THE END OF A PERFECT DAY

is not complete without a beautiful sunset. We're blessed in AZ with some spectacular ones. You have to pay a whole lot more for a house high enough to see their splendor. Or time it right when you make reservations for dinner at a restaurant with a great view. Then go and sponge on their view.

Two problems with sunsets. Number one it's the end of another day that God has granted us. And we only get so many--about 27,000 and that's it. A buddy of mine, Brad Pancoast, liked to ask "what did you do with the time you were given today?" Most times, the question served to remind me that I had wasted most of the day. But that sunset marks off one calendar day in your life, so that's somewhat sad. The second problem, that beautiful land sunsets, at least, are caused by air pollution particles filling our skies and choking our oxygen. The prettier, generally, the more pollutants in the air. So enjoy the view sans fumes. At least from afar.

If there are any more negatives about sunsets, I don't know them. Except our kids will recall the many times I recited Frost's "Nothing Gold Can Stay" when I forced them to watch ocean sunsets. I think they really liked it, but I'm not 100% sure. Repetition by parentals is often seen as boring. Only later will they see the tradition.

Clouds masked our lunar eclipse view this week. But it looks all clear for tonight's sunset. I'll catch it while cooking out some small filets.

Now, let's see; it goes "Nature's first green is gold/Her hardest hue to hold..."

SNIPE HUNTING?

It's funny how a picture is worth a thousand thoughts. Well, I'm not that wordy. But when I spotted this photo from Traverse City, Michigan, I fell for it. The black squirrel, I mean. I'd never heard of or seen a Michigan Black Squirrel. Maybe they don't exist, but I like to think they do.

So what about all these thoughts?

Well, one is that I had never seen a black stork. But in South Africa we saw plenty.

No thoughts, gentle reader(s), not even one about, well, of course, they would have black storks there because Africa is 80% Black, and naturally a black stork would bring Black babies.

Because that spawned my second thought. Do you think animals care what color another animal is? I mean, we sure do. Here, I use a collective we, because some of us have long gotten over the issue of color and gender. Why in the world do we still make a big deal out of it? Ethnicity, even hair color--I'm so tired of blonde jokes. Maybe they have it better in the animal kingdom.

My third thought was about snipes. In my days, in my hometown, the running line to get a girl in the car with you was to ask her if she wanted to hunt for snipe, which only are visible at night. In the country. Where one would park his car on a secluded road and wait for the snipe to appear. I know it sounds old fashioned and corny, but I guess it worked for some Southern Illinois guys. I think there is such an animal as a snipe, but I don't know. When I finish this entry I'll have to google black Michigan squirrel and snipe and see what I get.

So maybe three doesn't equal 1,000. But how about this: yesterday when I picked up palm bark from the yard from a previous night's storm, my eyes started itching like when I'm around a cat? Go figure.

ENOUGH OF JACK FOR ME

It's bad enough that we've had 6 weeks of frost in the valley this Winter. Compared to about 6 mornings of frost some years. But when I had to drive through one hour of snow in the mountains outside San Diego last Thursday, I say that enough of Old Jack Frost.

In fact, we were very blessed, because had we left 1 hour, maybe two hours later, we would have been stranded or at least had to spend the night in an evac shelter (casino or fire department )with 400 stranded souls because of 12 inches of snow. But again, 3o minutes outside of San Diego? C'mon Jack.

Practically every morning when I click on the St. Louis Post website, there's a Severe Weather Warning. One day it's tornadoes, the next ice, followed by snow, rain, more sleet and drizzle.

You've oustayed your welcome, Jack. Give it up, man.

CASTRO, THE CUBBIE

Living Proof. It's the curse of the InFidel

Castro that has hamstrung the Cubbies all those years. Well, maybe not all 100 and counting since their last World Series championship, but certainly since he ruined Cuba.

I should have known, because I remember one year in the 90's the Cubbies had uniforms that spelled out Cubs but it looked like Cuba. Maybe it wasn't just my imagination. I mean, there's no doctoring that's been done to this photo that clearly shows his loyalties.

I just hope that by stepping down, that doesn't mean the Cubbies will step up. I mean "they still sing the blues in Chicago/When baseball season rolls around/ And the Cubbies still play in that ivy covered burial ground."

Go Cubbies! Yeah, right. One century and counting.

THE THING

That's who he is. What he does, I don't know. I assume he's a comic book hero or a cartoon, but with someone so non-descript as to be called The Thing, well he could be anything.

He looks tough. He looks strong. He looks old, too. I mean why else would his face crack like that. In fact, I recognize a few of the same wrinkles I now sport.

He seems to missing some ears and some facial hair. Of any kind. Maybe a tooth or two, too. Plus his body is cracked.

Stone Phillips? Rock Hudson? Grant It? Somebody has to be more creative than just calling him The Thing.

In my comic book reading days we had real characters like Goofy, Pepe La Pew, Popeye, Superman, and Casper the Friendly Ghost. Not only characters, they had character.

The Thing? Are you kidding me? At least your superheroes should have to be identifiable. Calling one The Thing reminds me of talking to a college prof of mine before class one cold SIU morning. He blew his nose and left The Thing on his face. Smeared, but still connected to his left cheek bone. I didn't tell him about it since I didn't know what to call it. I guess I should have said, "Hey, Doc Vieth, you got a thing on your face there." But I didn't say anything because of my lack of vocabulary.

The Thing would have come in handy then.

NO WAY

I know that will be the response of loyal reader Jim when he reads my confession: I have never fired a gun. An avid hunter, Jim will be astonished that a good ole Southern Illinois bred boy never went hunting or to the practice range. But it's true.

Although my father and brother never hunted, I had several buddies that did, but I just would rather play ball. I liked to fish, though I was pretty inept at that, but hunting just never appealed to me. I loved to read about hunting; I gained an appreciation about tracking big game when we safaried in South Africa, but like sky diving and parasailing, I opted out.

I've always supported the NRA, although I did question why the assault rifle ban was an issue for them. But with more and more school shootings, the most recent at NIU, I am re-visiting my position (that's polito-ease for flip flopping, isn't it?). I mean the shooter had all the documentation, had legally obtained the weapons used, had followed all the proceedures and still killed people and ruined lives.

So maybe in the day, the Second Amendment worked. Today in our culture, I'm afraid it doesn't. I believe the name of the book and movie was Richie. It was about a father who shot and killed his teenage son when the son was high on drugs. A small newspaper writer spawned the book and movie after getting permission from his editor who had at first denied it in 1970 or so; he said, "another drug related death--there's no story there." But the author persisted, "No, you see it was the father killing the son, his son, his seed--that doesn't happen."

Well, it does now, in today's post-modern, humanistic, deny God society. And just maybe the Second Amendment needs ammending.

WHICH PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE DO YOU SEE IN THIS PICTURE?

This may be my shortest blog entry ever. All(s) you have to do is answer the question. And that is who you should vote for.