THERE WAS ONCE A GUM TREE

on the MTV High campus. No, not like the tree that drops sticky balls in the Fall. Those are Sweet Gums.

This tree was located in front of B Building. I don't know who started it. But when gum got stale, students took the opportunity to place it on the wide trunk of the tree. Multi-colored gum was on display. No pattern, just randomly stuck there.

I thought it pretty cool. For one, it's better than sticking it under desks. There's only one think worse to find under one's desk, but I won't go there.

Number two, it's better than chewing it in class. Unless, like one of my students who hid her pierced tongue from teachers and her parents, no one knows you're chewing gum. But most aren't that secretive. My faves, the gum poppers. Not just the bubble gum poppers, but the ones who somehow move their gum to their front teeth and proceed to pop it rat-a-tat like.

Number three, it's better than throwing it or spitting it on the ground. Stepping in gum, an almost 100% sure thing when attending a Little League baseball game in the 80's, is no fun. In fact, there's only one thing worse to step on. And have to clean up.

So as a teacher, I'd go by the gum tree and smile to myself. Creative. Useful, somewhat. It didn't hurt the tree. It was a tradition, for awhile.

I never added to the tree. But I wish I did.

SLASHERS AREN'T FOR ME

Last night after having watched my SIU Dogs get humiliated against the Dukies and my Suns playing their usual style of basketball, which means losing to good teams, I turned to ER, one of my wife's favorite shows. She was pleased.

Actually we had forgotten about it or I would have capitulated to her choice since the Suns were only in the first half when I rejected them. But my point and to tie in with the Psycho picture, we don't like slasher movies. Well, maybe I like them just a little. I mean who couldn't like Psycho?

But an intern, I think, for you see I've never been able to hear all the dialogue on ER. Many accents, many mumblers, many mumblers with accents. background ER yelling--all lead to muffled verbiage for me even with the volume escalated.

But there was plenty of visual. Back to the intern. He cut into a patient's eye and the blood poured out. It hurt me. I commented, "Our son couldn't watch this." He of eye aversion viewage. "In fact, that got to me." "Me, too."

How Hitchcock could make such an everyday task as showering into such a dreaded, scary event was pure mastermind. Decades after, I'm sure there are many who shower and think of Psycho. And it was made in black and white. And all the blood that was shown was trickling down the drain.

What a movie. What a mind. A slasher movie without special effects. That was Hitch.

DO THEY STILL SPEAK BELCH IN BELGIUM?

I always laugh at that sad joke. Why? I'm just like that.

My first time in Belgium I was on a train from Berlin. It was about dusk and I was wondering, wandering. I'm not sure which. You see, my uncle Carl, whom I never met, was killed in Belgium at the Battle of the Bulge. I was wondering if his body's still there. Oh, they brought it back, but you never know which soldier's actually buried there. For some, there were no dogtags left. Of course, I prefer to think his was properly identified.

Bruges, Belgium, has the quaintest old church I've ever seen. It's huddled at the end of one of those European squares. It was built in 800 AD and people were coming out of worship service when we were there. Little, old Belgium people wrapped up in Winter garb on a nice but brisk autumn day, they could have looked the same way on the day the church held its first service.

A memorable little city, the river that bisects the community attracts houses, mostly stone and masonry as in the photo, right up to its shore. A community based around a nunnery has identical houses built the same way. And as in many European communities, at least to me, it seems that not much is going on. No rush.

Except when getting off the train. A burly old man dropped his heavy suitcase on my foot as we were waiting in line to get off the train. I hopped up into the aisle as soon as the train stopped. You won't beat me out of my seat when the ding indicates it's time to de-board a plane either. But somehow he took offense that I'd gotten ahead of him. He mumbled something in German or Belch and then let it go. Perfectly placed to smash my right foot. I winced and some gutteral words of pain emerged. He just scowled.

For a split second, I thought about decking him right there. I really did, and it really hurt. Better sense prevailed as I limped off the train. Wondering if the guy was a traveling anvil salesman.

THE VALLEY'S AMERICAN LEAGUE MVP

Former ASU second baseman, AL Rookie of the Year in '07 with a World Series ring, Dustin Pedroia was named AL MVP yesterday. Even though some thought him only the 3rd or 4th most valuable to his own team.

I felt good for him. AT 5'9", 185 pounds, a guy who still lives in Chandler, AZ. I remember him starring at ASU. A great hustler, a great worker, but that opinion all changed.

He showed up for his news conference in some kind of hideous Megadeath or a facsimile thereof tee shirt with a demonic looking guy in a hoodie wearing a huge cross. C'mon, Pedroia. Is that all that was clean in your closet? Did you not realize there might just be media there to snap photos as well as a tv interview or three?

Just to the west a little bit there's another valley resident who's putting up legitimate MVP numbers himself. Maybe you've heard of him. His name is Kurt Warner. You might just want to watch him closely. He's what they simply call class.

FROM THE TWILIGHT ZONE

to Outer Limits to Lost to Heroes.

I don't really know why my tv taste runs the gamut of these kinds of offerings. I'm not a big science fiction fan at all. Especially the hi tech stuff.

Remember loyalists, I'm not very gifted in those areas. As I've confessed, I'm on tv four or five that have PIP, which remains a mystery to me. This weekend when our daughter visited, I had to have her show me how to move a VCR tape from SP rather than SLP. So the how something works, would just be frustrating to me.

But fantasy science fiction, like Ray Bradbury's novels appealed to me. I use the past tense there because recently I read an article about a near 90 year old Bradbury and his lack of spirituality. That, like entertainers spouting their political convictions, has a way of getting me to ignore them even as they practice their art. Perhaps that's pretty little on my part. But I'm working on it.

Why the appeal? I guess it may be a lack of quality shows on tv. Most I've never watched because of the inane commercials featuring innuendos that I might have found interesting in junior high. But before any of that tasteless stuff was shown, I still didn't care for all that much tv. So go figure.

While you're at it, analyze why I like The Amazing Race, Cold Case, and really nothing else rather than sports. Because that's my viewing habits. With a little of Bill O'Reilly thrown in. Maybe I should re-title this entry: From the Twilight Zone to The No Spin Zone.

I CHOSE A TOUGH SONG, OK?

Fifth grade. Chorus tryouts. In front of the whole class. I selected "A Bicycle Built for Two". I didn't perform it well.

Somehow I got by. But I've always thought I had a better singing voice than anyone else. Maybe that needs explanation. I've always thought I sang better than other people thought I sang. Including Geneva Elder, my fifth grade teacher.

Once a friend from high school and I thought we could sing. We sang "Blue Moon" in his basement to his guitar accompaniment. We even sang at a party one night. Note the emphasis on one. That's right, no one ever asked us again. All that practice for a one night stand.

Once, notice again the operative word I sang in the church choir on Baptists Men's Day. I had two chances: the Minister of Music and I stood right in back of our Lead Pastor. Neither offered me a invitation to join the regular choir.

Finally, again, notice the operative word, a friend of mine at BSF straight forwardly told me I had missed quite a few notes during our singing of a familiar hymn. Maybe the operative word was friend rather than finally.

I know that God wants to hear us make a joyful noise. But somehow that lessens the effect. Noise and singing are in direct opposition if done correctly.

Maybe I would do better if I went back to Miss Elder's class, to the bicycle song and "Daisy, Daisy give me your answer do". On second thought, I guess I just might not be that much better and have to announce, "I do not sing better than a fifth grader."

WHEN IS THE SUN ICE COLD?

When it shines at severe angles off snow. When it blinds you with reflection. When you ask that question and get that icy response. When you ask that question and get silence or only a stare.

When your breath clouds or fogs the brilliance. When it cannot melt the driveway frozen rain that won't allow your car to make the climb necessary to negotiate the hill. When the wind that has blown all clouds away warps your eyes with its sting and blocks your vision.

When, like Dr. Zhivago, your facial or headcovering hair is frozen stiff. When you're bathing it the glow and with uplifted face, you catch a snowball's direct hit.

When you first get into your car and turn on the defrost as you ready yourself to remove the remains of the night's freezing rain, glazed and hardened, on your windshield.

The joys of a Northern or Midwest Winter.