Good friend Bob and his SO Mary Jo walk ahead on number 2 at Papago on a cool, crisp December day near the tail end of 2007.

Number 2 is a modest 360-yard, uphill, dogleg left par 4. The large, sloping, rolling green is 25 yards long and 20 yards wide. Hitting the green in regulation isn't the trick; getting your ball close to the pin and on the right side of the slope is easier said than done. My drive today was in the middle of the fairway but farther back than I would have liked. I tried to scootch my second shot under the boughs of the tree that guards the outer flank of the dogleg and caught a branch flush. As luck would have it my ball came straight down into some dormant bermuda that was minding its own business on a small, awkward slope. Downhill, sidehill lies aren't my favorite, and dormant bermuda only complicates matters, but I managed to get some good clubface on the ball and left myself pin high a few feet from the green,30 feet from the pin--the yellow grass on the left-hand side of the fairway is the spongy dormant stuff. An overcooked chip went beyond the hole and left me with a downhill, twisting five-footer. I waited my turn to putt and, with more luck than skill, my ball found the bottom of the cup for a hard-earned bogey. The same type of mini-dramas, small victories, and farces revealed themselves through rest of the day.

Bob, Mary Jo, and I were teamed up with a good kid named Rich, who is a roadie/tech dude with the traveling version of Blue Man group. Rich drove up to the first tee in a plaid Ben Hogan style hat, a couple of tee shirts, cargo pants, no socks, and a pair of Birkenstocks. One look told us he was from out of town. PHX residents may wear shorts year round, but no socks on a 50-degree day? No way.

Pappy is a daily rate muni nestled in the gorgeous red rocks in East Central Phoenix. For my cash there's no better golfing in the all of the Phoenix area. You can pay more to play in Phoenix than at Papago, but you won't find 18 contiguous holes that are better laid out or more challenging. Plus, they let you walk, which allows a player to enjoy the view and the golf one step at a time.

Happy Holidays to all.

Nephew Mike and siter Celeste are hamming it up at our first holiday gathering at Manuel's, our favorite local Mexican joint. AZ is a smoke-free restaurant state, so Uncle Sam found a large table in the bar area, his favorite spot. Please excuse the cell phone photo effects, they weren't intentional.

Phil and Martha's progeny, soon to be three generations deep, will be together this year. We'll raise a glass to all.

Make 2008 your best year ever!

Requim en Pace--Sister Mary Emily

Don't ask why I scan the Detroit News obits. Simple reason is: I don't know. Part of my curiosity is that they publish the obits of nuns who served various Catholic diosceses of MI. My expiernce with nuns is, most likely, similar to those of others. I took my share of banishments, face slaps, ruler to the knuckles, etc., as an other kid who had a propensity for consistently being in their crosshairs. I still get mileage out of my Sister Leo and Sister Ralph stories--they were tough ladies!

Sister Mary Emily treated us as if we where the cherubim and seraphim who assisted the Virgin as she was assumed into heaven. She called our class Angel City. She taught me how to print my name. I began reading with her. She gave me all "A"s--my academic career went south immediately thereafter.

One lasting memory of first grade: I began feeling sick during the after-lunch recitation of the Apostle's Creed. I raised my hand to ask for restroom relief. Sister Mary Emily mouthed a stern no to me. Moments later I projected of wide arc of cafteria food vomit across the classroom. Incensed, Sister Mary Emily went and pulled my sister out of class and made her help in the clean-up.

Click on the headline for link to Sister Mary Emily's obit.

Aunt Cele and Uncle Tom Drinan are pictured on their wedding day, October 1940. They're posing outside St. Mary's church in Muskegon.

Cele was the youngest of my dad's four sisters. Cele was the seventh of eight and my dad was the eighth of eight. Dad and Cele were close. Of all the friendly, accommodating Muskegon relatives, it seemed to me that we always stopped at Tom and Cele's first. Tom and Cele had five children Ann, Ellen, Tom, and twins Jim and Kate.

The Drinan cousins are competitive, sharp, and damn good at most things they do. If you were going to game with the Drinans, you needed to pack a lunch--and sometimes a snack. While more times than not a cousin would get smoked by the Drinans, they were gracious winners and the best of people. They still are.

Here are the Drinans who could gather on Thanksgiving 2007. From what I've heard the Drinan Family Olympics, held on Thanksgiving weekend each year, was full of fierce action. I don't know if this picture was taken before or after the events.

My dad and his writing partner, Hod Shewell, wrote a weekly humor column for the Lansing State Journal entitled, "As We See It." The column was composed of about 20 quips on the popular topics of the day.

My dad and Hod were among the thousands who were swept into State of Michigan government jobs when the democrats swept into office with FDR. Dad came to Lansing upon his graduation from high school in 1936 and took a job in the Highway Department's mail room. Hod came to Lansing a few years earlier. Hod met my dad's brother Izzy, and Hod and Izzy took up residence in a bachelor pad in Lansing. My dad met Hod through Hod's friendship with Izzy and their relationship thrived from that point on.

The yellowing newspaper clipping was recently found pinned to a sewing room wall in a Lansing Home. My guess is that the clipping is from circa 1957-59. A friend of mine was helping a friend of his move belongings from his friend's late mother's home. He spotted the clipping on the wall, took a quick look, asked for the clipping and sent it on to me. What's the real story behind the how the clipping? Was it really pinned to a wall of nearly 50 years? Why? Who?

Hod was gentle, loving soul ever armed with a story, a quip, a song, or a smile. If you Google "Hod Shewell," you'll find this: "Humorist Hod Shewell characterized Las Vegas as "The city of fish and chips: Some poor fish is always losing his chips."

Don't squint to hard, here are the lines from the clip above:

• We belong to no organized political party—we’re republicans
  
• Stage hand unionism—the electrician can pound a nail, but is forbidden to use a hammer
  
• Not one of our bills got lost in the holiday shuffle
  
• One man in a thousand is a leader of men; the others follow women
  
• A mother is a person who can find a kid’s coat in the closet that isn’t there
  
• In yourself, anger is righteous indignation, in others—just bad temper
  
• Some people conduct their lives on the cafeteria plan—self service only
  
• Synonym: a word used in place of the word you can’t spell
  
• If a gal doesn’t try to hold her shape, no one else will
  
• Growl all day and you’ll be dog tired at night
  
• Keep your words soft and sweet—you never know when you’ll have to eat them
  
• Some people succeed on a shoestring while others take a lacing
  
• First Alaskan legislation will probably include a slush fund
  
• Last minute holiday haircut—the final clip
  
• Now I just wonder why I got a cuckoo clock for Christmas
  
• When day is done sometimes nothing else is
  
• Inflation: A peculiar method of cutting a dollar without damaging the paper
  
• A few more moons riding down in the lazy west and the world indeed will be waiting for the sunrise
  
• You never know how noisy your neighbors are until your TV breaks down
  
• They tell us that vodka takes your breath away
  
• A diplomat uses people to use people

Enjoy!

I haven't had a bumper sticker on a car since the late 70s when I had one of the few Detroit Lions bumper stickers in PHX. Let's face it: the Lions are consigned to playing the fool's role in a lifelong comedy. However, I can always scan the hard drive of my memory and find Van Patrick's voice telling me that it is a beautiful day for football. Perhaps my Leons bumper sticker did the same for some other Leon fan.

Now, I have one of the few, if not the only, East Lansing Baseball bumper stickers in PHX. I like that. EL Baseball was my last organized sports team. It's special for me. I remember the days fondly. The bumper sticker makes me smile every time I walk up behind it.

It's been some time since the last post and now it's time to belatedly chronicle the last Mongeau (Scottsdale Division adventure. As the banner above tells, Paul, my brother, his son, Mike, and I went to the ASU v. Cal football game, which resulted in a nifty win by the hometown Sun Devils.

It was ASU's homecoming game and since both Paul and I have at least one degree from ASU (Paul has a couple), we feel honor-bound to attend. The Homecoming game comes with a parade, a small, parochial affair composed of entrants who represent the residential, fraternal, and cultural components of the ASU community. It's nothing fancy, but each entrant showers the parade watchers with candy and trinkets, which is Mike's main incentive for attending.

As you can see Mike is fired up and ready to begin gathering the goods as they're tossed from the passing entrants. The parade lasts about an hours, which was plenty of time for Mike to make a substantial haul.

Next, it was on to the part of the Homecoming that required Paul's attendance. Paul is faculty member in the Hugh Downs School of Communication. Yes, that Hugh Downs. Hugh lives in Carefree, an exclusive burb in the boulder-strewn, rolling elevations found in the northern reaches of PHX. The Prime Minister of ASU, Michael Crowe, created an edict whereby all departments at ASU must show their raison d'etre, trade show style for the alumnae to oggle.

For the Mongeaus, this meant that we had to find Paul's department "booth" and hang there to represent. But first, we took a few moments for to get a bit to eat, for Uncle Sam to have a few adult beverages, and for Mike to get some quality time on the Golden Tee video golf machine. After the brief interlude, we were off to academia.

Paul is damn proud of his son, and he should be, but facing his work mates with his brother, who's had a couple of adult beverages, roils his gastric acids. Let's put it this way: he knows from experience. Long story short, Sam was affable. Enough said. You can see Paul breathing a sigh of great relief that Sam didn't go off on some long rant about how post-modernism has spoiled the humanities. However, Sam did try to talk Paul's boss's son into trying throw a plastic pee-wee football and hit Old Main from the front of the Hugh Downs School of Communication's booth. Paul's boss was firmly against the idea, the son thought he could do it. Some discussion ensued. The son didn't try.


Finally, were off to the game. We had unbelievable seats. Paul, Mike and I sat between the 48- 50-yard line five rows below the press box. Our view was spectacular.
The photos from the cell phone don't do the scene justice, so squint and imagine what a wonderful view this is.

The night was capped off by a come-from-behind Sun Devil win, which made the night about as perfect as perfect can be. The fireworks below celebrate another ASU win. (Again, imagination is necessary to fully enjoy the photo.)

Four first cousins hamming it up at the reunion described below. From the left are Jim Mongeau, Izzy's oldest (and the first baby born in Lansing's Ingham Medical Hospital), Dave "Doc" Mongeau, Slammin' Sammy Ward (like me named for the Grandpa Sam), and Mike Mongeau.


Jim, Mike, and Doc all came to East Lansing and lived in our house on Orchard Street. Each had done his time in the Service, and, I guess that Alma wasn't big enough to entertain or to contain them. Lansing, "the big city" had its alluring qualities: plenty of civil service job, where Jim found a job at the highway department; a large university with plenty of fine looking coeds, which worked out well for Mike; and plenty of retail work, which Doc took advantage of.

For me, it was like having a bunch of big brothers around. They were terrific--funny, funnier, and funniest.

Each brother has terrific stories to tell. Mike and Jim have beauties. Reputations dictate that they tell you; I won't publish them here. But think about this for a minute: Mike, when he lived with us, Jim, when he lived with us, and my mom and my sister were all dating during this time. Talk about a circus. Talk about not having enough bathrooms. Talk about the steady stream of conversation about people, places, and things.

The beastly heat of summer is gone for another year. Shorter, more temperate days, signal the plants in the backyard to move from drought-tolerant survival mode to full-blown participants in the stream of desert life. The ruella, pictured above, keeps it green leaves throughout the year. In the summer, it serves as a shady home to geckos and the assorted insects which serve as the prix de fare for gecko gourmands.
each day, Fall through Spring' the ruella serves up dozens of deep dish lavender flowers. The flowers are services by bees and hummingbirds who harvest and transfer the nectar from deep within ruella's treats.

The cell phone camera doesn't give justice to the true color of the flowers. The flowers run from a deep blue to a light blue and all have a subtle finish that contrasts with the still bright, early Fall light.

One of the days, Alice, I'll get myself a worthy camera.

We're driving south on a four-lane road. There's a center lane for left-turns, so, to be specific I am four lanes over from the roadside on the right. The roadside on the right is composed of an overpriced mud-track known as the Starfire Golf Course. Starfire? Should be called Mudhole.

Any way, the route I am driving leads me past the first hole of Starfire's East Course. The first hole is a straightforward par four. There's water directly to right of the tee which only comes into play if you've hit a dead shank. Further down the right is grassy wash area that poses no real problem. The road I am traveling sits less than 20 yards to the left of the tee box.

It's about 3:00 on a fine Fall afternoon. I am going about 35mph and minding my own business. I am about a quarter-mile from the first tee of the east course and closing fast. When, suddenly, an object bounces in front of me, comes up over my hood, and strikes the windshield just in front of Lori's face.

Remember, I am four lanes over from the the roadside. The tee box is 20 yards from the roadside. And I just took a direct shot to the windshield by a fast moving golf ball.

As a driver, I understand that these things happen. But as a golfer. I am deeply offended. I was just victimized by some dummy's over-rotated, over-the-top, decel, snap-pull hook, a problem this dope could have fixed if he didn't think he was Phil Mickelson (Come to think of it, he does have some Phil in that shot!).

Displaying much bravado, I flipped a U Turn at the tee box, I cruised alongside the tee as Hacker McGee was hitting a second shot. I yelled at the "players" wanting to know who had chopped their ball left into the street. Neither player looked up as they dashed to their cart for their getaway.

Cart riders, Starfire, they were made for one another!

Many of the first cousins gathered in summer of 1991 to celebrate the life of Denny Ward: fireman, fire chief, husband, father, uncle, and hero. The photo above captures most of the first cousins who were in attendance plus the three very special guests of honor, the three surviving members of their generation. Seated in the front row from left to right is my sister Celeste, Aunt Ming, wife of the Great Uncle Izzy, my mother Martha Jane, and Aunt Regis Mongeau Loftquist, who is pictured in the post below with her mother in the early 1950s.

There were more than 150 relatives who gathered on my cousin Margret's farm. Although I am not in the picture I may have been there. I know that I was at one of the reunions on Margret's farm. There was a horse, ball games, a keg of beer, food everywhere, smiles, hugs, and something no Mongeau reunion goes long without--plenty of laughs.

The picture above was sent to me by my cousin, Ann Mitchell. The two wonderful women pictured is of our grandmother, Suzy Mongeau and our Aunt Regis Loftquist.

Suzy died when I was very young and I remember visiting her a couple of times, although I know that I must have been in her presence many times that I don't. She was the mother of 8, four boys and four girls. My dad, Phil was her youngest. My brother Paul and I were her youngest grandchildren.

My older cousins, especially those who lived in the Muskegon area, knew Grandma Suzy much better than I did. I can tell you this though, the times that I remember being with her were extraordinary. In retrospect, I think that I can identify it as the palpable display of unconditional love.

Her daughter Regis and her sisters continued to treat me same unconditional love and affection. I was dumb enough to be uncomfortable and embarrassed around them. Wish they were around now so that I could apologize.

The D-Backs have made the playoffs. You may be wondering who they are. Here's my scounting report after watching part of most their games this season. (Picured above from the left: Brandon Webb, Orlando Hudson, Eric Byrnes, Chris Young, Steven Drew)

1st base: You'll see the venerable Tony Clark platoon with 2nd-year player Connor Jackson. Clark is the D-Backs answer to Gates Brown, only Tony is an asset in the field, too. Tony has hit clutch homers for the D-backs since he came two years ago. Look for him to start and to play as a late inning pinch hitter and defensive replacement.

Jackson has a great command of the stike zone, which leads to a good walk percentage, but, he also takes a lot of close pitches, which could be hittable and which are sometimes called strikes. When they're called strikes he gets into bad counts and then presses. He has come up with some very big hits down the stretch. Like most of the young D-Backs, he does not lack confidence.

2nd base: Losing Hudson was a huge blow. He's the on-field leader, a .295 hitter with excellent speed and great range at second base. He isn't gone, however. He still runs the clubhouse from the dugout.

Augie Ojeda is Hudson replacement. Augie is your prototypical hustle player. He's journeyman with more than 5 years in the bigs. He's diminutive, 5' 7." He will often take a pitcher deep into counts fouling off very good pitiches, and like most of the D-Backs, he finds a way on base to score important runs.

Emilio Bonifacio, a whippet phenom from AA, may seem some action. Look for him to pinch run in a critical spot. He's very green, but Melvin may use him in a critical spot.

Short: Stephen Drew, first year in the bigs and little brother of J.D., is very efficient with the glove and has good range at short. His hitting has been a mystery; he's only hitting .235 for the season, but he's been squaring the ball up in the last couple of weeks. Like most of the young D-Backs, he'll make the occasional mistake in the field or on the basepaths. But, like all the D-Backs, he never, every hangs his head.

This attitude comes directly from our beloved Gibby, (Kirk Gibson to non-Tiger fans, non-MSU fans) who's the D-Backs bench coach. Gibby is in charge of the outfielders and baserunning. You can see Gibby in the D-Backs play. He's their secret weapon. Gibby mans the top step of the dugout and each player must pass him by in good times and in bad times. If you get the chance to watch the D-Backs, look for signs of Gibby in this young club.

Third Base: Mark Reynolds, called up from Mobile AA in May. He has incredible power. He's a lunger with a heavy bat. He takes mighty swings and sometimes misses badly. He struck out in 10 consecutive at bat in July and then came back and hit .360 in August and September. Anything can happen when he's up. He's not a bad third baseman. Good arm and he'll stand in front of anything.

Leftfield: Eric Byrnes, Jeff Spicoli in a baseball uniform. He's another leader along with Hudson and Clark. He's not the most talented player on the field, but he plays the hardest of any baseball player this side of Pete Rose. He stole 50 bases this year. He's an excellent baserunner who will get caught trying to take an extra base from time to time.

Centerfield: Chris Young, rookie from AAA. Ahhh, my favorite player. The epitome of a graceful centerfielder. Such speed that it looks as if he's gliding through the outfield. If it can be caught, he'll get it. Enigma at the plate: 30 homers, 30 steals and a .235 average. If Melvin bats him lead-off he has a tendency to take the first pitch out the park. He had something like 8 lead-off homers this year. He's just learning the game.

Rightfield: Justin Upton, called up from Mobile AA in June. First player taken in the 2005 draft. Learing the game. Incredible 5-tool player. Sometimes he looks lost. What better place to learn the game?

Look for him to platoon with Geoff Salazar, another minor league (AAA) call up. Salazar looks like a professional hitter and a solild to excellent glove man.

Cather: Chris Snyder, 3rd year man. Has been on fire since the All-Star Break. Great defensive work. Great arm. Just the guy you want catching the D-Backs starting rotation.

Miguel Montero, first year player, backs up Snyder. Montero hits better than .570 after the 7th inning. Good behind the plate.

Starters:

Brandon Webb, last year's Cy Young Winner. Sinkerballer. When it's on, batters beat the ball into the dirt all day long. Had a 42-consective inning shutout streak midseason. Ace of the staff. Terrible bunter. Has trouble moving runners. Could ruin a crucial situation where the team needs someone in scoring position.

Livon Hernandez: Hasn't thrown a fastball over 80 miles an hour all year. Has thrown change-ups in the mid 60s. When his stuff is on, he baffles batters. The poster boy for crafty veterans everywhere. When his stuff isn't on, watch out! He takes hitting seriously. Not an automatic out. Good bunter and can hit behind baserunners.

Doug Davis: Soft-tossing lefty with a career 75-75 record. When his stuff is on, he can mow them down. When it's not, watch out.

Micah Owings: Young, hard throwing righty. Won two big September games. Wonderful hitter with power. Has three homers this year and went 4-4 with two doubles in his last outing against the Pirates. Melvin has had him pinch hit in the past and may do it again.

Bullpen:

Great counterpoint to the mostly, soft-tossing and sinkerballing starting staff. Melvin needs six innings out his starters then he can turn the game over to his hard throwing bully. Batter have trouble making the adjustment to the changes in speed and tactics.

7th inning specialist: Tony Pena, hard throwing youngster who has recovered from the August control problems. After six innings of facing Webb, Davis, or Hernandez, hitter need a couple of pitches to adjust to Pena. By then they're down in the count and trying to protect the plate.

8th inning specialist: Brandon Lyon: another hard thrower. Lyons is the the gem of the trade that sent Schilling to Boston.

Closer: Jose Valverde: Flame thrower, who, at times, can make things a little too interesting for my taste. When he's on, his fastball has extra pop, a devilish splitter, and when he wants to tempt fate, he'll thow a change.

Closing Comments The great thing about the D-Backs is that they defy both the Sabremeticians and the Insta-Analysts on the Four-Letter Sports Network.


The Sabremeticians (Society for the Advancement of Baseball Research stat dorks) say that a team that gives up more runs than they score should never win a division championship. Opps! The D-Backs did it. How you ask? They can lose a game 12-0 one day and come back and beat a team the next two games. Losing is not a big deal, for these kids tomorrow is another day.


Insta-Analysis on the Four-Letter? The game, like the world, sometimes defies the cable gabfest news cycle. If the Insta-boys can't get a handle on the obvious they're lost and with the Yankees, Red Sox, and Cubs all in the playoffs there's plenty of obvious to go around!

When it comes to the D-Backs, ignore the "experts" and enjoy the games.

What's the saying? Something doesn't fall far from the tree? Here's my cousin Mike Mongeau, one of Izzy's sons, with his sons, Nick, on your left, and Sam, on your right. Yes that's right. There are at least two Sam Mongeaus walking the planet.

There was a day when Mongeau men did all they could to save their hair. My mom told me stories about how Ming, Izzy's wife and Nick and Sam's grandmother, would give Izzy regular shampoos with some kind of tar-based elixer to save his head of hair. It worked. Izzy kept a full head of hair. Nick and Sam prefer the shaved head look, which exposes the full Mongeau noggin. Not a bad choice by the boys, right?

Mike shows much Mongeau, too. Especially on the golf course. I played golf with Mike awhile back. My heart raced when I looked at him across on of the greens and thought for a quick minute that I was looking at his dad. He looks just like him. He sounds just like him. What we all wouldn't give to play a couple more rounds with our dads and uncles.

Most every Michigander has been to lovely Torch Lake. It's nestled in Northwestern Lower Michigan just a stone's throw from Lake Michigan. Let me restate: If I had the arm that used to have Torch Lake is a stone's throw from Lake Michigan. Anway, you get my drift, right. Here we are vacationing with close family friends. My mom took the picture--and she took a beauty

Top row left to right are: Carol Lilla, who's holding Stephen Magnotta (who was kind enough to send me this photo); Carol's husband, the great Pete Lilla--a kinder and more devoted friend you'll never find; Anna Magnotta, a kind, loving soul; Mike Magnotta and Anne Magnotta; Mike Magnotta, that patriarch of the Magnotta clan and a person who was kind, loving, funny, and generous all at the same time; Patrice Magnotta; and My dad, Phil Mongeau who is holding my brother who looks as if he was just told that the Tigers had lost to the Yankees.

Bottom row left to right are: My sister Celeste, Jim Magnotta, John Magnotta, and me.

These were great times, at a great lake, amid the Great Lakes. What could be better?

You've seen the come ons for genealogy web site, right? I was horsing around in a search engine when I can across a link that read: "Find where all the Mongeaus lived in 1920. I clicked on the link where I found a U.S map. Each state that had a Mongeau in the 1920 U.S. Census was highlighted. I clicked on Michigan and the page above displayed.

I was excited when I saw my grandfather and my aunts. Of course, the links are disabled so there was no detail without buying a subscription. I didn't cough up the money to go any further. I would just as soon spend the money on greens fees, which is a very Mongeau thing, indeed.

You may click on any photo to enlarge the image.

When I bought my 4Runner in 1999, my plan was to drive for many, many years. I paid it off 2 years ago and last night, 4Runner turned 100,000 miles. Here's a picture of the odometer taken from a cell phone while waiting at a stop light. I've tried to take good care of it (all scheduled maintenance, a fresh set of tires, a couple of batteries, and a starter), and it has rewarded me by being reliable and comfortable. It's no mystery why people buy and drive Toyotas.

These fine looking young folks are my first cousins, the Porrettas. From left to right, you see Anthony "the Big A", Maria, Tom, and Carla. They're turned out in front of their Detroit home and are dressed in their Easter finery.
They're the children of my mother's sister, Mary Ellen and her husband Tony.



My brother Paul and I are the youngest cousins of our generation. When were visited relatives, the duty of entertaining us usually feel to younger cousins, and this meant that when we went to the Motor City, the job fell to Tom.


Tom did good work. He turned me on to Soupy Sales, and that simple act provided me with joy for years. We did White Fang and Black Tooth, and when he called me "Birdbath" I laughed uncontrollably. He had a friend down the street, a blond haired kid named Tim, and they told me that Tim was Lion quarterback Bobby Layne. I believed them both and happily told everyone who would listen that I knew Bobby Layne. It was a cool time. I was about four. I was dialed in.


Tom lived a good life. He lost his battle with colon cancer earlier this year. He was kind, and gentle, and smart. His life was rich with family. I have a Tom story that lives on in my memory--which means that some of the details may or may not be correct, and Tom would be good natured in correcting any details that I may misrepresent. Here goes: When I was in high school, and he was fresh out of the navy, he performed one of the all-time family stunts. He drove his mother's Buick convertible down to Florida. One night he parked on the beach, lowered the convertible top, and went to sleep. Over night, the tide came in. The car was flooded, and Tommy had some 'splaining to do. However much 'splaining he did, it didn't prevent his story from being told in solemn tones with pregnant pauses sprinkled throughout to allow the guilt to soak in with requisite caution and introspection.


So, in Tom's memory, and for our own sake, most of us have had a {begin whisper voice}colonoscopy{end whisper voice}. (Those of you who knew my mother or my aunt understand the whisper voice). I had mine this week.


Those of you who know me know that I can have a sophisticated conversation with you about the effects of chronic pain. However, I have {begin wood knocking sound} never {end wood knocking sound} had surgery. So, the concept of sedation for surgery is new to me. I understand why. Surgical sedation is powerful stuff. Upon arrival at the Endoscopy Center the staff told me that the worst was over. They were right. I was given a sedative named Versed that erased all memory of the process. I came to in the recovery room bright-eyed, chipper, and richer for the experience. As my mother would say {cue MJ's voice} "It's charming how our little experiences bind us through time."{end MJ's voice cue}


Tom is missed by many, White Fang and Black Tooth included.

A beautiful little storefront in Taos, NM. Took the picture on a bright, summer Sunday morning last time we passed through NM. Recently finished Blood and Thunder: An Epic of the American West a wonderful, even-handed Western History by Hamilton Sides. Kit Carson, who made his home in Taos, is featured prominently in the work. Blood and Thunder is a must for anyone who is interested in the convergence of Navajo, Spanish, Mexican, and Anglo cultures. This tiny garden in Taos provides ample evidence that all these cultures live on in a very special place.

For those of you who have been clamoring for a photo of me from this century, your wait is over. That's me on the right. On the left is the wonderful, beautiful, Lori who spends far too much time making sure that I am tethered to the planet. This makes me one lucky individual. The photo is a couple of years old, and Lori looks as fine as ever. On the other hand...

My dad was born in Lake Linden, a small town located on Keewanaw Peninsula in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. The Keewanaw is a small sliver of land that juts out into Lake Superior. Houghton and Hancock are the major towns on the Keewanaw. The area was the center of the cooper boom in the late 1800s and early 1900s. My dad loved the UP and spent as much time there as he could. My mom wasn't as enamored with UP, so my dad usually had to come up with some type of side trip that my mother could embrace. This picture was taken in Indian River in the UP. My recollection was that there was a giant freestanding cross that was a religious tourist attraction, which was probably the reason why we were visiting there. I don't know who the people are who are flanking my mother. My Indian headress was temporarily gracing my noggin while my Tiger cap was in the car.

Three uncles from the Mongeau side. From left, the great and gentle Oscar Loftquist, husband of my father's sister, Regis; Denny Ward, former fire chief of Muskegon. Denny may have been the strongest man I ever met. He was a legitimate hero having once climbed aboard a burning freighter and carried men out of the burning ship one-by-one. Denny married my father's sister, Betty. Next to Denny is Lloyd (Mung) Mongeau, the patriarch of our branch of the Mongeau clan. Lloyd was the city assessor of Muskegon Heights. During the Depression he coached his younger brothers, Phil and Izzy, at Muskegon Saint Mary's High School. The fellas are sitting on the Denny's back porch which overlooked Lake Muskegon. All the freighters that docked in Muskegon passed by Denny's picture windows. The house was on the main road to Pere Marquette State Beach and Denny, Betty, and Kids renovated their garage into a root beer/hot dog stand for those heading for the beach. It was pure heaven for me.

Here's a great family photo from a time long ago. Front row: My dad, Phil Mongeau; me; my cousin. Pete Mongeau; my dad's brother, Izzy Mongeau. Row 2: Unknown friend of my sister; my cousin, Dave Mongeau. Row 3: My aunt, Lorena (Ming) Mongeau; my sister, Celeste Mongeau Crouch; my cousin, Jim Mongeau; my mom, Martha Jane Mongeau; my sister's friend, Janet Maurer