A MONOPOLY ROAD TRIP--I'M PUMPED

I remember it well. He was on my bowling team in college. In PE class. He was from Reading, Pennsylvania, and he taught me that the railroad on the Monopoly board is not pronounced the Reading Railroad as a present participle. Instead it's pronounced "redding railroad".

Enlightened, I proceeded to share my new knowledge with other Monopoly players. I felt so intellectual.

But then an idea came to me. Go on a Monopoly road trip. I've been to a few places, Atlantic City's Boardwalk, for instance, but where is Marvin Gardens, and some of the others listed on the popular game board? I love to travel, so with a minimal amount of research and a rental car or two, off I go in search of finding Monopoly's places.

If only I could find someone to go with me besides the hat or thimble.

IS THERE ANYTHING WRONG

with wanting to be remembered? The flowers, the forget-me-nots pictured right make me think of a bad thing. Slighting or eradicating a person who was once meaningful in your life. Not liking is one thing. Obliterating is another.

Coach Mike told me on his retirement from coaching and teaching: "Take your hand and stick it in a bucket of water and shake it all around. When the water settles down again, that's about how long you will be remembered after you walk through that door for the last time."

I'm not sure I quoted him directly, but the general truth rings through. And it's not just with teachers. Forget-me(s) come with all occupations and time frames.

Yet I can still remember most of classmates from grade school. My wife can still remember most of her classmates' birthdays, simply because some grade school teacher had them memorize the names. I can still quote some Macbeth that my high school English teacher had me memorize in English IV. But I can't memorize one bible verse for a week in our Men's Bible Study.

So where am I going with this entry? I don't know. No one likes to be forgotten. Remember all those high school yearbooks that you signed proclaiming friendshp forever. Well, how long is forever? I'm getting to think that it's all relative.

FLYING SAUCERS ARE REAL AND OBAMA AND BIDEN--THAT'S THE TICKET

Did you ever witness so much finger pointing and hand wringing at the same time at the Democrat, not democratic Convention. They are two totally different concepts.

Add to that, did you ever see so many tears? Over nothing. Over Michelle Obama's speech? Are you kidding me?

And, oh, how the big, bad Republicans have ruined the country. Well, save for Nancy Pelousy and Congress. They with a 9% approval rating. A nation of whiners? Maybe not a nation, but I'd say an unrealistic major political party that insists on re-writing recent history.

Bill Clinton swooning over Hilary and mouthing, for the cameras, "I love her." Well, I hope so. I would not want to judge him or anyone on his heart. But I'm reminded that he was impeached although not removed from office, a fact generally forgotten by those in Denver, and it had nothing to do with his love for his wife.

By the way, what would be the opposite of a McCain Nation? Why, an Abomination, spelled ObamaNation. They mean the same.

AN EGG FROM 1962

sits on a shelf in our office/study/computer room/extra bedroom we don't need/den. Precariously close is a boomerang bought in Australia. On a shelf above it, sits an ostrich egg painted on one side with a map of Africa and on the other side drawings on the Big Four African animals.

My egg was made in Mrs. Snodsmith's language arts class in junior high. It's a Santa with a red corduroy coat. It's not very long because my egg was just normal size. How we have kept it all these years I simply don't know. My wife is a good packer and we've been fortunate to keep it out of reach of our children and grandkids.

The boomerang was actually purchased by our daughter. Since she bought four or five and gave them to her friends, she had one friend move to Guatemala, so we scarfed hers up. We threw boomerangs in Australia. Our daughter was better than I, but I cleaned her clock on the spear throwing. I wish I had a spear, just in case.

The ostrich egg was packaged by the seller, and he must have had a lot of experience for it made it fine back to Arizona. It has a fancy stand to sit on for display. My egg used to sit on an empty toilet paper roll. I haven't checked for awhile to see his throne. I checked. It's a fancy little red box that looked like it once held a Christmas ornament.

I don't know why I made that Santa. I remember it wasn't the season, and mine was the only one for Mrs. Snotslinger as we called her, but never to her face. I also remember Coach Thompson really liked my egg. But how I kept it all these years, how I even made it home from school with it are mysteries to me.

THE BUZZARD

Vultures circled the skies waiting for a meal. But they had to get in line. First scavenger on the scene was a yellow billed kite. After he's finished, the bateleurs followed. In German, bateleur means beggar. Wahlberg's eagles were next. Then it was the vultures. They get the juicy remains. It's a chain; it's a hierarchy; its the cycle.

The hooded, the lappetfaced, and the whitebacked vultures were the ones we saw on safari in South Africa. Three buzzards were listed in our comprehensive bird guide, but we were shut out in that area.

And what's the difference between vulture and buzzard? The buzzard is better looking. No, I really don't know. As I've written before, loyal reader(s), I am a latent bird watcher. But if we had had the beautiful birds that Africa possesses, I would have been attracted to them sooner in life.

From kingfishers to jacanas, to my favorite of all--the red billed hornbill. Well, sometimes when I'm desert-locked/land locked, I miss the ocean and cruising. Today, I'm missing the safari.

WHEN YOU ARE LOOKING FOR SOMETHING IMPORTANT

Snail mail is a good term. Even before email and gmail and "you got mail". When you're looking for that check, that invitation, that letter and it doesn't come and it doesn't come, well it's one of life's frustrations.

Acceptance to college, a contract, a picture, an order--all have caused grief. One big pneumatic tube, actually a line of pneumatic tubes from every business, every house in the country, instantly connected. Now there's an idea, Al Gore.

And there are days that we could use a mail box the size of the one pictured. Now, take out all the stuff we'll just throw away, sometimes without much of a perusal at all, and we'd never need one that large.

Plus, I can identify the date, at least the year, that junk mail escalated into what it has become. 1983. We moved into a new house, but still received catalogs and weekly specials addressed to the previous owner. I remember commenting, "She must have ordered everything. She must have never left the house to shop."

It wasn't three months later that we were getting a similar number of circulars. How they have increased since then. But back then I never got anything from some organization entitled AARP.

NOTRE DAME LAW SCHOOL

Not quite yet. But with college football literally kicking off this weekend, I almost am ready to go back to college. Not to the dorm. But a college apartment close to campus.

Just being on a college campus in the Fall or Spring awakens memories. It seems I was always walking in college. I either spent the whole day in one building or my classes were spread out all over the campus. I remember once I got a C in some kind of life science class because of my tardies. My prof from my previous class never dismissed on time, wasn't the kind who would take to complaints, and I couldn't make it to my next class on time no matter how fast I would walk or jog. So I sat in the upper level where the late arrivals sat and got points taken off unfairly. But those Viet Nam War days, students needed college more than they needed us, because of deferments, so we suffered GPA-wise. But when I didn't have to rush, walking on a college campus in good weather is terrific.

But that's not the direction I wanted to take this entry. Our son's choice of law schools was narrowed to Notre Dame and Washington University. I was pulling for the latter because of proximity in St. Louis, and I thought it would be cool to live in the city of the Cardinals and Rams.

When he went to visit Notre Dame and went to a great USC-Notre Dame game, I believe it was, on one of those picture perfect Fall days filled with splashing reds, golds, and yellows, and an ND victory, I thought that cinched it. And I would nothave been crushed had he chosen Notre Dame.

He didn't. But I know that game is in his memory as ASU-Notre Dame's game in Tempe is in mine from a few years back.

So enjoy the Fall and football. And if you live in a college town, get out and take it all in.