"HOW DO I GET MY ARM AROUND HER?"

Landry asked Matt in Friday Night Lights. You see, Landry is a high school brain. He even wears a Physics Crib Tee Shirt. Identical to the one our son wore in 1992. Well, Scott's was red, Landry's gray. Matt, from the tv show, is Landry's best friend. Matt's the quarterback of the team, thus more experienced in matters of the heart. Well, a little bit anyhow.

I wonder who helped out the little guy in this beach photo? Or is he dropping a handful of sand down her blouse? How about a hermit crab on the back of her hair? There's something going on in the picture because most little boys that age don't like most little girls. Especially dainty ones like her, complete with straw hat.

Sally was the first girl I liked. She was athletic, nothing dainty about her. There were two classes in each grade, three in some at our school, and I hardly ever, if ever, got in her class. Maybe that's why she appealed to me: I didn't have to be around her. I think it was probably her ponytail, though.

Lots of the 4th grade boys liked Sally. She seemed to like a lot of the boys. But not me. Once at a grade school track meet after I failed to qualify in the 50-yard dash, she asked me why I couldn't run faster. Talk about deflating. "Wait till the softball throw," I wish I had said, but Beaver Cleaver-like I replied, "Well, I cut my leg. Look."

She wasn't buying that the scratch, even two inches long was any red badge of courage for me. She didn't say anything though. Sometimes that's worse.

I never put my arm around Sally. Ever. I'm not sure we ever had any more conversation after that. She moved away. I'm glad. She could have damaged my fragile psyche at least through junior high had she stayed.

I'M NOT WHO I WAS

There's a great song on Christian radio stations that goes, "I wish you could see me now/ I wish I could show you how/ I'm not who I was". I've heard it a hundred times, but I can't remember who sings it. True song, true lyrics, catchy tune.

I'm sure I never looked like Marlene here on the right when I smoked, but I used to smoke cigarettes. A lot of them. Very, very few cigars, but I smoked for over 20 years of my life.

And I can't believe I ever did. I blame it on school. You see I had a late birthday that made me start to college at age 17. Not like good friend Carol Hicks who has a mid-November, who went away to college and was nearly done with her first semester before she turned 18. She never smoked either. But I thought I needed to. I was in college, though some called it post-high school since MTV Community College shared the same campus with MTV High back then. At that time I also started drinking coffee, although with as much sugar as I had to put into it, it probably didn't meet the requirements for coffee per se.

I always hated smoke, too. With the exception of a fire in the fireplace or a campfire, maybe a fresh burn of dry, crackly leaves, I cared for no smoke at all. It's hard to explain today with smoking being so taboo, how most of the people I knew back then lit 'em up. "Smoke 'em if you got 'em," was the call and most did. I don't say that to rationalize my stupidity; it was just a sad fact of life in the day.

Much like Europeans fire them up now. The DeGaulle Airport in Paris is the stinkiest airport I've ever been in. Although there's no smoking allowed on the planes, it's prevalent nearly everywhere else. In fact I still don't understand Europeans. They spend two to three hours eating, they smoke like fiends, they drink the strongest, worst coffee in the world, they sit around at all hours of the day just conversing, they don't seem to engage in sports; I don't get it.

But I didn't get the smoking thing either. I can't believe I ever did it. But I did. Thankfully I quit as easily as I started. But it is so strange to look back and think that I actually had that habit. And if Dietrich looked bad smoking, how do you think I looked?

A COW'S HEAD IS A COW'S HEAD IS A...

Where we live, a subdivision of 234 houses, there used to be a ranch. Imagine that, a ranch in Arizona. Some friends remember when there were camels that occupied our land. One tells me (one friend, not one camel), that the Army experimented with rasing camels for warfare. I thought that had been done many years ago in different lands, but anyway(s).

We also had a lot of saguaros, I'm sure. Yet when our subdivision was built, the saguaros disappeared. Being the optimist that I am, I'm sure they were transplanted other places rather than bulldozed or uprooted or knocked down. Anyway(s), the only ones in our neighborhood have been purchased and transplanted by home owners.

We have a few now because I wanted to feel deserty. I love palms and we have those and yuccas and oleanders, but I wanted some cactuses. Note: not cacti. It's perfectly, well maybe imperfectly ok to call them cactuses. It sounds so much better to my Southern Illinois rooted ears that cacti, which sounds like something in a petri dish. So we put in a cactus garden a few years ago. The focal point is a 6 1/2 foot saguaro. No arms yet, but one cactus flower bloom. We added four others along with agaves, aloes, pencil cactuses and ocotillo. They bloom at different times of the year, and now I'm happy living in the desert.

Well, almost. It was just not quite Western enough for me. So recently we purchased a cow head. It looks just like the cow pictured with horns pointing in the same direction as its nose. All (s) you have to do (well, if anyway can be anyways, then alls can be all) is take off the hide and muscle and fat and sinew--you get the idea. It even has teeth. Right next to the big, by my standards of comparison, saguaro is where you'll find him. Facing the golf course. And hoping no errant slice tears into his skeleton head.

JUST ADD WRINKLES, AGE SPOTS, CROWS' FEET, AND ACHES

I've always wished I were more artistic. Or musical. Or athletic. Or something. Because, you see, I'm a generalist. I enjoyed a lot of subjects in school, well at least for awhile till the technical or specific aspects became too much for my limited brain. I mean who can keep straight a predicate from a verb? A dangling participle from a gerund. Ok, I guess I did learn some specifics, but back to art.

I never had a great talent. I drew some, painted some, always wanted to take a class at the museum, but sent my kids instead. But I followed it. I know that when it comes to drawing portraits that one technique is to measure off a grid into small boxes and duplicate what is in each box. Kinda like piecemeal or breaking down a big task into several small ones.

But what about the artist who drew this little girl from the photograph provided? Oh, he did a good job. But how about taking it one step further?

Lots of people share his talent. And there's much demand. But how about taking a picture of an older person and turn them into a baby? What did he/she once look like? Before the ravages of time? Or since newborns sometimes look like old people, just draw a little old face on a newborn body?

Sound goofy? Sound like nobody would want a picture like that? You're probably right. That's why I am only a generalist instead of a professional keen on detail. And logic.

WOODY--THE WORST

I'm of the age when I used to go to the movies they didn't show commercials, they didn't show lengthy previews, they didn't show what they shouldn't show, but they did show a cartoon or even two before the feature presentation. Also I can remember the news clips that they showed prior to the movie.

I always wondered why the adults laughed out loud at the cartoons. They weren't any funnier on the big screen. Until The Simpsons came around, adults didn't much like cartoons. Maybe a Rocky and Bullwinkle fan here and there, but mostly cartoons were left to kids. Until the grown ups got to the movies.

I like Rocky and The Simpsons. But not much else. The animation is not as good to me as in the old Disney days. The cartoon plots neither. But you couldn't ever really identify me as one who liked cartoons or comic books.

But the one I really didn't like was Woody the Woodpecker. What an annoying guy. All he did was peck and laugh. That's it. He annoyed others, too, who wanted to kill him. And that was the cartoon.

I'm reminded of two friends of mine who nearly parted their ways over a woodpecker. He'd been poking holes in his cedar siding. Ron caught him with a rat trap after repeated efforts to shoo him out. He happily revealed his catch to the anger of Lucy, an animal lover. She was really upset and informed him of other actions he could have taken to get rid of his nemesis, all taking a lot of effort. They never resolved their differences, but remained cordial to each other.

I like woodpeckers, but I probably sided with Ron. I mean that guy was doing some damage. Or maybe, I just picture Woody in the throes of the trap.

VETS' DAY '08

At Saddleback Church this weekend, Pastor Rick Warren recognized veterans from those who served in the '40's to present day. Some wore their uniforms as requested by the pastor. Some probably couldn't fit into them anymore, but were there and honored as they should have been.

I'm not sure the number, but World War II veterans' numbers are dwindling. We simply can't allow that whole generation to pass without getting more of their stories, more of the lessons learned from our greatest generation. A junior high teacher had our daughter's class interview veterans and record the conversation.

She sought out a teaching/golfing buddy of mine who fought under George Patton's command. It was a great assignment. She got a lot out of it. So did I. I suppose the tape is still housed in the Casey Jr. High library along with others.

Honoring our veterans has not always been the case. The Viet Nam War vets were not so honored at their return. Thankfully, they are now.

As applause rang out in the mega church at Saddleback for each decade's veterans, I was again thankful for their service, their sacrifice, their commitment. What better place to be honored for service than at church?

YOU DIDN'T WANT TO BE ONE

But I can't recall the basis for Ratt Fink. When I was in high school, it was a name people called others who were undesirables. There was even a cheer for opposing players. It was pretty simple: R-a-t-t-F-i-n-k, RattFink, Rattfink.

But the significance, the point of reference escapes me. I suppose it's the combination of two terms that aren't too flattering. A rat needs no further explanation. Only Templeton and the Ratatouille guys are looked out as favorable. Cagney immortalized the bad guys with, "You, you're the rat who killed my brother."

The simply use of "Rats", means something disappointing has happened. Even in your hair, rats are no good.

The first time I heard the word Fink was from the Davy Crockett movie and book. Big Mike Fink was king of the river. And, yes, he was a bad guy. When fink evolved into a disreputable figure, I don't know. It surely didn't come from Crockett.

But fink has always had negative connotations. Nerd, another term used when I was in high school, is a synonym. Fink actually seemed more menacing, though. A nerd could possibly change, but it was more ingrained in his chromosomes. A fink had more control, but probably would diss somebody if he had a chance.

Combine the two words, add an addition t for emphasis and you have the epitome of unsavoriness: Rattfink. I guess he looked like the picture on the right. I'm glad that word disappeared from slang. There are still Rattfinks, of course, but they go by a variety of names nowadays.