SOLAR SPOTS

I have some.  One on my forehead and one on my cheek.  Discolorations caused by too much solar.  Also some on my hands, wrists, and both knees.  Plus skin tags.

But that's not the kinds of solar spots this picture illustrates. 

Sun spots that your car visor, mirror, and sunglasses cannot block.  I've even seen some special tinting on windshields just in that area, but it doesn't help. Angles form and a slanted yet seemingly direct hit can obscure your vision if only for a moment. 

But that's not the kinds of this picture's focus.

Solar paneled roofs in AZ are finally going up.  Although from what I understand, it will take 20 years of usage before significant savings can be realized.  We have a few in our neighborhood that my wife and I have spotted on our daily walks.

You guessed it: that's not what this picture is about.

It's about a highly developed lens that captures stuff in space.  Then the info gets fed to scientists who tell us how powerful the sun is, its life expectancy, and how far in light years it is to us and other orbs.

That's what this picture is about.  As you can see, I may not be pretty expert in this field.  But I know for sure that it makes a neat picture.

EVERYWHERE A SIGN
The photo of this sign was taken in Carbondale, IL, by a friend of mine who has an eye for such things. 

I always liked Leno's segment of signs and ads and misspellings until he started getting too risque.  Not that I'm an old prude, but when sexual innuendos sink to grade school level as on so much prime time tv, I get turned off.  And to show you I'm not so prudish and to illustrate I, too, have a child-like sense of humor, I'm enjoying all the Weiner jokes.  Although I hate his actions and his refusal to resign.

But signs that are creative as the radiator advertisement "Best place in town to take a leak," is much appreciated by me. I like many church marquee messages, but some are tiresome.

One of the keys for me is removal of signs after only a brief display.  If, as Shakespeare said, "Brevity is the soul of wit," then so are signs.  Don't leave them up too long, even if some people miss them entirely.  If they are truly good, then people will or should hear about them.

I wonder if the goats ever showed up?  I also wonder if those were the only letters he had left, so Scrabble-like, he used his full allotment. 

SMALL TOWN CELEBS

I know that we have neighborhoods in the big city.  But one thing I miss about small town life is the personalities.  The ones that stand out.

Mrs. Walls was the Snow Cone Lady.  I first came into contact with her at the race car track.  Stock cars that sputtered and smoked and leaked and crashed all too often as the  dirt choked the spectators.  I was a strawberry snow cone man then.  Man of 12 or 13.

She had a little stand outside her house in a section of the community called Summersville.  Ironic for her because her business peaked, of course, in the Summer.  All kinds of flavors colored and flavored shaved ice.  Blue eagle was probably number one followed closely in later years by rainbow.

Everybody knew Mrs. Walls and frequented her snow cone house often.  But she was one of several small town celebs.  Celebrities that live in every burg and podunk in our land.

In MTV, the list would include such personalites as Gordon the Rainman, Hound Dog, Speedy and Mousy (the Baldwin sisters), Raymond the Grit man, Lucky LeRoy, and a host of others that would mean nothing to non-MTV readers, other than to examine their community stand outs.

I'm trying to categorize similar attributes that small town legends have, but to include all that I mentioned, I'm at a loss.  Uniqueness being the only quality. 

So I'll just tarry here in front of the computer screen on a 100 degree day and try to recall what one of Mrs. Walls' snow cones tasted like.  Today, I'm letting a vanilla flavor coat my tongue.

MONEY MONEY MONEY
What hasn't been said about money?

One I like is the definition of a successful man as one who makes more money than his wife can spend.  While the definition of a successful woman is to find such a man.

Another was one the old golf coach used to say.  "He's made a lot of money by doing business in this town, but I made my money in education."

From working for 75 cents an hour to paying $4.50 to see The Beatles in concert in St. Louis to paying $400 dollars a ticket to see Super Bowl XXXIV (and sit in the upper deck), I guess I've experienced sundry money moments.  Sundry doesn't usually stand by itself any more than the fork in Farmer's in the Dell or dandy as in fine and dandy, but you get my drift.

I'm wondering what kind of financial shape our country would be in today if there were no credit cards as in the olden days.  I mean how could it be any worse?  And for any of my Obama fan readers, his economic policies have failed on all fronts.  Unemployment figures show a 9.1 % number.  For the 96 months Geo W. Bush was in office, the figure was 5.25.  That's just one example.  On no economic indicator can better conditions be found under this admin.  Including one of his bugaboos--the rich have gotten richer and the poor have gotten poorer since his inauguration.

So.  You'll have to excuse my rabbit road (any discourse that long can't be called a trail) and go back to my money imaginings about no credit cards.  I'm probably not right about what a difference it would make.  I should, perhaps, look at the bigger picture culminating with why we don't make things, why we don't produce things anymore.  But I know less about that than I know about most things.  So I'll conjecture about money no more.

I'm like most, I suppose.  I don't really like money.  But I sure like the things it can buy.  Money may not buy me love, but it can undoubtedly buy me comfort.

CHOICES
It's always about choices after all, isn't it?

My Muse picture today could evoke a discourse on yummy food.  I could describe my perfect meals for the day.  Starting with two farm fresh rich yellow yoked eggs sunnyside up with virtually no runniness.  Flanked by sausage links or bacon and two pieces of wheat toast.  Coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice to wash it down.

For lunch would be a salad.   Italian chopped, light on the dressing.  One big slice of pizza with almost anything on it except onions or any kind of bar-b-que.  A Diet Coke or a Blue Moon with orange slice.

For supper I would do almost all the cooking. One good size New York strip, one-half of a big sweet potato(no butter or marshmellow or salt or pepper), and some asparagus.  All prepared on my infra-red grill.  Water or tea to drink.  And for dessert, creme bruelle.

Even after all that, I'd have some chips and lemonade in front of the tv before retiring for the might.  I can't forget a fudge bar DQ 50 calorie no sugar added second dessert of the day.

If you think, "wow, lots of calories," you'd be right.  Remember my premise included the operative word yummy, not necessarily healthy.  And I did go for the fudge bar and not a banana split blizzard.

Also, a disclaimer about how much I liked the food: never would my licking of lips be extended to my right nostril.

COUGAR

With a high school reunion coming up this Fall, I'm wondering how I'll react.  I figure there must be at least four kinds of former classmates I'll encounter.

Those that seem to have aged well.  Of course, we all want to be in that category.  "You haven't changed a bit since high school!"  Maybe not, but I know you've lost considerable vision.   Cataracts are pretty prevalent in our age group. It might be time for the old check up.  And if they're talking about my personality or communication skills, then I'm afraid that that is pretty insulting.  I recall that one guy from our 30th reunion, I believe it was, still had a Beatle haircut.  Maybe, I don't want to be in that category after all.

Those that have aged appreciably.  Appreciably meaning a lot, not that have aged and appreciate it.  Not many want to be in that category.  The "spooning syrup into dry mouths" as Bradbury called it in one of his novels.  The prune people displaying the wrinkled road map of a well worn life. The non-dyed, the silver rinsed, the blue hairs.  One comment from a fellow classmate at our 20th has stayed with me for a long time.  As we were talking, she said, "Well, there's Jonathan Jordan.  He always wanted to be old when we were in school together.  Well, he got there."  (Jonathan Jordan was a pseudonym)  She was right. 

Those who married well is the third category.  Trophy wife or trophy husband/pool boy on arm.  "So I wasn't good enough for you back then huh?  Well, look at me now."  One of the greatest examples of a cougar guy was a classmate at our 40th reunion who had recently married a 29 year-old.  And at age 61, I believe, he fathered a child by her.  I guess he was cross-categorical: that is, he aged well and had a trophy.

Those who married poorly or were single by choice rounds out the reunionaires.  They are there to check out.  To see what's available.  To scope, to prod, to trade in for a better model in some cases.  After our 25th, a friend of mine received a letter from one, still seemingly happily married but evidently not, who wanted to re-kindle.  She was ready to punt and begin again with him.  Wisely, he declined.  Others latched on to the leftovers and partied into the night as a group.  Still others were satisfied in their station and were there, like most to re-new, recall, and reminisce.  And, to me, that's always be the purpose of class reunions.  Shared times, shared interests, shared stories.

I guess that's why I look forward to them. Also, I may just have to report that I found additional categories of reunion-goers.  Stay tuned. 

WHEN HE BEGAN HIS WALK THROUGH THE DESERT

he weighed 225.  But that's the way it is out West in these United States.  He also had arms, but that's another story for another day.

Today, it's about dehydration.  You see, I've been achy.  Left foot almost gouty, almost drawn.  Back ache.  Left knee pain in the muscle.  Especially at night in front of the television.  Not so much at the computer.

My drinks consist of coffee, Diet Coke, sparkling lemonade, and some mineral water Wal-Mart drink that contains no calories, and finally maybe two or three bottled Desani.  Not enough for the desert.

So today, I drenched myself in ice tea, unsweetened.  It helped. Even if you stay indoors, which I don't much, dehydration occurs in our warm months.  Taking clothes from the washer and hanging them in the laundry room finds them drying so much quicker these days.  As they say, it is a dry heat.

One who grew up on delicious Miller Lake water, I couldn't get enough as a kid.  A Coke, the only diet was Tab which tasted worse than cough syrup to me, was a luxury reserved for an after-victory Little League game treat or an occasional meal outside the confines of our own kitchen/dining room.  So it was good old water for me.  And if I didn't have time to go in the house, there was usually a hose at our house or a neighbor's to quench the dry mouth.

As our town grew, but did it really?, we went to Rend Lake water.  And I found other wetness.  I never really got over it.  Miller Lake spoiled me for all time, I'm afraid.  Now I'm a bottled water man, but it's never as good as the tap water I grew up on.

Back then, I had muscles, but they never ached.  Not that I recall.  Plus, I never groaned when I got up from a chair or had to bend down to tie my shoes.  There must have been something in that water.