WHAT NO CAPPUCCINO?!

If there were no cappuccino in the world, I might just look like this. Actually, it's been less than a week since I discovered and fell in love with it.

After our morning walk, there's nothing better. But today, the little place we go to had its machine on the fritz. So as soon as I get addicted, I'm deprived.

My day started out badly. I cut myself shaving. A rarity. But I've learned that once a blade gets a taste of blood, it's time to throw it away. For I'm certain it will cut me again. I could shave on average 6 days with one blade. Most times no bumps, no abrasions, no blood. But just give that Mach One a morsel of blood under the nose or on the chin and it becomes maniacal. Vampire-like, it craves more blood as I crave cappuccino. Especially when I'm denied.

So I'm going to show that razor blade who's boss. I'm holding on to for 4 more days. I will allow no blood to seep into its crevice between blades 1 and 2 or 2 or 3. I'll be so careful that I may leave stubble that's the in-thing to do these days anyhow. Only that facial hair on the metrosexuals is always dark. Mine is no longer, so it looks at best like sand on my face.

As I left the little shop, I met a man with his dog. We talked about his pup and how she's learning how to behave around people. She did well around us. As we left he said, "Make it a great day."

Not "Have a good day." Not "Have a nice day." Not the generic "Have a good one," but "Make it a great day."

I like that a lot. Even with a razor cut and no cappuccino. I think I will.

WHAT SAYS SUMMER BEST?

In first grade I remember our teacher referred to herself in the third person. It didn't help that I didn't know her name. So when she kept alluding to what Mrs. Hilliard did and didn't like, I thought when is this Mrs. Hilliard coming? I didn't know. But I knew what she did and didn't like. So I was ready.

I remember once we were to raise our hands indicating our preference for the season we liked best. I sat near the back of the room by the windows. I could observe the number of hands that went up when she asked Fall, then Winter. So when Spring came, my hand flew up along with a few others.

Then Summer. My favorite. But I still remember thinking to myself, "I didn't know she would ask us about Summer." I felt I had lied. I had been untrue to my favorite of all.

Even with the extreme heat in the Southwest, it's still my favorite. I mean how could it not be with swimming and baseball and golf and no school. Ripe red tomatoes and corn and of course watermelon.

No other food, even cooked out burgers and brats and dogs can symbolize or at least represent Summer like watermelon. Rainer cherries are to be included in the mix. But watermelon just oozes Summer out.

If Mrs. Hilliard asked me now, I'd get it right. True to my school. True to my season.

I GUESS HE FOUND HER

and her misspelling.

Announcer and former Twins' pitcher Bert Blyleven searches the stands for unique signs. He found one here.

Why is spelling important anyway?

My first big fau pax was in Freshman English class. In order to secure your A in the class, you had to do some kind of project or take a B. That's the way it was back then.

Wanting the A, I made a poster listing the prepositions in alphabetical order. I misspelled the title Prepostions. I still got the A, but was embarrassed about my poster. It, along with the others, hung up in the classroom for far too long for me.

My favorite spelling rule, by the way, is the most famous of them all. I before E except after C. What I love about it, is that it's wrong 83% of the time. That's right. If that's the only part of the rule you know, then you're better off not knowing it.

Now when you add the rest of the rule unless sounding like a as in neighbor and weigh, then that ups the odds greatly. How greatly, I don't recall.

Well, class, that's the spelling lesson for the day. Now go out there and do your best. But if you mess up, don't feel badly.

(Actually, it's don't feel bad. One hundred per cent of the time unless you're talking about someone who physically is unable to feel because of a lack of feeling in the fingers. Only, repeat only then is it I feel badly.)

WHEN IT'S TIME, IT'S TIME

Far too many words have been written. Much too much tv air time.

And did you note that the Vikes' coach who picked him up at the airport didn't wear his seat belt. Oh well, I was just trying to write something new about Brett Favre's return (did he really ever leave) to football. This time with the hated Vikings.

But I thought the picture on the right said it all. To the fans of the Cheesiest State, "Brent, we hardly knew ye."

WASN'T YESTERDAY INDEPENDENCE DAY?

So, I never ever called it that. Still. My grandkids are back in school already. The local high school has started up again without me. Nine school starts now.

Nine. It doesn't seem possible. My last charges are now nearing their 30's.

Has it really been that long since Superintendent Shields announced in a school-wide assembly the start of the 1971-72 school year? He expected great things to happen that year. I guess they did.

I mean teachers (or teachers, mean--emphasis on the adjective when worded like that) taught or at least filled up the 59 minutes that made up the class hour. Students grew. Physically and mentally. Socially, too, I hope, for that is certainly a necessity for adolescents. Much more than by products of education.

I still remember many of the students in the first class I taught and the last class. Don't ask me much about the middle years. In fact, I don't even recall much of the '80's. I was there, I guess. But I'd be hard pressed even to name all my JAVA staff editors.

But I don't blame it on them or me. I blame it on starting school too blame early. Not until the last bottle rocket remain has been removed from the yard.

WHAT PART DO YOU LIVE IN?

Two friends of mine are talking. One says he just returned from Hong Kong. The other replies,"Did you go to Chinatown?"

Yes, I guess you could say I have some friends with weird senses of humor.

Chinatown in San Fran is of course the best known. And lots of cities have Little Italy. But until yesterday I hadn't heard of Japantown. I think it, too, is in SF.

In a post from a few days ago I mentioned some of my neighbors from my old 19th St. neighborhood. I had never made the connection that so many were of German descent. I know Germantown is not too far away. But so is Shawneetown. We didn't have any Indians in our 'hood. So who could know?

I know; I know--it's Native Americans. But why do we have to distinguish anymore? If we're citizens of the US, then we're all Americans aren't we? And if we truly want equality then why separate, compartmentalize into Blacks/African Americans; White/European Americans?; Oriental Americans/Asian Americans, etc., etc., ad infinitum?

Did it make any difference to me that my neighborhood was mostly German? Heck, I didn't even know until about a week ago.

To paraphrase Rodney King, "Can't we all just belong?"

WHERE DO YOU DO YOUR BEST THINKING?

Some I know prefer the beach. Walking barefoot, making footprints so easily washed away. Like a thought once embraced but on the face of reality is also washed away.

Others go to the woods. Emerson did. But not all are like him. Even his buddy Thoreau went to the town of Concord every week or so to hear the gossip. To be fully Appalachian or Rockied or Smokied, one has to spend some serious time there. By the way, there is no differentiation between the woods and the mountains.

Some exercise to sweep away the cobwebs. Whether jogging or marathon running. Whether treadmilling or walking, one can think or remove any thought at all.

Some, like Pooh have a private Thinking Place. It might be a study, a library, a bedroom, a church, a ball field, a golf course. It may even be before a computer screen.

It may include music. For some, that's an absolute must. Whether with earphones, headphones, or heavy bass nearly shaking the car, it doesn't matter. Just as long as there's music in the air.

The problems of the world are at our disposal. If we only can find a place to think the thoughts, dream the dreams, or simply escape.

CONFESSION WITH AN ANSWER

I was gone last week. To a destination that must be kept secret. You'll soon see why.

I pulled into a grocery store parking lot into the second spot from the end. The store's parking is the back of a paved alley. As soon as I turned, I told my wife that it was a one way street (alley). And I had turned into it going the wrong way.

As I got out of my vehicle I heard a "Sir," and turned to see a policewoman armed with pad.

"Did you see the One Way sign right there?"

"No ma'am, I did not. I'm sorry."

"Well, it's a pretty big sign."

"I promise, I will never do it again."

The look on her face was one of utter surprise. I'll never forget it. It was as if no one had ever told her that before.

"You could have killed someone."

Silence on my part.

"I know you're on vacation, but you have to be more careful."

"Thank you so much," was my relieved response.

The next day I'm walking down the street. The same officer sees me and smiles. She asks, "Are you heading the right way?"

"Yes, I am. And how are you doing today?"

"Fine," she said.

Me, too.