On the QT

2011-12-28T06:55:00.000-08:00

TWENTY TWELVE

Why does that sound so science fiction to me? Anyway, I hope the year plays out better for most folks than 2011 did. Except for the Cardinals' World Championship. I could take a whole lot more of those before I'm called home, as Emily Dickinson wrote just before she died. I mean just before.

But we won't dwell on what might have been or what was. Looking to the future, uncertain as it is, always excites. A fresh start. A new beginning. The ol' slate rubbed clean again. Out with the old; in with the new.

I sure hope that's true in the Presidential election this coming year. I'm certainly ready for leadership change. An unchecked Obama second term is one helluva nightmare for me.

But this entry was to be positive. But I'm not positive whom I like on the Republican slate. So I'll wait out the primaries and see who rises and who falls.

When you get to be my age, health related issues are near the top of list. In the past few years I've lost far too many good friends and classmates. A moratorium on mortality would make 2012 great. And while I'm asking, an eradication of illnesses, too.

I hope the new year finds me losing even more weight. I've lost 100 pounds in 2011. The same five pounds 20 different times. Man, when you put it on later in life, it is so hard to take AND keep off.

When I taught College Prep Writing for 25 years, I used to stress that in the traditional 5 paragraph theme having a good final developing paragraph and good conclusion were necessary to make up for weaknesses other places in the paper. I'll follow my advice and end on the most important.

I hope than 2012 brings us collectively as a country and individually close to God and that we live for the purpose that He designed us for. I sincerely hope we mature as Christians and turn to scripture for answers. I hope we grow as a family unit and treat others with respect and kindness.

I guess I asked for just about everything except world peace. Ok, I'll take it, but I won't hold my breath.

Have a happy and prosperous (yes, I still think that's a worthy goal in America today) 2012.

2011-12-23T21:16:00.000-08:00

MAY YOU HAVE THE MERRIEST OF MERRy CHRISTMASES

Dickens is included in a lot of Christmas stories because of "A Christmas Carol". As pictured in Mr. Fezzweg's Ball complete with a huge sprig or actually spray of mistletoe.

"God bless us everyone," Tiny Tim's imperative is often quoted as well. Along with a Scrooge. And a family that teaches many biblical principles to Ebaneezer.

Yet the Charles Dickens' classic is fiction. The Christmas Story. His Story is not.

Jesus, Lord at His birth is true. An amazing story. Yet so all important. For if one doesn't believe that God sent His own Son from being at His the right hand to earth to pay the price of sin for mankind, well then only doom awaits.

Not salvation. Not an eternity in Heaven. Only isolation, only separation, only the gnashing of teeth from severe pain in Hell.

And that's the simple gospel truth of Christmas.

God sent a Savior. Accept Him. Worship Him. Follow Him as best you can. And even if you fall along the way, repent and God forgives and forgets every sin: past, present, and future. It's the gift of grace that no one can earn, so none may boast.

Give yourself the best Christmas present ever this season and accept Jesus Christ as your savior. There is simply no other way. Embrace the light and the truth and enjoy a Christmas. One with Christ at the center.

2011-11-23T15:46:00.000-08:00

WE GATHER TOGETHER

Somehow, sometime in our nation's history, the first Thanksgiving was held.

Lots of stories, lots of legends about the Indians and Pilgrims, the Native People and the settlers. Who knows?

It seems to me that Abraham Lincoln was the one who made it a federal holiday back in 1863 during our Civil War or War Between the States.

Whoever or whatever or however it occurred, I'm glad it did. It's always been one of my favorite holidays.

It's been years since I called it Turkey Day. It's Thanksgiving, not Thanksgetting or Thanksgrowing, but usually after the big eat day, I'm doing at least a little of both. But GivingThanks might be more accurate.

We have much to be GivingThanks for, even in desperate or sad times. Like the old church song, "Count Your Blessings," where we told to "count them one by one," as long as we're on this side of the grass,well, we can start there.

Have a Happy Thanksgiving, one and all.

2011-11-19T08:40:00.000-08:00

MULLIGAN 9

Terri and I had met at an outing. In Coronado. Maybe the greatest place in the country.

"Lookin' good, good lookin'." It wasn't my line. It was directed at Terri as she and I had our initial meeting interrupted by an actor or model who seemed to have designs for Terri. He might have even found her his equal. She was that, as he said, good lookin'.

"Ericson, this is Manny, my brother. Computer software."

"Ericson Chambers. Glad to meet you."

"And your line of work?"

"I didn't say, did I?"

"No, you didn't," acting parental.

"I didn't think I did."

"Oh, let's go, Eric. There are lots of goodies with my name on them."

"Nice meeting you, Manny." It was one of those formality lies.

I had worked in the San Diego Charger front office for going on three years. It's funny, because that's about the only sport I didn't play. Mainly because it conflicted with my Midwest high school golf season. But I liked to think myself a student of the game.

But why I was hired was to investigate the possibilities of moving the franchise to Anaheim or even Chula Vista. San Clemente was even a long shot, but viable option to the messy lease at Qualcom.

As soon as I revealed I was with the Chargers, favors were asked. Luxury suites--"I've followed them since the days of Billy "White Shoes" Johnson, and I've never got to sit in one of those boxes," I was once told. Even though Billie played for the Jets and not the Chargers. Tickets, memorabilia, events. I guess I had fielded all the requests from all kinds.

Terri even got into the act,"What exactly do you do, Eric?"

I thought she had gone from Ericson to Eric pretty quickly, but hey. "Tell me more about UCSD."

"Pre-med major graduating in May."

"Major?"

"Bios Logos. Biology with a minor in Physiology."

"Brains to go with that beauty."

"Let's eat. I'm famished."

"Let's get out of here."

"We just can't leave. We have to be seen, you know."

"Believe me, as soon as you arrived, we were both seen."

I didn't know how prophetic my words were at the time.

2011-11-18T08:13:00.000-08:00

It was a color picture. Artwork of some kind, it appeared. It was a face shot of Judy Garland's daughter, Liza Minnelli.

"How the heck would she know about that?" I thought to myself.

"DuQuoin, I believe."

"The State Fair around Labor Day."

"Oh, I know."

Sometimes when you wait it out, time passes so slowly. Other times so fast that you can't think of a retort. And sometimes, you could experience it both ways.

This was one of those times. I knew better than to ask what it all meant. Shelledy's the one who first brought up DuQuoin, a small town in Southern Illinois about 40 miles from my hometown. They hosted The Hambeltonian, a world class harness race that drew thousands to the otherwise sleepy village. Along with racing was top notch entertainment including Liza.

I knew she knew the context of the picture. I could see she had more in her lap. I wasn't about to reveal anymore than absolutely necessary.

"Ok, what else do you know?"

"Oh no. You tell me."

"Great show. Last date. What else is there to tell?"

She said nothing. She took the Liza picture and carefully placed it on the bottom of the stack. The one on top revealed Lauren and me dancing at Prom.

Or at yet another clandestine moment in my high school days.

2011-11-15T20:16:00.000-08:00

MULLIGAN 7

That was Marc and Kiss was big. So, by the way, (you know some say by the by--I never got that) was he. At 6'10", he was the primary reason we went to the State Tournament. Averaging over 17 points a game and 9 rebounds, he was just short of what was later called a double double. And that was his average.

"The cat, man. It's a Gene Simmons."

"Have your folks seen it?"

"Not yet, but what're they gonna do? He's cool."

Marc always had a slanted idea about coolness.

"How far, man, did you get with her?"

"Not saying. Tired of you askin'."

"We're going out, you know."

"No, I didn't know."

"I guess you don't talk much to Lauren then,"

"Why should I?"

"Just thought you should know."

"Has she seen Space (the Cat)?"

"Naugh."

"She won't like it either."

"Like Space knows. Like Space cares."

"I don't know. You may be the only one that likes it."

"Like Lauren, huh?"

He knew where to injure me.

2011-11-12T15:02:00.000-08:00

MULLIGAN 6

I occasionally play a little basketball in an independent, some call it an Industrial League. Along with a lot of golf. But at my advanced age of 32 plus years, I jog as well.

When I jog, my mind does not rest as most do. I don't clear cobwebs. Only rarely do I spend devotional time with God. Instead, I have old or new, meaningful or meaningless songs run through my head. I guess I'm like a lot of the younger runners who have an earphone or two stuck in the ear hole(s). I've always been afraid that I might not be able to hear an advancing car or cry for help.

So I do a non-verbal sing.

On November 2, 2008, I ran some old Tears for Fear through my head. Some old Bryan Hyland and Neil Young. In fact it was in the middle of "Harvest Moon" when I caught up with Terri.

"Hey, stranger," I almost said, should have said. But instead, I grabbed around around the waist, easily spun her around and gave her a kiss.

She didn't refuse the offering.

If only it had stopped there on that hill in overcast San Diego. If only...

2011-11-11T06:24:00.000-08:00

MULLIGAN 5

Shelledy took me by the hand and led me down. I guess if I stopped right there, I would be accurate.

She led me down to the weight room beneath The Oasis on campus where students' could take a break, waste time, meet others for study dates, or just hang out. But the weight room.

The Weighting Room read the bronzed plaque above the door. Inside, of course, were weight stations ranging from barbells to the huge drum weights that the linemen rolled off and on with ease as they lessened or mored their routine.

Treadmills, boring treadmills, were for some reason paired between exercise mats in two places. The mats served as wrestling mats or gymnastics mats. I mean, for the times, it was an extensive work out area.

"I brought you here to watch you sweat."

Dressed in a tee shirt and slick jogging pants, navy with a white stripe down each side, along with a pair of Adidas tennis shoes, I looked as if I belonged.

Silently, I waited for her instructions.

"Here. Sit on this bench." Used for bench pressing, it wasn't all that roomy for the two of us as she patted the bench where she wanted me.

And then she produced the pictures.

2011-11-09T16:20:00.000-08:00

MULLIGAN 4

Practice was always strenuous. Killers they ran. And ran.

From the restraining line because there wasn't room for all 12 to run hard and stop before crashing into the stage and heading back again to the free throw line, then to center court, then to the opposing free throw line, to the opposing restraining line and back. And back.

The team ran before, during, and after practice. No team they played all year was in better condition. They pressed every team, every play. They had gone to State, as it's simply called, but finished fourth the previous year losing to a suburban Chicago team and then the Chicago Public League Champions, St. Joseph in a tight third place game.

All starters returning for their junior or senior years, the storied Rams from the deep south were ready for a return trip to Champaign-Urbana.

No complaints from any player. Dedication had been drummed into them since their grade school days.

"Just enough to keep the defense honest."

"But you're a great shooter."

"There are better. Besides my role is defense. And feeding."

"But you're a great shooter."

"We've been over this before, Dad,"

"But you're not listening."

It wouldn't matter much in three weeks and two days anyhow.

2011-11-08T08:25:00.000-08:00

MULLIGAN 3

Terri wasn't perfect. She only thought she was.

Brunette with tanned, tanned skin. She had friends with identical hair color who lobstered after a few minutes in the sun. No matter how much lotion, how frequently smeared on.

Younger than I, she not only approached me, she goaled me for her own.

"But we'd be good together. Good for each other."

"And when I'm 42, you'll be 30, and it only gets worse."

"Why are you looking so far ahead?" "Who knows what the next 10 years will bring?"

The brown eyes brought to mind an old song lyric "you my little brown eyed girl/do you remember when you used to say..." But then again, many things, many expressions, many glances bring music to mind for me.

And it was music that made me accept the inevitable with Terri.

2011-11-07T13:12:00.000-08:00

MULLIGAN CONT.

That's just me. Then and now.

Now is 2008. Just after the election that gave the US its first mulatto President. It seemed to me to be the time for a Black, Hispanic, even Asian to hold the top spot in our country. Just not this guy.

But as someone once said, "You deserve the leaders you get," or something like that. When I even think about politics, I think about Evelyn at KU. You know, "Rock, Chalk," whatever the heck that means in Kansas. I never did get it.

"HHH."

"I guess ever since Kennedy, Presidential candidates go by their initials now."

"He's got it together. He won't escalate the war."

"You mean the one JFK started?"

"President Kennedy only sent advisory personnel to Nam."

I liked her shoulder length hair, not quite strawberry blonde, not quite auburn either. I'm sure crayolas had the exact color labeled. At least I remember a burnt orange in a box of 48. But Shelledy's hair wasn't that color. It was as unique as her name, unique as her involvement in the process, as she called it.

An English major, she had gotten more than her fair share of the ideology ( she once got into an argument with an instructor over the pronunciation of the word. Her preference was id-e-ol-ogy instead of i-de-ology) that permeates the college scene today. It did then back in the '60's, but was not quite as overt.

What most of us back then let slide, she embraced and changed so much that she was almost unrecognizable to the crop of freshmen that she started college with just 3 semesters prior.

"Only a technicality."

I rarely got the last word with her. But on this day, she had more in mind. Of course, it included me. Of course, I followed.

2011-11-06T13:05:00.000-08:00

MULLIGAN

I thought of entitling it Minutiae. But I better explain.

Having hit the proverbial wall in blogging, after a mere 3,000 or so entries, I decided to branch out or at least alter my approach.

Charles Dickens and Mark Twain did it, so I thought why not? They wrote in installments. That is, they wrote part of their stories or novels for newspapers that came out, in the case of Dickens at least, every two weeks. Since I doubt that my three newspapers, The Arizona Republic, The St. Louis Post-Dispatch, and The Register-News would indulge me that format, I thought On The QT would.

So stick with me or periodically to see where my characters are going. Believe me, at this time I don't know, so we'll journey together through MULLIGAN.

Not every story has a beginning. Count this one as that kind.

A basketball star? No, not really. A gifted athlete, he was a hiker, a skier on snow or water, and with his outstanding balance, a rather good golfer. But Ericson Chambers found himself the off-guard on his high school basketball team his senior year.

He had agreed to play only because school was too easy for him. University awaited. Colgate, he liked the name. Maybe UConn, but when he first heard it he thought Alaska or Canada. A small school, Stetson in Florida appealed to him because of its location, but he was as undecided about his future as he was about his present.

"I have a sister."

"Yeah. So. We're not talking about her."

"We're not talking about Lauren either."

"I've heard it all before. Because you don't want some guy talking about how far he got with your sister in a dozen years or so. That doesn't mean you can't tell me about Lauren right now. Hell, all guys talk."

Swish. Just beyond, well actually way beyond the demarcation for the three-point line that would come into the game in a few years. Robbing, in a way, Eric of additional points that he could have put up. "Not this guy."

2011-11-05T06:26:00.000-07:00

THE ANSWER IS...

Sometimes when I haven't blogged for awhile, there's a good reason. Travel doesn't always allow me easy access. Busyness is another pitfall, but how can a retired guy be that busy? Lots of times, I simply lack motivation if you can believe that. This time my lapse was caused by not being able to find a picture that stimulates my mind to write on a subject or an angle that I haven't exhausted.

When you spotted this picture, you probably thought it was an anti-choice, anti-abortion topic. But how could that be? Because as you see the imprint of the baby's foot, it's clearly not a human yet, right? So how could destroying the yet to be born, be anti-abortion?

Besides don't both woman and man have the right to choose whether they want to bring a baby, oh excuse me, a fetus into this world? Well, don't they?

The gist--you see it, of course. But what really galls me is that there's a whole lot more concern in the US today about abuse of animals than humans/ the unborn. Not that I'm against supporting animal rights (as I turn to my right, I can see a purchase tag from Animal Rescue Foundation which I supported), but prioritize, prioritize.

The taking of human life because of inconvenience is simply despicable. Am I against abortion? Hell, yes!

?

2011-11-01T11:29:00.000-07:00

I'M STILL THAT WAY

"Don't fall in love with Scottsdale," our pastor warns. Because it is the home of beautiful people. Well, certainly not all, but there is a certain amount of glamor to be found/seen in our burg.

Even if we lived in Prescott, Globe, or Williams there's that same danger. The danger that we shoot for our satisfaction in this temporal world. We're simply not supposed to. Our focus should be on eternity which is a whole lot longer than the 70-90 years we can reasonably expect to live.

But aren't we supposed to appreciate, to awesomate (I've never used that word before but for the sake of parallelism and coinage, it will suffice) the Creation and marvel at God's handiwork? Didn't God want us to be happy? Don't we want our children to be happy? So why can I not be in love with the place where God put me?

Faithful reader(s) may think I'm facetious as I am sometimes, but I'm really serious. Am I not suppose to enjoy the beauty of the desert and mountains, the sunshine and blue, blue skies? A good meal, a good cup of Joe, a Cardinal World Series championship? Am I not supposed to be salt and light to this world? Am I not supposed to be pleasant and affable? Affirmative and encouraging?

Why can't I serve two masters? What is so vital about single mindedness? I mean, I'm not comparing because what's to compare, but why not enjoy the here and now, too, and yes be in love with life soaking in the blessings given from a loving Father God?

I do have difficulties with this biblical principle. I know I need to accept, to submit, but it looks like I'm not as mature a Christian as I sometimes like to think.

2011-10-31T21:38:00.000-07:00

THAT'S WHAT I HEARD

The St. Louis Cardinals are world champions in 2011! How'd they do that?

Well, it's a storyline that's good for the country as well as Cardinal Nation. The down trodden comeback, the wild card team qualifying for the playoffs on the last day of the season. A team that was not better than the Phillies, Brewers, or Rangers outlasted, outplayed them all and brought the championship to the city that is in love with the franchise.

A team that refused to give up. Their motto "play every game like it's the last game you'll ever play." They did. It paid off.

It's all been said. There's no more to add. Except I've lived to see 9 National League pennants won by my team and now 5 World Series. I thought '64, '67, '82, and '06 were sweet--all had an appeal that was unique. But this team, Tony LaRussa called them "the perfect team," was nearer my heart than any of the others. So much suspense and tension, but a team that provided thrill after thrill.

Congrats to the Good Guys. The Over Achievers. The Never Say Dies. The St. Louis Cardinals. The World Champs!!!

2011-10-31T06:59:00.000-07:00

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Let the merry bells keep ringing/ Happy Halloween to you.

There's so much to like about Halloween. Or Harvest Time. Or whatever PC people want o re-name it. All Hallow's Eve. A person who thinks names, nomenclature, onamastics are all important, I don't think the origins of the holiday are pertinent, so I don't care what you call it. It's just a great time of year.

Of course, Autumn's zenith is Thanksgiving, one of the greatest of them all. But Halloween has to be second. It's the end of the best season in many ways. What other month has better weather throughout the US? Just where is a bad place to be in the month of October?

Summer's heat is past and it's not yet cold, cold Winter for most of the nation. Sweater weather, light jacket, sleeveless, or my favorite a long sleeve cotton tee shirt and shorts. The sun's angle blinding you at daybreak and sundown. Longer shadows that made me feel ten feet tall when I was younger as they would display my image, distorted like a funhouse mirror.

Crisp burning leaves that evaporate into see-your-breath air. Soup, any kind, hot chocolate, cider, marshmallow and weenie roasts over bonfires. Hayrides and pumpkin patches and orchard visits. As Emily in Our Town said, "Oh Earth, you're too wonderful!"

Ok, my romantic, poetic sacrine entry is almost complete.

Notice what I left out? No vampires, no tee-peeing, no excessive wet smoldering burning stink, no pagan or goth references, no having to have Trick-or-Treat candy x-rayed, no rake blisters in the crevices of thumb and index fingers, and a plethora of other negatives.

Along with a good scare. When a black cat jumps out at you when you're running from a big guy whose car windows you and a buddy soaped solid (actually Gulf waxed solid). Now that's Halloween!

Topped off by Charlie Brown and The Great Pumpkin.

2011-10-20T09:27:00.000-07:00

FRIENDS DON'T LET FRIENDS

You should never rent out (let) friends. You need them. All. If you rent them out to others, they may find them more appealing and you lose altogether, so I stand by my animus.

Originally stated, "Friends don't let friends drive drunk," and it's always been excellent advice. It's been altered so many times. "Friends don't let friends vote Democrat," or "Friends don't let friends be Cub fans." Just two examples.

Actually, "Friends don't let friends____________." Fill in the blank.

I'd fill in the blank today with--down. Yearbooks and greeting cards are filled with those sentiments. Best Friends Forever. Too often, they are cliches, perhaps well meaning, but lost in reality. Lost in time, place, circumstance.

When you are fortunate enough to reach my age, one disconcerting thing is that I've seen a lot of my friends die. Starting with my grandparents when I was very young. Then a Sunday School friend of mine died right by my locker in Junior High. Last week I lost another friend. This one to a heart attack.

He once told me he believed in God because if he didn't and there was a God, then he'd be doomed. He added that if there wasn't God, then all he'd suffered in this life was to do the right things, the good things. Those were junior college days when thoughts tended to be more surface, survival level, but I've always remembered that conversation.

I'm not sure that simplified faith, if it is faith at all, is all that it takes. No, that's not true. I'm sure that it takes more to spend eternity with the Lord Jesus, but for a seeker, for an entry-level believer maybe that was a start to a long Christian life. In his case, I really don't know, but it's in no way up to me.

So where am I going and how will I end this entry? I hadn't seen my friend Bob for 5 years. Before that, probably 10. Before that probably 20. But I'd sure like to see him in Heaven. Along with my grandparents, and Mike--the junior high boy. Along with a whole bunch of other friends and acquaintances.

I'm convinced there is a heaven and hell. And "friends don't let friends go to hell."

2011-10-19T11:15:00.000-07:00

RED OCTOBER

The World Series opens in St. Louis in just a few hours. I'm very pleased.

But it seems the national audience and media are very unhappy. They had presumed that an East Coast team--Yankees, Red Sox, or Phillies would be displayed on the grand stage. They'd even take the Dodgers, but the Rangers and Cardinals? Suddenly they don't care any more about baseball.

Football's now the American pastime. It's so much faster. It's so much more exciting. Plus, there are plenty of East Coast powerhouses to cheer for.

Baseball, even the World Series has become passe this year. But if there is a Mets-Yankees, or Orioles-DC match-up, you can bet baseball will be back in a hurry.

Even the Brewers and Tigers would have pleased them more. If it can't be East, then head North. And if it can't be East or North, then, ok, LA will do. Even SanFran. But that's it. A Midwest World Series? An oxymoron. (And yes, Faithful Reader(s), I'm fully aware that an oxymoron is only two words--it's one of my pet peeves when people misuse the term, but a Midwest Series just doesn't carry enough weight.)

You may have to wait till they crown the Cardinals or Rangers (Heaven forbid. {I don't think God cares who wins, but there just may be some Cardinal fans in Heaven who care. I doubt that there are that many Ranger fans above; I mean, who's ever heard of Ranger Nation?}) to get the low, low tv ratings. But they'll be there, just behind the Wendy Williams morning show--whoever she is anyhow. But is it any wonder, when the presumptuous have already downplayed the 2011 World Series to a network sit-com on the chopping block?

Oh, well. They should tune in. I think it's gonna be a good, good night and a good, good series.

GO CARDINALS!!!!

2011-10-18T12:07:00.000-07:00

RUB IT IN

I used to do that more often. I think I've mellowed. Mostly my subjects have centered around players, coaches, and fans of the Cubs, Patriots, Lakers, and Reds.

My new disliked team and associates are the Brewers from Milwaukee. On the cusp of the World Series, I chose to write about the defeated rather than the victors.

A team with little class, they wanted to show their backsides all year. Too bad backsides doesn't rhyme with class. It started last year when they followed one of their well-known backside players, Mike Cameron, who once dangled handcuffs in an inviting way to a single friend of mine while she was attending a Spring Training game. What they followed was his pulling his jersey out after a victory claiming "work for the day is over." Well, it's bush league, Mike, to do that kind of stuff.

This year, the Brew Crew got even stupider. They anticed (I know-it's not a word, but as an English major, it gives me the right to coin words whenever I want--something about the small print) beasts in the little kids' movie Monsters, Inc. So here you have big burly men after some success, looking into their dugout and with arms spread wide like they are beasts. I mean, It's stupid.

Fans being fans followed, some dressing up like the monsters from the movie. In Game 5 in St. Louis, they even allowed one in their dugout. He looked liked he was wearing footie jammies with horns on the hood. It was right out of WWF wrestling in the 1990's.

Had the Cardinals lost to the Phillies, of course, I would have been disappointed, but they are a class organization. They like to win on the field and not show anyone up, especially disrespecting the opponent. Not the lowlife Brewers.

One idiot Brewer tweeted about how the Cardinals would be at home during the playoffs watching the Brewers. His tweet was made on September 7, muffled about a month later.

Enough, already. Some of the best advice I ever heard was "Act like you've been there before," when success comes your way on the playing field. I could add playing field of life.

So sit back Milwaukee, players and fans alike. Enjoy the World Series. And if you're representing the National League in 2012, try to learn some respect for players and the game itself. Also, please lose the Monster motif:it well-worn and not too successful.

2011-10-17T09:52:00.000-07:00

DESPERATION

A man wants to meet a woman.

"Go to an art museum. Women love those places. Walk up to one and ask her what she sees in a particular painting. Let her talk. Then ask her out."

Some good advice, or so it seemed.

"What does that painting make you think about? How are you connecting with that work of art," he asked.

" Well, if you mean, 'What do I see'? I see darkness and depravity. Bleakness. Hopelessness. Humankind in an abyss it can't get out of."

"Wow. You see all that. Do you want to go out with me Saturday night?"

"I'm going to commit suicide on Saturday," she answered.

"Well, what about Friday night?"

I wish I had created this dialogue rather than re-telling a Woody Allen movie scene, but that's just the way desperation works. It alters our natural thought processes. It makes us do insane things.

And with that bit of insight, I conclude this entry. Not because I'm desperate, but because I can't improve on that Allen scene. So maybe I am.

2011-10-14T06:15:00.000-07:00

BFF

It's fun to attend high school reunions. I haven't missed any of the 6 we've had. Here are my conclusions about them.

Number 1--it's good to see old friends. A few last weekend I hadn't seen since high school. It gives stability in some strange kind of way. And you certainly never know when or if you'll ever make contact with them again on this side of the grass. Well, saying that, I guess there'll be no contact on the other side of the grass, so I'll amend it to there'll be no contact until we meet in Heaven.

Number 2--some friends change in appearance more than others. Obviously. Besides the excess weight, kudos to those who kept it off and there were some, hair color differentiated from none to gray/white to partial gray/white to funky orange/red, and of course to the obligatory shoe polish jet black. If there were toupees, they were very good.

Number 3--some party more; some party less. It seems for some that the informal activities or after-hour activities are much more important than the Friday and Saturday night programs. Select bars were chosen according to the invites I received, but by 10 0'clock each night, I was ready for beddy bye having already exceeded my bedtime by half an hour. So, yes, I am a party-less guy.

Number 4--there are freaks at reunions. One kind is the ones who haven't changed much at all in appearance. Maybe some dye and/or botox, who knows. But for at least half a dozen, the years have been kind. Some look better than they did in high school. Not many to be sure, but some late bloomers, well bloomed. The biggest freak at our 45th reunion was a classmate who had a three year-old, nearly four, but still. And his wife who is 30 years younger wants more children.

Number 5--cliques are more disguised. Up until this reunion, they still existed. From what I hear, most have dissolved at 20-year reunions, but not our class. Then I got to thinking, maybe why I thought they didn't seem so prevalent is that the cliquish didn't show for this one. Oh well.

Any gleaning from my observations? I doubt that there's anything too substantial in this entry. So I'll leave you with this suggestion. Go to as many as you can. Out of our graduating class of 395, nearly 60 have passed away including one the weekend before and another the Wednesday afterwards. As a friend of mine from another class ('65) said, "When I hear of one of my classmates' passing, I think to myself that the line is getting shorter."

2011-10-12T09:57:00.000-07:00

SO WHO AM I?

In the days of President Nixon when he opened China, at least when he opened talks with China, he met Chairman Mao who was in declining health. Mao had been schooled on a few English expressions to use, but he failed badly.

Upon meeting Mr. Nixon he was supposed to say, "How are you?" Instead he uttered, "Who are you?" His follow up was supposed to be, "How do you do?" Mao said, "What do you do?"

As bad as that may seem, they really are good questions that could be posed to almost anyone. In fact, they're pretty good self-analysis questions.

We live in a world that constantly addresses these key questions. Just think of the number of books predicated on each. The number of philosophies centered around both.

The utter satisfaction with ourselves depends on our answers for the most part. From "I'm just a girl who cain't say 'No'" to "I'm Nobody/Who are you?" At least those two had an idea.

I wonder how Nixon answered Mao. But more importantly, I wonder how I would answer each question.

2011-09-30T09:22:00.000-07:00

WHAT IF?

That is a pretty powerful indictment. For I'm afraid most use God to make things right in their lives. As a big Santa, He even has our wish list for which we didn't even need a catalog. But a loving God would want to provide for our every need wouldn't He?

There are various ways to pray. Jesus even told us when He gave us The Lord's Prayer in the book of Matthew. Others have used acronyms such as ACTS--adoration, confession, thanks, and supplication. Matthew 7:7 tells us To ASK--ask, seek, and knock.

But all have thanksgiving in them in some form or fashion. We simply don't thank The Creator enough. But we're the first to blame Him when things, situations, circumstances, or even weather don't go as we think we deserve. Even the schools' Act of God Days are used in the negative.

In most of my prayers, even saying grace and yes, I do that at every meal, not out of habit, not out of show, but out of respect to the One who has provided, I almost always thank Him for His creation, His loving kindness towards me, my family, our church and other churches we're associated with, His Son, and the gift of the Holy Spirit. Many times I thank Him for my good health that allows me to participate in an active lifestyle. Also I generally thank Him for our friends. And for His perfect plan for my life, that I may obediently follow and be a good servant. Often times I pray for our country and its leaders.

It doesn't take that long, and it sure makes me feel better.

I wouldn't call myself a prayer warrior, but I wouldn't be disappointed if others thought so. If a faithful reader(s) has a prayer request, please don't hesitate to ask me. I'll be glad to offer another prayer to our Father.

2011-09-29T07:42:00.000-07:00

BORN A CARDINAL FAN

Earlier last week the Arizona Diamondbacks clinched a playoff berth by winning the NL West. I was glad for my hometown team, but hardly in a celebratory mood. "Maybe if they get to the World Series, then I'll be excited," I thought to myself. Keep in mind that I had been a partial season ticket holder for nine years.

But for the past, ok, for the whole season, like every other baseball season since I've been about 8 years old, I've rooted for the St. Louis Cardinals and followed them closely. At no time have I been unable to tell you every starter including the 5 pitchers who make up the rotation.

When the DBax won the World Series in 2001, they had to play and defeat the Cardinals in playoff games in Phoenix. Naturally, I wore my Cardinal attire and cheered for them. When they lost, I was crushed, but I did rebound enough to root for Az in the series against the Yankees.

Last night, the Cardinals did what no other team had done and that is make up an 8 game deficit with three weeks remaining. The Cardinals secured the Wild Card and will open the 2011 playoffs against the team they were rooting for last night, the Phillies. Who eliminated the choking Atlanta Braves who coughed up the lead in September over the Cardinals. It was great theatre; it's was the comeback kids. Almost as impressive was the Tampa Bay Rays claim to the AL Wild Card over a Boston team, like Atlanta, strong but historically chokers in their own right.

What a night of seam ball. Let's hope the playoffs are as exciting and the Cardinals get to meet the Diamondbacks for the NL crown. If so, look for me in the stands wearing Cardinal red.

2011-09-28T08:56:00.000-07:00

IT AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A THANG

I never understood that expression that a good friend of my uses. But it came to mind when I read that Brigitte Bardot turned 77 today. Huh? How can that be?
I remember when she was called a "sex kitten" and I was too young to know what that meant. Come to think of it, I still don't know what that means. Maybe between then and now I knew but forgot.

And Luke Skywalker turned 60. Paul McCartney is 70 and two of his four have already passed away. Three counting Brian Epstein, the 5th Beatle.

I'm returning for my 45th high school class reunion. The conversation yesterday went like this as I sat in the barber's chair.

"Like always, Ted."

"Oh, you have to do a great job today, Gio. I'm going back for my high school reunion."

In all seriousness he continued, "Do you me to dye your hair?"

"Only if you also do liposuction. I have a lot to work on."

Of course, no dye would touch my hair anymore than a cigarette would touch my lips (anymore). That is until there's a breakthrough in mens' hair color. The shoe polish look and single color look which makes mens' hair look like a toupee to me just doesn't cut it.

But I'll be sure to report on how my reunion goes.

Gio, being a wise barber, told me not to worry because all the fat guys at reunions used to be athletes whose muscle turned to flab. But I don't remember being All-State.

2011-09-26T08:31:00.000-07:00

NEW STUFF AND WHY I DON'T LIKE IT

Because it ain't as good. That's why.

Remember the New Coke? It was terrible. Flat. No carbonation. It didn't last, but Diet Coke has, and as a good, skinny friend of mine says, "The only people I ever see drinking Diet Coke are fat."

How about the new energy saving light bulbs? Heck yes they save energy, but putting in a lower wattage bulb would accomplish the same thing and not contain mercury and all the other stuff the new ones contain. Yet neither alternative addresses the problem of adequate light.

The Beatles. When most others not of the 60's generation were criticizing them, we knew. We recognized their greatness, their universal appeal, their permanence. Who's been better? Maybe to some, Elvis, but if that's so, that further enhances my argument because he preceded them.

Automobiles? Oh, don't go there. Except in terms of gas mileage. Maybe some, certainly not my, GPS or navigational system. But style--forget it. They all look the same and none can compare to the '57 Chevy convertible I saw and drooled over yesterday.

So give me new. I'm ready. By the way, if Herman Cain gets the GOP nomination and Hillary doesn't unseat Obama as the Dem candidate, will Blacks who vote for Obama be racist because he's only half Black? Just wondering.

2011-09-22T17:10:00.000-07:00

FALL OR AUTUMN

This first day of the autumnal equinox used to be one of the saddest days of the year for me. I mean it. Summer, the season I lived for, is over and far away from returning.

But no more. My Summer has transformed into my Winters of old. Stay inside or when you go outside, just be ready. Don't tarry. And return to a safe haven.

Fall used to be a pretty good season in SoIL. Some beauty, some pumpkins, some football, a great time for golf. But daylight was disappearing. It was getting too cold for just a sweatshirt and I had to put on long pants. Plus, I knew what was coming.

Winter and darkness. Cold and colder. Never get warm even standing over a big heat register in the middle of my grandmother's small house. Colds, interminable. Snow and ice and slush and sleet. The sun at weird, blinding angles.

Reverse. Summer is over, hooray. Fewer 100 plus degree days. Not having to arise at 4:30 to get my 3-mile walk in before the heat. Being able to wear a light (stress light) jacket or sleeveless sweater. Of course, still with shorts though I will be forced to trade flip flops for tennies and socks. Great golf weather although higher prices will force a cutback in the number of rounds per week.

No daylight savings time for us, so I'm more in schedule with our son and daughter--only 1 hour difference now.

And, yes, I'm looking forward to Winter, too. Along with Spring. But not Summer. It's gone as far away in my likes as a junior high girlfriend.

2011-09-21T15:47:00.000-07:00

CHALLENGED BY THE SITUATION

Short entry today. I mean who waves in a group picture?

He is so unaware of so much. If I could take the liberty (and why not--it's my blog) to quote Ronald Reagan out of context. "He's not ignorant. He just seems to think things that simply aren't so." President Reagan really said that; it just wasn't about Obama, but very well could be.

Two others and then I'm done. Remember when he said he had campaigned in 57 states? And his mispronunciation of Marine Corps at a military function. At least twice, maybe three times he pronounced Corps as, you guessed it: corpse.

When comes such another?

2011-09-20T09:57:00.000-07:00

HAVEN'T THE FOGGIEST

Nothing new today. If you're a faithful reader(s), you might as well spend your time reading another blog or playing CityVille on Facebook. At least that's what I do when I'm not quite ready to face the day.

I went out at 4:30 AM to retrieve the morning paper. I looked to the sky and the semi-full moon above. A star-filled night allowed me to find the few planets and constellations I know. It's good that some things stay the same for an old guy like me.

How'd I get this old? I mean I was from the generation that was never going to get old. When Tevya sang "I don't remember growing older/ when did they?" I hear him. And I concur.

Almost laughable what Mr. Obama's response is to the huge debt that he added and added and added and added to. "It's about math." Damn right it is. And was before you took the country deeper and deeper in debt to redistribute wealth in a socialist scheme. Now, the rich will pay ( as if they haven't been carrying that burden) in addition to providing the jobs that Mr. Obama can't create. You know: the ones that aren't quite shovel ready. As well as contributing to non-profit organizations through tax shelters--I won't call them loopholes. Yet he wants to close those carefully crafted devices and call them Bush's tax breaks for the wealthy. Even though they have been in place for decades.

Let's review, class. Who's in a fog? Those that look to the skies and think they were created without a maker. I once heard, that the chances of the creation of the earth without God as the designer would be like a tornado going through a junk yard and producing a Porsch.

Aging is a process. We don't see it immediately, but maybe we ignore the signs along the way. A self-induced fog.

Mr.Obama. Well, I pray his fog will lift. If not, I pray the fog the voters were in when they elected him will. To paraphrase a candidate, "Can the United States stand 4 more years of Barack Obama?"
I think not.

2011-09-17T06:28:00.000-07:00

THE GREATER GOOD

When Cassius Clay/Ali fought Joe Frazier (well I guess he was by then called Muhammed Ali), it was an event. From the Thriller in Manila to other bouts, it was always great theatre.

Today marks a first for me. Our son's alma mater plays our daughter's alma mater in a big football game. My dilemma: whom to root for.

Scott did his graduate work at Washington University; Courtney got her Master's from the University of San Diego. So there's no tie-breaker there.

I lived in Illinois for most of my life, but I was a Saluki though I was a U of I fan. Ten years ago we moved to the home of Arizona State. I rooted for them even before our daughter attended. You're starting to see the pattern.

My wife tells me I should adapt the old Illinois cheer--I-L-L///I-N-I-- to I-L-L///ASU. Maybe that makes sense. I haven't consulted our son, but Courtney tells me since I lived first in Illinois and Scott went to college there before she attended ASU, that I should support Illinois in the first half. And since I now live in Arizona and she went to ASU later, that I should root for Arizona State in the second half.

If I agree to that, then I'd have to favor Illinois in any and all overtimes, just to be fair.

Don't know what I'll do yet. Probably just root for whatever offense is on the field. I just hope I still get the Big 10 Network.

2011-09-15T05:59:00.000-07:00

THE LOOK OF FEAR

This picture was taken in 1969 for Time magazine. That was when Time actually printed the news. Nowadays there are few that do. It's not even subtle anymore. It's all presented with a slant. I think we used to call that yellow journalism. Canary yellow.

It's one of the many things I fear for the next gen. Discernment. Or lack thereof.

I think all of my high school teachers displayed a genuine fairness in how they viewed or at least shared current events and history. At least they weren't blatant in their political beliefs or persuasions. Bents, maybe.

But when I got to university (ok, the university) it all changed. Maybe it was Viet Nam. But suddenly, overt liberalism was expressed openly. For those who disagreed openly, grades were lowered.

One example, that's not totally political, came from a Conservation class I had. The instructor preached about his subject. "Because of tertiary treatment plants, every glass of water you drink has already been through three people." "Don't wash, don't ever wash your car at a car wash, because that soap goes into our water supply. In fact, don't waste our natural resource by ever washing your car. Who cares if it's dirty?" Finally, a test question: "what is the single most important class offered at SIU?" Any answer other than Conservation 312 was checked wrong.

That's just on the cusp of what my missive is about today. Many more direct examples I could have given (remember, SIU closed its ROTC and would not allow the military to recruit on campus during my years there). But if a student were foolish enough to mention the domino theory or support of the Johnson or Nixon admin, then he was going to pay the price gradewise.

Are things better today? That's my fear--they're not. I haven't even brought evangelical Christians into account. But I can imagine any student in science expressing doubt about the origin of the species, the great Darwinian Theory, and being ostracized by prof and fellow students alike.

Harvard was founded in 1636 for the purpose of educating men for the ministry. Other Ivy League schools followed. God was at the center in His rightful place. Somehow, oh I know how, the eggheads wanted to be their own god and when that notion collided with God's perfect plan for their lives, individualism won out. Now most colleges and universities are havens for the liberal, intolerant minds to spew vitriol and only their perspectives. A little harsh, TQ? I wish. I'm afraid (see picture again) it's just observation.

So what's the answer? I kinda have one, which is highly unusual as faithful reader(s) know. Do what I did. Answer Conservation 312. Don't verbalize your beliefs. Jump through the hoops. Play the game. Don't be swayed by their beliefs. And don't get caught at a car wash.

2011-09-14T13:49:00.000-07:00

KICKPLATE

Having an eighth grade granddaughter makes me reflect. Not so much on the last year of junior high as we called it before it was called middle school, but on what lies ahead for Amelia F. Quinn.

I hope she puts more into it than I. One example. As a junior I was in a few plays and I worked on a few more as a quasi-stage crew member. I was responsible for building a window for the set of The Diary of Anne Frank. Not large, it contained four panes and I suppose it passed the muster test. I proudly pointed to it to those who would listen and proclaimed my construction success.

But I probably could have done a lot more in my acting and/ or set building career. I just didn't put out the effort. Anymore than I did in school. I was there for socialization. But I was even haphazard in that.

It was more that I was there for the moment. I could never get my rhythm or balance. Whether shooting pool or shooting the breeze, I just didn't as the New Christie Minstrels sang, "give a hank".

Which inspired this poem about looking back.

I built a door
To cover my heart
Not too sturdy, not too transparent.

I put in place a beautiful brass colored shiny kickplate.
But when I finished, I left the portal ajar.

I recognized the scuffed bootprint you left,
But I don't know if you were coming or leaving.

It's ok if you don't like it. I'm not sure I do, or if I was able to communicate the nebulous cloud I walked in during those years.

May they bring a clearer picture to Amelia.

2011-09-13T13:37:00.000-07:00

THE COFFEE MONSTER

It is not I. Why I don't know. I used to think it might be because I drank so many sodas during the day and evening that I got my allotted caffeine, but there are days that go by without my taking in any soft drinks at all.

What I'm saying is that with coffee, I can take it or leave it. No effect either way that I can discern. I think that's pretty unusual, but hey.

I've been around a lot of coffee drinkers and I know how important that wake up call is for many. For others, they drink it all day. Some of my friends don't care if it's cold or not. And I'm not even referring to latte or cappuccino lovers.

But stillness. Warmth. Rocking motion. Boredom. Those all get me. A combination can be lethal to me as it was last week in a Sunday School class. Fortunately my wife punched me to jolt me back to consciousness or embarrassment could have occurred.

I'd like to say that was a rare occurrence, but then I wouldn't be straight forward with you. Or as observed by our 10-year old grandson on our Summer tour, much of it by bus in Ireland, "G-Dad sleeps about half the day."

Maybe, just maybe I was in dire need of Irish coffee.

2011-09-12T06:55:00.000-07:00

COLLEGE CAMPI

Or campuses. Cacti, cactuses.

If I can relocate my picture, I'll post it. If not, you'll know technology got in my way again. People seem to do that to me more and more these days. Even on those escalators that move in the airport. I suppose that's superfluous (escalators that move) but somehow when I think of an escalator, it's going up or down and these well, just move.

But yesterday on our return to Phoenix, people were getting in our way so that we were delayed in meeting our ride. Not by much, but as were flying in, we could see the formation of yet another dust storm or haboob. After a long flight from Charlotte, NC, we were wanting to get home. But people.

Anyhow, we made it and now I'm back on the subject of college campuses. Our son chose two beauties (University of Illinois and Washington University); our daughter chose three (Arizona State, University of California, and University of San Diego). The latter was selected as the one of the top 14 schools in the nation. I would certainly have selected Wash U over several of the others, but no one asked me.

At one time, I would have chosen MTV High as one of the most beautiful high school campi, but no more. Their last 3 buildings, F, G, and H were architectural disasters in the vein of '60's construction though F was before and H after.

So what makes up a beautiful campus? Flora, fauna, and edifices that shout out. It helps to have happy, at least smiling students making the walk from class to class. But if I had to select one, it would be the buildings. And not one, not one, not one would have a flat roof.

2011-09-06T06:01:00.000-07:00

WHAT CAN HE POSSIBLY ADD TO THIS PICTURE?

Since loyal reader(s) know that I'm not into vampires at all. As I've grown older, I even like my steaks a little more well done. Pink, even a little red, but no more blood.

So what could I pen, other than agreeing with the statement about friends?

Vampires suck.
Red is my favorite color.
Never have I known or heard of a real life vampire.
I never tasted Count Dracula (ok, I know it's Count Chockula, but same thing) cereal.
The Count on Sesame Street was my second least favorite character. Grover was number 1 because he never did anything.
I've tasted my own coppery blood when I've had a busted lip or sucked at a fresh wound and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone.
Cherneenya is a Polish soup made from duck blood, I believe, and I know the spelling is incorrect, but hey like the Eastern Europeans can spell anyhow. I mean they throw all kinds of consonants together and just add vowels on a whim or on a guilt pang. Otherwise, they'd be happy to avoid them completely. And, no, I've never tasted that delicacy.
I never even understood hickies.
I don't like the English use of bloody for a generic curse word. It's almost like smurf that can be substituted for noun or verb, adverb or adjective.

That's it. No more blood thoughts. No more vampire thoughts. How does vamp come from vampires, I wonder?

2011-09-05T07:32:00.000-07:00

TOMORROW IS FOREVER

Sometimes it seems that way: sometimes it is.

Remember when as children we were told, "Tomorrow, we're going to..."? We couldn't sleep the sleep that only the young can. Imagination/anticipation kicked in, and it was necessary to count sheep before dropping off.

I still can quote a little Shakespeare, although not much as most former bard teachers, but one line I recall from Macbeth was "tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow/creeps in this petty pace from day to day/ to the last syllable of recorded time". And I never knew what it meant, but if Will said it, it must be so.

"Tomorrow" from Annie held promise for her and the others at the orphanage when she sang it. From juco English guru John Traver who once wrote on the board "Tomorrow will be better," though he dotted the e. Something about satire, I believe.

For me, "Tomorrow is forever," when procrastinating. I'm am so good at that. In fact, I just reminded myself that there's a closet light that has burned out that I need to replace. I said I would a few tomorrows ago. I'm going now.

Check back tomorrow to see if it got done or not.

2011-09-01T21:15:00.000-07:00

WHEN WILL IT EVER END

I remember 1968 and the popular poster that hung in dorms "The Endless Summer" based on a surfer movie. This Summer's endlessness is based on the bad weather.

Has it been nice anywhere since June 1? I know Summer doesn't officially begin until June 22, but when June hits, it's Summer.

For us Zonies, the month of August was the hottest on record. Highest single day temp--117, average temp 109, and highest low, well I forgot and I'm too lazy to Google. Count me as a member of the TLTGBIAA (too lazy to Google, but I'll ask anyway). But all three categories broke records or as Yogi was wont to say, "You can look it up."

I'm not counting the three major dust storms or haboobs they we encountered also. Granted AZ's never nice from mid-June through October, but it's never been quite this bad. The Midwest weather has been terrible for almost a year now. The East, ditto. Texas, especially West Texas has had drought that's been unheard of. Memories of the Dust Bowl have been stirred or referred to as bench marks for their weather.

Far too many have been cheated out of Summer and been forced indoors. And I haven't even addressed the natural disasters like twisters and hurricanes and floods that have taken or literally uprooted lives. If you wanted to know about that,you would have turned to the Weather Channel or CNN--they're good at dwelling anything negative.

Hopefully a good Fall and mild Winter will follow such an Endless Summer II.

2011-08-31T10:16:00.000-07:00

AT THE STATION

This is not a picture of the actual train station. It's been torn down. But there's a great story about one.

Bob Greene wrote about a North Platte, Nebraska train station where the townspeople totally devoted themselves to soldiers passing through in World War II. Story after story is interesting about the townspeople who for 5 years put their lives on hold while making soldiers on their way to the war theaters across the world comfortable as they passed through their town.

It's an America no longer here.

A former Chicago Trib columnist, Greene has written several readable books including Be True to Your School and Duty: A Father, a Son, and the Man Who Won the War, but none that I have read by him is as poignant (I know; I know that is such an overused word and appears on far too many book jackets and reviews) as Once Upon a Town.

Without giving away too much of the book, most of the citizens were, of course, women since the men were off fighting. They were ready to make the GIs passing through feel at home. Food, music, company, talk--all were welcomed by the soldiers and when they'd meet others and have a chance to talk they'd remember North Platte with warmness.

For some, it changed their lives. For others, it was a beautiful time before they gave their lives.

It's a good read. Amazon or Kindle it. You won't be sorry, although you may have an earworm for In the Mood, until you finish the book.

2011-08-30T17:00:00.000-07:00

IN THE HEAT IN THE OLD WEST WITH AN OLD GUY

That's my story in the nutshell.

There's not a whole heckuva lot to do in the waning days of August in Arizona. Sweat is not much of an option, at least not humidity induced sweat. But furnace blast heat makes one gasp for much needed air.

Since the time to buy swimming suits is late Summer and the time to buy an iron is when the old one goes out, we went Monday shopping. I didn't need a suit, having already bought mine two weeks earlier, on sale, of course. When you consider where we live and where we go when traveling, a swimming suit or two is a necessity. Since I don't iron--bless my wife--I had no need to go except to get out of the house.

So here goes a 62-year old off to shop for women stuff. Bored to death, I discovered mannequin hands can be turned in all kinds of directions. So I arranged them to suit my mood. Oh, not a lot of them, because there were a few salespeople around, but enough to make me think,"What other old guy would be doing this?" But it was kinda fun spinning a paw backwards, another contorting in a painful position even for a mannequin, and one, who seemed to be stuck up, maneuvering her hands into a gimme, gimme position.

Iron purchased, along with two suits and a cover-up, we left Dillards or was it Macy's? Whichever store has movable mannequin parts. And it beat sitting in those uncomfortable chairs near the dressing rooms.

2011-08-29T10:39:00.000-07:00

CAN YOU BLOW BUBBLES AND BE IN A BAD MOOD?

Or can you go down a slide or banister and be in an bad mood? Or swing?

I don't think so.

Then why don't we do those things more often? Do we have to be young? What about coloring a picture? Crayons and Play Dough?

Why are some of the simplest things to do that put us in or change us into a good mood ignored by most? Is it because they are childish? If so, then let's revert.

Why? Because I'm stressed. We have a 2000 Jaguar in need of new plates. Before the state of AZ will issue them to such an old vehicle, I have to have an emissions test. When I tried to get the test done, I was told that because I had gotten a new battery yesterday, it had knocked out the computer, so they couldn't read the info needed: bottom line, our car failed.

When I called the dealership to ask if they could reset the computer, they told me I had to drive the car for the computer to reset itself. It may take one or two weeks. Great, since my plate sticker expires on Thursday.

Catch-22 could land me in Tent City. If so, I hope Sheriff Joe will provide the right size of pink underwear for me. And please, no lace--it irritates me. But not as much as the computer system of the 2000 Jag. By the way, we're completely out of bubbles and live in a one-story house. Poor me: can't win for losing.

2011-08-25T09:07:00.000-07:00

DEER ONE

Slayer. Not hunter, though there was a movie entitled that as well. I kinda prefer slayer.

Not a hunter, I have some trouble with killing wildlife. I know all about thinning out the herds and the necessity, much like how fires are good for forests. But I don't approve of them either.

Now, if you want to shoot blackbirds, sparrows, grackles, pigeons, even doves--fire when ready. Thin those babies and don't forget crows. The bigger the better.

So, I guess, I'm saying I'm selective in what I wouldn't mind hunters plugging. I could make a more exhaustive list, but I've probably already angered some readers by my inclusion of doves. But they wake me up with their constant cooing.

But the dear I saw yesterday at the pool... Ok, I'll tell you about her since you insist. I pointed her out to my wife who agreed. Not that she was a dear, but he had no shape whatsoever.

She wasn't bony at all. But in a small bikini, she showed no curves; not a one. Straight up and down and all around. Yet, as I said, she was no Twiggy. There was plenty of meat on those bones. The meat just clung, shapelessly.

I'm tempted to end with,"Oh, dear," but I'll just say when she left,she put on some top and some beachwear pants and looked good. So maybe she was like Twiggy who looked pretty good as a model and as she got older looked better still.

But that shape. Or lack thereof.

2011-08-24T09:09:00.000-07:00

ONE THING FOR SURE

I may be the most punctual person on the planet. I'd blame it on bells that I had to adhere to as a teacher, except I've always been that way. My epitaph should simply state Never Late.

Yet, I was almost late to church on Sunday morning. That would be no problem at our Scottsdale church as many come in as much as 15 minutes late, but never us. But we're in Coronado and there's not too many I've noticed that are seated by the time the church bell rings (and it really does, which I like a lot).

Four stories up, I was watching dolphins early Sunday morning performing a show on the ocean below. No Sea World trainers, they performed their own routines. And they were great. Some even appeared to try to fluke without the great whale tail fins.

Choreography was no problem. They were as in tune as pelicans who fly in formation skimming the waves in search of food. But theirs was more playful. Six in all.

I could be heard uttering, that's not right, saying out loud, "Oh, my goodness. Did you see that. Gee." I know--nothing creative there, but very much in awe.

We made it in plenty of time, but for me being only 10 minutes early is almost late.

But as I watched the show on the Pacific, I noticed others who were as unaware of God's creation as they were unaware that it was a day to worship. They were going about their business, jogging, walking, carrying beach chairs, holding on to that cup of coffee. They didn't know what they were missing, or they simply chose to ignore.

Free will. Yet another gift from God.

2011-08-22T20:38:00.000-07:00

AND I THOUGHT...

What other novel can be recognizable by two words, not counting character names?

I can't come up with a single one.

But readers of S.E. Hinton's The Outsiders have no doubt about "stay gold".

Advice that Ponyboy Curtis got from Dally. Based on a Robert Frost poem.

Adolescent literature has been important to me since I taught high school and wrote my Master's paper on the subject. And there is simply no better adolescent novel than Hinton's first, which she (Susan Elizabeth) wrote when she was 17.

Certainly it's somewhat dated now. Not as dated at Maureen Daly's Seventeen, one of the first with an intended teen audience. But it was important because it blazed the trail for a gap between childrens' lit and adult literature that dealt with themes foreign to teenagers.

I haven't kept up of adolescent lit for a decade or so; thus, I can be of no assistance to suggest titles In the 70's though, I could have students fill out an interest survey and recommend a book based on their preferences. Hopefully, I helped a few along the way to develop a love for reading.

And for older folks like me, I'd certainly suggest David McCullough. He tells history like no other. But without using a proper noun or two, I can't think of two words that would define any of his non-fiction either.

2011-08-22T08:15:00.000-07:00

SHE WASN'T SELLING AUTOGRAPHS
When we were in Killarney, Ireland, this Summer, I saw a woman at our hotel who had on a Favre family tee shirt. I didn't bother to talk to her, but a friend of mine from New Jersey did. She claimed to be Brett's mother, there on a church mission.

I believed it when Steve told me. He simply said, "Well, tell him he has fans in New Jersey."

But then recently there was this impostor Brett in Green Bay (pictured) charging for autographs while keeping his head down. So, now I'm wondering if that was really Brett's mom, as substantiated by a woman with her, or not.

I had a student named Taylor Hornung. She said her father often used his name to get better seating at restaurants, once having to resort to an impersonation of famed Paul Hornung himself. Adding Taylor was named Taylor after Packer running back Jim Taylor.

There just seems to be something about impersonating a Green Bay Packer.

So as Cardinal pitcher, Joaquin Andujar stated on multiple occasions, "youneverknow".

2011-08-19T16:44:00.000-07:00

I'M NOT GETTING IT AGAIN

"I ok," our young granddaughter announces after she coughs.

"I ok again," she says after a second cough.

That's a little like me. The older I get, the more things I don't seem to get.

I remember it was in Bill Clinton's presidency, that it occurred to me that the world had changed drastically. In fact, I thought and still think it was at that instant that it turned upside down. Seemingly everything that was right, everything that made sense, no longer did.

While at the pool today, six boisterous people chose to sit/lie near us. They didn't care that we heard their racist remarks, their lines of work, and their habits

Bar hopping seemed to be one. But the classic was when one woman got up to get a drink, I suppose, and another woman asked the man how long they had been dating.

"Unfortunately, about two years."

"Two years?"

"Yeah."

"I usually trade my husbands in just like they were old cars. You know, about every two years, I'm ready for a new model."

"I know exactly what you mean."

The next conversation was started by me. "Are you ready to go?" and directed to my wife of, well a few more than two years. Actually 40 more than two.

"Sure," she replied.

2011-08-18T08:20:00.000-07:00

AND IT MADE ME THINK

Once I made a phone call to the Teachers' Lounge and it went like this: "D, this is T. Can you put T on?"

Translated "Ron (DeForest), this is Ted. Can you put (Will T. Lee) on the phone?"

Now, that's squirrely and as soon as I said it, I realized it, though if D. did, he never shared it with me.

It reminds me of when three coaches were talking at the MTV Conference and an introduction was required. It went something like this:

"Coach!"

"Hi, Coach."

"You know Coach, don't you?"

"Coach. Coach"

Now that's squirrely, too. When three teachers meet, or three principals meet, or three superintendents, you would never hear such an intro by title, but whatever it is with coaches, that's what they seem to go by.

The white squirrel is Albert. He lives or hangs out at a friend's house in St. Louis. He must have been a transplant from Olney, Illinois. Which makes me wonder what the Olney High School mascot is it. I'm sure it's not the White Squirrels. But it should be.

2011-08-15T18:48:00.000-07:00

SCHOOL STARTS
As always way too soon. I'm not going back this year. Oh, probably to Bible Study Fellowship for my 10th year. I call our weekly lessons "homework" but it's really not since we receive no grades.

But if I were, I'd make an essay assignment: Name and discuss your favorite Beatles' song. Only one.

Just a few weeks ago we were in Liverpool. A beautiful large city of half a million. Located on the Mersey River. No one my age can look at it and not sing "Ferry 'cross the Mersey". But we were also privy to Penny Lane.

If it weren't before, it's now my favorite Beatle song.

To pass along the street and see where "the barber's taking photographs of every head he's had the pleasure to know". Well, and to see the "turnabout" that helped people. To see "Strawberry Fields" solidified the visual.

So that would be my topic, if not my completed document.

But school doesn't start for me, so I won't finish the assignment. But I will long remember Penny Lane and Liverpool.

2011-08-14T07:31:00.000-07:00

ELOCUTION REJECTED
It was a DisneyLand kind of line a few Sundays ago when we waited to kiss the Blarney Stone. A one-hour wait, in fact. Much different than the last time we were there in 2006.

Our oldest grandkids were with us and our grandson struck up a conversation with the family in front of us. "Yeah, some kid fell off the top of the castle and died," nonchalantly stated the man.

That's all it took. When it was Grant's turn to get into position to lay one on the rock, he declined. "The nice man will help you," I encouraged, but to no avail.

When we started our descent, I told him that it was ok. I added that although many, many people kissed the stone, it was fine that he didn't. "Even if you were the only one who didn't, that's fine: you don't have to do what all the others are doing if it doesn't feel right to you."

"I was terrified," he said. This to one I have rarely seen fear in.

I also warned his sister not to tease him about it. But I think he would have been ok.

He had bought a chip of the Blarney Stone in a cathedral in Cork and so he said," I didn't kiss the actual stone, but I did kiss the knock off I bought."

Good enough for me. And if he didn't have the gift of gab the stone supposedly provided, he'd have never talked to the family in front of us who spooked him in the first place.

2011-08-12T06:17:00.000-07:00

IT TAKES A LOT

For me to turn off a movie because it's too gross. But I did last night.

Most of the time it's for language, but last night it was a PG-13 movie that was sexually gross to me.

PG-13? Are you kidding me? How can they put stuff in there like that? I know, you don't know what "like that" was. But you can imagine.

Granted I'm a fogey, but still. Granted I watch a few movies that my wife is disgusted by, but I repeat--still.

And, no, Dustin Hoffman, one of my all-time favorite actors, was not in the movie. It was a teen movie, but not suitable for teens.

Far too much sexual innuendo. Like many, many tv shows. When a culture stoops to that base form of humor, it speaks volumes to me.

Just maybe we should outsource our movies to other countries instead of our jobs. Ok, I'm done now.

But expect to hear more on this subject.

2011-08-11T10:01:00.000-07:00

SO WHAT DO I HAVE TO BE ANGRY ABOUT?

Well. I could start with the financial shape of our country and how far too many cannot grasp the basic principle that if you spend more than you take in, you're in debt. If you continue to be in debt, you cannot spend your way out of it.

Or, I could moan about the weather. My goodness. Far too many have been cheated, yes cheated out of Summer because of excessive heat and rain. When I've been where there are good temperatures, something called a maritime stationary front has provided thick February grayness and increased humidity.

Or, maybe I could complain about my Cardinals. Where have you gone Albert Pujols: Cardinal Nation turns its lonely eyes to you. And I imagine if you were allowed a do-over, you'd jump at the final before Spring Training offer you refused. You certainly helped in the past, but this year, well you certainly helped in the past.

Or maybe the NBA and their looming strike. Yeah, like I care about the NBA. Not since the St. Louis Hawks left for Atlanta, though tried hard to root for the Bad Boys of Detroit because our son's affinity for them. My hometown Suns? They are so clueless.

But I'm actually grrred because of my second Summer cold. I never get colds. I rarely get colds, but two have found me and my wife this Summer. I sound like I'm on my last legs when I get them, but this year, my wife, who is usually very cute with her cold, is hacking and sputtering like me. And it is making my mad as our son used to say (way before my bad).

2011-08-08T06:59:00.000-07:00

FOR REAL?
I remember when that expression was in vogue. I remember when in vogue was in vogue. I will be glad when "My Bad," falls to the wayside. I never did get that one; I mean my bad what?

But this sign taken by a Texan friend of mine advertises Magott's fresh meat at the Maggot Grocery. Now, I know Maggot may have pride in their family name. I could give other names I would alter if it were my family but not wanting to offend anymore people than the Maggots, I won't but because Maggots are maggots, I don't want anything to do with them.

"Oh, these New York strips are great! Where did you get them?"

Well, after hearing the answer, I'd be finished with my steak.

I'd say my friend should send this picture into Jay Leno, but I don't think he's in vogue anymore. How about Vogue magazine? Is it in vogue?

2011-07-30T04:44:00.000-07:00

PUZZLING
So just when do the do their yardwork? In Ireland, I mean. Along with Scotland and England for that matter.

When we used to travel overseas, I wondered where the people were. No one seemed at home. All the ball fields were vacant, just like in the US, but they had more soccer fields, naturally. (Yet when I returned and was walking through an airport in Chicago, I believe, all I could see on the tvs was soccer and skateboarding--give me my country back!) But this trip made me wonder how do their lawns and gardens look so immaculate when no one ever works outside.

As I posted yesterday, we were all over Northern Ireland and Ireland on buses and when I could keep my lids from falling, my eyes never witnessed anyone working on their yards. That's not quite true: I saw one mowing by hand his yard and another mowing on a rider. That was it.

My wife suggested they must do that work at 8:00 or 9:00 PM when there is still plenty of Summer daylight left. But I think by that time, they've headed to the pubs.

With over 200 days of rain per year and over 100 inches of rain, Ireland et.al., surely require a ton of lawn maintenance, but when they do it still puzzles me. And I never saw weed one in any of the gardens.

2011-07-29T13:51:00.000-07:00

BACK
After a much needed break from infernal AZ heat, I have returned to my blog. So where have I been? I'll start slowly and try to build suspense.

We sat on the runway for 3 hours and 1 minute before our international departure. Of course, we missed our connecting flight. So why the picture of the bus? Well, we were part bus/ part cruise.

Erin go Braugh. I never heard it or read it one time, but that's where we spent most of our time--the Emerald Isle. Or maybe I should say Emerald Isles. Until this journey, I had no idea that Ireland and Northern Ireland were separate countries.

The other sojourners were my wife and our two oldest grandkids, ages 13 and 10. Other places we visited were Guernsey Island, England, France, and Scotland. They were all good. Maybe our favorite and my second biggest surprise was Liverpool, England. I had no idea it was so large.

A beautiful city of 500,000. For some reason, I'd pictured it as a small town. And of course we did The Beatles tour. Going to Penny Lane and Strawberry Fields were really special to one who grew up with the Fab 4, though I never called them that till now. To go into The Cavern where they got their start and to visit the Beatle Story Museum were pretty cool.

Eating lunch in the Eiffel Tower was memorable as well as another visit to the Blarney Stone, eating as much Irish stew as I could, and hitting the underground hospital and museum in occupied Guernsey were also very good.

Can I forget St. Andrews Old Course in Scotland where golf originated? If you know me at all, you know that answer. Castles galore, the Giant Causeway, well there were lots of peak moments and sleep moments on the buses that took us from Cork to Killarney and Belfast. From South Hampton to London, and other places.

But the best of all was just getting to hang with Amelia and Grant 24/7 for 17 days. Now that's what I call entertainment.

2011-07-09T07:55:00.000-07:00

WE MISSED THE HABOOB
By one day. But we got the residual effects when we returned to AZ.

If you haven't seen the pictures, the footage, the NBC report with Brian Williams then you should check it out. It is simply unbelievable.

We've had dust storms. In fact, we get little dust busters or mini-dust tornadoes all the time. But nothing compares to this haboob. Taken from Arabic where haboobs are more common, it means fiery wind. I'm not sure where the fire part comes in. I'd call it a dust wall.

Had we been privy to the storm, I think I would have feared cataclysmic results. Imagine a 100-mile wide, one mile high rain storm. Now substitute dust/dirt/sand, and I haven't addressed how thick it was to blot out the sun completely. There was a Little Rascals' episode where the gang was camping out and an lunar eclipse happened when they were surrounded by wild Borneo jungle tribesmen that scared the snot out of me as a kid. Much more so than the Abominable Snowman, Rodan, Godzilla, or The Blob. I watched a ton of Rascals and I only saw that show one time. The strange thing is, I really liked it. I guess all kids like a good scare in the safety of their living room.

But that's what I would have felt had I experienced the haboob. Only worse. I'm not sure my living room would have been enough of a sanctuary. And the clean up afterwards was bad enough. When comes such another? Never, I hope.

2011-07-07T21:54:00.000-07:00

UPSIDE DOWN SOFT SHOULDERS

I don't know what to make of it. Somebody ratcheted a road sign upside down. And left their work.

It happens to be one of those signs that puzzles me anyhow. Why are motorists being warned about shoulders anyhow? Aren't they supposed to be concentrating on the road? Why not just place more signs that aren't necessary? How about "Check out the weird house on the right", or Brad Pitt once drove this road in a 'vette.

Now maybe I overstated my premise, tried to get too many miles out of it, but seriously, how many shoulders, soft or firm, have you ever used in your driving life anyhow? When you did, weren't you smart enough to check and see if there was adequate room and not a quagmire you were pulling into?

Then to put the sign upside down for at least a short period of time, well, let's just say that was stupider than the sign. It almost reminds me of a line a college friend of mine liked to try on co-eds. It went something like this: "You don't know it, but this conversation is going to change your life."

If allowed to proceed, he added, "I want to be with you tonight. If you go out with me, it will be unforgettable. If you don't, you'll always wonder what it would have been like."

Right. As far as I know, it didn't work any better than the sign.

2011-07-07T06:00:00.000-07:00

RETURN
Computer problem solved, for now. Back from an East Coast journey, let the blogging continue.

As I was making the coffee this morning, I was distracted by the toaster giving off an alarm as it always does. But I had been away from this particular toaster, so I miscalculated the number of scoops for the coffee and made it too strong. I'd blame it on my age, but I've always had a distraction problem.

When I taught (and I'll leave it at that; that is I won't add school: I mean who teaches school? One may teach at a school, but everyone knows school, so I won't use that. If I had added students, well that's almost redundant unless we're talking about animals and I never had any luck there) I simply couldn't have students talking, too. One of us only. And I'd be honest and tell them that I couldn't talk if they were. If it was important what they were saying to a fellow student, then I would wait for them, but we both couldn't talk at the same time. Maybe once I had a student take me up on that and finish his discussion, but he was the only one and so it worked for me for many years. So, I won't blame my confusion this morning on geriatrics.

But it reminded me of Quincy, Mass, where we were last Saturday. Besides being the home of President John Adams, Quincy also proudly houses Dunkin' Donuts University. In fact, along the East Coast, they outnumber Starbucks and are much preferred. I heard one Rhode Islander call Starbucks Charbucks because of the strong taste. Another from Maryland called them FiveBucks because of the hefty price of their Java.

I prefer Starbucks and their breakfast sandwiches and their lemon cake pastry and their lunch sandwiches. But I can down a donut from Dunkin' very easily. Actually, one right name might just take the bite off my Charbucks this morning.

2011-07-02T03:00:00.000-07:00

HOORAY FOR THE RED WHITE AND BLUE OR HAPPY SUMMER HOLIDAY
What is there exactly not to like about Independence Day? I'm starting to appreciate that term more and more. Yet there's nothing wrong with the Fourth of July.

A celebration of the beginnings of our country. Against all odds. We all know the story. Yet we need reminders. Often times. I'm afraid most of those who lead our nation today are some that need the reminders the most.

But this holiday can and for the most part is celebrated for cookouts, swimming, picnics, ballgames, and of course the obligatory fireworks. Fun and food. And family and friends.

It can be a time of reflection, too. For our country's roots, for parades and patriotism. Think back this long holiday weekend of past Fourths. Delve deeply into those thoughts, but not for too long. Because celebrations are gone all too fast.

But the good ones last and last. Kinda like the good ol' USA

2011-06-21T16:37:00.000-07:00

CAREFREE
Just north of us are two separate burgs, though I might be the only one who has ever penned burgs with the West, named Cave Creek and Carefree. I've been to both though I 've frequented Cave Creek more when the fork forces me to choose. Cave Creek has handier Western shops, a golf course, and some good places to chow down: the best at the Rancho Manana Golf Club.

I've never seen the creek or the cave and when I've gone the other way, I've never felt very carefree. They're both the kinds of names that drew me nearer to baseball announcer Harry Carey when he called the games for the Cardinals when I was a kid. He'd either announce fans were in St. Louis from Strawberry Danes, Arkansas, or some other interestingly named town. At least to me, a lover of words at a young age.

But what would it be to feel carefree? I always go back to my school days as a grade school student, junior high, high school, college student and teacher. There was just nothing comparable to the last day of school.

The feeling of no constraint, the feeling of complete freedom. At the tail end of a physically hard day of work (you're right--I never experienced many), turning 21 years of age, getting that diploma paled in comparison. It was just knowing or better yet not knowing what was ahead, but you had survived whatever had been thrown at you, whatever had come your way. And you were ready.

You could take all day to slide or blow bubbles. You could sleep till noon. You could stay up all hours of the night or all night. No repercussions because you were free of cares. For the time being. But for once, time wasn't your boss. You felt Summer would never end.

About three weeks later, you started thinking about missing your friends and what school would be like in the Fall. Your carefree days were great. For awhile.

It's like some who I've known that never got out of the military. Never got over their year(s) of service. They were free (and thank God for their service for our freedom) but pulled back, in a way retained. Same with school. Some of the people I've known as fellow students and former students who couldn't wait to get out of school and into the real world, never graduated. Never got over the "dear old golden school days".

Some like a character in a Frost poem were still thinking of arguments they should have used, could have used back then.

I guess most are not really anymore carefree than the town in Arizona. Even at Summer's beginning, school's end, or honorable discharge. That's the human for you--we want freedom, but then again, do we.

Carefree is nice, but only for awhile.

2011-06-20T10:45:00.000-07:00

WE'LL SEE
Just how this works out.

Everyone has a story. Some have blogs they've written over 2,000 entries for. It's getting harder to find picture that evokes an idea for me to run with.

So I'm going to tell you a story about one of my friends, whom I'll identify only as Craiger. I know he wouldn't mind, but I do, so I'll use that pseudonym.

I guess maybe a better moniker would have been Mr Metabolism. The story about him is how he can eat.

The first time my wife ever met him, he ate half her meal. We had played golf in Prescott (pronounced by the locals as Press Kit) about 90 minutes from our home. After our golf, we stopped to eat at roadside restaurant in Black Canyon. Big servings. So big that CQ had to quit. No problem for Craiger who simply took her plate and finished eating her meal.

Another time he was at a restaurant, similar to the Black Canyon one. He ordered roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans. He polished those off and ordered a piece of lemon pie which he added a la mode. When he was finished, he asked the waitress if she could bright him another. She was stunned because of the sheer amount. "Another piece of pie a la mode?"

"No," Craiger answered, "Another roast beef plate." Which he ate.

Yet another time he went to a family cook out. Sixteen total. He went with one member who was going to buy the steaks at a local food store. Nice big New York strips. There was one Delmonico in the case that must have been a two-pounder. "Wow! Look at that one!"

"If you'll eat it all, I'll buy it," the family member teased.

"Sure thing." And he did.

Craiger still eats like that and probably has less than 10% body fat on his 5'9" frame. And that it his story.

2011-06-19T05:43:00.000-07:00

BUT YOU DON'T ALWAYS HAVE TO

There are so many things to be written on this topic. I wonder what our pastor would center on. Every Sunday he shares what scripture he will be preaching on the following week. When I have read ahead of time, I always find myself thinking what will Pastor Jamie key in on and develop. He is an amazing teacher of The Word and he simply doesn't disappoint.

So my focus will be on not being still.

In Scottsdale, we have a farmers' market or two on Saturday mornings. We are semi-regular attendees. Last Saturday, the talk of the market was some super sweet corn that one of the merchants had for sale. Samples were available from small cobs. And it was delicious.

"You've got to try the sweet corn." "It's the best you'll ever have." "It's to die for."

"I picked corn on Tuesday and Friday; this is all I'll have this year," he declared.

"Be still..." and miss the corn.

Yet that's exactly the way we do in sharing the gospel. Eternal salvation is a much better deal. The 4 ears we bought were gone by Monday. Our salvation is not. It was offered freely. We accepted. We didn't have to do anything except believe that God had one Son named Jesus. He came to save us from our sins. He died. He rose and lived again as was witnessed by over 500 people.

We believe. We won't be still. But unfortunately we won't be as giddy when we share the greatest gift the world will ever see.

2011-06-18T09:37:00.000-07:00

HOW DISAPPOINTING FOR SO MANY WOMEN

And if you went to McDonalds just for that purpose, then I guess there are other places to look.

Many try to find boy toys at bars. Others choose grocery stores. I've heard some frequent laundromats for that said purpose.

One of the most popular places is at a shopping mall because of the sheer numbers and possibilities. Ballgames, golf courses, bowling alleys and churches round out the inexhaustive list.

That is absolutely all I know or care to discuss on this topic.

Except, I'd imagine that disappointing a woman at McDonalds would be a whole lot worse than disappointing a young boy who wanted a SpongeBob guy toy.

2011-06-17T15:13:00.000-07:00

A FANATIC? oH yEAH
So just what kind of guy goes to a game looking like this Mav fan? And why?

Mr.Basketball Head went to a lot of work to achieve this special look. He had to have a lot of help with the paint, too.

But why? Did he really need attention that badly? After he got noticed, was that really the way he wanted people to see and or remember him?

Just how does that help the team? Do you think they noticed him? Would he be able to ignite crowd support? You know, like those guys who stand up and turn around and try to get others fired up? Don't they have cheerleaders for that?

I'm not talking about a rite of passage that fans from grade school through college go through to show support and gain attention. But they're finding their niche. They're having mostly good, clean fun. The old Mav fan pictured is too old to have fun, right? Well, at least to dress that way.

I have trouble with the NBA finals anyhow. I grew up a St. Louis Hawks fan. They won one championship, made one stupid, stupid trade of Bill Russell and fled to Atlanta. Then after awhile it was the Bulls and Jordan. I never liked that team because primarily of its location, but I never much cared for Jordan and his walking baseline move that refs allowed him to take, so our son and I chose the Bad Boy Pistons of Bill Laimbeer and Zeke Thomas to support. Again one championship.

Then we moved to Arizona where the futile Suns tease at times but never have won a title. Never going back to 1969 when they let them in the league. That's a drought starting to get Cub-like in nature.

So when this season's finals began, I mostly ignored. Five minutes is about all I watched. LeBron Vs Cuban. What a choice.

I suppose the lesser of two evils prevailed, but the Mavs won hands down for the dumbest looking fan.

2011-06-16T12:10:00.000-07:00

FNL
If SNL can stand for Saturday Night Live, then FNL can stand alone for Friday Night Lights, one of my all-time favorite tv shows. With one of the stupidest programming schedules I have ever seen. And they wonder why the show didn't eat up the ratings.

First, they from NBC, couldn't decide what night to show FNL. In it's 5 seasons, it was on Friday night (duh) three times, I believe. Once on Wednesday and once on Tuesday, if I'm not mistaken. It could be just two seasons on Friday.

This season it didn't premier with the other shows or even the mid-season pick-ups. It started in April. Well, that's a creative move. Every viewer gets pumped up about the April sweepstakes. It must have worked great because this is the second year they've chosen that iconoclastic pattern.

Yet if you subscribed to a dish, then you could have watched it in the Fall. Talk about divide and conquer. It came out in DVD in March. Divisive yet again.

I couldn't wait for the final season so I became a DVD devotee and have already seen the entire series. It was worth the price. Just to fast forward through commercials. One night this boring tv week I started with our HD channels and with the exception of Paid For programs, I clicked on 25 different channels to see how many were showing commercials. I didn't get in a hurry just to prove my point, but I allowed enough time for regular regulated commercial breaks. Some channels included sports, too, but the final result was 15 were airing commercials: 10 were showing dramas, news, sports, comedy, something like soaps in Spanish, and re-reruns of shows in syndication.

Oh for a rabbit trail or two.

FNL will be missed. I spent 19 high school football seasons announcing varsity games. I understand the draw of the games, the crowd, the marching band, the half-time shows. It's all good stuff. FNL brought a little of that back to me and I will greatly miss it.

Next March when it won't come out on CD.

2011-06-15T05:07:00.000-07:00

FINALLY AN ANSWER TO A QUESTION THAT HAS PLAGUED GOLFERS FOR A LONG TIME

First, the situ. The golfer will hit a bad shot now and then. The worse the golfer, the more now. If said golfer could eliminate what I call the stupid shot, his score and psyche would improve tantamount.

Somewhere along the line (probably in Scotland where they invented golf and still seem quite erudite about it) someone added the mulligan. A great idea. A do-over at no cost to the player. All he does is announce something like, "Mulligan time," and drop another ball. Brilliant.

Except even that has been stretched to include a mulligan on each 9 holes, or taking mulligans whenever one chooses. Which reminds me of some friends I have played with that regularly take 3 or 4 foot puts for themselves, but expect me to putt two footers. But I digress. Somewhat. When my wife and I play and have not had a chance to practice putt, we take a mulligan putt on the first hole if needed. The Q-rule, I call it. But I digress, again.

The traditional one mulligan per round can be used as a "breakfast ball", where the golfer can hit two shots off the tee, if he is displeased with the initial drive. In many foursomes, that is the only mulligan for the round. Others have a breakfast ball and a floating mulligan to be used at any time during the 18-holes.

The mulligan can, and probably should save the player 2 strokes if he hits the ball out of bounds or into the water. But on occasion, a guy gets so angry at himself after looking up, for instance, that he opts to hit another ball and pocket the errant shot.

As an incentive not to use a mulligan, I have come up with the answer to the age old problem and the beauty of it is it only distorts the score by one stroke, not two. If you play a mulligan-free round, you get to subtract one stroke from your final score as a reward.

It makes perfectly good sense, it speeds up play, and it turned my 79 into a 6-over par 78 in one of my better rounds this year the last time I played. I already have the Q Rule so this one I'll call the Big M.

2011-06-14T08:54:00.000-07:00

THE MAN, 1959, BASEBALL CARDS

Last night in the Republican Debate, they called it the ObamaDepression. I made it one word on my own. But maybe that's why I'm stuck in another long ago decade this morning. A retreat to a safer, better time, maybe only because it's past and I got through it with relative ease.

Stan Musial was my first baseball hero. Along with Kenny Boyer and Don Blasingame and Sad Sam Jones and Larry Jackson. Telling me about my heroes was Harry Carey on KMOX radio, along with Buddy Blattner.

That's when baseball cards were really cards. That is cardboard, not plastic, not like credit cards. Yes, the kinds kids stuck in their spokes on their bikes to make them sound louder, like the little motorcycles/mopeds that flooded the SIU campus back then.

Or maybe my nostalgia was started by a FaceBook post by a friend that generated 85 responses about stores and businesses in our home town about that time. Of course, I added my two cents worth recalling a clothing store that wouldn't hire me as high school senior and the next door barber shop I went to for a friend's dad to chop off excess hair and to give me the just right modified Beatle cut. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Or it just might have been the closing of all the city's Marie Callendar Restaurants as announced in today's paper. No more pies for me (although it's been over one year since I tasted their superior lemon pie.) Hey, maybe that's why they closed. At least that's going to be my argument for the next DQ Blizzard I want.

Maybe that should have been used in last evening's debate. "Obama said he was going to outsource Dairy Queens to China. Not if I'm elected. We have enough P.F. Changs here already."

2011-06-13T06:33:00.000-07:00

I AWAKENED A BUTTERFLY
Two large butterflies frequent our backyard. One to the east and the other to the west. They're yellow from the family Lepidoptris. I don't know for sure, but I seem to remember that genus from Biology.

As I was wondering where they go at night, because I've never seen one at night anywhere, and I was wondering why they don't seem to travel very far, at least not as far as some mosquitoes which can log 25 miles in a day, I woke one up.

I got so close to him before he awakened that I thought him dead. I could have picked him up, but I remembered something about animals that don't like human touch. That is, they will be rejected by their mothers if they smell our scent on them. I'm not talking about dogs and cats and domestics that like our contact. Since I didn't want rejection for the Lepidoptris, I just waited and watched.

I thought back to my high school insect collection. I had a butterfly, but it wasn't very good. Actually, it was one of my better ones, but none of mine were any good except my fly. I was great at catching flies and throwing them to the ground and watching them spin around like crazy. I'm glad butterflies don't do that.

I also thought about butterflies being free. I rejected that notion, because of my wife, daughter, and oldest granddaughter. If they didn't travel any farther than a butterfly, they would feel in bondage. They need their wings to spread and grow and, well, go. I imagine our youngest granddaughter will be more like them than the butterfly.

I also thought of moron jokes. They were terrible jokes when I was 8 or 9. One I recall was "Why did the moron throw the butter out of the upstairs window?" Ans. "He wanted to see the butter fly." That's really the only one I remember. Now, I guess, besides being not very funny, it's probably offensive to morons everywhere. Maybe that's why those kinds of jokes died out.

He awoke. No more story. He didn't seem rattled to see me occupying his space. He didn't seem embarrassed that he had been caught napping near some lantana. He just flew away, cool as a butterfly can flitter. No doubt refreshed. If he had a thought, it might have centered around what was that moron doing so close to me anyhow?

2011-06-11T10:08:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-06-10T11:08:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-06-09T09:25:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-06-08T05:49:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-06-07T09:10:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-06-06T08:31:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-06-05T05:48:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-06-04T05:15:00.000-07:00

"AND WHEN I TOLD HER..."

Disbelief. How can you refuse me? How can you just walk away?

There were such good old lyrics without being country story lyrics. A country story lyric requires tears and beers. "He's parking his car in her driveway where I used to park my truck." As I've said before, I want to like country music because it seems more American to me. Certainly more American that Cee Cee Something's "Forget You." And that's the tamed down title.

But I just can't get past the heartache/heartbreak/break up/ up chuck that defines country for me. Scotty Idol's take on "lock the door and turn the lights down low..." is a good song, and I'm glad there are exceptions, including another Idol, Carrie Underwood. But stars like Buck Owens and the Buckaroos of days gone by did me in years ago.

That's not to say that there aren't sad, sad stories in some songs of the '60's. "Teen Angel," "Patches," "The Poor Side of Town." But they were fewer and farther between. Even Pitney's "Town Without Pity" could fall into the sad story category, but it's such a great song that he can be forgiven. In fact, Gene Pitney knew heartbreak like none other, but somehow his great, unique voice transcended it much like Roy Orbison. They could touch your heart like The Beatles' "Michelle" or "Yesterday" without making you want to bawl or get drunk. Their heart tugs were almost a ritual that one had to go through to grow, to feel alive when things got better. You just expected things not to improve in the twang songs of American country.

That guy's car in her driveway may not always be parked there. But some other one will be. And it ain't gonna be the one who was driving the truck.

2011-06-03T09:42:00.000-07:00

GRADUATION DAY
It may be past that time these days, but 4 or 5 years ago today, I participated in my high school graduation on the campus, specifically in the gym, at MTV High. June 3 was a hot, muggy day and the old gym held the heat quite well.

Our caps and gowns were heavy, hot, and gray. By the end of the speeches and diplomas that went out to the school's largest class (395), most, make that all were ready for post-grad activities. There were no parent parties, no Project Graduation activities, no non-alcohol activities, just a dance at a local club. That lasted until midnight, then a swim party for the graduates at a rec club pool.

I think it lasted till 1:00 AM, but I may be off on some of the times. As I said, it has been 4 or 5 years ago and memory wanes. I do remember leaving there with my date and going to her house. Where she made me promise not to attend a camp out with the guys who had purchased lots of beer that afternoon.

She kept me there late until I was really getting sleepy. Then I left. A high school graduate.

I'd tell you whether or not I caught up with the guys, but you know, lots of things get lost in 4 or 5 years. In fact I think I've forgotten how to spell forty-five, or at least how to number it.

I almost forgot (see?) to include the picture in my missive. It was for the song of the year, Lou Christie's "Lightning Strikes".

2011-06-02T16:26:00.000-07:00

FROM A JACK TO A KING

Was Kermit ever that happy? Is this frog also dreaming of Miss Piggy? Has he had a fabulous meal of flies and crickets sauteed on a lily pad leaf? Or maybe he's just enjoying the splendor of creation.

It's really funny how mood swings affect us. This morning I opened up a new pack of coffee. Ever since Will Lee and I made coffee for the Teachers' Lounge crew (later Chuck Stallings and I carried on the traditional task) I've loved opening coffee. In the old days it was in a can and as the can opener gave out its last chew before getting put to bed, the aroma of fresh coffee filled theair like a shot of perfume. But times change and coffee comes in a package now.

This morning in my early time lumber from slumber I opened up the wrong end of the coffee package. I wondered where the plastic tabs were, but not much stays the same (certainly not the plastic lids on bottled water anyhow) so I pulled and freed the glued paper to allow me to extract coffee. Then as I was putting back into the refrigerator for fresh keeping, I noticed my faux pau. The day continued along those lines with the one except ionthat I played the last 8 holes today near par.

Things were going well yesterday. Until the bottom of the 7th inning when Cardinal Lance Berkman had one of the worst at bats of the season. With a new relief pitcher into the game and his wildness showing, Number 15 swung at a 2-0 ball way out of the strike zone. With the bases loaded and one out. Fundamentals taught by coaches to baseball players from age 8 on, tell the hitter to make the pitcher throw a strike in the area where the hitter wants to smear the ball. Don't go after a pitch that doesn't look good. In his eagerness, he committed a cardinal sin. The Cardinals go on to lose. My mood does a 180 gravitation. All because of one play in a baseball game.

The night before as the Cardinals rallied to win, I was as happy as the frog. As I've said before, my eighth grade English teacher, Mrs. Snodsmith told me it didn't take much for me to be entertained. She was right then and now.

But she should have added or for me to have a sudden mood swing.

2011-06-01T11:48:00.000-07:00

WHERE'S THE JUNE POLE

It's been a crazy day so far and it's not even noon yet. I've searched high and low for the sales for Cinco de Juno and I haven't found anything in the papers, Internet, or tv. I never can remember why we celebrate it anyway, but it was important to Hispanics and so I embrace a time of celebration.

Then this June bug or bumble bee goes into full attack on me buzzing me and threatening me with his territorial claim. I finally slipped off one flip flop (Margaritaville?) and mano y mano slapped him, batted him hard. I figured I killed the aggressor, but he flew away across the street and up over a neighbor's house. It could be a pretty fun game if you were guaranteed only one creature would attack at a time. I had given him a chance, too, trying to swat him away with my hand, but no, not until I went into attack mode would he leave me alone. So don't think I'm Michael Vick or something, but a game of chance could bring about wagers. How many times would it take me before I made solid contact? It was only one in this encounter, but if he comes back this afternoon, I may be in for more of a challenge.

Finally, the morning paper tells me I can't talk on my cell phone, not really a big deal for me since I rarely do. In addition, I can't take aspirin or ibuprofen, again not a big deal though I usually take a baby aspirin three times a week. If I talk I'll get brain cancer; if I take aspirin I'll lose my hearing. What's a guy to do?

And June's only getting started. Wait till she starts busting out all over.

2011-05-31T21:09:00.000-07:00

COLOR ME PO-ed

Ticked is not a strong enough word. Our son was famous for ticking off a pitch that he couldn't handle in Khoury League. Rather than take a full cut at it, he would tick it foul and await a pitch he wanted to drive. I know one assistant coach that it drove crazy.

Hacked off is not used much anymore, but it may be more accurate. Hacking conjures a violent action of some sort. And now we may be getting there.

But I'll settle for PO-ed, even though on mainstream tv these days they don't hesitate to say what P and O stand for. So who or what is my subject? Once again, I'm afraid it's our President.

He had angered me from ObamaCare to border control. His attempt at Reaganesque humor about creating a moat with alligators fell way short of any kind of humor that The Master Communicator used. Don't even try, Mr. Obama. I knew Mr. Reagan. I went to his first inauguration. Believe me, you're no Ronald Reagan. Unfortunately.

But his stance on Israel is the single most dangerous, most uninformed blatant single action he can do to harm our country. Return to the boundaries prior to the 1967 war? I'd like to think he can't be serious. I could go into great detail about how stupid his suggestion is. I could suggest that maybe our country should go back 10 more years to re-establish boundaries and give back Hawaii. Then there'd be no birther question. But instead, I'll simply offer this take. A scriptural, a Biblical take.

God will take care of Israel, Mr. Obama. With or without our help. But no place in scripture does He say He'll take care of the US. History and scripture dictate that God will bless those who support Israel. God will draw the boundaries, not you, Sir.

2011-05-31T08:46:00.000-07:00

AS WE AGE

Do we all get a little more patriotic, a little more appreciative as we get older? Do we look back at what made our country great and see that it is individuals after all? Like someone once said, a snowflake is not much by itself, but when it has unity, when it connects with others it can stop traffic.

Soldiering was something we played a lot as kids in backyard games. Our only ammo was the dirt we stuck in the ends of our rifle barrels and shot at the others. The yard bullets didn't go very far but sometimes under the right circumstances a little poof of dirt would give the effect of a shot from the gun. This was long before paint ball or real bullets that some of us tried like heck to avoid having to use.

But soldiers are preservers. They're heroes. If you missed a 60 Minutes segment on a US soldier who fought in Afghanistan who was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, then you missed a great Memorial Day or any day story. Try to check it out on line. You may not be brought to tears, but I guarantee a gulp or two or a knot in your throat.

And that's today's entry from ON THE QT. Have a safe and respectful Memorial Day 2011.

2011-05-27T05:57:00.000-07:00

I HATE IT WHEN THAT HAPPENS

When your heart gets pulled out. From the back. When she's holding it in her hands. As you walk away.

Plus, she keeps the ring. What's up with that? And, by the way, where is she going with the heart? I mean besides the opposite way.

Will she put it away for safe keeping? Maybe add to her other hearts from years, months, or even weeks past.

Or have I misinterpreted the entire scene? Is it her own heart she's holding? Before it breaks? Did she literally throw herself, heart included at him and he rejected her? Is his walk, one of coolness rather than rejection?

He's not looking back after all. But is she?

Lou Rawls sang of "love is a hurtin' thing". Had he been British he might have added " a bloody hurtin' thing".

But we still wouldn't know who suffered the wound.

2011-05-26T08:14:00.000-07:00

BRAGGADOCIO

If you've read this before or heard this story before, just rack it up to my advanced age where I re-tell stories simply because I can't recall having told them before. It's a good thing I don't lie or embellish too much.

We met a PhD at church Sunday, introduced to us by one of our neighbors who correctly called my wife by her given name, Caroline. As soon as he met her and shook her hand he called her Carolyn. Now, there's nothing wrong with the name Carolyn. Except that is not her name. And it's a sore spot with her.

It reminded me of a two-week class I had as a grad student. Elementary Education Principalship, I guess was the title. We met for 4 hour sessions for two weeks and concluded with a dinner at the Prof's house. It was a rather small group, maybe 15-18 with a lot of discussion and a final paper. Being an English major, it suited me just fine.

Until we got to his house and I was introduced to his wife as "Ned". I knew I was toast. I knew I had not impressed him much if he didn't know my name after two weeks and 40 hours. I flashed back to my undergrad days at Illinois State when my Anthropology Prof acted puzzled by my identity and existence when handing back our mid-terms.

I was correct in my assertion. I received a B, a good grade, but not one that I wanted nor expected from that class. The only other B I got in any grad school work I embraced because it was in an English class that I was lost in from day one. Swinburne? Who the heck was that English poet anyhow? And I was to know all about him? I didn't. But took my "good grade" and gladly left Dr. Benzinger's class.

That's ok though. I would have been a lousy grade school Principal anyhow. I would have been a lousy high school one, too. In fact, I wasn't very good as a department chairman. Come to think of it, I probably deserved more B's and fewer A's.

But at least I could pronounce people's names.

2011-05-24T15:24:00.000-07:00

BITS AND PIECES

Isn't that a beautiful ring? That's what most tell you they play the game for. Liars!

Man, I hate bargaining and unions and owners=s and administrators and haggling. We did that for my career in education and all it did was infuriate and demoralize. Once again the NFL is at it.

Billionaires vs millionaires. It sickens me to see them both ruin a great thing. I know baseball fans that haven't attended or given a hoot about baseball since the strike in 1994. These were not casual fans either. They had just had enough.

I'm far from being there. But I'm not reading any articles on how the negotiations are going. I'm not reading about how STL phenom, Sam Bradford is leading the team in unofficial conditioning and practice and teaching the playbook. I'm listening a little.

So, yes, I have interest. But it's waning. And I've been a fan for a long, long time. I still remember when at age 8 I heard the following teams names: Chicago Cardinals. What? The Cardinals are in St. Louis, I thought. The San Fransisco 49-ers. Like the Gold Rush we studied about in school. The Green Bay Packers. What's a Packer? The only packing I knew was clothes. I had no clue where Green Bay was, though I thought it sounded cool. (I can even tell you where I was--Richie Archer's backyard, our sandlot.) The Baltimore Colts and Unitas. Another cool team and player name.

But I can tell you one thing: when I've had enough, I've had enough. It happened to me in tennis, as a player and as a fan, but that's fodder for another blog entry. But to the NFL-ers, I'd say, just get her done. And darned soon.

2011-05-23T10:51:00.000-07:00

LOOK AT THAT HAT

Whoever Julie Benz is, she looks great in that Derby hat. The bow tied guy next to her doesn't.

One of the first times I was in Kentucky as an adult, I was astonished at the beautiful women I encountered at a mall. I seriously wondered if there was a beauty contest that weekend. That's how good they looked.

But old time Derby goers who attend the Kentucky social event of the year must marvel at the ladies' hats. Along with the beautiful horses and atmosphere.

What I've found about womens' and mens' hats for that matter is that if a gal or guy looks good in a hat, then they also look good hatless. Some of the stupid looking hats draw attention like the stupid looking sports coats that one college basketball announcer wears. Maybe that was their purpose all along.

When I was a wee one, my favorite hat was a Davey Crockett coonskin hat complete with tail. On a trip to Florida when our son was about 4, I continued the tradition by purchasing him one at a gas station. He, too, was somewhat enamored with it, wearing it on two Halloweens in a row--one as Crockett: one as Daniel Boone.

While we both looked pretty dashing in our hats, we couldn't compare to some of the beauties spotted at the Kentucky Derby. To this day, I know neither of us has tried a mint julep either. After a few of those, maybe none of the hats there look stupid.

2011-05-22T05:06:00.000-07:00

BLAH, BLAH, BLAH

I'm really tempted to blast the apocalyptic prediction from a California prophet (can you say oxymoron?) that did not take place on May 21 as predicted.

Harold Camping has never proven himself to be a modern day prophet. Isaiah, for instance, accurately predicted short term events, long range events, and the end of time events. He was proven correct on the two that have passed and I'm banking on his being 100% correct on the third.

Check it out. It's all in the Old Testament book of Isaiah, sometimes called the Fifth Gospel. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John being the other four from the New Testament. Not only did he prophesy the name and events of Cyrus, 180 years before he was born, Isaiah gave astonishingly accurate details of the coming of Messiah and how He would be crucified 800 years later.

Camping's most famous prediction before yesterday's Judgment Day error was a similar prediction and error in 1994. Prophets don't make mistakes. False teachers do. Including the Mayans. They may have built great civilizations, but if the world does end in 2012 as their calendars predict, then it will be by coincidence and not prophesy. Matthew 24:36 should put an end to speculating the hour for the Rapture to occur.

But, you know what? If it caused people to focus, even ever so briefly on eternity, then I think it was worth it. It's far too easy to live in today's culture and not invest time for the future. And the worst case scenario for believers is fabulous; if the Rapture occurred yesterday, we would have gotten to see Jesus.

2011-05-20T09:03:00.000-07:00

GET IT RIGHT

Once again, American has voted. Wrong.

So on the 10th season of American Idol, the faithful following is going to be subjected to a final pitting two, yes, two country western singers.

The last two weeks, the two best singers have been voted off--James and Haley. Their problem: they weren't country. No Grand Ol' for them in the future. No Hee Haw appearances.

And I hate to be that way. I want to like and respect most all music, but when twang meets twang, it's too much for me. Not that Scotty and Lauren don't have great voices; they do, but they're not as powerful, not as much range as James and Haley. Those are the two I wanted to see in the finals, but at least one should have survived.

Another show I watch ended badly for me, too, when conniving, lying, deceiving Boston Rob won on Survivor. When some fortunate breaks and some stupid voting by the jury that he had mistreated voted to award him the million dollars. Despite the fact that his equally disreputable wife Amber had won a million in an earlier Survivor using the same underhanded tactics. Certainly Rob's loyal but weak sycophants, Peter and Natalie, were not worthy, but better choices than the eventual winner.

So I've had a bad tv week.

Next week, I'll watch the Idol, I guess. I should have a winner in Scotty even though he's the lesser of two as they say. But Adam Lambert should have won last year, too. You never know. I have trouble accepting that this year's Idol winner looks astonishing like Mad magazine's Alfred E. Newman.

2011-05-19T15:17:00.000-07:00

TELL IT TO THE HAND

I never quite understood that expression. Like a lot of other things I never understood.

On occasion, when my mom would hear a funny saying, she would laugh into her sleeve and say she was saving it for later. I never heard of that before or since.

Or why can't you begin a sentence with and? The Greeks did. Or at least there's a Greek word, peritaxis, for it. And it means, to make a point. A continuation that could not easily be added to the previous statement or loss of effect would occur.

Or why you can't end a sentence with a preposition. Winston Churchill did in a book he sent to his publishers before he was famous. They returned the manuscript with a note that he ended too many sentences that way. His response, "That is the kind of nonsense, up with which I refuse to put." Only Sir Winny.

Or why educators at universities moan about students having to diagram sentences in English, yet they accept, in fact embrace mathematics courses which don't use numbers to any great degree. And they call the English exercise something students will never use in their lives.

There are many more things that puzzle me. Like how they really get those ships in the bottles. Plus, electricity. And not only how it works. But why people moan about the price of oil but not the price of electricity. Don't we have a right to cheap, clean electricity?

2011-05-14T04:29:00.000-07:00

WE REACHED 100 DEGREES

for the second time this year. It'll probably be the last time. Yeah, sure.

It does curtail activity though. Yesterday, for instance, our foursome teed off at 7:00 AM, and all four of us had a twenty minute drive to get there. We finished in the accustomed 4 hours, then it was pool time. After that I walked three miles and had muscle cramps while sitting in front of the tv.

But that was yesterday. No golf today. The walk was much earlier though still hot and sticky. Well as sticky as 16% humidity can be, but last week we had 2% humidity which was as low as humidity can get. At least that's what the meteorologist Dave told us. He, by the way, has been appointed to announce The Second Coming on the 21st. At least he has that kind of presence.

So more pool time along with a purchase from a tree nursery called Moon Valley. A Mexican bird of paradise, hey appropriate for next week's Rapture, though I'd pictured Heaven rather than Mexico. A store run to stock up, and then inside stuff like blogging.

I'm kinda lost since my Bible Study Fellowship class is over for the Summer. What a study the book of Isaiah was. I just finished 9 years of BSF and this may have been the best of all. Called the Fifth Gospel, it's an OT book that I knew was important (I mean what Book of the Holy Bible isn't) but one I needed help for understanding (I mean what Book of the Holy Bible isn't one I need help for better understanding). But if I'm not in a formal Bible study (our Small Group is also on hiatus for the Summer) then I'm not in the Word like I should be. It's called self discipline.

So that was my day on May 14, 2011. Every time I write the year, it seems so space age, so in the future. Where did the 1900's go? They seemed a more comfortable time. The early to mid-1900's would have found Arizona windows open, as in the picture, sheets wetted down for the long, hot Summer.

Next week, Dave is calling for temps in the 90's--a welcome relief. Already.

2011-05-13T10:11:00.000-07:00

"DON'T MESS WITH_____"

Fill in the blank. With Texas, Bill, or me and mine.

My next door neighbor, a doctor recently retired and whose name is Beheler (pronounced Be Healer--how cool is that for a physician''s name) recently had surgery at Mayo Clinic. He felt a little bad in Recovery because of all the other patients there who had had brain surgery and heart surgery. He had had his big toenail removed.

It reminded me of the movie "Alice's Restaurant" when Arlo was in jail for illegal dumping. He was incarcerated with "murderers, rapers, and mother rapers".

But to show you the kind of stock I spring from is the animus for this entry. My brother, who is older than I (not many people are anymore) went out to fetch his paper. Upon his return he badly, badly stubbed his toe on one of his steep steps leading to his front door. He went through the house bleeding profusely he knew.

He sat at the kitchen table and accessed the damage. Blood and a curled up big toenail on the left side of his right foot. He knew nothing else to do but tear the rest off. He pulled off his big toenail. If that doesn't send shivers down you, then we might be related.

"I saved it. I'll mail it to you," he responded. Then he laughed and decided to just wait until I returned to MTV to share it.

And that, dear reader(s) is why you shouldn't give me any trouble.

2011-05-11T05:02:00.000-07:00

THE 21ST

I was in a comedy once in high school. It was a play entitled "It's Coming". Some scenes, some slapstick compete with a pie in the face stage fight. We drew a crowd, but not as large as the All School Play or other venues.

The picture at the right is from Easter Sunday at our church. We always draw a crowd. Counting all our Sunday services which began at 6:30 and ended after the 1:00 worship service, we had over 9,000 in attendance.

And as sure as I believe tomorrow is Thursday, I believe in the Rapture when Jesus will return to earth. I just don't believe it will be May 21, 2011, as some have suggested. Nor do I believe it will be in 2012 as the Mayan calendar indicates. I also didn't believe Nostradamus or some seer like him when he predicted a massive earthquake on the New Madrid Fault back in the 1980's, though some schools did and cancelled on that date.

All I need to know to be a believer is that Jesus is who He said He was and He is who God said He was. When Jesus said no one knows when the Rapture will occur, not even Him, but it will happen in a twinkling of the eye, then that's what I believe. So it may be that the Second Coming will occur on May 21. It may occur in the year 2012. But it will be because a sovereign and Mighty Lord decided it. Certainly not some man.

And no one alive at the time will miss it. Oh, they may miss being raptured because of their disbelief, but they will witness; they will know who Lord of Lords and King of Kings is.

It won't have to announced by any human like Jerry Hicks who uttered the last line of my high school play--It Has Come. For all will know.

2011-05-09T09:21:00.000-07:00

AT THE HILLS

Indian Hills wasn't the best golf course in MTV, but it's where I cut my golf teeth. Also, it was a place where I had some of the most fun playing golf anywhere.

One particular day, a friend of mine showed up with the top of the line golf equipment and duds. I knew he was a pretty good athlete. So I just figured he was a pretty good golfer.

He wasn't quite as decked out as the picture of the guys sporting a product called Loud Mouth apparel. But he was pretty close. The one item I focused on was his red and white golf shoes. Bright red and brand new.

As he stood on the tee box of number 1, a short dog leg Par 4, there was enough of a gallery of old timers who had noticed Barry and had taken their brews of choice out to observe his tee shot.

It wasn't pretty. It wasn't a whiff, but it dribbled off the tee. A Breakfast Ball or mulligan was called for. With a swing as close to Charles Barkley's as I've ever seen (who, by the way authors the worse swing I've ever seen) Barry's second drive sliced over the parallel Number 3 fairway and was headed last seen to the Number 4 rough.

He carried his brand new bag over his shoulder and went to play it. Smart money would have selected the dribbled drive which was closer to the Number 1 green. He looked great as he headed for his ball. But the gallery had seen enough and they headed back to the bar.

The moral is a simple one. If you're going to dress like that, you had better be able to play.

Barry couldn't, and I never recall seeing him at Indian Hills again. He may have learned his lesson. Or started taking them. At another course. Without a gallery. And hopefully without the flare of wild golf clothes.

2011-05-08T05:06:00.000-07:00

ROY G BIV

I don't know what color indigo is. I kinda thought it was purple but violet takes in that shade. Maybe pink. I could look it up. Naugh.

But Roy G Biv has helped me through the years when I need to know prismatic colors. Let's see: that's never. Kinda like naming the countries in the Fertile Crescent. Mnemonic devices are cool, but isn't that all there really is about knowing them? When do we need them outside of a trivia challenge. And when we do, do we have to rely on memory? I mean if this isn't the Information Age, I don't know when it was and how I missed it.

So, if you need info, then avail yourself to it. Electronically. Or the old fashioned way. Research.

Gray, red, blue, purple--that's what I found when I looked up indigo. I know, I was a little late, a little out of order, a little incongruent, but hey, so is indigo. It apparently can't make up its mind what color it is.

Instead of Roy G Biv, I'd just remember I. It's the universal color. See what you get when you research? It's like asking the grade school teacher how to spell a word and her telling you to look it up in the dictionary. Ok, but how do I spell it to look it up?

All these thoughts caused by a picture I couldn't undestand either.

2011-05-06T20:58:00.000-07:00

DON'T VICK ME

I just thought it a cool picture. But today it seems people are so sensitive. PC did that to us I believe.

And now some Native Americans (nee Indians) are complaining because Geronimo was used as a code word to hunt down Osama. The irony to me is the Navahos were famous for codes in WW II. The argument could be made that we couldn't have won without their assistance. But today's Native American gets in a huff over the use of Geronimo. I don't know, but with at least some Indian blood in my veins, I suppose if I ever jump out of an airplane, I won't yell out, "Geronimo". As per one suggestion, I guess I'll holler "Robert E. Lee," since he killed more Americans than Geronimo.

Of course, Michael Moore and France got into the act as well. Both saying we didn't give Osama a chance. Moore added that he should have been put on trial. I think Moore should have been put on trial for treasonous libel he spouted about President Bush, but now I suppose I'm getting petty.

While I'm at it, I have a surprise for Loyal Reader(s). I am against the bill(s) advocating making English the official language of our country. Why? Because it only makes sense. That's the language we speak. If immigrants want a different language, then maybe they should stay put. But if you come here, speak the language.

Finally, in our neighborhood, Fred was the wiener dog or dachshund. He was actually bigger than Chiquita, my chihuahua. German--Hispanic, they didn't care anymore than a couple of kids with Irish names playing with a couple of kids with German names.

But that was in the day when things made sense.

2011-05-06T06:41:00.000-07:00

IT'S ONLY BECAUSE SHE HASN'T SEEN IT

That I don't have this sign. My wife is the she in the title.

I moan. About far too many things. I mean there are some things worth moaning about. But some of the ones I choose are really sad.

Who else has miniature tantrums over hangers? Clothes hangers. But why can't they simply make one good clothes hanger? Why are there so many varieties that get tangled when I remove a shirt? One hanger fits all: requirements--make it padded not to leave bumps on my shoulders; make it versatile enough to hang a pair of pants on if needed; finally, allow the hanger to be hung in one direction only--that is, no spinning around. That's all it takes. And if you, Mr. HangerMaker want to charge an arm and leg for it, go ahead. Since gas is expensive, I can see where you need to make a profit, too.

Stoplights is my other, among still others, angst-causers. My wife has to explain to me on a weekly basis that we live in a large city:thus, more traffic, thus more traffic lights. But what I don't get is why I sit at the head of the line so many times. How do I constantly miss going through the fading yellow?

Keep in mind, I've been retired a few years now. Why do I have to be someplace, any place at a given time. Even church. We have so many people at our church that show up late, why can't I? Simply, because I'm not built that way. I'm a punctual, time-honored dude who shows up early. And expects to leave on time. Anything else is upsetting.

So there you have it from a punctual moaner. But tomorrow, no today, I'm going to try to show a little grace to the not punctual, not complain bitterly about red lights and try to get over my hanger annoyance.

And I'll get back to you to report when I've made progress. You don't need to wait with baited breath or cancel any activity. I'm sure it will be a huge achievement for me. Eventually.

2011-05-05T05:58:00.000-07:00

I'VE JUST ABOUT HAD IT

I am becoming illiterate. I don't like it.

The following is a list of things I can't do:

Tweet on/ or Twit

Use my wife's cell phone (I can barely use mine)

Text (not just while driving, I mean at all)

Clip and paste and move stuff all around (even while writing a manuscript on Word)

And all the other stuff--IPOD, IPAD, download YouTube (without paying a fee)

that I don't even know what I don't even know.

Also PIP on my tv (even though we've had that feature for a decade) and I'm not sure I could play a CD on the DVD without some assistance.

Who said confession is good for the soul? I just feel inept. In fact, come to think of it, most would agree: I am inept.

But if you want to come over tonight, I'll cook you a steak, some asparagus, and a sweet potato that will be mouth watering. My new grill is the best.

I might even offer you a drink. But it would have to be a water, diet coke, sparkling lemonade, ice tea, coffee, or a Blue Moon. I don't think I could even open a bottle of wine. And I sure don't know how to make a margarita or mixed drink.

2011-05-04T08:39:00.000-07:00

"IF YOU COULD READ MY MIND, LOVE

what a tale my thoughts could tell," Gordon Lightfoot sang so many years ago.

"I Can't Get you Outta My Mind."

Little Anthony and the Imperials preceded that with "I Think I'm Going Out of My Head".

"Well, that's how elementary, it's gonna be/ C'mon, let's fall in love.."

I guess when a girl gets in a guy's head, it does crazy things to him. For girls, it was called boy crazy back in the day. I guess it was called girl crazy, too, for the guys. At least Elvis made a movie about that.

Countless books, essays, magazine articles, love letters, text messages, twitters, even blogs have been written about the attraction between the sexes. About the moments. About the times. About the one time. About the longevity of a loving relationship. About the brevity of a relationship cut short because of a circumstance. About what might have been. About what was never meant to be. At least it never happened. Except in the mind.

So, when the one takes over a huge chunk of our craniums, what are we supposed to do? A lot, I suppose, depends on our age. A lot on our focus. A lot on present and/or past. And a a lot on our future.

Now, just where was I going with this entry? Was it just an exercise based on a picture I liked? Was it to share an insight, a different look at a universal topic? Was it a self-exam to determine why I'm only "half there"?

I really can't say, but maybe I was successful in getting Faithful Reader(s) a point of take off or reminiscence.

2011-05-01T12:40:00.000-07:00

SAY IT ISN'T SO

Did Sonny Liston take a dive in his championship title fight against Cassius Clay? Heck, I don't know. But I've watched the replay of the phantom punch that floored him and I couldn't see it. But then again maybe Clay, at the time, prior to his Ali name change, was that good. And quick with his bees.

I'm not saying that he wasn't The Champ. I'm not saying he wasn't the best heavy weight fighter of all time. But the one fight that threw him into the spotlight (definite pun on the verb) was highly suspicious.

Now we sports fans are hearing that the Cubs may have thrown the 1918 World Series. Was that their last until '45 when the lost? I'm too lazy/busy to look it up.

Yet there are those who think Pete Rose should be in the Hall of Fame. Rose, the All-Time hits leader bet on baseball games that he was participating in as manager. He claimed he always bet on his team, but when he lost he would be very susceptible to make changes or decision affecting the outcome. There is simply no place for that in the game. Whether in the '90's when he managed the Reds or back in the heyday of the Cubs in the early 1900's.

Point shaving in games, gambling, taking a fall, paying off an official all reek. It's a great way to ruin some great sports.

So I say there should be more severe penalties than a Hall banishment. I say any player or team caught throwing a game, should be banned from winning a champioship for a century.

Oh yeah, I guess the Cubs agree and took the same action I suggested on their own.

2011-04-30T06:37:00.000-07:00

REUNION

Yep. Time for another high school reunion. Well, not quite. I have a few months to shed a few pounds to impress a few old friends.

I didn't have a '55 or '56 Chevy as those highlighted in the dealership picture, but I did have a '61. And it was pure junk. I think what attracted me to it, besides the freedom it provided, was the dealer sticker on the back. It was from a Flagg dealer in St. Louis and had a picture of an American flag.

Now, if that isn't reason enough to buy your first car and try to pay for it by flipping burgers and dicing onions, then you've never made a boneheaded decision either. But that was TQ back when.

As I look forward to reunioning, I'm reminded of my friends' cars. All cooler than mine. Except for Bill Moore's 1931 Model A Ford. It hardly ran at all and never without giving it a good push down hill. But it was more of a project than a way of transportation, fortunately.

Other cars of note were a '57 Chevy (the Mellow Yellow), a '64 1/2 Mustang, a '59 Ford, a '59 Chevy, a '64 Malibu, a '58 Lincoln, a '63 Chevy, and a '52 Chevy. Most others were borrowed cars from Dad, but some like me were fortunate enough to have their own while in high school.

I should have stuck with my Dad's car.

At the reunion this year, I'll be driving a rental. The cheapest they have, although I think they may have upgraded us since we are Gold Card members. As long as it's large enough to hold golf clubs, I don't mind.

And after the Friday night meet-and-greet, the golf is the best reason to go reunioning. Plus, maybe feeling better about my aging. Or as I've heard expressed before on more than one occasion (ok, it's probably a cliche by now) "Why are all these old people at my reunion?"

2011-04-29T09:24:00.000-07:00

I HAD A CHOICE, YOU KNOW

The picture I selected was entitled Bullet Through a Candle Flame. The other picture was billed as Bullet Through a Banana. The former I found more edifying.

So, Mr. Edification, what are you going to build on from this picture? The pic of choice.

Upon closer inspection, I think it almost looks like a bullet passing through an avatar. With blonde hair. Just under her left armpit.

Other artists might have copped out and simply called the picture A Study in Red. That would have been enough for me. For as Jack Buck used to say, Red. Cardinal red is my favorite color. I'm with him all the way. Just yesterday one of our favorite golf courses went back to giving out red tees. I loaded up, then proceeded to use other non-reds, saving, almost savoring, definitely hoarding the classic reds for another day. I've long believed anticipation better than, or at least as good as reality.

Back to the picture. So I must deal with why a bullet was fired through the candle flame. Accident? Purpose? I say intentional. Why red? The color that it reflected? I say it's a symbolic for passion. The bullet, naturally, anger or angst.

For the rest of the story, well, you have an imagination: use it. I'll tell you some day. Not today. But there is one heckuva story here.

2011-04-28T18:37:00.000-07:00

CANVAS, YES

I really like art. Not that I'm artistic at all. Or a student in the arts. Except for Jim McGehee's juco class in Art Appreciation. I guess it's like Mr. Beckmeyer's Music Appreciation class in high school. I really liked it, though I'm not too musical either.

Maybe Appreciation is the key. I can appreciate, and I'm glad I'm built that way. I appreciate the 12-hour day that roofers across the street put it today on Dr. Joel's house. With a huge wind gusting pretty steady. Could I be a roofer? In Arizona? Anywhere? Not any more than I can be artistic or musical, I'm afraid.

But what I don't appreciate is graffiti. I don't care how detailed, how effective, how beautiful it may be. If you're that talented, then put it on a canvas. The side of a building, wall, or any object that is not yours is defacing property. Old fogey. Yes, I am. But even when I wasn't, I didn't deface property.

Except once. The last week of high school, I did help spread the news that our class was graduating and needed to make all denizens realize it, too. I didn't do the most famous spot, the Daniel's Hill Wall erected with WPA money, but a friend and I sprayed a few sides of public property before we got cold feet. I can only recall two places, but that was two too many.

Had we only had canvas. We could have painted 66 and 67 on it. "It'll be Heaven in '67" would have been good. But what rhymes with six? "We got our kicks in '66", but that had already been takenby a famous highway and tv series. "We took our licks in '66." Naugh. "We liked Stevie Nix in '66." Lame.

I guess sometimes canvas isn't necessary to express a monumental event.

2011-04-27T08:08:00.000-07:00

PHEW!

You know, PHEW is an interesting word. It could be used as a word of relief as possibly indicated by today's picture. It just happened to be snapped by a photographer catching the subject's reaction to the release of the Obama birth certificate.

While I found no picture for the other PHEW, it means something stinks. Muddy baby diapers, garbage, the sudden disclosure of a cover up, for instance. Or the "something is rotten in Denmark" expression stemming from a Shakespeare tragedy. I suppose you could take your choice in today's revelation.

What does it mean to me? I'm glad you asked. Actually, a few things. Why did he not have to produce it before running for Prez? I had to show mine before they let me in grade school.

If he's had it all along, then why not show it? What kind of gamesmanship is that? Why even give the hint of indiscretion? How does that inflate one's standing? Or was he ashamed that he was born here?

Would it take that long to fabricate a birth certificate in this day and age? A friend of mine altered his driver's license at age 16 that showed him to be 21. The only way you couldn't tell was to turn it cover and see the tape job on the back. He didn't look 21, but I'm certain he was served alcohol. A photograph of it would go undetected even today.

What are the effects of this breaking news? A few. One, it will get the focus back on what else is wrong--spending, spending, spending Stupid. Getting involved in Libya. Not more strongly supporting Israel, and a host of other very important things like repealing ObamaCare.

And one final one. You were born an American citizen? Fine. Now we'll vote your ass out of office.