For molds I used those plastic drawers you see in small hardware containers that have compartments where tinkerers and putterers keep their bolts, nuts, washers, loose screws and most of their addled brains.

My only problem was I had to make partitions in the drawers so I could have six ounce bars of soap instead of one pound bars which are more of a challenge to to take a bath with as you might guess. Did you ever drop a one pound bar of soap on your toes?

We poured the soap in the makeshift molds and I began to press the soap firmly into each compartment. I used a fairly small hors d’oeuvre knife to press the soap as hard as possible into the form.

After I did a couple I could tell Ken-Ken wanted my job so I let her do it because I was afraid she would fall asleep on her feet and topple over into a hot tub of soap. This was a big mistake on my part because Ken-Ken apparently fell asleep anyhow and she did not firmly press the soap into the molds. She left big air bubbles all in the soap, only you couldn’t tell it because the finished bars looked solid.

How do I know this? Well, yesterday I was using one of those bars of soap in the shower and my finger slipped into a big hole in the soap and then my finger came all the way through the soap and stabbed me in the eye. Note the photographs. I didn’t know what happened. I couldn’t see. I thought Norman Bates had jumped me in the shower and was trying to stab me in my eyes.

I started yelling and thrashing around and almost tore down the shower stall before Katie Mae came in the bathroom and told me to shut up. She never asks anymore if I have a problem. I’m afraid to confide too much in her because she’s tried to have me committed to a facility for the mentally unwell a couple of times already.

Later on I tried to explain why the soap attacked me and why I was yelling. I mentioned if Ken-Ken had pressed the melted soap more firmly into my wonderfully created molds I would not have such holy soap.

Katie Mae gives me a really disgusted look and said, “You are such an idiot. Ken-Ken did not help you finish that soap. You finished it by pushing the soap down with your fingers and do you want to know why you had air bubbles in the soap that YOU made?”

I don’t think I looked sheepish because I don’t know how to do that but I gamely stuck my head face-down under my arm and said, “Why?”

She said, ” Because you stopped using the hors d’oeuvre knife and you started using your bare fingers and your right hand has an exceptionally short finger on it ever since that bull dog bit it off back in 1976. That short finger left air pockets in all your soap.”

Well anyhow, I’m sorry if I accused you unjustly Ken-Ken but I still think if you had stayed awake longer you could have brought it to my attention that one finger is still much shorter than the others.

Red and Black Soap

Now this is more like it. This is the glycerine soap we made in red and black for UGA lovers. As you can see we thought using molds shaped like tiny purses and shoes (including flip flops) was clever.

Kensley and Caesar Dawgustus

This is Ken-Ken posing with Caesar Dawgustus in Athens. When Ken-Ken comes to Camp Kay in Athens she always gets to meet the best of the dogs.

Order From

This is the cover of my book written about funny old people and for funny old people. If you click on the gal in the blue shawl you will be magically transported to where they will lead you down the merry path toward the purchase of this book for a mere pittance.