Sometimes a toy is just a toy. It amuses us for a short time and then it gets tossed (as in the case of a Happy Meal toy) or passed down to a sibling, a cousin, or a complete stranger care of the local Goodwill. But sometimes a toy is a little more than that. It stays with us in memories, pictures, or—if you’re lucky—your parents’ attic.

I had a toy like that. It was called a Printer’s Kit. Fisher-Price made it from 1981-1984, and I received it as a Christmas gift in 1981 (along with Strawberry Shortcake, a teeter-tottering clown music box, and a lump of coal†).

The Printer’s Kit came equipped with 2-3 sets of each letter, numbers 0-9, and every punctuation mark a young typesetter could possibly need; an orange frame for setting the type; an ink pad; and a large bottle of barely-semi-washable, dark blue ink.

To use it, you simply aligned the letters in the frame, pressed the framed letters onto the inkpad, and printed to your heart’s content. And that’s exactly what I did—printed to my heart’s content. I printed greeting cards, brochures, and newsletters for fictitious events and agencies. I also created big messes with semi-washable, dark blue ink.

If you’re having trouble picturing it, trouble yourself no more.

The included photograph was taken by, and used with permission from, designer Shane Bzdok's Flickr set. Aside from a missing R, his set is in mint condition. He must have been like my friend Stacy, who never bent her Barbie’s legs– responsible bordering on compulsive when it came to maintaining his toys. I admire that, though I never emulated such care. The Printer’s Kit letters that didn’t get mauled by my dog, Buffy, eventually became stained blue from the ink I didn’t remove quickly enough.

Several years later I graduated from making greeting cards signed ALLISON★ with the Printer’s Kit to pecking short stories on a typewriter with glass-covered keys that once belonged to my grandfather. Neither the Printer’s Kit nor the typewriter made it to my parents’ attic. But they’ve stayed in my memories and, I’d like to think, my stories. And that’s more than I can say for my bent-kneed Barbie Dolls, or even Strawberry Shortcake..

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†I’m serious about the lump of goal. My dad, who worked for a coalmine at the time, had a running joke that one year I’d receive a lump of coal for Christmas. He made good on his word in 1981 though, to his credit, the lump was shaped like a cute bear.

Most people probably wouldn’t consider a 3,600-mile cross country round trip in a Dodge rental van loaded with 7 college students, 1 ‘grownup’, 8 bulging duffel bags, and a guitar a dream vacation…especially if that ‘vacation’ involved sleeping and eating in a homeless shelter, building a homeless shelter, and listening to the Simpsons soundtrack the whole way.

I suppose that depeneds on your dreams. If you, like I, dream of experiencing a once-in-a-lifetime adventure with some of your closest friends and Mt. Rushmore, then perhaps you would.

I didn’t belong to a sorority in college…nor a fraternity for that matter. I was so naive when I arrived for freshman orientation at WKU that I had no idea what the big ‘rush’ was. I did, however, join a group my freshman year called Lutheran Student Fellowship. I wasn’t Lutheran, but I was a student and I did enjoy fellowship so 2 out of 3 isn’t bad (thankfully the Lutherans were very accepting of non-denominationals like me).

Each summer the group embarked upon a mission trip. The summer following my college graduation, our mission was to help build a homeless shelter in Helena, MT. Of course, like any college roadtrip, there would be many stops along the way.

Our first overnight stay was in Kansas City, MO. Kathy, our fearless leader, had made the bold decision at the outset of our trip that our first night would be a ‘faith night’. What she meant by that was we had to find a place to stay that night with no reservations, no money, and no guidance (other than prayer, of course…we were on a mission trip, you know).

After stopping at several gas stations of ill repute, we eventually located a homeless shelter. Unfortunately, the voice from the intercom informed us that the ‘inn’ was full. I felt a sense of panic start to wash over me…if you can’t stay at a homeless shelter, where can you stay? It’s funny how relative perception can be and what can satisfy us in emergency situations.

Thankfully, Levi had come prepared. He must have had a head’s up about the ‘faith night’ for he came armed with several sacks of clothing to donate. Levi also had an extremely persuasive personality. His charm and used clothing basically opened the doors for us…one for the boys and another for the girls.

I learned the next morning that the homeless shelter had been a hotbed of excitement that night. I learned about it the next morning, rather than as it was happening, because I am a scarily deep sleeper. I slept so deeply that night on the ‘living room’ floor, that I never heard the police arrest and take into custody one of the shelter’s inhabitants.

And on the other side of the shelter, the boys experienced a bit of an adventure as well. Apparently the boy side was just one big room with cots upon the floor (the girl side had individual rooms, but we slept in a little living area because all of the rooms were occupied). All night long, they claimed, several men with varying degrees of mental illness walked about the room…stepping over their cots and stopping to linger at times. I don’t think they slept very well that night, but we had a roof over our head and that’s what mattered.

We traded a homeless shelter for a church basement when we arrived in Helena the next day. We were all very eager to stretch our legs…and what better way to stretch your legs than to hike to the top of Mount Helena. I don’t know the official name of the trail we hiked, but I unofficially named it the Sucking Air Trail. Owen made it look easy. Dusty and I, being very competitive individuals, struggled to keep up with him while trying to look as though we weren’t struggling at all.

Awestruck would be grossly understating the feeling we experienced at the summit. The view was absolutely breathtaking and our sense of accomplishment was enormous. We sat quietly, the three of us, and awaited the arrival of the rest of our group. When it was time to descend, we walked together and silently observed the twinkling lights of the city below.

The real work began the next day. We arrived at the worksite, the second story of a historic downtown building, and were issued tools such as hammers, saws, and screw drivers. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. Thankfully, Heather assumed the position of forewoman and started issuing orders. She said, “Hammer there,” and I hammered there.

We weren’t the first group to work on the shelter, and we weren’t the only group working on the shelter that day. In a stroke of good fortune, we happened to be working at the shelter on a day when the governor and lieutenant governor stopped by to thank the various volunteer groups for their efforts.

Their visit went beyond just a courtesy. The governor told us about the time he got off the bus in Louisville, KY for basic training and thought he had entered the bowels of hell because of the humidity. We knew from personal experience that he wasn’t exaggerating. The lieutenant governor told us about the successful garbage disposal business she and her husband had started in her hometown. She said, “You can learn a lot about people from their trash,” and then I started thinking about what my trash says about me…this girl needs to cut back on chocolate is what my discarded wrappers would say.

Our lunches were spent at the existing homeless shelter eating donated food just like everybody else. I remember eating a lot of day-old pizza, and feeling very grateful afterwards for the food I normally ate. I may have eaten a little less than normal for a few days, but I (and everybody else) made up for it when we took a side trip to Havre to visit Dusty’s grandparents.

Dusty’s grandmother prepared the biggest spread I had seen since Thanksgiving…and that was apparently a normal dinner for her. I swear I saw her sneak two sticks of butter in her mashed potatoes and mutter something about putting meat on our bones. They were delicious. With the stoke of a mixer, that woman won the hearts of some very hungry college students (and one grownup) that day.

When we finished our work at the homeless shelter, we headed west to Bozeman to join up with several MSU LSFers for various top secret evangelical duties, sightseeing, and another hike. This time we hiked to the letter M.

Mount Rushmore was our first touristy excursion. I was very impressed by the whole presedential faces carved into the mountain thing, but what I might have enjoyed even more was seeing chipmunks scurrying to and fro for the first time in my life.

Of course, we wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving the area without paying Old Faithful a visit. We had to wait a while, but she was worth it. We saw an ice-covered lake (in May!), bison, and Do Not Pet the Bison signs in Yellowstone Park. We didn’t pet the bison, but we did eat bison burgers for lunch that day…they tasted similar to hamburgers, only drier.

A side note about South Dakota– I have never seen so many billboards in my entire life hawking places like the Corn Palace and Wall Drug. We of course stopped at both. Despite the appeal of a palace made of corn, my favorite part of South Dakota was the Badlands.

I had mixed feelings about leaving the land of no speed limit (I think Montana may have changed that by now, and we were probably the reason). While I enjoyed the scenery, the hiking, and the Dusty’s grandmother’s mashed potatoes immensely, the arid air was telling my skin that it was time to go home…that and the rental van’s due date.

These days I look back at that trip very fondly. For one week, I was able to escape from the realities of impending graduate school and the commencement of student loan payments. It was the last time I would see some of the LSF friends I had known my entire college career like Owen and Kathy. It was also the last time I would ever see Levi. He died a year later in a car wreck.

I developed a new appreciation for the roof over my head and fresh pizza after the trip. I also came home with sore muscles and lifelong memories. I would definitely consider that a dream vacation.