Today’s guest post comes from Anna.

I am not a wilderness camper, nor am I a fisherwoman. While I am a fan of the great outdoors, I prefer running water, a flush toilet, a bit of electricity and a lack of fish guts while I am on vacation. Call me a wimp, but there it is. I have been to the BWCA, I have piloted a canoe, I have even shot a rifle (once) – but it just doesn’t suit me. I can take the bugs, it’s the lumpy ground for a mattress I can live without.

Last year, on a bit of a whim, Daughter, Mom and I made use of a Memorial Day weekend deal at one of the Big Resorts in the Brainerd Lakes area. An opportunity to be in the great outdoors, but I could sleep on a real mattress and we could visit with my mom’s sister who lives nearby. We returned this year with the added knowledge that the free breakfast was plentiful, there would likely be baby ducks to feed (25 cents for a bag of corn in the marina), an indoor pool if it rained, and all the wax worms a kid could drown in an effort to land a sunfish from one of the docks (Aunt would take care of removing anything Daughter might catch and throw it back – so no fish guts for me – yay!).

When you choose a resort over camping, you are choosing the amenities: swimming pool, golf course, access to a lake for water-related activities. Our resort also sets up events throughout the weekend including a parade (complete with marching band), carnival games, pontoon and wagon rides, bonfires, even a movie on the beach (weather permitting). Our resort also has a staffer we’ll call Jake (not his real name).

Jake ‘s domain at the Big Resort is the dining room. Every morning over the summer Jake is up at a crazy hour, giving up late nights with his pals, so he can bring coffee to people like me while we over-indulge at the breakfast buffet (I am a “both-and” kinda gal, especially if waffles are involved). He also is the bringer of Frooty Loops (as he calls them), delivering joy to 8-year-old girls in the form of colorful cereal. Last year by morning #2 he had ascertained that Daughter preferred Fruit Loops to anything else on the breakfast buffet. When they were not on the buffet on the third day, he went off in search of the brightly colored Os for my daughter as soon as he saw her dismay at their absence; before we could even ask, he was off to the kitchen.

This year when we saw him at the Friday night welcome dinner (what was he doing working at night?), he stopped to chat, asked how the year had been, and ensured Daughter they still had Frooty Loops on the menu. Jake had a bowl ready for her by the time we were shown to our breakfast table the next morning, even though we were seated in someone else’s section. He brought her Frooty Loops every morning we were there.

We will likely go back again next year. Daughter might catch a sunny or two. We will likely go on a pontoon ride and a wagon ride and rent a pedal boat again. Jake may or may not be there. He graduated from the local community college this spring and there is a chance he will decide to move before next Memorial Day weekend. Daughter is crushed. Who will bring her Frooty Loops?

Someone will, it just may not be Jake.

What makes a vacation ”just right” for you?

Today’s guest post comes from Beth-Ann

“I scream . You scream. We all scream for ice cream.”

Proust may have had his madelines, but my sweetest taste memories melt together with ice cream in the bottom of a dish. How many spoonfuls before it’s all gone?

1) My Manhattan grandmother lived across from a playground where a formally dressed Good Humor man stood with his push cart. I still remember the combined taste of wooden spoon and chocolate ice cream from a cup.

2) My other grandmother would take us to Coney Island for dizzying rides and real frozen custard. I chose based on color-often picking pistachio because of its electric green hue.

3) Back in the city we’d go to Broadway matinees and afterwards a stop at Schrafft’s for Black and White parfaits with rich whipped cream complementing the hot fudge and the always vanilla ice cream.

4) Did anybody else go to Farrell’s? My clearest member of the overly enthusiastic, piano player, straw boater, parlor was the trough of ice cream you could get to share with your friends.

5) I babysat for a little boy who spent most of his childhood in a hospital. Every time I took him to Baskin Robbins he chose orange sherbet from all 31 flavors.

6) There was a place in the suburbs of DC where the whipped cream was pink, yellow, and green and all the sundaes were named after memorials. We never ordered the Washington Monument. The sundae was too tall for us.

7) College in Boston brought ice cream options previously unexplored. Saturday lunch in Harvard Square was often a hot fudge sundae at Bailey’s. The ice cream was on a pedestal with low sides and the hot fudge dripped onto the plate with the melting ice cream.

8) Even more amazing was Steve’s, the first shop to churn its own ice cream and allow you to mix in fruit, candy, etc to customize your flavor. The process was slow and even in the winter the lines stretched outside. Still, we came and gloried in making our own sensational flavors.

9) Minnesota introduced me to buckets of ice cream, the Schwann’s man, and malts at the State Fair.

10) I was runner-up in a Kemps contest to design a Minnesota ice cream flavor. They never made Gopher Tornado, but the ribbons of raspberry and pineapple together with the rich ice cream would have delighted me.

11) Kemp’s has a new contest. This time my entry is for Mini donut ice cream. If that isn’t memorable enough for you, make up your own flavor before June 12th.

How many spoonfuls of ice cream are in your memory?

Today’s guest blog comes from Clyde.

I am living in a coffee time warp.

Twenty years ago because of my many sensitivities I had to give up coffee. Not caffeine, but coffee. At the time my idea of a cup of coffee was Hills Brother dribbled into a stained mug from the office coffee maker.

Because of changes I made in my diet or maybe just changing body chemistry, I can now again drink coffee, which is the basis of afternoon dates for my wife and me. However, I find myself a babe in the coffee shop. While I look in awe and confusion at the choices, Hutterites walk right by me and glibly order complex coffee drinks.

Country of origin, color, grind, white additives, flavor additives. Hot or cold. Kind of cup. Heavens, it’s even now a moral geopolitical question. And all that specialized vocabulary: latte, cappuccino, macholatte, espresso. The servers even have a special title (and their tips, as opposed to their pay, have moral dimensions). I just wanted a cup of coffee, which I want to order by size with English words! How naive of me!

So I decided when we are not producing movies or running summer camps for goats, we Babooners should operate a virtual coffee house. But what would we call it? I know the trick is to get the right name. The Dunn Brother’s went local here and has became Rivendell Cafe. My daughter’s hangout in Redwood Falls is the Calf Fiend. One here in Mankato is called the Coffee Hag. So maybe Connelly’s Cuppa. The Coffee Poole. The Appalatte Trail. Blackhoof’s. Caffeine Congress. comeinansitawhilewhydonya.

What should we name our virtual coffee house?