Golf is the only sport I know of where talented, athletic types brag about how bad their game is. For this reason, bookish, klutzy folks like me are totally endeared to the game; a sport that tends to convert perfectly normal people to instant looniness almost immediately.
I don’t usually do book reviews in this column, but today I’m going to make an exception for Ur Bst Golf, local author Ken Dance’s new book.
Don’t let the easy-to-read, informal tone, or the pocket size fool you. It is packed with helpful tips, humor, and wisdom, making it fun and informative at the same time. And it’s soooo local; here’s a sample:
“Sometimes the mere mention of a certain hole on a certain course can cause our palms to sweat. I know number nine at Hollytree in Tyler, Texas has ruined many a round for many golfers.” He goes on to explain that, instead of thinking yourself into a bad game, “The goal of confidence is to intentionally transform a positive thought into a present reality.”
He includes practical hints for winning the game of acquiring confidence in golf- and in life.
Ken dissects the elements of golf in a way that even newbies to the sport can understand.
In his section subtitled “Precision: a Combination of Distance and Direction,” Ken emphasizes that they are interdependent.
“I once played with a guy who achieved a world record for distance traveled. The first hole on the course was parallel to a very busy street in Dallas. When he hooked his drive, the ball took two bounces on the street and landed inside the raised door of a moving van just as it passed by. I’m not sure where that ball eventually went, but I know it went further than any ball I’ve ever hit. Distance isn’t everything.”
Ur Bst Golf is the perfect stocking stuffer. Or, because it is so local and personal, it is a great gift to send to friends in other places when we brag about how wonderful Texas is. (I can’t be the only person sending obnoxiously Texas stuff to all my friends, right?) Contact Ken at kendance@suddenlink.net or go to Amazon.com or BARNESandNOBLE.com.
Ken wouldn’t want me to write about his book without mentioning that the Chick-Fil-A Bethesda Golf Classic is coming up Oct 2 at Oakhurst. He often plays this tournament with his grandkids; it’s a friendly, relaxed opportunity to include newly addicted golf fans, young or old.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Heroes I Know: Stuck in the Mud
“Oh, you can’t get stuck in the mud if you still have two tires on pavement,” I assured my son moments before I managed to sink my SUV into mushy red clay right up to my front axel.
Luckily for me, one of my heroes happened to be nearby. Actually, he and his wife were hosting a birthday party for twenty or so of their son’s friends. My stuck car probably looked like a piece of cake compared to chaperoning that exuberant, energetic event.
I keep a short list of heroes. I figure that’s why God gave us fingers; to keep count of things.
Phil is husband to one of my friends and dad to five. He is also uncle and next-door neighbor to his sister-in-law and her three kiddoes.
Yep, when her husband died in an accident, Phil and my friend invited her sister to move to East Texas and then prayed. Miraculously, the house next door suddenly became available.
So, Phil’s been on my short list- my five finger list- of heroes for a long time. Long before I got my car stuck in the mud.
He called a guy he knew and in moments I was rolling again. I’m betting the guy with the tow truck is on somebody’s short list of heroes, too. Just a guess, but he showed up with his son and sometimes you can tell which dads are heroes by the way they interact with their kids.
So, what does an average ole dad hero look like?
-Even on a day when he’s worn out and frazzled, he manages to stay fairly restrained when he has to correct his kids. This is sometimes a superhuman feat, by the way.
-He often has one or two of his own kids in tow, apprenticing them in an as-you-go kind of way about how gentlemen conduct themselves in the world.
-And, he has an encouraging word for the other young people he encounters along the way.
Just for future reference, it is scientifically proven that a car can be stuck in the mud even with two tires still on the pavement.
On the other hand, it seems that there is a trick to being the dad that keeps rolling along. The secret to being a hero in the circle of your life, I suspect, is to be the most heroic you can be in a single present moment. And then, just let the moments add up.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http:/checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Luckily for me, one of my heroes happened to be nearby. Actually, he and his wife were hosting a birthday party for twenty or so of their son’s friends. My stuck car probably looked like a piece of cake compared to chaperoning that exuberant, energetic event.
I keep a short list of heroes. I figure that’s why God gave us fingers; to keep count of things.
Phil is husband to one of my friends and dad to five. He is also uncle and next-door neighbor to his sister-in-law and her three kiddoes.
Yep, when her husband died in an accident, Phil and my friend invited her sister to move to East Texas and then prayed. Miraculously, the house next door suddenly became available.
So, Phil’s been on my short list- my five finger list- of heroes for a long time. Long before I got my car stuck in the mud.
He called a guy he knew and in moments I was rolling again. I’m betting the guy with the tow truck is on somebody’s short list of heroes, too. Just a guess, but he showed up with his son and sometimes you can tell which dads are heroes by the way they interact with their kids.
So, what does an average ole dad hero look like?
-Even on a day when he’s worn out and frazzled, he manages to stay fairly restrained when he has to correct his kids. This is sometimes a superhuman feat, by the way.
-He often has one or two of his own kids in tow, apprenticing them in an as-you-go kind of way about how gentlemen conduct themselves in the world.
-And, he has an encouraging word for the other young people he encounters along the way.
Just for future reference, it is scientifically proven that a car can be stuck in the mud even with two tires still on the pavement.
On the other hand, it seems that there is a trick to being the dad that keeps rolling along. The secret to being a hero in the circle of your life, I suspect, is to be the most heroic you can be in a single present moment. And then, just let the moments add up.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http:/checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
You Only Keep What You Give Away
You only keep what you give away.
I was reminded of this principle again recently when I experienced the computer glitch of a writer’s worst nightmares and all my files were lost.
Bummer.
So now I am searching my gmail files for attachments and discovering that I’m glad I always share my stuff.
This week’s events reminded me of an experience that happened right after my son was born almost thirteen years ago.
My friend showed up one day with a one-of-a-kind baby gift.
Imagine my surprise when I opened the package and discovered that she had given me two tiny items from the store of things she was saving for her own grandchildren someday.
It was one of my all time favorite gifts because I understood that she was giving me something very personal, a gift of herself; a “Baby’s First Christmas” bib and an antique plaque with a dimpled cherub from the wall of the nursery her own sons had out-grown. I hung the plaque next to William’s crib and, being a Christmas baby himself, he spit up on the bib immediately.
Within months after Christmas, I received a call from a mutual friend one morning.
“Cathy, there was a fire at Joyce’s house last night. Everyone is safe.”
The scene was surreal. Her two-story home overlooking the lake, designed by an architect who was a colleague of Frank Lloyd Wright, had been a masterpiece of contemporary architecture. Now it was a charred, blackened slab.
The insurance company made an initial payment immediately and within days Joyce’s family was settled in a rent house with a convenient storage barn out back.
Where there had been family heirloom furniture, now there were practical, simple pieces like desks for the boys from Walmart.
She explained to me that the process was actually freeing somehow.
Fortunately, over the years, she had given copies of all family portraits to family members, so her pictures were already coming home.
Then we went to the barn where there was a row of plastic tubs holding the few indestructible items they had managed to salvage. We spent the day scrubbing thick, black goo off of china and the few pieces of silver that didn’t melt.
And I returned her bib and her plaque.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
I was reminded of this principle again recently when I experienced the computer glitch of a writer’s worst nightmares and all my files were lost.
Bummer.
So now I am searching my gmail files for attachments and discovering that I’m glad I always share my stuff.
This week’s events reminded me of an experience that happened right after my son was born almost thirteen years ago.
My friend showed up one day with a one-of-a-kind baby gift.
Imagine my surprise when I opened the package and discovered that she had given me two tiny items from the store of things she was saving for her own grandchildren someday.
It was one of my all time favorite gifts because I understood that she was giving me something very personal, a gift of herself; a “Baby’s First Christmas” bib and an antique plaque with a dimpled cherub from the wall of the nursery her own sons had out-grown. I hung the plaque next to William’s crib and, being a Christmas baby himself, he spit up on the bib immediately.
Within months after Christmas, I received a call from a mutual friend one morning.
“Cathy, there was a fire at Joyce’s house last night. Everyone is safe.”
The scene was surreal. Her two-story home overlooking the lake, designed by an architect who was a colleague of Frank Lloyd Wright, had been a masterpiece of contemporary architecture. Now it was a charred, blackened slab.
The insurance company made an initial payment immediately and within days Joyce’s family was settled in a rent house with a convenient storage barn out back.
Where there had been family heirloom furniture, now there were practical, simple pieces like desks for the boys from Walmart.
She explained to me that the process was actually freeing somehow.
Fortunately, over the years, she had given copies of all family portraits to family members, so her pictures were already coming home.
Then we went to the barn where there was a row of plastic tubs holding the few indestructible items they had managed to salvage. We spent the day scrubbing thick, black goo off of china and the few pieces of silver that didn’t melt.
And I returned her bib and her plaque.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Road Trip Romance
With family-filled summer days over, I vote for a romantic getaway.
Okay, everyone knows that guys and gals have totally different ideas about what’s romantic, right?
So when my friend spelled it out recently, I got out my pen and pad and took notes.
“Just buy Dorritos,” she began.
According to her theory, our significant others get tired of being told to eat healthy meals. When their sweetheart hops in the car with a cooler and a grocery bag packed with junk food, that means it is time to cut loose. Vacation. Road trip. Romance.
And all this time, I thought putting veggies on the table was a loving gesture meant to communicate that I hoped to keep him with me awhile.
This time of year is a great time for a road trip when beach towns take on a whole new laid-back attitude because it’s still hot enough to enjoy a shady umbrella and a good book, but the crowds have cleared out. In fact, hotel and condo rates drop as much as half mid-September. A mere 6 to 10 hours from now and you could be listening to the gentle pulse of the waves and treating yourself to a platter of fresh sea food.
To get your manfriend in the right frame of mind, here’s the food that communicates freedom and romance for the car ride according to my anonymous expert, a friend who suggests these “seven steps to a healthy relationship” (besides nacho-flavored Doritos):
-butterfingers,
-Ruffles potato chips,
-a cooler filled with Mountain Dew, and
-plenty of country western music which is the number one national favorite, apparently.
Step #6: Stop for Barbeque. “I don’t know what the deal is with THAT,” she says.
Step seven is funniest, though, as far as I’m concerned.
She has a firm opinion about a sure way to make the trip go faster.
“Buy copies of Glamour, Cosmopolitan, Vogue, Bizarre, and GQ,” she says. Then as your sweetheart drives along, read exerts and ask innocently, “Would you like this?” or “Do you want to try this while we’re on vacation?”
Well, no wonder the trip goes fast, right?
You better keep an eye on the speed limit because your sweetheart’s foot will be getting heavier and heavier and his mind won’t be on the junk food.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Okay, everyone knows that guys and gals have totally different ideas about what’s romantic, right?
So when my friend spelled it out recently, I got out my pen and pad and took notes.
“Just buy Dorritos,” she began.
According to her theory, our significant others get tired of being told to eat healthy meals. When their sweetheart hops in the car with a cooler and a grocery bag packed with junk food, that means it is time to cut loose. Vacation. Road trip. Romance.
And all this time, I thought putting veggies on the table was a loving gesture meant to communicate that I hoped to keep him with me awhile.
This time of year is a great time for a road trip when beach towns take on a whole new laid-back attitude because it’s still hot enough to enjoy a shady umbrella and a good book, but the crowds have cleared out. In fact, hotel and condo rates drop as much as half mid-September. A mere 6 to 10 hours from now and you could be listening to the gentle pulse of the waves and treating yourself to a platter of fresh sea food.
To get your manfriend in the right frame of mind, here’s the food that communicates freedom and romance for the car ride according to my anonymous expert, a friend who suggests these “seven steps to a healthy relationship” (besides nacho-flavored Doritos):
-butterfingers,
-Ruffles potato chips,
-a cooler filled with Mountain Dew, and
-plenty of country western music which is the number one national favorite, apparently.
Step #6: Stop for Barbeque. “I don’t know what the deal is with THAT,” she says.
Step seven is funniest, though, as far as I’m concerned.
She has a firm opinion about a sure way to make the trip go faster.
“Buy copies of Glamour, Cosmopolitan, Vogue, Bizarre, and GQ,” she says. Then as your sweetheart drives along, read exerts and ask innocently, “Would you like this?” or “Do you want to try this while we’re on vacation?”
Well, no wonder the trip goes fast, right?
You better keep an eye on the speed limit because your sweetheart’s foot will be getting heavier and heavier and his mind won’t be on the junk food.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Water-cooler Talk about Divorce
“Divorce was not an option, but homicide was,” laughed my friend who had chalked up sixty years of wedded bliss with her husband.
Unfortunately, the plain truth is that divorce is frequently an option.
Not just around the water cooler at work, but with anyone willing to listen, guys want to talk about their marriage when they get hurt, frustrated, and angry.
Unfortunately, there’s a pattern:
First, they blame their spouse. The guy thinking of bailing on his marriage always has a crazy wife, have you noticed? She isn’t taking her meds. His life is hell.
Next, they complain that they haven’t had sex in a long time. This is when the other guys suggest it might be time to consider divorce because who in the world could go without sex, right?
As a woman, I’d like to respond to those two ideas.
First, heads up, fellas! Desperation may look a lot like crazy, but it’s not the same thing. A woman who recognizes that her marriage is failing is going to feel desperate.
You could take her desperation as a compliment. It probably means that she still loves you. So quit blaming her and take responsibility because as a husband, you are the head of your home.
Now, about sex, here’s a news flash, fellas. Women are designed by God to like sex just as much as men. It’s a primal thing. So, if your wife is not responding to your overtures, there is probably something else working against you.
There are a lot of things it could be and I’m not a therapist. But don’t miss a chance to gently initiate conversation and changes on this issue. Your leadership could pay off in the long run in many ways, including with really great sex.
Next time you are standing at the water-cooler with a friend who is struggling, please don’t say divorce is not an option.
Instead, remind him that victory always comes with a high price. Encourage him to put on his game face and get off the bench. Please tell him that you’re on his team.
Then, the water-cooler conversation can get back to talking about your favorite teams.
We all have our favorite hero athletes, but these days the real hero is the one working to make his marriage function well. And the friends who encourage him to stay in the game.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http:checklischarlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve.gmail.com.
Unfortunately, the plain truth is that divorce is frequently an option.
Not just around the water cooler at work, but with anyone willing to listen, guys want to talk about their marriage when they get hurt, frustrated, and angry.
Unfortunately, there’s a pattern:
First, they blame their spouse. The guy thinking of bailing on his marriage always has a crazy wife, have you noticed? She isn’t taking her meds. His life is hell.
Next, they complain that they haven’t had sex in a long time. This is when the other guys suggest it might be time to consider divorce because who in the world could go without sex, right?
As a woman, I’d like to respond to those two ideas.
First, heads up, fellas! Desperation may look a lot like crazy, but it’s not the same thing. A woman who recognizes that her marriage is failing is going to feel desperate.
You could take her desperation as a compliment. It probably means that she still loves you. So quit blaming her and take responsibility because as a husband, you are the head of your home.
Now, about sex, here’s a news flash, fellas. Women are designed by God to like sex just as much as men. It’s a primal thing. So, if your wife is not responding to your overtures, there is probably something else working against you.
There are a lot of things it could be and I’m not a therapist. But don’t miss a chance to gently initiate conversation and changes on this issue. Your leadership could pay off in the long run in many ways, including with really great sex.
Next time you are standing at the water-cooler with a friend who is struggling, please don’t say divorce is not an option.
Instead, remind him that victory always comes with a high price. Encourage him to put on his game face and get off the bench. Please tell him that you’re on his team.
Then, the water-cooler conversation can get back to talking about your favorite teams.
We all have our favorite hero athletes, but these days the real hero is the one working to make his marriage function well. And the friends who encourage him to stay in the game.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http:checklischarlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve.gmail.com.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Self-Segregation
It’s a strange, but folks in East Texas tend to be self-segregating.
If anybody can explain this phenomenon, I sure wish you’d write in and educate me. I don’t get it.
I was reminded of how hard it is to break old patterns last year when I pulled up to drop off my son on the first day of middle school.
“It’s a third, a third, a third,” was the answer when we asked about the demographics of the school. In other words, the school is pretty nearly equally populated with white kids, black kids, and Latino kids.
Heck, I don’t even know the politically correct way to describe the groups. Caucasian? African American? Hispanic? Whatever.
Personally, just cus a person’s skin is pigment-challenged does not mean they relate to some region in Eastern Europe. I generally describe my ethniticity as Texan and leave it at that. I even write Texan in the box marked “other.”
Anyway, this mix of demographics seemed like one of the advantages to us in choosing a school for our son. Since he is a people person, we saw the advantage to him of learning to be comfortable with folks from all backgrounds with varying perspectives.
But on the first day of school, there it was plain as day. Yep, we’re in East Texas all right.
“See how the kids divide themselves into groups. The white kids are over there. The black kids are over there. And the Latino kids are in the middle,” I pointed out the obvious to my son as we pulled up in front of the school.
I really hated to call attention to the fact. I felt a piece of his childhood would be over forever when he recognized that there were self-imposed differences. It would complicate friendships that in elementary school had been unpolluted by race issues.
On the other hand, I couldn’t see any advantage in pretending that the lines don’t still exist. Within days, he would get the picture clearly from kids who would try to keep him on his side of the divide.
“Your job this year is to cross-pollinate as many friendships as you can. Seek out friends from each group, please, and honor your friends to each other.”
And than I added the phrase I send him off with every school day.
“Oh yeah, don’t forget, you’re the best young man in the whole world.”
So, okay, maybe I’m a little prejudiced on that particular point, but, hey, I’m a mom.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
If anybody can explain this phenomenon, I sure wish you’d write in and educate me. I don’t get it.
I was reminded of how hard it is to break old patterns last year when I pulled up to drop off my son on the first day of middle school.
“It’s a third, a third, a third,” was the answer when we asked about the demographics of the school. In other words, the school is pretty nearly equally populated with white kids, black kids, and Latino kids.
Heck, I don’t even know the politically correct way to describe the groups. Caucasian? African American? Hispanic? Whatever.
Personally, just cus a person’s skin is pigment-challenged does not mean they relate to some region in Eastern Europe. I generally describe my ethniticity as Texan and leave it at that. I even write Texan in the box marked “other.”
Anyway, this mix of demographics seemed like one of the advantages to us in choosing a school for our son. Since he is a people person, we saw the advantage to him of learning to be comfortable with folks from all backgrounds with varying perspectives.
But on the first day of school, there it was plain as day. Yep, we’re in East Texas all right.
“See how the kids divide themselves into groups. The white kids are over there. The black kids are over there. And the Latino kids are in the middle,” I pointed out the obvious to my son as we pulled up in front of the school.
I really hated to call attention to the fact. I felt a piece of his childhood would be over forever when he recognized that there were self-imposed differences. It would complicate friendships that in elementary school had been unpolluted by race issues.
On the other hand, I couldn’t see any advantage in pretending that the lines don’t still exist. Within days, he would get the picture clearly from kids who would try to keep him on his side of the divide.
“Your job this year is to cross-pollinate as many friendships as you can. Seek out friends from each group, please, and honor your friends to each other.”
And than I added the phrase I send him off with every school day.
“Oh yeah, don’t forget, you’re the best young man in the whole world.”
So, okay, maybe I’m a little prejudiced on that particular point, but, hey, I’m a mom.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
TV-Challenged
There was a time when I could turn on the TV all by myself.
That was in the days before Wii and VCRs complicated my life and introduced a set of at least three remotes into our household.
Maybe it’s just me but I call this phenomenon “Tyranny of the Remote.”
Occasionally, I get really fed up. My thinking goes something like this, “I am a college- educated person, for heaven’s sake, it can’t be that hard.”
After punching endless button combinations and resisting the urge to throw the annoying devices through the TV screen, I finally do what any sensible, college-educated person would do.
I call my son.
When he quits laughing, he walks me through the process again.
This never happens when he is home for one simple reason; the men in my life wouldn’t trust me with the clicker even if I did know how to use it. That’s because they tend to view the History Channel as a quick blip on the screen between Walker, Texas Ranger and Psyche.
I’m doomed to endless reruns of tough guy, manly stuff; superhero cartoons for big boys.
I like the fact that my men are so simple in their approach to TVs. They simply want the biggest, brightest, loudest one they can find.
Yes, sirree. They simply march in, make the purchase, take it home, then fiddle with the buttons until it does what it is supposed to. No technological challenge is too overwhelming; it distract them for one minute that there will be endless cables to hook up or programming to install.
We recently bought a new cabinet to hold the TV.
My biggest problem with it is that it came with a gigantic, gaping hole for the flat screen. Plus, there’s no way our extensive collection of John Wayne movies are going to fit in a few small drawers. And there’s no place in it for all the boxes we save.
I don’t really get the logic of holding onto the shipping boxes. I guess my brain shuts down as I try to figure out where to put them without causing a fire hazard.
Then, as I rack my brain, surveying the collection of corrugated cardboard in the attic, trying to remember which Sony and RCA products we actually still own, it suddenly dawns on me!
Maybe the reason my guys have brain cells for using the remote is because they aren’t distracted by Life’s Peripherals.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
That was in the days before Wii and VCRs complicated my life and introduced a set of at least three remotes into our household.
Maybe it’s just me but I call this phenomenon “Tyranny of the Remote.”
Occasionally, I get really fed up. My thinking goes something like this, “I am a college- educated person, for heaven’s sake, it can’t be that hard.”
After punching endless button combinations and resisting the urge to throw the annoying devices through the TV screen, I finally do what any sensible, college-educated person would do.
I call my son.
When he quits laughing, he walks me through the process again.
This never happens when he is home for one simple reason; the men in my life wouldn’t trust me with the clicker even if I did know how to use it. That’s because they tend to view the History Channel as a quick blip on the screen between Walker, Texas Ranger and Psyche.
I’m doomed to endless reruns of tough guy, manly stuff; superhero cartoons for big boys.
I like the fact that my men are so simple in their approach to TVs. They simply want the biggest, brightest, loudest one they can find.
Yes, sirree. They simply march in, make the purchase, take it home, then fiddle with the buttons until it does what it is supposed to. No technological challenge is too overwhelming; it distract them for one minute that there will be endless cables to hook up or programming to install.
We recently bought a new cabinet to hold the TV.
My biggest problem with it is that it came with a gigantic, gaping hole for the flat screen. Plus, there’s no way our extensive collection of John Wayne movies are going to fit in a few small drawers. And there’s no place in it for all the boxes we save.
I don’t really get the logic of holding onto the shipping boxes. I guess my brain shuts down as I try to figure out where to put them without causing a fire hazard.
Then, as I rack my brain, surveying the collection of corrugated cardboard in the attic, trying to remember which Sony and RCA products we actually still own, it suddenly dawns on me!
Maybe the reason my guys have brain cells for using the remote is because they aren’t distracted by Life’s Peripherals.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
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