WHY NO OTTER LOVE

The Heroes cheerleader loves whales. A whole bunch of activists near LaJolla love seals. The ugly (to me) manatee has supporters. But I have heard of no otter lovers.

On a great Alaskan cruise a few Summer's ago, we took an excursion on a boat that got extremely close to a family of otters. A big family or herd, whatever a group of otters is called. They played, they sunned, they swam. Of course they ate, and we were privy to a close up view.

I think they're pretty cool. But they seem unpopular. Overlooked. I mean I know of zero sports teams named The Otters. There are all kinds of teams named after practically every animal species, but I know of no otters. I know, I could have googled to see, but I'll just rely on memory.

I guess there could be jokes about them. You know, playing the Otter team. Slogans, "Don't bother with The Otters," "The Otters get Hotter with each Win." I guess even a free agent signing could garner some humor: "Otters ink Jones to a contract." Ok, maybe the ink (bl)Otter reference was a stretch.

I guess there are tons of others ignored, too. I know of no Seahorses, Starfish, Albacores, Flying Squirrels, or Roof Rats. Just to name a few.

But c'mon. There are even Catfish, Mudhens, Hedgehogs, and Clabber Bones. The last two from our Rotisserie Baseball Leagues. But even there, no Otters have surfaced.

THE DAWNING

of a new day. Today marks my 1,000th post on On the QT. Wow. I didn't know I had so much to say. If you've been with me even part of the way, thanks so much. As The Righteous Bros sang, "You're my inspiration."

Two things. First of all I've been blessed to be able to travel so much. I still have lots more to see, Lord willing, but I never tire of going. Or returning home. Home is Arizona now, and Arizona does something definitely different than I have observed anywhere else. TV stations re-show their news. One, two, three hours later. Now I've seen the 10 o'clock news replayed at 2 AM for night shift workers. But I've never seen the 6 o'clock news shown again at 7, 8, 9 o'clock.

But when I catch the 7 AM news re-shown in mid-afternoon, I often think about what has transpired that day for me personally. For example, had I known the Rams were going to be down 40-0 at halftime, I might have stuck around the church a little longer, talking to friends and fellowshipping as we like to call it. I know, for Baptists fellowshipping usually, in fact, most always involves food. But not always.

I'm also reminded of friend Brad from MTV who used to ask me, "How'd you spend this day that you were given?" I'd tell him. He'd just nod, maybe make a positive comment. But he would never jump in and tell me what he had done, unless I asked.

So at the dawning of 1,ooo plus entries, I guess I'll continue. Until they become too much of a chore. Spend your day well. "Live, love, laugh," is a plaque above our son and daughter-in-law's fireplace. It's sometimes just that simple.

RUST

That's what I used to feel like after a series of rains moistened the ground and dampened my spirits. A rain hater? Yes, I am. I feel guilty about that living in a desert where every precious drop is appreciated, so I must amend. I'm not a rain hater here. Just every other place on earth not in the throes of a drought.

Rain outs, rain delays, sun spoilers--I just never liked to be out in the rain. I think I would have preferred God's original plan to water from the ground up through springs. But The Flood produced the first sky rain, and it's been around ever since.

I don't mind sleeping to the sound of rain on the roof. Kinda like the sound of a far off train. But to be caught in the rain, to be drenched, to be soaked to the bone, well, that's not for me. The chill with the rain. Freezing rain. Driving rain. Windshield wipers scraping across, denying visibility.

Well, enough. Even Fred Astair could have danced better on drier ground.

CROOKED LETTER "I" , HUMPBACK, HUMPBACK

My first bridge love was the Eads in St. Louis over the Mississippi. Going to one Cardinal baseball game per year with the Little League.

We would ride the Big Yellow, pack a lunch, get there early and stay till the night game was over. They always put a picture of all of us in the newspaper. Little Leapers, Minor Leaguers, and Ex-Minor League boys ages 8-12.

Besides the traditional singing of "99Bottles of Beer on the Wall," came the spelling of the Mighty Mississip. M-I crooked letter, crooked letter i,crooked letter, crooked letter i, humpback, humpback i. I bet lots of MTV boys learned how to spell Mississippi that way. I know I did.

The Brooklyn Bridge, the Bridge at Coronado, the Golden Gate, the one(s) over the Seine, and the beautiful Charles Bridge (pictured) are other great ones. The bridge in Sydney, I know, is our daughter's favorite since she climbed it a few years ago. The span over the water leading into Sarasota, Florida, is one of the scariest bridges I've crossed over.

There are tons more all over the world. A beautiful one in Panama City that joins Central and South America is yet another worth mentioning.

The ones worth forgetting are the suspension ones you walk over as they sway and sink. That's where my love of bridges ceases.

HAPPY DAY TO THE VETERANS

I loved long weekends. But I never thought them quite fair. To shuffle a holiday around, I mean. Isn't that just a little squirrelly? Veterans' Day is the perfect example. On the 11th day at the 11th hour of the 11th month--hey that's significant. That's why it's celebrated on the 11th of November.

Veteran (pun) readers will note I have no military experience. Except as an admirer of the men and women who do. I guess I could say I have no professional golf experience either, but I appreciate and follow what they do, too.

I don't want that last comment to mean I'm being flippant to the veterans. Even though I almost wound up with a Ph.D. because of student deferments and teaching that classified me as 2-S rather than 1-A. Which meant I did not have to serve in Viet Nam.

I know, today that's not a popular thing to say. That I avoided military service. But I intentionally did. And if put in the same position again, I think I'd make the same choice about Nam. That doesn't mean I can't, didn't, or won't continue to pray for our military.

And celebrate veterans and Veterans' Day. On the 11th and every other day.

HE HAD IT, BUT THIS ISN'T IT

Newman's smile. Oh, sure, he's smiling big here. But it wasn't the Cool Hand Luke smile. The kind that makes you wonder. Does he know something I don't? Is he judging me?

While many would think of the blue, blue eyes when they think off Newman, I think of that smile. Like he could do anything. Remember the eggs from that movie? Or the woman tease washing her car in full view of the chain gang? Just that look of his said it all.

He displayed it in a few other movies, even in The Sting, where it was required. Sometimes in Butch Cassidy, when they were deciding whether or not to jump, but his best role for that smile was no doubt Cool Hand.

I knew a few other people who had it. Danny Vaught and Clayton Sammons come to mind. Most thought them to be smart alecs. Many thought me to be that way, too. So maybe that's why I'd practice that smile in front of a mirror. I never could get it, though.

Hey, maybe it was crazy to try. But as much as I enjoy eggs, I never was tempted to try to eat 50. So, see, I wasn't that stupid. Was I?

"THAT'S FAKE"

At one time, that would or might have been the response of our 5 year-old grandson. You see, he went through one of those stages where he was keyed in on what was real and what wasn't. He might have questioned the use of the straw by the squirrel just dieing for some Coke.

But there are a lot of other things that we shouldn't take for real:

Today in my e-mail junk box, I was informed that I had won a large amount of money from some contest or drawing in England. "Great! I don't even remember entering!" Of course, I didn't and it's another scam to be wary of.

Hair dye, implants, and botox. Add most selective plastic surgery. I should specify--hair dye for men. The ladies, at least some of them, have that art down to a science. Or is it the other way around? But those who create cannot come up a suitable dye for men's hair. So the men wear the shoe polished look (some women, too), and well, that's fake. Implants? C'mon. Who looks like that? And, really, who cares? Botox. Well, Biden and Kerry are the twin poster boys of that look. They must go to the same doctor. If you ever find a wrinkle in the forehead of Biden, please send me a picture. He's so tight up there, it gives ME a headache.

All the trumped up Obama support. Now. After the election. I've never seen such excitement over a President -elect. One of our neighbors waited until after the election results to put an Obama 2008 bumper sticker on his car. He may not be the most popular neighbor in the 'hood, but right now he's the proudest. I wonder what another neighbor thinks of him--this neighbor proudly displayed six pumpkins carving out the letters N-O-B-A-M-A for his Halloween decorations. Nationally, the media is giddy. Especially the news anchors. Maybe it's genuine, but if it is, then that just makes it more sickening.

In one of our JAVA magazines that high school students produced, there was a picture of a farmer's wife looking to the sky at a huge head of a superimposed dog. It was a clever picture with possible underlying implications. But I'm sure no one believed it to be real. Just like the winning ticket, the hair dye, the implants, the botox, and the Obama frenzy. Well, at least for two of us in our subdivision.