RESCUED

It seems not long ago, a man was rescued from a tiny island where he had lived for years. All alone, he had become quite creative and constructive with his time.

It seems he had gotten lost kayaking the Atlantic waters and wound up deserted and without a kayak which had become unusable.

When he was found by Brazilian land purchasing agents, he was relieved, of course. As they were gathering his belongings, they noticed three huts right in a row, two located on the east of where he lived.

"So what is that hut for?" one of the rescuers asked pointing to the hut next door.

"That's my church," he responded.

"What's the other hut for?" the other rescuer asked.

"That's the church I used to go to."

Of course the story is made up. Except for the part about changing churches. At least in the Baptist tradition.

PERIWINKLE OR WHAT'S A GUY TO DO?

A good friend of mine asked for help when choosing a golf hat to purchase before a round earlier this week. Keep in mind that many of my closest friends and family have never even seen me in a hat or cap. And that's for a good reason: I simply don't look good in a hat. My hair is too long and my head is too large.

"Oh, get that one. It's got the good logo and it's periwinkle. Chicks love periwinkle," I advised.

"Then that's what I'm getting," Gary resolved.

"Periwinkle, huh," he questioned.

"Yep. It looks like gray to me, but my wife says it's periwinkle, and I don't know why, but women love it," I reassured him.

The cart girl was the only woman we saw on the golf course, and she didn't say anything about it, but she was young and when guys get our age, it's like we're invisible to young women. I'm surprised she even stopped to ask us if we needed a drink. I mean how did she see us?

When Gary got home, his wife said,"Is that the only color of hat they had?"

"It's periwinkle," he countered.

"Periwinkle? It looks faded gray to me," Deb responded.

"Well, it's a good thing you don't have to wear it, then," a now crushed Gary added.

Somewhere out there, there are chicks who will love that hat. Maybe today at Club West we'll find them.

THE CAMERAS ARE BACK ON IN SCOTTSDALE

And it's about time. For quite a while on a stretch of interstate from Scottsdale Road to Pima (approximately), photo radar enforcement is in effect to catch speeders. Anyone caught on camera going 11 miles over the speed limit is fined $162 minimum.

After much success, Those In Charge decided to study the effectiveness of the program. On February 22 they started taking pictures again. There was much advance warning and, in addition, signs are posted that warn of photo enforcement cameras coming up. The result: the first day back, they caught 545 speeders, one going 127 mph.

They continue to use them; they continue to speed. I don't know what it is about the West that make people think they can drive so fast (and so poorly.) And this is not just an old fogey writing--ask anyone out here. So when you come visit, please slow down. At least to 110mph.

WHAT IF YOU GOT THE BEST DEAL EVER

I'm playing golf today at W---- well I got such a good deal that they asked in the reservation notice "be considerate and not share your good fortune with others at the golf facility who may have paid a higher (much) rate." Parentheses mine.

It's a high dollar course that I've never played, even in the summer when rates plunge greatly.

At SteinMart a few weeks ago I paid $10 for an Ashworth golf shirt that I'll probably wear to play at W--- today. Another good deal. And we all love good deals.

But far too many people ignore the greatest deal ever offered to man--salvation. By admitting that you're a sinner (we all are) and that nothing you can do can ever earn your salvation, no matter how good a person you are, or how many great things you have done, you're on your way. The next step is to believe that Jesus Christ was and is who He said He was--the very Son of God who lived and died on a cross to save us from our sins. He rose after three days, was seen by hundreds of people, acsended to heaven where He sits at the right hand of the Father and intercedes for us today. If you believe, ask forgiveness for your sins, and desire to follow Jesus, then you have achieved the ultimate deal. You are saved and will spend eternity in heaven.

Please accept Jesus today. It's the greatest offer you will ever receive. It's real (not like the picture). And it's free.

BALANCE

As the pointy pine pierced the moon

With its sticky fingered prod

It held the moon in its grasp.

The tree was sovereign

And smiled the smirk of self-satisfaction.

"It's mine, you know, all mine."

And for awhile it was.

But when the reality of gravity demanded release,

It became sovereign and the tree stood alone

Minus its one ornament.

Time sneak attacks and takes away our possessions

And our domains.

It takes away our pride and our hope.

At just the moment we thought

We were in control.

AND WHEN I'D DRIBBLE A BASKETBALL

in the heart of winter on the outdoor court of the Collins brothers, Larry and John, I would get these little round sores on my fingers. They were bloody from the friction of the leather ball and cold concrete meeting. They were about the size of a dime and I would have three or four open sores for most of the winter.

I'd even play in the snow, if it had been removed enough to where the key was dribbleable. I didn't need much to feed the sores. Which looked a little like ringworm when I stop to think about it.

I was "Angela's Ashes" on the winter courts of my youth. We played indoors, of course, on the Field School gym in practice. But that wasn't enough for me. I had a basketball fix that I needed to sate. I still love the sound of the swish when nothing but net catches the good shot.

I still love the smell of popcorn in the gym, though I miss the sound of kids crushing, or popping coke cups with their heels. I also miss the old clocks that counted down the seconds like a real clock only when there was one minute to go in a quarter, it turned red instead of yellow. Tens of a second? Forget it. They also didn't allow so many time outs. Or is it times out/ I never did know. Brother-in-laws or brothers-in-law? I don't know that either. I also don't know if I could care less or I couldn't care less.

But I'm digressing now. I wonder why I never got those sores on my lips when I'd kiss the ball before I fired up a set shot? Just kidding, I'm not that old. That's not me in the picture either, though it could have been.

DIGITS ARE US OR HOW MANY ARE THERE

My eighth grade social studies teacher became my junior college political science instructor. William Roy was a huge man who was a calm guy who had a lot of good old homespun humor. He had all of our respect.

One time in eighth grade, he got angry when a boy in the front of the class wouldn't cooperate. Mr. Roy walked over to him and lifted his desk with the lad still seated straight up in the air to where he was eye level with the teacher. "Now do I need to ask you again to get quiet?"

David Epley, the airborn student couldn't answer; he simply shook his head no. Similar problems didn't exist in junior college. Mainly what I remember about that class is how much Mr. Roy liked my future sister-in-law who was in the class with me. I thought I'd have been the one he favored with our history and all, but no--it was Joann.

So why the digit picture and the story about Mr. Roy? He had lost about one-half of the index finger on his right hand. He effectively used that partial digit to gesture or send home a point. I don't know why it was effective, but it was. At least to me. As I think back, I don't ever recall any other students talking or wondering what happened to Mr. Roy's finger. In fact, I'm wondering why it came to mind.