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Salty air on the brain

There are some phone calls you just don't want to take.

Take for example, the phone call from my wife last week asking when she should stop trimming the trees that separate us from the neighbors.

You know, if you have to call and ask that question, it's probably already too late.

And, of course it was.

We'd been advised by a landscaper friend to cut the trees back and when they grew out, the new look would provide more privacy for our backyard.

So she cut. And cut. And cut.

Until Linda and Wesley, our other neighbors, intervened.

That's when I got the call.

Now we have a beautiful view of our neighbor's sheds and three gangly stumps.

And the chainsaw is locked away for safekeeping.

Thank God for the internet.

It all started about 5:15 a.m. last Wednesday -- a time I am usually far from awake. But as I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep I heard something beeping. Figuring I was hearing things in the morning haze, I ignored it. Only it kept beeping.

So I got up and discovered my oven beeping and flashing some type of error message. Nothing I did would clear the message -- or stop the beeping.

So I turned to the wide world of the web.

And a keyword search later, I not only had my answer, but step by step instructions on how to fix the problem myself. An hour later I was completely done.

So far, the oven is working and the house hasn't burned down. Now if I could figure out how to rewire the oven so it takes all the fat out of frozen pizzas, I'd be set.

It's official: Salty air is good for the brain -- even if the journey to it nearly drives you crazy.

I spent last weekend at Jekyll Island, a couple of days sojourn before the madness that normally accompanies Masters Week.

We left early Saturday morning and made great time to I-95, where the geniuses who are in charge of widening one of the nation's busiest interstate stretches seem to think they can only work at peak travel times. It took us nearly three hours to travel 30 miles -- including a 10-mile side trip that took less than 15 minutes.

The good news, I guess, is that I'm thoroughly prepared for tournament traffic in Augusta this week.

Anyway, Jekyll once again proved why it is one of my favorite vacation spots. From the food to the fishing to the fun on the golf course, a few days in the sun was just what the psyche ordered.

Speaking of psyches, my thoughts and prayers go out to Jack Smallwood and family. Jack lost his dad last week and approached it like everyone of faith does: "Dad's in a better place," he told me Thursday morning.

So are Terry Schiavo and Pope John Paul II.

Little Jack's dad arrived upstairs in pretty good company.



Web posted on Wednesday, April 6, 2005











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