SHE HAS IT ALL WRONG

She needs to be listening. But I assume she is. And Grandma is paying attention to her, too, like a good Grandma would do.

But the elder one's tale is more important. Because when she is gone, so are all her stories. So is all the history, all the times of a bygone age that was important to her and her granddaughter.

For once it's gone, it's gone.

I'm often asking my older brother about a relative or a time prior to my existence. Some stuff not very entertaining; some very personal that might not mean too much to others, but for me and my family vital.

For instance, he was working in the back of the Red and White Grocery Store my parents and my mom's brother and wife co-owned. A shipment of potatoes had just come in and he sorting them into ten-pound bags when he heard a horrific scream from my mother.

A Western-Union messenger on a bicycle brought her the news that her brother had been killed in The Battle of the Bulge. And yet I need a clarification from him as to whether or not my uncle's wife and our grandmother were working in the store when the news came. He only shared about our mom's scream. After my uncle's death, Dad and Mom sold the store: they just didn't have the heart for it anymore.

It's just that sort of thing. Important? Well, to me it is. Details are important, and eye witness accounts have been accepted since Mosaic law. So I'd like to know.

Don't let the opportunity pass you by. Listen and share family/friend stories from long ago. It's an important kind of literature--a lasting kind.

"THE SYSTEM WORKED"



And how it worked, Janet. She of nat. security spake such erudite words after evaluating the "Underwear Bomber" who tried to bring down a plane from Amsterdam to Detroit.



Was she misquoted? Nope. Was her quote taken out of context? Not really, and if it was somewhat when you read the entire passage, it still makes no sense. Will she survive? Undoubtedly.

Why? It's simple. You see, she is in the elite. The effete snobs that Spiro Agnew talked about so many years ago. The liberal bias that permeates the news, tv shows, movies--the entertainment industry.

Just look at and compare the nonsense/gaffs/mistakes made by conservatives and liberals. If a conservative-appointed advisor (they never had czars, thankfully) had uttered Napolitano's words, he would have had to resign because of pressure from the other party and the media. Only Bayh from Indiana and a few others called Janet on the carpet.

What if Richard Nixon had said "It depends on what the meaning of the word is is," as Bill Clinton did, every school child in the country would still remember it. Ask now which President uttered those words and I'd guess only about 5% could identify authorship.

Ask what Veep couldn't spell potato and you'll get a higher number.

Which leads me to pose another question? Was the Watergate break-in and cover up worse than what Harry Reid did bribing a Nebraska senator for his vote on the heath care fiasco bill? I think not.

That, in fact, may just be the kind of mantra this administration is wanting--"I think not."

THE OLD TREE



That's the title of this photograph and it brings back memories of the old tree shadowing the Number 1 tee box at Green Hills Golf Club in MTV. We used to say what tales that old tree could tell.

I've written before about 3 of us teeing off in the snow at midnight to start the new millennium. Only one of us hit the drive very far. Too much laughing And, no, not one of us had had a drop to drink.

But I think of all the wagers made under the boughs. All the bull. All the gusto. The planning and conniving. There may even have been a lie or two told under the branches.

But there was also pressure felt. It used to bother me to hit a golf shot when there were lots of people around. One afternoon back in the mid-eighties, when Coach Red and I were teeing off, a big Junior Tourney, State Farm sponsored, I believe, had just concluded except for a few stragglers on the back nine. A typically scorching Summer afternoon found fifty or so finished players milling around the shade of the old tree as we teed off.

Coach Red was about a 2 handicapper, so he felt nothing except the adrenaline of a competitor ready to show his stuff in front of a crowd. Sure enough he hit a huge drive with a power fade that landed in the middle of the fairway.

Next up was a nervous double digit handicapper who kept trying to erase the thought that these guys sitting around here watching me hit a tee shot are really good golfers, and if I dub it will laugh, at least to themselves.

I tried not to kill it and stay down on the ball. It took off straight and had the same power fade that the coach had hit. It landed right next to his. "Throw a blanket on it" as the saying goes. Thankfully Coach Red didn't make some kind of humorous statement, like "so you decided to hit it in the air today, huh?" But I think he was proud of me, too. That we had crushed tee shots in front of a gallery.

The funny thing is that I never get nervous hitting in front of anyone after having had that experience. Oh, I still have reason, too, and I would love to plug that shot into the old computer of my muscle memory to pull out and duplicate, but it just doesn't bother me anymore to hit in front of an audience.

I wonder what would have happened had I hit the same drive I did back in 2000?

"NOT ME"

My Mother was protective. Not so much of me. But let someone mess with me, or I discovered in later years, one of my or my brother's children and she was heck on wheels.

When our daughter was about 3 years old, she was sitting with my Mom on a mall bench awaiting our return from a store where I had to tell my wife four or six times how good she looked in an outfit and yes, she should buy it. You see, my wife looks good and has always looked good in any outfit, but at times she needs reassurance that the ensemble does her justice. So I nod and sincerely encourage.

While we were engaged, a woman barrels around the corner and flattens our daughter. She's concerned and humbled by bowling over a little girl who shook it off. But my Mom won't let her apologize. "Are you ok? Do you feel ok? How do you feel?" the assailant asked.

"How would you feel if someone not looking where she was going knocked you down?" my Mom countered. The flustered lady left.

Which brings me to the picture. Two houses catycornered from us when I was little was the home of two of the meanest people I ever knew--the Baumgardners. I never saw either of them smile. Ever.

One day my Mom got a call from the Mrs. who said when I got out of the back seat of our car, that I had patted my butt at her. She demanded that my Mom keep me on my side of the street.

"I'm not going to keep him on our side of the street and I'd like to see you try to do it." That was her response. And, I must object. Not to what Mom had said, but if I for some reason patted my rear end, it wasn't at that woman.

People who knew her would tell you that Mom was the kindest, loving person around. Just don't mess with her kids or grandkids or she would go on the attack mode.

Thanks, Mom for always standing up for us. Even when we didn't deserve it. Which in my case was most of the time.

A SPIDER SAFARI

Once upon an African trip we saw lots of early morning spider webs. Huge webs highlighted by the morning dew and brightly angled sun.

Actually, our target was the big five--lions, elephants, Cape buffaloes, black rhinos, and leopards, but for our first sightings of one safari day, we spotted webs.

There were magnificent. As in the picture, one could see the intricacies of architecturally designed catching machines. But whether anything was captured or not, I like to think the spider proud of the creation. The magnanimity of the effort. Kinda like a good feeling after a hard day's physical labor.

I guess I can identify with the spider because if I could weave a web, one of the first things I would want to catch is some sun rays, too. I would also want to catch some predator or annoyance. And I wouldn't mind catching an insect either--just to keep him away from me. Or maybe for exhibit.

Most of the webbing we saw that day contained no spiders who must be earlier risers than we, or late workers on the graveyard shift. And while their efforts were appreciated, they weren't the Big 5. Which we saw in our three day sojourn. Well, at least my wife got to see the leopard--I had a morning in the room recovering from something eaten the night before. Probably snagged from a spider's web.

" ON THE QT WITH OBAMA AND THE DUKE"

With apologies all around. First for the tone, although I'll say, "hey, I didn't start it--he did." (That used to work in school sometimes). As well as in the 'hood.

Second to Walt, a friend who sent me an e-mail with the two pictures in it. I didn't credit him nor thank him for his good rock solid conservative responses he shares.

Third to the guy who wrote "Willie, Mickey, and the Duke;" once again memory fails and lackadaisacality sets in so I didn't Google him (a fourth apology). I did write to him once and he sent me a nice note.

Besides apologies and the sentiment of the quotes under the pictures, well, I don't have much to add. I have no idea if John Wayne's quote is real. I doubt that Mr. Obama's is. But both have a veracity to them. And if they didn't say them, they could have. So there you have it.

SMOOTH

"C'mere."

"Oh, hi."

"Let me smell you?"

"Huh?"

"Didn't you just come from the tanning bed?"

"Hot Spots. Sure, it's right there."

"I love to smell girls' skin after they've tanned. Well, at least Amy."

"You haven't been seeing her for a long time now."

"Will you just let me smell you?

Silence.

"Just your arm. Or your neck."

Still silence. Both feeling uncomfortable now.

"What are you expecting me to smell like exactly?"

"Hard to say. It's not Summer exactly. More like leather. You know, being tanned."

"My wrist."

"That'll be fine."

He took in the aroma but didn't linger. He didn't need to. He had has his sensory infusion for the day. It'd last, too. He was smooth. The Sniff Vampire.