TO OTIS

WITH LOVE

ANDY AND WIFE

WITH DOG

This Christmas card from the estate of Hal Smith, Otis Campbell from The Andy Griffith Show, spawned a question. Do any people collect Christmas cards from famous people?

I think it would be pretty interesting to see what kinds of cards different famous people sent. We spend some time selecting the kinds of cards we send. They're important to us. Rather than just send what's on sale, though we're not adverse to that either, they still must have something about the celebration of the birth of the savior. I mean that is why we celebrate.

While I love cardinals, and there's nothing wrong with Joy, Andy's card could probably be found in the sale item bin. It's pretty generic. Along with the verse.

But maybe I shouldn't be too rough on him. Maybe he wasn't all that close to Hal (Otis). Maybe Otis was the town drunk in real life and so he warrented only a marginal card or left over from the previous Christmas.

Cards, like appearances, tell a lot about people. One of the funniest Christmas cards I ever saw was one a friend sent to a friend. Talk about recycled. It was one sent to him by another friend. He simply magic-markered the name out and signed his name below the mark out.

I wonder if any of the stars ever did that. Maybe Jack Benny. But if no one has ever thought of collecting Christmas cards from celebs, well, feel free to borrow my idea.

WIN, BABY, JUST WIN

Colonel John is 4-1 odds to win the Kentucky Derby. One other horse, Brown Boy or something is the favorite. I'm rooting for the Colonel.

Not betting, mind you, just rooting. You see, I'm not much interested in horse racing. I've never been to one. Not even the Hamiltonian which was world harness racing at DuQuoin, IL, a short drive from my hometown. Nor Cahokia Downs, another short drive west. I never went to The Derby though I have been to the track off- season. Even though some good friends of mine boarded a charter bus for The Derby every year. They always came back with great stories and fun times to relay. They taught me that there are races all day that first Saturday in May. I thought there was only one. Silly me.

But I've never known an owner of a horse in The Kentucky Derby. Until this year. High school and college friend Kenny Troutt owns Colonel John and Winstar Farms in upstate, as they call it, New York. The horse won a previous race (at Hialeah?) to qualify and get a good pole position, as I understand it. Number 10, while the favored has a bad position at Number 20.

I really don't know what that means. I really don't know much about racing. I can't remember the last race I watched. I know Barbaro or Barbosa or Barberella died and I was sad, but that was a few years ago.

All I know is I'm going to watch on Saturday and cheer for the Colonel. It would be pretty cool to see him and Kenny in the Winner's Circle.

ATTENTION TO DETAIL

So what did I like about this photo? I mean besides the two people in it. Little things, insignificant things on the surface that are quite important, quite revealing.

Little stuff used to be important to me. Then I started to become a big picture guy later in life. Still later, I've returned to the detail man.

As Ricky Ricardo said, "Let me 'splain."

In the Upper Room at The Last Supper, Jesus revealed to His disciples that one would betray Him. "Lord, Surely it is not I," nearly all protested. Yet the betrayer, Judas, called Jesus, Rabbi. Because that's all He was to him, a teacher and not the very Son of God and Lord of his life. I never noticed that until recently.

In the picture, Nancy Reagan appears taller than her husband. She wasn't. Yet it didn't bother the President to appear of lesser stature in the picture. It's telling. There are a lot of men driven by their own ego, that would never approve.

When I was in high school, a good friend of mine who stood 5'6" took a girl 6'1" to a school dance. Their picture was displayed in their home. It affected me. I thought they looked silly together, though I never told him. Standing a full two inches taller than he, I wouldn't even ask a girl out whom I liked because she was two inches, at the most, taller. She knew we liked each other, but she never knew why I couldn't go out with her.

When our son was a 6'0" freshman, he found the only girl in his class taller than he to take to his first Homecoming Dance. It didn't bother him. And he was just a frosh at the time. It didn't bother Mr. Reagan either, at least not his position in the picture. Hey, maybe Scott's Presidential.

Or maybe his father was just a little too much into himself.

The details I'm paying more attention to now are more scriptural than height. I'm finding (finally) that not only is the Bible God -breathed, but also that every word in The Word is significant and there for a purpose.

WHERE'D THE PULLEY BONE GO ?

I never see a pulley bone anymore. I used to pull them all the time. Now our chicken isn't fried. Maybe you have to fry chicken to get a pulley bone.

Also I need to find out from a vet what part of the chicken a pulley bone comes from.ALso a spelling clarification, cause it could be pully bone. I bet it's not even the real name. Like the funny bone. I wonder if any animals have funny bones? Or if we humans have a pulley bone out of the 210 we have in our bodies.

I also wonder who Boney Maroney was. And why there are no bones in a banana. Why fish tastes better with the bones in it, even if they are expertly filleted? Why it's said a person with no gumption has no backbone.

Why are some bones in ham round? And why gravy from ham is called frog eye. Ok, I guess I can answer that one. Why is hambone played by slapping hands to other parts of the body? What does that have to do with hambone. And it's called gumboot in Africa. Where they slap off a boot. The gum comes from the material, a rubber galosh. Can galosh be singular? "Has anyone seen my galosh? I can only find one. It's my left one, I think." At least some kids put em on the wrong feet. But I think they just call them boots now.

If I had a pulley bone right now, I'd pick the right side, wish I knew the answers to all these important queries posed, and pull like the Dickens. Or is it dickins?

WASH OUT

A convertible just went by. With the top down. All I have is a sunroof. Closed most of the time. Like our house.

Forced air is what I breathe unless I'm outside. It's not a choice. It's a command. By the One I Love. I accept. Grumbling, all too often.

I've always liked to be outside. I taught for years without A/C. I wanted forced air then. But for me, even if it means my allergies act up, I'll take the air. Even in the cold Midwest nights, I'd sleep with a window cracked if it were up to me.

Now when it gets uncomfortably hot or cold, I'm ready for some forced. But until then, bathe me with breezes. But not stagnancy. Air must move, not stifle.

And the sun. Oh, yes. Bright sunshiney days. Maybe a small white cloud floating along, but it must move. It must not join others to form any kind of curtain. Except for just after sunrise and just before sunset. Then it can cloud up to hide the reflective brightness at eye level. But then it can clear up again for spectacular sunrises and sunsets, multi-colored, multi-formed.

Is all that too much to ask? Of course not. See how easy I am to get along with?

IT'S NOT EASY BEING ON THE GREEN

I'm not nearly as good a golfer as most think. So how did I get the rep as a good golfer? I play. Not a lot. Not now. But it doesn't matter. I'm just not very good.

And if people get the idea I am, it's nothing I've said. Other than I play golf. But many people in MTV and Scottsdale think I'm much better than I am. They obviously haven't played with me.

At one time, I got my handicap into single digits. It was after my career best round. I practiced a lot. I hit golf balls on the driving range. But I wasn't having as much fun.

Not that I'm having fun now. Well, at times. My last round was an 84. Not bad except for my front 9. Except for my tee shot on Number One. And several others after that. I was so disgusted that it wasn't fun. Then came the back nine. I parred 6 holes, birdied one, double bogied one, and bogeyed one for a 38. I had fun.

But see I'm too lazy to practice and work at my game. I'm even too stubborn to take a lesson. In golf, that's crucial. But I've always been that way. In sports and school and life. I know what it takes to do well, but I'm not motivated to.

It's like changing the channel on the tv. I'd rather watch a dumb show than get up and change the channel. Well, obviously I have a remote and have no trouble clicking; I'm not that lazy yet. But you get my gist.

So I hope the holes today look as big as the one in the picture. I'll need them to in order to score well. But if I actually played a hole with that large of a cup, I'd probably be too lazy to lie on my belly and reach to retrieve the made putt.

HOWIE'S BOY

A big day, Draft Day for the NFL. It's time for unworthy teams to pick from the best of the college ranks to improve their feeble team of the previous season. Almost no team was feebler than the Rams last year when they won a total of 3 games. So they got to draft second to the Dolphins who won one game.

The NFL has been called the No Fun League because of the rules, penalties, and shenanigans of some of the owners. It's also famous for its parity, which translates to mediocrity. However, in pro football more than any other sport, programs rule.

So no matter how badly NFL teams draft, the ones who know how to run a football operation will continue to prosper while the ne'er-do-wells continue in their same bath of cluelessness. I happen to support a team that once won a Super Bowl, lost a Super Bowl and then fell flat.

But they made headway back to respectability by their Number One pick from Virginia, Chris Long. I dare you not to like him. Not only as a player, but as a person. He's articulate, personable, comes from great stock, and should be a St. Louis landmark at DE for years to come. Also, he just made last year's pick, Adam Carraker better.

And just when you start feeling better about the chances of the Rams' returning to their glory years, they draft an unknown at Number 2. A wide out from Houston named Donnie Avery with the 33rd pick of the draft. Passing over name after name. One scribe had Avery as the 11th best wide receiver, but the first one taken in this entire draft.

Man, I hope I'm wrong. I'd never heard of him. Our son, a devout draftnik had. And he was depressed with the pick, sickened by Rams personnel who think they know better than all the others. "Thirty-one other teams are laughing at that pick," Scott said. And he's probably right.

The only explanation is one of semantics. Maybe the Rams thought it was Daft Day. At least Round 2.