It was a year ago...April 28 to be exact...that I started my blogging activity here on thekansascitychannel.com. "Blogging activity" sounds like something the Department of Homeland Security would be looking at, warily, or a condition you would have to consult your family physician about or something you are warned of on the side of a tube of ointment: "This product may result in unwanted blogging activity. If so, and the affected area turns into a magenta silhouette of Geraldo, consult your doctor immediately." But, for better or worse...who am I kidding...for worse and worsester, I've been writing these things for 365 days.

Originally, I tried to write something every week day that I worked. Soon, it became clear that I should only inflict this stuff on an innocent interweb public three or four times a week. Also, when the great and powerful Web-Master, approached me about doing this, she suggested using it as a way to tell folks where I have been and where I'll be going. I have actually done that every now and then...for example, today I am going to Muncie Elementary in Leavenworth. This will be the third time in the month of April that I've visited the lovely and historic town of Leavenworth. Is somebody just trying to get me ready for a more permanent form of residency up there?

So, here we go into year two of this stuff. My kids better start doing more cute, funny and/or annoying things and my childhood memories need to be rebooted or I don't think I can go past June. Anyway, thanks to all of you who take some time, now and then, to read this stuff. Thank you for the kind e-mails, too. By the way, it may be the start of only year two of these e-pistles but it is the beginning of my 20th year at Channel 9. Now, that's a frightening fact...especially for management around here!

Thursday morning on FirstNews, we talked about viewer's pet peeves. There's a web-site called petpeeves.com that stimulated the discussion. Frankly, one of my pet peeves is the fact that for just about everything and everybody there's a web-site! To be honest, technology in general is a pet peeve for me. I understand all the benefits of the interwebs and those little talking boxes called cell phones with which you can also take pictures, shoot videos, send written messages, and, with some of the newer models, neuter small animals...which may leave your pet peeved. Still, I think we may have been a little better off when we weren't quite so much in touch so much of the time! In a way, my Luddite tendencies are almost cutting edge. According to the web-site and our viewers, cell phones are on top of the list of pet peeves. Talking on them while driving...having them go off in church or at the theater...people yakking loud and long at restaurants. There are many reasons to dislike cell phones. Now, of course, when your kids are out and about, it is comforting to know they have that communication device with them but it is not a good sign when your teenage daughter is able to actually send text messages while asleep.

I had a little cell-phone irritation just last evening. My wife and I were attending the senior class awards ceremony for our oldest son. By the way, we are very proud of the fact that he was mentioned several times but I thought it was odd that several of the scholarships were decided by how well the students could dance. This ABC show has taken on a life of its own. Luckily, our son always wears his tap shoes and carries a straw hat. Anyway, as I was trying to tell an unidentified family member about how exciting it was walking the dog earlier in the day, she kept fiddling with her text messaging. When I expressed my displeasure at being ignored, she just smiled and said "Oh, u jr 4aw...tie...brb...bff...lol..." I guess that translates to "Oh, you just relax for awhile...take it easy...be right back...best friends forever....laughing out loud." It didn't even mstm...make sense to me. Out of respect, and a fondness for sleeping indoors, I will not reveal which family member was text-tifying. Let's just say it wasn't my d or one of my s.

Another viewer said he hates it when co-workers use the microwave and don't cover what they're nuking. The oven ends up a splattered mess. This is not a problem for me because I don't eat at work. Ever since they took the "Food-Taster" clause out of my contract, I avoid anything served in the building. I'm not paranoid, just cautious. Along the lines of food-related pet peeves, other folks mentioned being irked by diners who chew with their mouth open or talk while eating. That kind of behavior is boorish and rude unless you time it just right so as to make a person across the table laugh just as they are drinking their Cherry Coke, sending the liquid cascading through their sinus cavities and shooting our their nostrils like a dragon with a head-cold. Then, it is acceptable, according to Emily Post...well, according to Emily Post's out-of-work brother-in-law, Scooter.

A few bothersome things had to do with driving. For example, one e-mailer said she hated it when another driver knows the lane is ending due to construction but does not merge until the very last minute. Personally, I tend to let any and all drivers in ahead of me in any and all circumstances. I do this for one reason: to get that little "thank-you" wave. Yes, my self-esteem is in such a state of disrepair that I need validation from total strangers on the highway. When I don't get the acknowledgment, the rest of my day is kaput. Others mentioned being annoyed by people who don't use their turn signals. I think this is another area where technology has led us astray. So much of what we do in the car, nowadays, is automatic...done for us really...from cruise control to on-board directions to self-parking, that, perhaps, we just forget that we may have to, occasionally, de-blinker. On this point, I think we need to go back to using hand signals. Roll down the window and hold your arm out there...whatever the weather. When I was a kid, in order to get a license for your bike, you had to demonstrate to the police officer that you knew that holding your hand downward was stop....straight out meant you were turning left...upright was a right turn. Using both hands to make a duckie or bunny shadow on the pavement was frowned upon. But, if we just go back to this form of intention indication, the whole eternal blinker problem is gone. It wouldn't be that hard. I already see lots of people gesturing at me when I drive.

Just to answer the question I'm sure you're pondering: No, nobody listed "annoying weatherpeople, mostly by the name of Joel, who are always wrong" as their pet peeve. At least not yet. Now, according to my fellow FirstNewsers, one of the respondents may have had me in mind when she listed, as her major pet peeve: "stupid people."

Better that this it titled "Short Odds & Ends" than "Short Odd End." Actually, I think I will file that second title for use on my last bloggerania on my last broadcast day.

*Why this is so short: In addition to giving the reader what he or she wants, I have to keep this brief because today is yet another training day. Some techno-wiz is coming in from out of town to show me another new piece of equipment. It is great to have the latest gadgets and gizmos but I always come away with the strong sense that time is passing me by and, frankly, I'm not that sad to see it go if it means more clicking and dragging. I'd rather go kicking and screaming. Regardless, the person in the white coat...the technician!...will be here soon and I have to be ready to learn. If this was college that would mean a glass of milk and a large stack of Oreos followed by finding the softest page in the text-book upon which to rest my head.

*Why I'm so decrepit: I got an e-mail from a viewer who says she has watched since I started. That's very nice. She also said she happened to wake up in the middle of the night and catch a ten year old episode of after*words with the Krazy Kats. "The real young guy sounded like Joel Nichols but he sure did not look like the Joel Nichols I see every morning...so young and his hair was so dark. All I can say, Joel Nichols, is that raising teens has been very hard on you."

*Why I am out of breath: This morning they had me running in and out of the building during FirstNews. It was all for a good cause. We were showing the Corvette Convertible that is being raffled off by the Dream Factory as a way to make dreams come true for area kids. You can learn more right here at thekansascitychannel.com by going to Larry's Page or the tab marked Dream Factory car. For $50 you have a chance to win. It is a great looking car. My little Ford was very pouty about my paying attention to this shiny new thing. I'm pretty sure the Ford spat at me as I walked back into the station. My bet is she will refuse to start when it's time to go home.

*Why you're lucky Busby works afternoons and evenings: We do have a risk of strong to severe weather this afternoon and evening. We talked about it this morning on FirstNews. I'm sure that my mother, based on the forecast for Kansas City, is already in her basement up in Wisconsin, with her survival pack which includes fresh water, coffee, chocolate, playing cards, portable radio tuned to the Music of Your Life station, back-up chocolate and lefse. Everybody just be careful today.

Well, the trainer is here and looks mean. I'm already feeling out of my depth. If my weathercasts sound a little muffled tomorrow morning it may be because the trainer has actually physically stuffed me inside the computer terminal. Terminal? Now, we're back to a Short, Odd End!

Our oldest son will be appearing in his final high school stage production this week. He has distinguished himself in leading roles in all kinds of plays...comedy, drama, musicals. Interestingly, even in elementary school he decided to adopt a stage name. Well, it isn't really just a stage name. He uses it everywhere. His siblings all have aliases, too. If you've seen my work on Channel 9, you can't really blame them. Anyway, the fact that "Horatio" is going on the boards again, plus, hearing a name from my murky past, recently, and some e-mailed pictures courtesy of Bob France, from back home in Wisconsin, all have me thinking of my own illustrious stage career. As with many TV types, almost anything can be twisted around to really be all about me.

Not too many blogs ago, I related the story of not getting a part in my middle-school play. I've almost recovered from that painful retelling so I'm not going to put salt in the wound today. Jumping into the high school years, still smarting from my 8th grade humiliation, I refused to try out for the musical in my Freshman year. They were doing Oklahoma...I figured I'd have trouble with the spelling part, anyway. When asked if I'd be auditioning, I replied, dramatically "I want to be alone!" That turned out to be just fine with everybody. I ended up in the chorus. The last play of that first year was Tom Sawyer. The lead was played by the most popular person in the school. Randy Kostroski, a senior, had lettered in every sport he'd ever tried. He had never gone out for a play before, but, I suspect, this play was chosen with him in mind. He had the starring role from the get go and deserved it. This time my character actually had a name, Ben Rogers. (In Oklahoma, I was "Cowboy Number Six.") Well, Randy turned out to be as nice as he was talented, even to us lowly Freshmen. All of us had one big number called Paintin' the Fence. My solo line was "Sailin' on a ship made of logs." I tried to do it as Dean Martin. Sounded more like Mary Martin with a bad head cold.

Starting with my Sophomore year, I decided the community had suffered enough from my absence on the stage and decided to try out for South Pacific. My parents were very supportive until they realized I was not actually going to the South Pacific. I ended up playing an Army guy name Joseph Cable who falls in love with an island girl. She was played by Nola Enge...my first leading lady. Nola was, amazingly, able to summon dramatic tears whenever I approached her on stage. It's funny what your brain can remember. I think I can recall just about every girl I played opposite of during high school...Nola, Mary, Bonnie, Monica. Maybe that's because the performances were so emotional and heart-felt. Also, you tend to remember the names of people who have issued restraining orders against you. Actually, one of the most memorable moments from the play involved a scene in which I am being chewed out by my commanding officer. For some reason, the other actor and I completely collapsed in laughter. I can still remember the silhouette of our faculty director, Mr. Weller, hunched over in the orchestra pit. He was bobbing up and down with laughter or he was sobbing, I never knew which.

The e-pictures sent by Bob France were from a production of Get Smart, based on the great old TV show. I played the lead, Maxwell Smart, mostly because I still carried my lunch to school in my Get Smart lunchbox and I could sort of imitate Don Adams...."Would you believe?"...."Sorry about that, Chief"...."Missed it by that much." All catch-phrases from the 1960s series that I still use today to describe my weather forecasting ability. In the photos from Mr. France, I am clad in my usual polyester wardrobe looking totally ridiculous. One of the shots also has one of my best friends in it, Keith Wilkinson. He was portraying The Chief. I walked to school with Keith just about everyday from first through 12th grade. Each morning, I'd stand in the Wilkinson kitchen while what seemed like hundreds of Wilkinson kids sped in and out. Meanwhile, in the midst of all the good-natured chaos, Mrs. Wilkinson smiled and laughed. It was a great way to start the day.

Over those high school years, we also did Our Town, Guys and Dolls, Harvey, M*A*S*H and other plays. In our Senior year, for the big musical, the choir director chose Once Upon A Mattress. The leading role, of course, was the princess played on Broadway by Carol Burnett. The girl playing the role at Sauk-Prairie High School was extremely talented and made the stage light up. Clearly, the play had been chosen for our school with this talented person in mind. However, I think there was an ulterior motive at work. I think the choir director chose this play in an effort to get even with all of us Senior boys who had made her life so difficult. She chose a play that would force us all to wear...TIGHTS! My part was that of the minstrel who talks directly to the audience and tells the story. That meant I was the first to walk on stage in my black hosiery. Now, Joe Namath may have been able to pull it off...wearing panty hose, I mean...but for me, it was a challenge. As I walked out on stage, I am certain I heard the choir director snorting happily. Luckily for all of us guys, as soon as the girl playing the lead got on stage we were all just background scenery.

Now, as I sit in the theater and watch our son take the stage, a couple of things are very clear: First of all, he's better at this stuff than I ever was...and, second, if I'm ever required to wear tights again, I'm going to need the kind with the built-in girdle. Live theater will go on forever and, apparently, so will my waist.

A couple days ago, I mentioned that the FirstNews team was off. I mean, off to visit the new KMBC building. As it turns out, I can't really tell you anything about the fancy new studio complex. It's top secret. You will be learning more about it in the next few months. Let's just say that my requests for a private kitchen, bathroom with a shower and ping-pong table were not filled. It is a state-of-the-art facility which will clash wildly with my state-of-confusion broadcast style. As I mentioned in the last piece of bloggery, I was concerned that they all may move over there without me. My fears were unfounded. The desk with my name is out there at the new place. Conveniently located at the back door near the shiny new dumpsters.

Of course, moving can be a bittersweet occasion. For example, my wife and I had our first house, perched on a hill, up north of the river, near the hospital. It was a cute little place that had once, many years before sprawl, been a farmhouse. What it lacked in space and extras, it more than made up for with a spectacular view of the city and a mortgage payment that didn't make my teeth itch every month. Also, both of our older sons were born when we lived there. All those factors led me to feel a little misty-eyed as my wife and I made our last trip to get the odds and ends. I wandered through the empty house as the voice of Streisand echoed in my head and heart...."Mem'ries....light the corners of my mind...." It was an emotional time...for me. Meanwhile, my wife had strapped the grill on top of the station wagon and was screeching out of the driveway. My wistful reverie came to an end and, as I was running to catch my wife pulling away, I yelled "Kind of hard to say good-bye to the old place, huh, dear?" Her reply was lost in the loud thump of me jumping onto the hood of the car.

As for leaving the Lyric Opera building, which has been home to KMBC forever, it will not be entirely easy, either. Obviously, not everything is going along. One item in particular will not make the move. In fact, it has already been sold. The Steinway Grand Piano. Back in the days when more than just the newscasts were live and, frankly, when more truly local programming was being produced, there was a very good reason to have a piano in the studio. I used it a lot. I played it on after*words and had our daughter, Samantha, sing along to Rudolfph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I played holiday music during FirstNews sometimes. Once, Maria Antonia even sat up on the thing which beat the heck out of Liberace's candelabra. Not too long ago, when Elmo and Cookie Monster visited from Sesame Street Live, I banged out a little of that happy theme song.

Off the air, lots of Channel Niners would stop and tinkle. (On the piano, you trouble-maker.) When I used to fill on the evening shift, I'd play between shows a little. I tried to set up a tip jar but found that certain big-shot anchors, who were more than happy to stand near by and sing almost any show-tune, were not too likely to leave a buck behind. When it comes to financial behavior, they tend to be careful...disciplined...frugal...cheap.

When a real pianist would visit, he or she would always comment about how beat up the exterior of the old Steinway was...traces of cigarettes, forgotten coffee cups, nicks and dings. It had character! Yet, when these pros would start to play, their eyes would light up. There was life in the strings and pedals. I once played Heart and Soul with the great Lawrence Welk pianist, Bob Ralston. I played while Queen Bey sang and the McFadden Brothers danced. Of course, my marginal abilities were easily ignored alongside such talented folks.

Well, the old piano has a new home...and...uh...gulp...I'm hearing Streisand....getting misty...can't see the computer screen...gotta go....

This will have to be rather short. Okay, quit the cheering. The FirstNews team is taking a field trip this morning to visit the new KMBC building which we will move into sometime later this year. At least that is what they are telling me. I'm a little leery. My family moved six times when I was growing up...but I kept finding them. My wife packed me a sack lunch with my name on it so Gish won't try to steal it like he did the last time we all took a field trip to the zoo.

We are in the process of cleaning out the downtown building. One morning I saw a big chunk of the old Jellybeans set in the dumpster. That was the kids' show I used to host. It was like seeing an old friend on the skids. Since much of the new station will use the new technology that means a lot of our old-fashioned video tapes could end up in the garbage, as well. So far, I've saved some of the after*words shows and a few of those Jellybeans programs. They will now sit in our basement until my kids and grandkids have to deal with them.

More tomorrow about the new building and the move. The bus is leaving and I don't want to sit next to Johnny Rowlands because he always makes weird noises then blames me when the driver looks back at us! By the way, if you don't hear from me again, please send a search crew to the new building. I hear they maybe laying one of the cornerstones this morning and ever since I saw that movie Robin & The Seven Hoods, that makes me nervous.

Friday night it was my great pleasure and honor to be a small part of the Salvation Army's 25th Anniversary of the Children's Shelter. The Allegro Children's Choir sang several wonderful songs. They did a rendition of Home On The Range, that would make the deer and the antelope quit playing and applaud. A nice example of children helping children. Our oldest son sang with Allegro briefly many years ago but Friday night's group was an all-girl conglomeration. I'm not sure, but I don't think our son wore a black dress for his performances with the choir.

The Salvation Army took their chances by asking me to do the live auction. I've been at many charitable events that feature auctions as a major part of the fund-raising but I am no auctioneer. I decided to try to channel the auctioneering talents of Larry Moore into my head. I must have gotten my channeling wires crossed because, while I never got into that auctioneer rhythm, I did end up growing some great tomatoes...overnight! Sometimes I do use double-talk and speedy syllables to hedge my bets during the weather forecast, but trying to sell stuff is a whole other thing. Frankly, I've never had any luck selling anything. My wife and I once had a garage sale that cost us money. All of our stuff was spread across the driveway on a beautiful spring day. We had lots of lookers...no buyers. Finally, a truck, already loaded up with goodies from other neighborhood sales, pulled up and we thought we'd hit the jackpot. Turns out the guy had no interest in anything we had but we did end up buying some piece of junk off of his truck. The saddest part of this story is that I don't even remember what we purchased. Now, that's mindless spending! Well, the Salvation Army had a wonderful roster of items including a Tom Watson autographed putter, several weekend get-a-ways, KU Basketball tickets, artwork and much more. With the help of eagle-eyed spotters, we made it through the list. I really should have listened to LeRoy Van Dyke on the way to the event.

Years ago, the Children's Shelter's annual dinner featured a fashion show starring the children of TV folks. All of our kids made the trip down the runway for a few years. Samantha loved it. Alexander was okay about it but would've liked it better if they'd given him a microphone and about five minutes to do his "material." Taylor hated it. Harrison was too young to care one way or the other. One year the KMBC Band made one of its two public appearances. A fine producer named John Novaria played the piano...Bryan Busby handled percussion...engineer Roger Garner was the bassist...I tried to sing. Fortunately, the crowd was still feeling charitable. Also, with a bunch of cute kids as our opening act...softening up the audience...we couldn't go wrong.

For those fashion shows, the kids wore whatever the contributing store suggested. As I mentioned, Samantha was pretty open to anything and, frankly, continues to be. Taylor, now 16, is a study in oranges, browns and tans. When he was very little he refused to wear anything with a corporate logo, saying "I don't want them to own me!" His older brother, Alex, used to like sports-related clothes. He still does but, as he gets older, he and Taylor both dress up a little more often. Just the other day, they both came in the door from a forensics tournament, decked out in their suits and ties and looking like a million bucks. Their mother tracked down her camera immediately to capture this moment. Of course, the picture may never be developed...if that's even still the word you use...so we may only see it on the little digital camera screen. Our littlest boy lives in the land of hand-me-downs.

When I think of the clothes the kids wear, I always remember one particular May day a few years ago. The Kansas City area had been enjoying unusually warm and pleasant weather for about a week. Then, one morning, it looked like we were in for a cool, rainy spring day. So, all during FirstNews, I was pounding home the idea that you needed to bundle up a little for the day because it was not going to be almost summer-like again. "No more shorts for the walk to school this morning!" For once, I was actually right. It was a chilly, drippy day. Well, later, as I was sitting in the living room reading the paper, our oldest son walks in the door in shorts and a t-shirt and flip-flops...like he'd been at the beach, not school. "What are you wearing? Didn't you hear me this morning on the news telling folks to dress warmly today?" I exclaimed. He responded, with a smile, "Well, dad, I don't even listen to you around the house, why would I listen to you on TV?"

I am speechless. Really. The spectacle I witnessed on Saturday night has left me completely stunned. Some of what I saw will stay with me for many, many, many, many weeks, months...years. Yes. My wife and I were in attendance when Jere Gish and Donna Pitman, as well as other KC notables, hit the stage to benefit Cristo Rey school, as part of the first ever Kansas City Dances With Stars! As emcee, Bryan Busby, stated at the start, this is a totally new kind of event for our area and it was a toe-tapping success. Frankly, it was all about the feet, including Mr. Busby's. He was all decked out in a tuxedo but wearing tennis shoes. He did have a lot of running around to do...and his tennis shoes probably cost more than my entire wardrobe...but I never did find out why he was formal until the ankles. Nonetheless, he did his usual fine job keeping things moving.

Monday morning on FirstNews, we talked about all the great volunteer dancers like Bobby Bell, Mary Sanchez, Manny Lopez, Crosby Kemper III and, the eventual winner, Jan Stephenson. We can't forget the wonderful professional dancers that made everyone look terrific and the Swingsters dance troupe, too. Also, we all had a chance to meet the real stars: students from Cristo Rey. But, what about Jere and Donna?

First, Donna Pitman: She could do this dancing stuff for a living. Along with her world-champion partner Louis Bar, the two of them were amazing. All the moves were right on the money. If, some morning we announce that Donna has left FirstNews to appear on Broadway, don't be surprised. They danced to the Michael Jackson song Bad (Donna did the moonwalk everywhere she went this morning) and they were just that: "bad!" But, in the best sense of that word. Frankly, I still get confused by that reverse logic. Don't go by me, though, because I'm still working on what "hep" means...as in "hep cat." And, to me, "groovy" just describes my face after falling asleep on a corduroy pillow. My one attempt at talking in a modern vernacular when I was a teenager was leaving the dinner table by saying "I've gotta split." Now, in a little Wisconsin town, "I've gotta split" is something you only utter in a bowling alley...or when you're wearing pants, two-sizes too small, to the beer and brat tent during Town and Country Days. But, despite my lack of "hep talk" ability, let me say that Donna and Louis were absolutely cool, neato, swell, peachy, and ultra-hunky-dory.

That brings us to Jere Gish. Jere's partner was Laura Cantu, a world-class dancer. As much as I would like to pick on Jere's performance, I simply can't do it...it would be horribly inaccurate. And, you all know, from watching my weathercasts, how important accuracy is to me. Okay, bad example. But, still, I have to admit Mr. Gish was impressive. He walked out on stage, tossed his jacket and hat to the side and made his moves. It was so good we are going to start opening FirstNews with Jere tossing his jacket and hat to the side as the show opens. He did something with his hands that looked like a guy walking out of a men's room where there were no towlets for drying off. He also did some sort of pelvic thrust move that looked a little like Elvis on a slow day. If I ever tried such a thing, I'd be in traction for a month and prison for five to ten. As talented in Terpsichore as Mr. Gish turned out to be, I do have concerns that, now, every news story he does will have to have an element of dance. For example, while firefighters are drowning some blaze, Jere will be there, umbrella in hand, pretending to be Gene Kelly singin' in the rain. Or, while showing us which direction the thieves ran, he'll incorporate some sort of twirl and two-step. If he ever does a story around a body of water, the Swan Lake catalog will be unstoppable and, frankly, I don't think Kansas City is ready for Jere Gish in a tutu. (If it was me, it would be four-four.) Yes, some of this is sour grapes because there is absolutely no way I'd ever have the nerve to do what Gish did. Just squeezing into the spandex would be untenable. Gish looked physically fit. I'd look like a stuffed kielbasa.

The rumor around the station is, now that Pitman & Gish are the new Rogers & Astaire, that each morning on FirstNews, they will start to report the news in musical-comedy form:

Gish: "Well, Donna, it looks like the stock market took a beating yesterday."

Pitman: "A beating, Jere? How about just a beat?" (She starts snapping her fingers.)

At this point, the drums start with a syncopated riff. Pitman jumps onto the anchor desk and does a quick tap routine. Here comes Gish sliding across the studio on his knees. The orchestra swells and they're into a five minute piece of choreography featuring dancing bulls and bears and dollar signs. Maybe I'd have a three second cameo as Alan Greenspan, trying to rein them in.

Well, we'll see. In any case, congratulations to Cristo Rey on such a successful effort and, especially, to Channel 9's Dancing Donna and Jumpin' Jere. You made everyone on FirstNews proud.

Tomorrow is Friday. It is also the 13th. That makes it...well, you know. Now, I am not particularly superstitious, but I thought I'd better write this thing today just in case the computer is attacked by gremlins tomorrow. I don't really suffer from paraskevidekatriaphobia, although that word alone is making me a little uneasy. I think I pulled a muscle just typing it. I do, however, have a mild case of parasailvidekatriaphobia which is the fear of three para-sailers following me everywhere I go. Also, I have a little touch of paralegalvidekatriaphobia, meaning I'm afraid that three people carrying law books and steno-pads are hiding under my bed. Then there is my ongoing struggle with parapantsonfireaphobia, which I think is self-explanatory. The word is a version of triskadekaphobia which is a fear of the number 13. Not to be confused with trisketekaphobia which is a fear of snack crackers. Paraskevidekatriaphobia means a fear of Friday the 13th. According to experts, around 20 million folks are in the grip of this condition. The exact origin of this fear is a matter of dispute but all agree it goes back centuries.

As I mentioned, I'm not particularly troubled by Friday the 13th. I mean, you've seen my work. How much worse could I possibly do? As for other superstitions, I used to carry a rabbit's foot around with me but had to stop. It was still connected to the live bunny and made my pants fit funny. The bunny didn't like having keys attached to him, either. Well, hare today, gone tomorrow.

I've broken mirrors before with little effect on my overall luck. Although, once, the mirror I broke was the one all the anchors have hidden behind the big desk. They use it to make sure they look anchorish. Often, if you listen carefully, you will hear them, as they gaze into the looking glass, whispering "Mirror, Mirror in my hand, who's the most Cronkite-like in the land?" The shattering happened as I was walking off the set and accidentally stepped on the thing. Well, I was in hot water. I still remember being taken to task: "What am I supposed to do now when I have to check my eye-liner?" "How am I going to know if I've used too much rouge?" "What happens when my false eye-lashes fall off?" and those comments were just from Jim Flink and Kris Ketz.

Ladders do make me nervous but not for fear of walking under them. I've read that that particular worry goes back to the olden days when people thought ladders resembled the gallows. That's where that hang-up came from. Get it? Hang-up? I really stuck my neck out on that one. I have trouble going up them. By the second rung I'm dizzy and suffering nosebleeds. Heights are increasingly problematic for me. Let's put it this way, you know how, over the course of a lifetime, most of us get a little shorter? I'm actually looking forward to that.

Black cats are not one of my worries. Growing up, the lady next to us, Dolly Ostrander, had a black cat with no name that was always running around. He seemed indestructible. He was big and tough and ruled the backyards. We never had any mouse problems. In fact, whenever a mouse had to cross our block the rodent would usually try to disguise himself as a very short meter-reader. This cat would guard his territory against any other creature. I saw him beat three raccoons, a couple of possums and a hedgehog all at once without even messing up his whiskers. You'd think living next door to a tiny, white-haired woman with a black cat might have conjured up bad fairy-tale mojo in a little kid, but instead it made me feel rather safe. I figured that any magical, mystical powers emanating from that little cottage would be more protection from bad stuff than anything else. More Samantha than Sabrina, if you know what I mean. One day, Dolly knocked on our door and said the old, black cat was acting sick. One of my brothers put the feline in the back of his car and went to the vet. That was the last we saw of that neighborhood watch-cat. I will admit the backyards seemed kind of empty after that. So, with that black cat in mind, I couldn't possibly be melanofelinophobic.

As a TV weathernoodle, you may think I'm concerned about opening an umbrella indoors...another superstition for some. Well, yesterday on the show, I did just that. I wore one of those little umbrella hats. (I, clearly, do not suffer from makeafoolofoneselfaphobia.) Since it wasn't a full-sized bumbershoot, maybe I'm in for just a little bad luck to rain down on my noggin. Even if bad things do start to happen, it was worth it just to use the word "bumbershoot." By the way, FirstNews co-anchor Jere Gish commented that the thing didn't quite cover the gargantuan gourd that is my head. Due to that, I believe, I am developing Jeregishtaphobia.

The bottom line is that tomorrow is Friday the 13th. It is going to be a gray, chilly, rainy day that might just end with a few April snowflakes. That does sound a little unlucky. Maybe I have to go find another rabbit. Preferably, one using a bumbershoot.

Wednesday's FirstNews had a story about babies and toddlers having too much stuff. With four kids, especially when they were all little, going anywhere was like moving an army for that very reason. You needed strollers, for example. The big boys, being so close in age, used a double stroller. I took many laps around English Landing Park in Parkville, while my wife ran the same loop, pushing that monstrosity. You'd think I would have lost some of my baby weight that way but I suspect the burning of calories was offset by the large bag of M&Ms and carton of powdered donuts I had sitting on the top of the stroller. My wife would quickly run her way back into shape after each baby while I just increased in square footage.

In addition to that stroller, we had a couple of playpens over the years. I usually ended up using it myself after I surrendered all control to the children. We also put the Christmas Tree in it one year to help the kids and, frankly, dog, avoid temptation. We had gates everywhere and those plastic locks on the cupboards. That safety stuff didn't always keep the kids out of those areas but it sure slowed me down. You know things aren't working as they should when you find yourself asking the two year old how to get that lock thingy off the pantry so you can get to your Oreos.

We had cribs and cradles and bassinets all over the place. Our oldest had to be lulled to sleep by putting him into one of the baby carrier deals and then pushed back and forth on the carpet at just the right speed. Of course, transferring him from carrier to crib would wake him up and we'd start over. The second son fell asleep best spread eagle on my chest. It was a sweet, cuddly way to get him to doze off. Of course, today, it's not so easy. He's much heavier and the hair on his legs is scratchy. Samantha slept in her own crib from the first night. As she will tell you, she was the perfect baby. By the time Harrison came along we gave up and let him fall asleep in our bed. I know that is not recommended for any number of reasons but it worked for him and for us. Hey! Elvis slept in his parent's bed until he was 11 and he was Elvis!

There were the necessary items like car-seats. We all know how important those things are but, for lots of folks my age, riding in the car used to be an adventure. You didn't have car-seats. Sometimes the car didn't even have seat-belts...especially in the back. That area was like a rolling play-pen. You would move around or stretch out to sleep or, sometimes, if you were good, be allowed to sit in the front on top of that middle, built-in, booster seat. Now, we know how dangerous all those things were. But, even back then, I suspected my dad was taking this loose attitude too far by strapping my big brothers to the roof-top baggage carrier and using me as a replacement for his missing hood ornament. While I enjoyed the view, I did get lots of bugs in my teeth and it was cold wearing that toga and I felt silly holding the spear.

After we left the stroller stage for the big boys, we got a wagon to pull them around in at parks and other outdoor spots. Taylor, the younger of the two, didn't like being a passenger. He would crawl out of the wagon and grab the handle, proceeding to pull his older brother from place to place. I can only remember a couple times that Taylor dumped Alex out of the wagon. The first time it was an accident. The second time...I'm not so sure. Most of the time, older brother, Alex, was perfectly content to be carted around. All these years later, they haven't changed much: Taylor likes to drive because he likes to drive. Alex will drive if necessary but has no problem being a passenger, if at all possible.

The two youngest kiddos used those cheap umbrella-style strollers. Aside from occasionally enveloping the child completely, they worked pretty well. We wore one out walking around Disney World, making the plastic wheels just a memory. I never had much luck with those baby carrier deals that worked like a back-pack. By the time I would get the little one and myself in the harness, the baby would've been dragging me around.

Of all the child-related stuff we have had around our house over the years, I remember one in particular. It was "Baby-Scoot-A-Long" for the kid who is just learning to walk. In this case, it was for our first born. It had a canvas seat and four wheels. We encountered a couple problems due to this contraption. First, Alex was quite happy to sit in this thing and just glide from spot to spot. It did nothing to encourage him to walk. Of course, this is same child that was happy to have his younger brother pull him around in the wagon. To this day, nobody I know can lounge like Alex. The second problem involved Alex' use of the conveyance as a guided missile. He would position himself on the far side of the kitchen...take careful aim at the back of his mother's legs as she stood over the sink and, then, launch himself, with all of his toddler might, directly at her. He did it over and over and over and laugh maniacally every time. The first couple of times my wife thought it was cute and funny. Then, it became a test of wills. It still comes up when she's upset with him about something: "And, don't think I've forgotten all the bruises on my shins from you and that scooting thing!"

We hope Alex has left this behavior behind since trading his Baby-Scoot-A-Long for a Ford Escort.

Tuesday morning on FirstNews Jere Gish, Donna Pitman and I were lucky enough to sample the "Best Water In Kansas!" It comes right out of the taps in Gardner and it was great. They were chosen by the Kansas Rural Water Association. I like any story that has the word "rural" in it for a couple of reasons. One, I grew up in a rural area and feel vindicated whenever there is good news from the countryside and, two, it is fun to hear a news anchor say the word "rural." It is not an easy word to say for lots of people. My wife avoids it completely. When she does try to say it, it comes out "RRRLLLAARRUUMPH." Coincidentally, that's also what she calls me from time to time. I've heard news anchors attempt the word: "...in this rurrrllll...uh, rurr....uh, ruuuruul...uh, non-urban community...." They sound a little like Foster Brooks on one of those old Dean Martin roasts. There are ways to pronounce it...make it all one syllable like "rurl" or two, distinct syllables like "rur-awl." It is just a little, common word but for folks who intone terms like "proboscidian" and names like "Ahmadinejad" so easily...if the Iranian leader ever rides an elephant you could hear both words in one sentence... they often get their tongue wrapped around their eye teeth and can't see their way clear to pronouncing "rural." It's fun to watch and hear.

Anyway, back to the soggy stuff. I feel like something of a water connoisseur. One of the great lessons my mom taught me and my brothers was to drink lots of water....and we did, even with only the one, small bathroom. We were boys and had trees in the backyard so it really wasn't a problem. In fact, once, before I was born, my older brothers used their excessive water-drinking tendencies to invent a new sport in the basement. That's all I'm going to say. (My dad also believed in water...as long as it was in frozen cube form and accompanied by some other libation.) We drank good water right out of the tap when I was growing up. When we'd visit friends and relatives in other towns, a big chunk of the initial conversation had to do with how good or bad the local water was. Did it smell like rotten eggs? Was it kind of rusty-colored? Did it taste like pureed nails? I really think bottled water has eliminated some very important ice-breaking chit chat. Bottled water has also further homogenized our country and removed yet another thing that set our towns and villages apart from one another. A few weeks ago we had a story on FirstNews about water with a green hue coming out of taps up north. If it was safe to drink and didn't smell bad, that would've been a pretty cool community calling card "Home of the Emerald Drops!" Well, now many of us pay for water at the grocery store and carry it around with us. In some ways we have reverted to babyhood...we all need our bottles. I also carry my binky but that's a whole other story.

So, that is what makes the honor for Gardner extra special...they get their clear, refreshing, wonderful water the old-fashioned way: they turn the tap! Now they move onto the national taste test in Washington DC around the first of May. I hope the celebrity judges includes CRYSTAL Gayle, Bruce SPRINGsteen, and, of course, Farah FAWCETT. It will all be watched over by the spirit of the late, great Orson WELLes. Congratulations and good luck to Gardner.

That should mean something coming from a big drip like me.

Let me apologize for the title of this piece of e-drivel. Living in Kansas for so long, I find it nearly impossible not to twist just about anything into a Wizard of Oz reference. I'm about half cheesehead and half sunflower, now. Not to mention, as regular readers of this stuff know, I've never met a cliche' I didn't like. However, if you are a regular reader of this stuff, while I truly appreciate your loyalty, you may have bigger problems and really should seek some professional help...maybe this Dr. Oz guy could help you-oops, wrong Oz... or, at the very least, find a more self-edifying hobby. Regardless of all that, the title does sum up what I have to say. I just had a chill run up my spine. Oh, I know why. When I use the word "regardless" I flash back to a rather unsettling moment. I was in college, interning with a congressional campaign. We were on our way to an important speech. The candidate and campaign manager were in the front seat. I was seated in back with a "consultant" who also happened to be the manager's childhood priest. He was a small, severe-looking man dressed in traditional priestly garb. Frankly, he looked a little bit like something out of a Dickens novel. I was trying to sound smart. As is the case with lots of us, when I was in college I knew everything. Over the years, I'm amazed to find I knew very little, then, and increasingly know less and less...and less, now. As part of my monologue, I used the word "irregardless." The priest pounced! He tore into me about using a word that simply doesn't exist and is totally unnecessary. "The word you must use is regardless! Not irregardless, you complete moron." Well, he didn't say the moron part but I heard it in his voice. Now, in my defense, the word "irregardless" does appear in the dictionary with the caveat "nonstandard," the same designation as the word "ain't." Yet, irregardless of what the book says, you ain't supposed to use "irregardless." I've never used it since. I'm not sure whatever happened to the political priest. I do know our candidate lost...big...regardless of our efforts. But, I most seriously digress! Ain't that something?

LIONS: Last Thursday, I had the pleasure of visiting with the Leavenworth Lions Club. They are celebrating their 70th anniversary of making the community better. Their club is the largest in Kansas and one of the largest in the world. A few weeks back they had a TV weatherperson from a different station. As I told the group, I have underwear older than their other speaker. Speaking of attire, I wore a tie with their mascot on it. As I've been told, the tie is appropriate because "You weathermen are always lyin'." Now, I am sure they learned much more from that other one than from me. I always acknowledge, when addressing a group, that if they really wanted good information they'd invite someone else. If they just need someone to fill about 20 minutes, I'm their man. As for the Leavenworth Lions, they could not have been nicer. It was my honor to spend a little time with all of them as they continue to make their town a great place to live and work.

When I was quite young, my dad belonged to both the Lions and Optimists clubs in our town. However, as I got older he decided to leave those organizations. I wonder if my teen years precipitated his withdrawal from society? He would still roar occasionally but in a more pessimistic way.

RABBITS: Of course, Sunday was Easter...a chilly day for the bunny. I worked FirstNews weekend edition and then hopped home. The kids patiently waited for me before hunting for eggs. Well, that makes it sound like a Norman Rockwell painting, doesn't it? The fact is the two youngest were on computer and Playstation and the two oldest were still sound asleep. We had gone to the Easter Vigil at our church the night before. It starts at 11:00 p.m. with scripture readings in a mostly darkened sanctuary. Our pastor gave all congregants 12 and under permission to doze off if necessary. I asked for a special dispensation aimed at middle-aged men who get up at two in the morning but was denied. During the service, my helpful wife clamped her hand onto my neck like a hydraulic vice to keep me from looking like a bobble-head. After the readings, there is a baptism and then you sit in quiet meditation until 12:01 a.m. and the arrival of Easter. The lights go on and the altar gets decorated. The organ cranks up the Hallelujah Chorus. The Easter portion of the service lasts until about 12:30 a.m. So, by the time we got home it was one in the morning. As I mentioned, I worked FirstNews on Sunday, so it made for a short night but, I've learned over the years, that I can achieve my same level of "almost mediocre" job performance on two hours sleep as six or eight.

Anyway, the hunt for eggs and baskets was fast and furious. Our 16 year old son was the most competitive. He and the youngest tied for most eggs found. The 16 year old is also the one who chose to not color his egg at all. He called it "Understated Egg-sellence." He really needs to stop watching so much Martha Stewart and get out of the house more.

KATS: Saturday evening was a big night for rock and roll in Kansas City. The Krazy Kats, also known as Lee Dresser, Willie Craig and Fred Fletcher, celebrated 50 years of making music. They started as high school kids in Moberly, Missouri and are still packing them in all over town. In fact, on Saturday, the American Legion Hall in Blue Springs had to turn folks away! It was my job to give a quick introduction and get out of the way! Years ago, the Kats gave our son Taylor, then about three, drumsticks and a Krazy Kats CD. Taylor slept with those drumsticks like some sort of ultra-skinny, not-so-stuffed teddy bear and listened to the music every night. I was there for their 40th anniversary, too. Why do they look better than ever and I look like a relief map of Lichtenstein...in the dead of winter? These three musicians, The Krazy Kats, have brought a lot of fun and joy to thousands of folks over the last half century. Let's hope for 50 more!

So, there you are: Lions & Rabbits & Kats. That's the whole story...in TOTO...before I scurry down that yellow brick road home. Because, as you know, there's no place like home...there's no place like home....there's no place like home. Well, I've done it again. I've really gotta stop all these Oz references and, besides, these ruby slippers don't match anything in my closet and are irritating my bunions.

It is Easter Time. I know, because just the other day I saw a group of Easter Bunnies marching backwards. Yes. It was a receding hare line. (When you can only use a bad joke once a year, you really are obligated to use it.)

As a kid, this week meant two things: lots of church and lots of chocolate. We went to church every Wednesday night all through Lent...like a marathon runner in training for the big stretch still to come. Then, we'd attend on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Down the street from the Lutheran church I attended, the Catholic kids also went to church on Holy Saturday. A friend of mine and I tried to shoot baskets in the Catholic church parking lot one of those Saturdays...just to taunt our church-going friends...but were shooed away.

When I was very little, I wondered why they called the Thursday of Easter week, "Monday Thursday." Couldn't they make up their minds? Was it a play on the Mamas and Papas hit "Monday Monday?" Or was that really "Maundy Monday?" Of course, I eventually learned it was Maundy not Monday...and that the word Maundy is from the same Latin root as the word mandate. Also, the word maunde, refers to the ceremonial washing of others' feet. We never did that part in my home church. Somehow, seeing your neighbor's corns and bunions would not have added to the worship experience. It would have been appalling. Appalled Bunions. Also, if we boys in my confirmation class had removed our sneakers at the same time, all the candles on the altar would have melted. Not to mention trying to wash the feet of someone who is very ticklish. Frankly, had I been the washer and not the washee, the temptation to do the "this little piggy..." deal would've been overwhelming.

I have always found the Good Friday service particularly moving, especially as a kid. We'd go to the 1:00 p.m. service which made it special and different already. The sanctuary was silent and dark. We'd sing Were You There? and Beneath the Cross of Jesus. Pastor Fruehling would give a marvelous sermon. Frankly, I've never heard him give a bad sermon. His messages always resonate with truth and hope. But, his Good Friday meditations were almost haunting in their quiet power. There was a very real and appropriate sadness in these services. For years, it seemed to me that the sky would actually darken a bit as we left the church.

Easter Sunday meant lilies and new outfits and, yes, I'm old enough to remember all the colorful, flowered bonnets being worn to church. And those were just on my brothers. Being Lutherans...German/Scandanavian Lutherans, at that...we never really cut loose on the hymns. (I've often thought that if we had a few more religious songs that you could polka to, we'd have been better.) But, we'd come as close as we could on Jesus Christ Is Risen Today. We were a house divided on what service to attend on Easter Sunday. I'd vote for the sunrise service just for the fun of being up and going so early...and it got me closer to the chocolate part of the holiday that much sooner. Others in the house wanted the 10:45 a.m. service. We'd usually compromise and go at 8:00 a.m. I knew someone who went to church every Sunday except Easter and Christmas, because, according to him, "That's when the amateurs show up."

After church came the chocolate. Often my mom would've given up chocolate for Lent so it was an even bigger deal for her. The biggest treat in the basket was always a Russell Stover Chocolate Rabbit. Kansas City being the home of Russell Stover was a big selling point in moving here in the first place. I was told, during my interview at Channel 9, that all area residents got free chocolate every week. I'm still waiting. Still, even as a child, I found it odd that the Easter Bunny would condone the consuming of his own likeness. Especially when E.B. has to know that the first thing to go will be the ears. Also, where's this guy getting the eggs? Are chickens all over the country waking up to empty nests? If there was a Lifetime Movie Channel for barnyard animals, this would be a great storyline. "My Eggs. My Self starring Melissa Gilbert and Tracy Gold...Special Appearance by Corbin Bernsen as Farmer McGregor." Yes, I know I am combining different stories but we have to fill two hours of air-time. Also, in addition to the eggs, where's he getting the sweet treats...maybe he's a shop-lifter, too!? And, why does he insist on wearing a vest and bow-tie but no pants? I'm telling you, this rabbit has a cotton-tale to tell. Just between us, The Easter Bunny scared me a little. He seemed kind of arrogant...stuck on himself...eggo-centric, really.

By the way, nowadays, you can have your child's picture taken with the Easter Bunny. That's kind of a new thing to me. When I was little, Mr. Bunny was much more reclusive. You never saw or heard a thing. He only spoke publicly once, as I recall, when hoaxster Clifford Irving claimed to have written an authorized biography of him and he had to speak over the phone in order to discount Mr. Irving. I think that was the Easter Bunny. Maybe not. Most of the time he brought the chocolate stuff I mentioned above but one year, for some reason, he hid a Get Smart edition of Skittle Bowl under the bed, too. It featured Don Adams, as Maxwell Smart, on the box. I never did figure out what I had done to deserve such long-eared largess. How did he know I loved that show? How does Maxwell Smart and Skittle Bowl fit into the Easter message? Maybe we spend the 40 days of Lent saying "Sorry about that, Chief." Followed by a major "would you believe?" moment on Easter morning. As for the game itself, I'm sure there is something there about keeping one's aim straight and true. Now you see why I was never asked to help Pastor Fruehling write his sermons.

Returning to the rabbit: It is going to be very chilly for him this coming weekend. Record-setting cold. Of course, that beats a few years ago when it was extremely warm for the guy as he made his rounds...toting all that stuff from house to house..covered in fur. I happened to run into him as he finished up and he was angry, miserable and roasting. That was one hot, cross Bun-ny. In his honor, I started and ended this story by laying an egg.

Over the course of this last year of blog-a-palooza...yes, it has been nearly a full year which should serve as startlingly strong evidence that the interwebs are just plain too inclusive...I've mentioned our family dog, from time to time. His name is Casey and he is a Golden Retriever. He has a number of idiosyncrasies which would qualify him to appear on the canine version of Jerry Springer, which would probably be called Jerry Springer-Spaniel, and, unfortunately, not be considerably different from the human program. Although, there maybe less sniffing and drooling and the dogs maybe more civil to one another.

First of all, in the appearance category, Casey has a cone-head. From certain angles, he looks like a majestic example of man's best friend. Then, he turns and becomes one end of a horse-shoe pit. He is wearing a furry dunce cap. If necessary, you could use his noggin to open a bottle of pop. The point of his skull is so prominent that we wonder if, somewhere in his family tree, there might be a unicorn. He also has a prominent swath of dark fur which leads him to, officially, be a Mostly Golden Retriever.

Speaking of the Retriever part of that title, Casey won't retrieve. You throw something and he'll run in the general direction the first time, before he loses interest and comes back. He always has a big smile on his face, as if to say, "So, did you enjoy throwing that ball or whatever it was? Ahhh, good. Now that you have that out of your system, let's get something to eat." He doesn't like water. He is a RETRIEVER and he hates the water. If he saw a duck fall from the sky into a pond, he'd call 911 and then look at the hunter, with a smile, and say "Hey, got any sandwiches left in that basket?"

Then, there is the matter of his toilet habits. He learned by observing our old dog. She was a she. So, you guessed it, Casey tinkles without lifting his leg. He has no interest in marking his territory. He looks a little embarrassed when he is doing his dooty...I mean, duty. Maybe he senses that he should be doing this basic thing differently. But, he's eight years old and that's that. All the fire hydrants and trees in the neighborhood are safe from Casey.

That brings us to his latest ripple. There are breeds of dogs which are prone to what are called "hot spots." Little areas that get irritated for some reason and then get chewed and licked by the dog him or herself until they become painful sores. Casey has always had such a sensitivity. In fact, like his father before him, Casey has allergies. When he was a puppy, he would go out in the yard during pollen season and come in, minutes later, looking like a hairy granola muffin. The only part of the news Casey watches is the air quality report. That, and traffic. He's too lazy to chase cars but he does like to stay current on the models. Well, lately, he's had a couple of very unpleasant hot spots as well as a complete lack of self-respect or discipline when it comes to keeping his teeth and tongue to themselves. It got so bad that we finally had to resort to getting one of those big plastic collars. He looks like some sort of alien. Not ALF, but ARF. In the past, when I've seen other unfortunate pups wearing these things, I imagine that the dog is quite embarrassed...like the contraption is the Scarlett Letter...or like one of those odd rulings from a judge where someone who steals something has to stand on the corner wearing a sandwich board confessing to the crime. No self-respecting purebred, mutt or mongrel would want to be seen in public wearing something so humiliating! Right? Well, not in Casey's case. He actually seems to like wearing it. Is he so smart that he knows it is helping him? "Please, save me from myself!" Or, does he think it is the latest in hip doggie fashion? Is he just too exhausted from sleeping 22 and half hours a day to care? Whatever the reason, he likes it.

It does seem to be working. And, I've figured out a way to make a little extra money with Casey and his bright blue no-bite collar. With the chute-like design of the item, plus the previously mentioned cone-head protruding from it, Casey is a walking carnival game. So, for a quarter, you get three rings to toss. Make just one and you win a used chew-toy or something. Casey won't mind. He'll just look at you, smile, and say "Okay. That was great. Now, did I see a funnel cake stand a little further down the midway? Whattaya say, we grab one?"

Play ball! The Royals Home Opener...or HOPE-ENER!....is today. Over the years, I've spent most of these mornings doing weather from the streets of downtown as part of Greater Kansas City Day, selling special editions of the newspaper with the money going to support the Rotary Club Youth Camp. In the early days of FirstNews, Maria Antonia and I would do the whole show outside and welcome some great guests like Buck O'Neil, Tony DiPardo, George Brett, Frank White and Muriel Kauffman. It was during one of Mrs. Kauffman's visit, in the cold, pouring rain, by the way, that, after she showed us her World Series ring, I, being a doofus, offered her ten bucks for it. Being a good sport, she said she'd give it to me if the team won another series. That particular year, unfortunately, it was a very safe bet. In addition to the notables, we always had some great live music to get things going dark and early in the morning.

Growing up, we used to drive to Milwaukee to watch the Brewers play. My mom was our color commentator: "I bet those boys (meaning the ball-players) sleep at night." "I wonder where all these pigeons go after the game?" "The Brewers are nicer than those other people." Once, when we had seats right on the third base line, I had an on-going hand-signal conversation with the great and funny umpire Ron Luciano. Pretty exciting for a little kid. He'd make a call then turn to me and give a "Was I right?" shrug. I've used the same "I'm not sure" gesture often during my weatherman duties. Anyway, if the call went against the Brewers I'd make it clear he was totally wrong...for us, and I'd reassure Mr. Luciano about his obvious intelligence.

One of the best things about baseball, versus most other sports, is that time really doesn't matter very much. There is no clock. The game unfolds in its own manner, on its own schedule. That maybe a reason why many of us seem to gravitate toward the game as the years go by. For example, my grandma, Ann, was a big Milwaukee Braves fan and used to get to the games every now and then. Meanwhile, my wife's grandma, Norma, rooted for the Cubs. Many years ago, I had Cubs great Ernie Banks on my little talk-show, after*words. He was kind enough to sign a picture for her. He wrote "Dear Norma, Let's Play Two! Ernie Banks." As you might rightly expect, my wife's family has always had some serious questions about my wife's judgment in marrying me, but that signed picture was a home-run.

For both of these wonderful women, a diamond really was a girl's best friend...not the shiny kind, the green kind. They've both gone onto that great ball-field in the sky, now. I like to think the old Braves and the Cubs play double-headers everyday...just for them.