BUT THEN AND ONLY THEN IS WHEN

I talked to her for the last time. Afterall, we never know when the last time is really the last time. But I turned around and saw her in the store. After 38 years.

Easily recognizable behind her years, I knew her immediately. She knew me, too, or so I thought. How we came about seeing each other, taking notice of each other was amazing. What if neither had made the connection? What if only one of us made the connection? What if we, like the proverbial Strangers in the Night had gone undetected.

So now what do we do? I wondered. Should we embrace? What about re-introductions and how-do- you- do's? But that sounds so old fashioned. What about, "I thought that was you," or even "What brings you here?" That's almost as bad as "What's a nice girl like you...?"

Maybe if I just say her name and use inflection at the end in case I'm wrong? But I'm not. Just as sure as the back of my hand, I'd know that face anywhere, even after nearly four decades.

"The years have been kind to you," I could have said. Oh, my, that's bad. "How long has it been?" Nope. "Fancy meeting you here." I'm really pressing.

Maybe if I just say, "Hello." Then if she answers, if she responds, I can be sure that it is she. Even if she doesn't say anything, maybe she'll verify my certainty that she is who I think. The worst thing that can happen is she will think I'm hitting on her. But if she doesn't recognize me, or if it is not she, then there's no harm. That's the safest thing to do.

And as we were about to come face to face, that's exactly what I planned to do. But when we passed, so did I. Was it who I thought? Yup. But I never said a word. I didn't want to spoil the moment.

THE ARMORY

MTV has an armory with offices for the National Guard. But until recently, it served a variety of community uses.

It housed high school math classes in the 60's when a growing number of boomers required more space. The last time I was in the Armory was to proctor some state achievement test, perhaps the Prairie State. Some kind of test that politicians insist to mask the fact that they aren't going to put more money into the schools. They'd rather build another bureaucracy and funnel it there with more administrators and paperwork than actually to help and allocate schools much needed money. No strings attached. No building funds/no education funds/no textbook funds. Just send them the money and they will figure out whether to spend it on teachers' salaries, a new bus, a computer lab, new textbooks, or better cafeteria food. Trust them, rather than pump millions into testing, when the SATs and ACTs offer a built-in test that students are motivated to take to illustrate their knowledge and achievement. And if they're doing well, then you know the ones who don't opt to take the tests are doing as well as they can or they don't care, and if that's the case, then no Prairie State or any other kind of test is going to be taken seriously by them. (Sorry about the rabbit trail, but sometimes I'm simply overwhelmed with common sense.)

The Armory housed the Pancakes and Sausage Day sponsored by the local Kiwanians. It also had a huge gym floor for high school PE classes and community leagues. The last time I played there, I was teaching but still clinging to some basketball by playing in games that featured city teachers against county teachers, although the last one of those I played in was at Chagnon Gym. But we had a team from First National Bank. Buddies Russ Hays, Mike DeVivo, Mick Howery, John Griffin and I led our team to an under .500 record. We weren't too hot, but FNB provided us with the best unis in the league and even paid for our gyms to practice, so we had fun.

The Armory also hosted teen dances. I remember a lot of them. But the best was when The Young Rascals were scheduled. They had just come out with "Groovin'". That was their number one song, which I believe was Number 1 at the time of their scheduled appearance. They didn't show. Our money was refunded. A bunch of the slower witted ones like me waited until the end, hope upon hope that they would show.

The Armory can't provide all those services since 9/11. A crackdown on possible terrorists targets, I suppose. So I don't know where the Sausage and Pancake Days hold their fundraisers. The high school is much smaller now; I'm not sure they even fill all their rooms. Some would probably have to be reserved for testing stations. As far as PE, the last I heard they don't even dress anymore, just street or school clothes sans showers. And teen dances? A bygone era, I'd guess. But if The Old Rascals ever show up, well I don't know where they'd play. But if I knew ahead of time, I'd be there.

NOSTALGIA AND WHAT MAKES US THAT WAY

Hey, this title sounds as if some truths will be revealed to the reader. It sounds as if some answers will be given. Or it could be, I'm just a lousy title-giver. Unfortunately, the last is true.

I don't remember Route 66. Except for the tv show with Kooky Burns getting his kicks there. But many folks are nostalgic about those times.

I used to love to hear high school students who reminiscenced about their golden grade school days. Springsteen calls those times of remberances "glory days". While the high school students hated to hear their parents and teachers pine for days gone by, they jumped right into the gravitational pull of yesteryear when discussing old classmates and times of days gone by.

Nostalgia's appeal to me is like footprints in the sand. We love to put them there. It's as if we've validated our day at the beach. And we hate to see them washed away by the incoming tide or monster wave. Or even a slow ebb of water than gently brushes away our imprints. And, to me, that's what nostalgia is about. We were there. It was fun. We survived. Now mark it. Put up a sign. If not, then share that memory with me. Share the time that we skipped school to watch a World Series game that we didn't care about. Just because we could. If you don't remember that, then somehow you've erased or blotted out a significant memory from high school.

So we hold on. Not because we want to return. But because we survived.

A MASTERS COMPLAINT

Number 12 at Augusta is the middle of Amen Corner as it's pictured above. Without a doubt, it's the signature holes of every golf course. That is, it's the pinnacle. Even Torrey Pines number 6 on the ocean or Pebble Beach's finishing hole can't compare. Though if one were describing the greatest holes of golf, those two would definitely make the list.

But this entry is not about all the good, all the pageantry, the spectacle, the beauty at The Masters. It's about a complaint.

And it's more about our post modern world. At least one segment. Cigar smokers. Oh my goodness how they can destroy a moment. And they're everywhere. Two years ago at the Phoenix Open or FBR I thought they were terrible. Fast forward and head South and I think 10% of the crowd had stogies lit. Some, absolutely terrible. The stench, the foul odor were overpowering.

Initially I thought I might appeal to women. And no, I witnessed no ladies smoking them. In fact, I can't even remember any cigarettes being inhaled. None. But, I decided I could go to a higher power instead--The officials at The Masters.

They could simply ban cigar smoking, heck all smoking. They could take the lead. And improve the quality of air and life of all spectators. They have that much say. What's more, they could start a movement. No smoking at any PGA or LPGA event. I can see it now. Better yet, I can smell the pine trees lining the fairways at Augusta. You have the power--wield it. Please.

AT THE MASTERS

That's right. That's where we've been. Not for the tournament. But for Wednesday's practice round. And while we may not have seen the winner or Tiger or Phil, we were there for a course. And it didn't disappoint.

Good friends of ours, the DeBoers, won a ticket lottery for the practice round and were kind enough to invite us to join them. Not only that, but they picked us up at the airport in Atlanta and drove us to South Carolina for the night before we drove an hour or so to Augusta for the practice round.

So what were our impressions? Wow! is what I caught myself saying a few times.

We walked the long and hilly course watching mostly Justin Leonard as he practiced. An Asian golfer whose name escapes me hit one perfect three wood that flew nearly 300 yards with just a bit of draw. He hit his drive on Number 13 right by where we were walking so we stopped to watch. The sound of club hitting ball was enhanced by the trees. It was simply sweet to the ear.

Amen Corner, aptly named, was our favorite. We sat in the bleachers there and watched several at one of the most beautiful places on earth. Even without the golf, I think I could sit there for about an hour a day and just watch God's creation and the detail to perfection that those at Augusta have paid to the scene. It's one of those experiences that words can't convey.

The food was great with throwback prices. For $1.50, you could enjoy a turkey or barbecue, egg salad or pimento cheese sandwich. For $1.00 a lemonade with souvenir cup. For 50 cents a lemonade in a regular cardboard cup complete with Masters logo. They may have made up for the low prices in their merchandise, but for the most part they weren't over-priced.

To experience The Masters, you just have to go. The attention to detail, tradition, well it's just golf's greatest showcase. Now, if I could just get tickets to one day at the tournament.

I KNOW THEY"RE GOING TO DO IT

In the election campaigning/propaganda. They're going to use this movie title to refer to John McCain. So I'll do it first. I mean they've already called him McSame. And as when Bensen said to Quayle, "You're no Jack Kennedy," I wish his prompters would have advised him to say, "You're right, thank Heaven, I'm not."

What's wrong with McSame? We're safe in the USA. Relatively speaking. There have been zero attacks on our soil since the horrendous 9/11. Zero. American deaths in Iraq, 4,000--that's terrible, I agree. But how many years did it take for that number to exceed those innocent men, women, and children killed at the World Trade Center and Pentagon? And they were not volunteers. Yes, folks, we now have a volunteer army. No draft as in Viet Nam. So don't compare. Don't think I'm slighting any death incurred by the military that I hugely respect. Because I'm not. But they weren't drafted, unwillingly.

The economy (stupid) has been robust. Not, certainly if you listen to the media. But take a ride. What do you see? People in nice SUVs. Sure they're complaining away about gas prices, but that's because they're spoiled. Go to a mall. There may not be huge numbers there, but that's primarily because most have their closets full already from cheap labor products produced elsewhere. Is that all bad?

I could go on. I haven't run out of why conditions in this country are so good. Under the G.W. Bush administration. But, you know what? I'm not going to change one person. Either you see things the way I do or you don't. There is definitely division in our country. Nobama, Nillary, nor McSame are going to change that. Nor will the nightmares of universal health care and immigration.

But I still think the US is a country for old men. And young men. And old and young women. We have problems, sure, but we're so blessed that we can't see the greatness we have to enjoy. If ever the cliche, "don't throw the baby out with the bath water" was apropos, it's now.