AT LEAST IN IRONWOOD, MICHIGAN

There stands a statue 52 feet tall weighing 18,000 pounds. He's been there since the 60's. He's probably politically incorrect in these changing times. He's Hiawatha and he's holding a peace pipe (not a peach pie as my daughter thought I said.) He was brought in feet first on some kind of huge flatbed according to my bro-in-law Dave who witnessed the event.

He's not the only thing that's changing. When we went to Ironwood, I expected to see a bear. No luck. Even though my sister-in-law told me she hadn't seen any all summer,I thought I would catch a glimpse. Maybe that country western singer got to Ironwood, too. You know, the one who shot a 600 pound tame bear for his trophy. And he's crying foul, too, saying that it wasn't caged; it had a whole acre (a football field with the end zones knocked out) to roam. He didn't shoot it in a cage or anything.

I also didn't see a W bumper sticker or a Viva Bush sticker like I still see in Arizona. I saw some anti-Bush stuff; one bumper sticker stated "Proud to be from a blue state". Oh, well, it's been said there's no accounting for taste. Poor GW gets blamed for everything and credited for nothing. As a passenger on a flight from Phoenix to Madison, Wisconsin, on 8/10, the day after the thwarted plot to blow up American planes coming from England, I know I appreciate the effort of the President and the Homeland Security Team and Scotland Yard and other Allies. What I don't appreciate is some federal judge from Michigan who rules against the President trying to protect us. It's one thing to be liberal and another to be stupid. Well, it's a little different.

Back home again, I'll have to wait for another time to see my bear. Hey, I had to wait years to see a javalina. I hope I won't have to wait long to see a W '04 sticker.

IT'S GOOD TO BE BACK HOME

After we moved from Mt. Vernon to Scottsdale and referred to Scottsdale as home, friend Nida told us that it hurt her to hear us call Scottsdale home. But as they say, it is what it is. And as much as we still love MTV, it's the Southwest for these Midwest transplants.

Our Summer trip took us to the land of the Northwoods: Wisconsin, Michigan, and home today from Minnesota. We had a great time with my brothers and sisters-in-laws. They all tried to show us a great time and they did.

In a previous blog, I'd referred to the National Mustard Museum. Today's entry focuses on a tale from the 1200-1500's. It's about a Scottish battle between the Johnstone's and the Maxwells. My brother-in-law Roy was from the Johnstone family tree on his mother's side.

The families of Johnstones and Maxwell's hated each other. The Johnstones got the upper hand when they somehow procured swords to fight against the unarmed Maxwells. When they did battle at Lockerby, Scotland, the Johnstones left some pretty severe wound to the faces of many of the Maxwells. Their scars were known as Lockerby Licks. Those whose survived were probably as proud of those scars as hockey players today are of theirs.

Somehow I think the Lockerby Licks might have been a little more disfiguring. More later on Copper Run, the elevator operator, the fruit stand girl, and Northwoods chow.

BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME

Is there any colder thing to say to someone? Oh, I guess you could add, "loser," or any litany of expletives to make it worse, but it seems to me after saying "better luck next time," you've pretty much wasted the person.

First of all, you're assuming that luck has something to do with the situation. And we all know that if someone says we're lucky, then that person is doubting our ability. In others words, our good fortune was just that. Not something we achieved on merit or worth.

Next time implies there will be another opportunity. Seemingly, this opportunity will have the same result. That is, a failure by us. Unless good luck or good fortune befalls us.

The implication is that it won't. Furthermore, the implication is that even if we are fortunate, we'll still lose, because we are a loser.

Verbal irony is the lowest form of humor. And when we're told, "Better luck next time," it's total verbal irony. "I hope to heck you don't have better luck," is what's behind those words. Or an addendum, "you'll need it."

If you want to be cold as ice to someone, then use that expression. I can't think of many that are crueler.

THE NIGHT THE CHEESE GUY GOT ME

Cruising around on the Oceania Cruise lines, I once got leveled by the cheese guy.

It must have been the Normandy Cruise which featured a 60th anniversary stop at Normandy. What a great trip enhanced by author David McCullough, friend of Joe Watters, Chairman of the Board.

We played golf in Plymouth, England, went to a fantastic museum in Gurnsey, England, and toured a German undergound hospital there. We saw the white cliffs of Dover. And lots of other great sights.

Oceania is noted for its fine food. This cruise was no exception. One night at one of the fancy restaurants, one where your whole evening is taken up by the meal, one of our courses was cheese and grapes. When the cheese guy was explaining the names of all the cheeses, I joked to my dinner companions, wife, daughter, and the Hicks' "Which one's the Cheese Whiz?"

No expression change on the non-American server. But when it came time to get our individual samples, he zinged me with the strongest, foulest, dog poop tasting cheese imaginable. I know he was somewhere within view laughing it up at my expense.

Hey, I deserved it. Chalk one up to the multi-lingual cheese guy. But what kind of cruise line has all that fancy cheese and none in a can?

ONLY WHEN HIS EYES ARE SHADED

Was there ever a pop singer with anymore range than Roy Orbison? From bass to falsetto, he could hit all the notes perfectly.

Pictured here sans sunglasses, Roy made an appearance in a 1967 movie, The Fastest Guitar in the West. Actually, he may have starred in the flick; I don't know. But I have a theory.

Roy could only sing well when his eyes were hidden. Am I serious? No. And I apologize if he had a serious eye problem. Our sight is a precious gift and I wouldn't make fun of anyone with a medical problem.

But I've often wondered about people who sing with their eyes closed. Why do they do that? Is it to shut out the rest of the world? Is it to help them concentrate? Once in a college algebra class I had a teacher who was paranoid about cheaters. He stood and stared down the students during a test. I wasn't about to look at someone else's paper, so I'd look at the ceiling to try to formulate my thoughts. I'm not sure it helped, but it saved me from getting a zero on the test.

I sing in church with the other worshippers, I sing to myself, I sing out loud in the car when I'm alone, and even sing silly around the house around others. But I've never closed my eyes for any lengthy period of time.

Maybe I should. I could become the next Roy. Probably, more like the next Trigger.

FRIDAY NIGHTS

When I told a friend of mine that I was retiring, she said,"Well, you know, Friday will never be the same. You won't have Fridays to look forward to anymore."

I had never really thought about it that way. Friday. The Anticipatory Day is really the best day of the week. No matter how bad, how exhausting a week you've had, there's Friday night and all the possibilities it brings. And sometimes Friday nights were so good that one moon simply wasn't enough (as in the picture.)

Of course after Friday is a never ending (seeming) weekend when you get to chill. Even if you don't. Even if the unexpected comes up, there's still the chance, the opportunity for chilling.

There's the chance to sleep late on Saturday morning. There's all day Saturday. There's Saturday night and a chance. More opportunities out there. On Your Time.

Sunday, of course, offers more time away from work. In fact, we're told not to work on the Sabbath. That always made sense to me. If God needed a break, so do I. And what better way to start the week than by worship and rest?

When I would look ahead to a weekend, I'd say well, I have Friday night and Saturday, and Saturday night, and Sunday and Sunday night. Five days. Wow!

How ever you count it, though, there's that Monday. And my response to my friend, Carol, after announcing my retirement, "True, but I won't have any Monday mornings either."